Chapter VI

The ball struck Don Rafaele, who, being held in Hildebrand’s left arm, above his shoulder, offered the Spaniard the best mark. With a low moan, he fell back on Hildebrand’s shoulder; but that person, though thus rendered sensible that he had been wounded, did not suffer this incident to arrest his flight, but still pushed on for the street.

Although he had some paces headway, he had no time to spare. He had hardly gained the outer passage, when the Spaniards, now fully collected, were joined by Don Gonzalez, and they set after him amain. Before they arrived at the doorway, however, he had gained the street.

The storm was still raging; and the darkness promised, by its excessive density, to screen his steps from observation. As he turned into the street, he seemed to acquire new vigour, yet his long, heavy cloak, though it shielded him from the weather, was a great incumbrance to him, and embarrassed him exceedingly. Feeling this, he slipped it off as he gained the street, and suffered it to fall behind him. The voices and steps of his pursuers were now close at his heels. Undaunted, yet alive to every incident, he ran swiftly on, and, as he progressed, looked about for some projection, behind which he might conceal himself. The darkness was so dense, that he could not, by the utmost stretch of his vision, distinguish any such covert; but, keeping close against the side of the street, he came to an aperture in one of the houses, opening to a retired door. Without a moment’s hesitation, he drew back into the recess, and there ventured to take breath.

As Hildebrand thus came to a halt, his pursuers, who, having been joined by Don Gonzalez, were now five in number, made their appearance in the street. For one brief moment, Hildebrand was in hopes that, having no trace of him to guide them, they would take the opposite direction, and so leave open the only route by which he could retreat. But whether they supposed that he would flee towards the river, or acted from mere impulse, they took the right path, and followed close in his steps. Hildebrand repressed his breath as their tread announced them to be approaching the small recess. Don Rafaele was as still as death; but Hildebrand felt his heart, which was pressed against his, fairly quivering. His hand, too, dripped with his blood.

The steps of the Spaniards came close up to the recess. The four stranger cavaliers, being young men, had outrun Don Gonzalez, and were nearly a dozen paces in his advance. Hildebrand fully expected to be discovered when they came abreast of the recess. It seemed next to impossible, indeed, that he could elude observation, or that they could pass without seeing him. But in their haste, the pursuers did not look about them; but, supposing him to be ahead, pushed straight forward. Hildebrand was congratulating himself on his good fortune, when another step, less hasty than its forerunners, struck on his ear, and Don Gonzalez came in sight. As he came abreast of the recess, the darkness was dispelled, for one brief moment, by a prolonged flash of lightning. The flash was so fearfully vivid, that it quite made him stagger, and, in seeking to avoid it, his eyes mechanically turned on the recess, where the lightning now distinctly revealed the two fugitives.

“Ho, Senhors! we have them here!” he cried to his companions.

While he was yet speaking, Hildebrand drew forth a pistol; and with a steady hand, and an aim that never erred, levelled it at his breast. As his companions turned to his succour, he uttered a low groan, and fell back lifeless.

Still bearing Don Rafaele with his left arm, which was almost numbed with the weight, Hildebrand sprang into the street the instant he had fired. The Spaniards, hearing the report of a pistol, were running back for Don Gonzalez, and were coming towards him with all speed. But, besides that he was greatly favoured by the darkness, the rain, which had all along fallen in heavy showers, was now succeeded by a torrent of hail, which beat right in their faces; and he was thus able to steal across the street unobserved. There, keeping close to the wall, he allowed them to pass him, and then set off boldly for the river.

Saturated with rain, breathless with running, and with the arm which supported Don Rafaele sweating with pain, he shortly arrived at the beach. To attempt to look for his two boatmen, or any other object, however close it might be, while the hail was pouring down so furiously, would have been the height of folly, and was a project that did not once occur to him. When he recovered his breath, however, he called out, according to the preconcerted arrangement, at the top of his voice; and then listened anxiously for an answer.

