We watched them till they were out of
the breakers, and saw them steering for their vessel, which was now
hidden in the darkness.
The sand of the beach began to be cold to our bare feet; the frogs
set up their croaking in the marshes, and one solitary owl, from the
end of the distant point, gave out his melancholy note, mellowed by
the distance, and we began to think that it was high time for "the old
man," as the captain is generally called, to come down. In a few
minutes we heard something coming towards us. It was a man on
horseback. He came up on the full gallop, reined up near us, addressed
a few words to us, and receiving no answer, wheeled round and galloped
off again. He was nearly as dark as an Indian, with a large Spanish
hat, blanket cloak or serapa, and leather leggins, with a long knife
stuck in them. "This is the seventh city that ever I was in, and no
Christian one neither," said Bill Brown. "Stand by!" said Tom, "you
haven't seen the worst of it yet." In the midst of this conversation
the captain appeared; and we winded the boat round, shoved her down,
and prepared to go off.
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