But in that darkness the hiding-places were themselves hidden; the best the Americans could do was to stumble down the shore for a hundred yards or so, being careful to walk where the waves would wash out their footprints. Then they were a short distance from the wreck and felt a trifle safer. "We may as well strike back in the country now," said the leader, "at least until we can find some bushes or something to conceal us." That was a rather more ticklish task, and the men crouched and stole along in silence. They had no idea what they might meet. It was fortunate for them that they were quiet. Otherwise they would have gotten into very serious trouble indeed. They stole up the sandy beach a short ways, feeling their way along and getting further and further away from the sea. They were struggling through soft dry sand. And suddenly Clif, who was in front, saw something loom up before him, a dark line. And he put out his hand to touch it. He found that the sand rose gradually into a sort of drift or bank. It was high, and seemed to reach for some distance. The sailors stopped abruptly, and Clif crept softly forward, feeling along with his hands; suddenly the men heard him mutter a startled exclamation under his breath. "Men," he whispered, "we're in a terrible fix; I ran into a gun!" "A gun!" "Yes--a big one. We've struck a Spanish battery, and we must be near some town!" The sailors stared at him aghast; and then suddenly came a startling interruption--one that fairly made their blood grow chill. "Who goes there?" It was a loud, stern hail in Spanish, and it seemed to come from almost beside them! Quick as a flash the Americans dropped, crouching close together in the darkness. They could hear the beating of each others' hearts. There were several moments of agonizing suspense; the Spaniard who had shouted out was evidently awaiting a reply. And then suddenly he repeated his challenge. "Who goes there?" And a moment later came a sound of hurrying footsteps. "What's the matter?" Clif heard a voice demand. He was the only one in the party who understood Spanish, and knew what was said. But it was plain to the rest that it was a conversation between a sentry and an officer. "I heard a footstep, senor capitan!" cried the man. "Quidada! Take care! It's very near." There was a moment's pause. "You must be mistaken," said the officer. "I am not mistaken," repeated the man firmly. "Santa Maria, my ears do not deceive me. You said to be watchful, for you have heard firing." To that the Americans had listened in trembling silence; but the next made them jump. "I will light this lantern," said the officer. And the instant they heard it Clif rose silently to his feet; the men did likewise, and began to creep softly off to one side. But careful as they were they could not help the grinding sound of their footsteps in the sand, and it caught the quick ear of the Spaniard.