“Holloa, ho!” was the prompt reply.

Catching the direction of the voice, which was close at hand, he sprang forward amain, and shortly came up with the two boatmen.

“Hurrah, Captain! what cheer?” cried the two sailors, discerning him.

“No good, lads!” answered Hildebrand. And, bending a little, he spoke in a lower tone to Don Rafaele. “Where art thou hurt, my Rafaele?” he said.

“I’ the arm,” replied Don Rafaele, faintly. “Moreover, the wound bleeds apace.”

“Here, my lads, hold him up!” cried Hildebrand. “We cannot go off while this hail lasts, and, meantime, I must tie up his wound.”

The two rough mariners caught Don Rafaele in their arms directly, and held him up, with more tenderness than one would have looked for, while Hildebrand bandaged his wound. This he did with a scarf, which he took out of his hat; and though, being afraid to expose him any way to the cold, he was obliged to tie it over his coat, the stay which it afforded the arm lent Don Rafaele immediate ease.

The violent shower of hail had ceased by the time that the sufferer’s arm was tied up. The darkness, however, remained impenetrable; and as Hildebrand glanced anxiously down the river, he began to entertain the same fear as Ben Hatchway, expressed heretofore, that they would be unable to make out the ship. The thought shook him somewhat; but the thrill which it started had hardly entered his breast, when a flash of light, which looked like electric fluid in the darkness, crossed his vision, and the report of a cannon boomed over the water. At the same moment, three lights were hauled into the air, and offered the eye a mark, now that the hail had ceased, sufficiently commanding to be seen at some distance.

“Well done, ho!” exclaimed Hildebrand, rightly divining that the lights were a provision of Master Halyard’s, and were intended to guide him to the ship. “Now, lads, place Don Rafaele in the stern, and shove off! May God be merciful to our souls!”

The two sailors, without the slightest hesitation, hastened to obey him; and, having bestowed Don Rafaele carefully in the stern of the boat, proceeded to set her afloat. Hildebrand assisted them to shove the boat into the water, and then, not without getting well soaked by the waves, leaped with them aboard of her, and took his place at the rudder.

The boat nearly capsized as they got fairly afloat. But the dexterity of the two seamen, and the prompt manner in which Hildebrand, on taking his seat, regulated her balance, counteracted the influence of the waves, and enabled her to recover herself. All now depended on the perfect preservation of the boat’s equilibrium. Their route to the ship was not near so dangerous, in other respects, as their progress to the shore had been; for the wind had been then right in their teeth, and, consequently, was now in their favour. Since the fall of hail, too, it had lulled somewhat, and, though the waves ran as high as ever, the boat rose to the water with less strain, and made good way. In a short time, indeed, they brought the cruizer’s lights close before their head, and were able to distinguish her long black hull. As they did so, the two mariners uttered a loud hurrah, and thus drew the attention of Master Halyard, who happened to be on the look-out, in the gangway, to their perilous situation.

A rope was thrown to them instantly; and in a few moments more, the boat was hauled alongside; and Hildebrand, bearing Don Rafaele in his arms, ascended to the deck.

The anxious group who had crowded to the gangway fell back at the approach of their commander. Hildebrand, however, took no notice of their silent welcome; he even overlooked Master Halyard, and, thinking only of his wounded friend, who now seemed to cling to him more than ever, he shot across the deck, and descended straight to the cabin.

No one was in the cabin but the pantler, who, though of such a taciturn disposition, fairly broke into an exclamation as he entered.

“Hie thee for some hot water, sirrah,” cried Hildebrand; “and be hither with it straightway.”

The pantler disappeared; and Hildebrand, preparatory to any further measures, relieved Don Rafaele of his cloak and hat, and laid him on his bed. Having thus bestowed him, he was turning to look for the steward, when Don Rafaele, with a slight effort, threw his free arm round his neck, and held him back.

“Leave me not to a stranger,” he said, in broken accents: “I--I--AM INEZ.”