"By heavens!" cried Barnstable, "'tis a man-of-war's stroke it pulls; I saw the oar-blades as they fell! and, listen to the sound! neither your fisherman nor your smuggler pulls such a regular oar."
Tom had bowed his head nearly to the water, in the act of listening, and now raising himself, he spoke with confidence:
"That is the Tiger; I know the stroke of her crew as well as I do of my own. Mr. Merry has made them learn the new-fashioned jerk, as they dip their blades, and they feather with such a roll in their rullocks! I could swear to the stroke."
"Hand me the night-glass," said his commander, impatiently. "I can catch them, as they are lifted into the streak. You are right, by every star in our flag, Tom!--but there is only one man in her stern-sheets. By my good eyes, I believe it is that accursed Pilot, sneaking from the land, and leaving Griffith and Manual to die in English prisons. To shore with you--beach her at once!"
The order was no sooner given than it was obeyed, and in less than two minutes the impatient Barnstable, Dillon, and the cockswain, were standing together on the sands.
The impression he had received, that his friends were abandoned to their fate by the Pilot, urged the generous young seaman to hasten the departure of his prisoner, as he was fearful every moment might interpose some new obstacle to the success of his plans.
"Mr. Dillon," he said, the instant they were landed, "I exact no new promise--your honor is already plighted----"
"If oaths can make it stronger," interrupted Dillon, "I will take them."
"Oaths cannot--the honor of a gentleman is, at all times, enough. I shall send my cockswain with you to the abbey, and you will either return with him, in person, within two hours, or give Mr. Griffith and Captain Manual to his guidance. Proceed, sir, you are conditionally free; there is an easy opening by which to ascend the cliffs."
Dillon once more thanked his generous captor, and then proceeded to force his way up the rough eminence.
"Follow, and obey his instructions," said Barnstable to his cockswain, aloud.
Tom, long accustomed to implicit obedience, handled his harpoon, and was quietly following in the footsteps of his new leader, when he felt the hand of the lieutenant on his shoulder.