“Does all go well?”

Then perceiving this was Joe Groves, I answered in the same manner: 

“All goes well.”

“To-morrow at midnight?”

“To-morrow at midnight,” I return.  Upon which, casting down the cloth, he goes away without further sign.

And now comes in the feast of Ramadah with a heavy, steady downpour of rain all day, and no sign of ceasing at sundown, which greatly contented us.  About ten, the house we lodged in being quite still, and our fear of accident pressing us to depart, we crept silently out into the street without let or hindrance (though I warrant some spy of Mohand’s was watching to carry information of our flight to his master), and so through the narrow deserted alleys to the outskirts of the town, and thence by the river side to the great rock, with only just so much light as enabled us to hang together, and no more.  And I do believe we should have floundered into the river o’ one side of the marsh of canes or t’other, but that having gone over this road the last time with the thought that it might lead us to liberty, every object by the way impressed itself upon my mind most astonishingly.

Here under this rock stood we above an hour with no sound but the beating of the rain, and the lap of the water running in from the sea.  Then, as it might be about half-past eleven, a voice close beside us (which I knew for Joe Groves, though I could see no one but us four, Jack by my side, and Moll bound close to her husband) says: 

“All goes well?”

“Yes, all goes well,” says I; whereupon he gives a cry like the croak of a frog, and his comrades steal up almost unseen and unheard, save that each as he came whispered his name, as Spinks, Davis, Lee, Best, etc., till their number was all told.  Then Groves, who was clearly chosen their captain, calls Spinks, Lee, and Best to stand with him, and bids the others and us to stand back against the canes till we are called.  So we do his bidding, and fall back to the growth of canes, whence we could but dimly make out the mass of the rock for the darkness, and there waited breathless, listening for the sound of oars.  But these Moors, for a better pretence of secrecy, had muffled their oars, so that we knew not they were at hand until we heard Haroun’s voice speaking low.

“Englishmen, are you there?” asks he.

“Aye, we four,” whispers Groves, in reply.

Then we hear them wade into the water and get into the boat with whispering of Haroun where they are to dispose themselves, and so forth.  After that silence for about ten minutes, and no sound but the ceaseless rain until we next hear Groves’ voice.

“Davis, Negus,” whispers he, on which two of our number leave us and go out to the boat to replace Haroun and that other Moor, who, in the manner of the Turks, had been strangled and cast overboard.

And now follows a much longer period of silence, but at length that comes to an end, and we hear Groves’ voice again whispering us to come.  At the first sound of his voice his three comrades rush forward; but Groves, recognising them, says hoarsely, “Back, every one of you but those I called, or I’ll brain you!  There’s room but for six in the boat, and those who helped us shall go first, as I ordered.  The rest must wait their time.”