At the same moment of time our hero became aware of another boat coming down the river towards where they lay.  This other boat, approaching thus strangely through the darkness, was full of men, some of them armed; for even in the distance Barnaby could not but observe that the light of the moon glimmered now and then as upon the barrels of muskets or pistols.  This threw him into a good deal of disquietude of mind, for whether they or this boat were friends or enemies, or as to what was to happen next, he was altogether in the dark.

Upon this point, however, he was not left very long in doubt, for the oarsmen of the approaching boat continuing to row steadily onward till they had come pretty close to Barnaby and his companions, a man who sat in the stern suddenly stood up, and as they passed by shook a cane at Barnaby’s companion with a most threatening and angry gesture.  At the same moment, the moonlight shining full upon him, Barnaby could see him as plain as daylight—­a large, stout gentleman with a round red face, and clad in a fine, laced coat of red cloth.  In the stern of the boat near by him was a box or chest about the bigness of a middle-sized travelling-trunk, but covered all over with cakes of sand and dirt.  In the act of passing, the gentleman, still standing, pointed at this chest with his cane—­an elegant gold-headed staff—­and roared out in a loud voice:  “Are you come after this, Abram Dowling?  Then come and take it.”  And thereat, as he sat down again, burst out a-laughing as though what he had said was the wittiest jest conceivable.

Either because he respected the armed men in the other boat, or else for some reason best known to himself, the Captain of our hero’s expedition did not immediately reply, but sat as still as any stone.  But at last, the other boat having drifted pretty far away, he suddenly found words to shout out after it:  “Very well, Jack Malyoe!  Very well, Jack Malyoe!  You’ve got the better of us once more.  But next time is the third, and then it’ll be our turn, even if William Brand must come back from the grave to settle with you himself.”

But to this my fine gentleman in t’other boat made no reply except to burst out once more into a great fit of laughter.

There was, however, still another man in the stern of the enemy’s boat—­a villanous, lean man with lantern-jaws, and the top of his head as bald as an apple.  He held in his hand a great pistol, which he flourished about him, crying out to the gentleman beside him, “Do but give me the word, your honor, and I’ll put another bullet through the son of a sea cook.”  But the other forbade him, and therewith the boat presently melted away into the darkness of the night and was gone.

This happened all in a few seconds, so that before our hero understood what was passing he found the boat in which he still sat drifting silently in the moonlight (for no one spoke for awhile) and the oars of the other boat sounding farther and farther away into the distance.