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.