By the time that all these particulars had been ascertained, the day was almost at an end, and it was determined that, with the dawn next morning, both the boats should start to the wreck, provided with due tackle, and having the Indians, who are excellent divers, aboard. Paul Bedloe’s hammock was swung in the great cabin, and a watch placed over him all night: but he appeared to sleep soundly, and to be but little affected by the probable downfall of his golden hopes. Indeed, so much was I struck with this, and so composed was the dwarf in confessing the whole matter to us, part of which must at all events be true, that I came to the conclusion that, despite of all his pretended candour and frankness, the fellow intended to play us a slippery trick after all; so that, confiding my suspicions to my comrades, Mr. Bedloe was informed that, five minutes after he had given any symptom of treachery, he would be dangling from the sprit of the mainsail. To this intimation, the only answer he vouchsafed was the old shrug of the shoulders. The night seemed long to many on board, and with the grey dawn the boats were manned, Bedloe sitting beside the captain in the launch, and directing the steersman. The dwarf told us that he would take the boats to the place where the wreck lay, which was near the open sea, by such a channel as the schooner could follow in. We therefore laid down buoys as we went along, it being determined that as soon as the launch reached the wreck, I should pull back in the shallop, and navigate the ship to the scene of action. And now, behold us, with shout, and joke, and laugh, like men who are to be speedily and marvellously enriched, pulling gaily for the sunken El Dorado. The morning mist was rising slowly from the ocean; the surf-ridges sparkled in the first glances of the hot sunlight and the white and grey sea-birds wheeled and screamed joyously overhead. The very rocks and sands bore a changed aspect in our eyes; instead of forlorn and dreary shelves of crag and shingle lying desolately in a far-off sea, we gazed upon them as the mystic beds of incalculable wealth: ‘The sea,’ we said, joyfully, ‘may not give up her dead, but she keeps a feebler clutch upon her gold. Courage, comrades, courage! we shall divide the ingots which were melted for the treasury of Old Castile.’ ‘Why may there not be more than one single castaway ship lying hereabouts?’ quoth our surgeon. And we echoed, ‘Why indeed?’ At this juncture I noticed Paul Bedloe start and turn pale, just as he did when I told him his secret the day before. He recovered himself, however, directly, and it was not until after events had made me connect that start with the topic of conversation at the moment, that I realized all its significance and meaning.