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.”