Ahead of the boat, far off on the horizon, an immense, flaming blue sword sprang up from the black water.  It rose, cleaved the darkness; its blade flashed across the clouds and illumined the surface of the sea with a broad blue hand.  In this luminous ray stood out the black, silent ships, hitherto invisible.  It seemed as though they had been waiting at the bottom of the sea, whither they had been dragged by an irresistible tempest, and that now they arose in obedience to the sword of fire to which the sea had given birth.  They had ascended to contemplate the sky and all that was above the water.  The rigging clinging to the mast seemed like seaweed that had left the water with these black giants, covering them with their meshes.  Then the wonderful blue sword again arose in the air, cleaved the night and descended in a different place.  Again, on the spot where it rested, appeared the skeletons of ships until then invisible.

Tchelkache’s boat stopped and rocked on the water as though hesitating.  Gavrilo lay flat on the bottom of the boat, covering his face with his hands, and Tchelkache prodded him with his oar, hissing furiously, but quite low.

“Idiot, that’s the custom-house cruiser.  The electric lantern!  Get up, row with all your might!  They’ll throw the light upon us!  You’ll ruin us, devil, both of us!”

When the sharp edge of the oar had been brought down once more, harder this time, on Gavrilo’s back, he arose and, not daring to open his eyes, resumed his seat and feeling for the oars, sent the boat ahead.

“Softly, or I’ll kill you!  Softly!  Imbecile, may the devil take you!  What are you afraid of?  Say?  A lantern and a mirror.  That’s all!  Softly with those oars, miserable wretch!  They incline the mirror at will and light the sea to find out if any folks like us are roving over it.  They’re on the watch for smugglers.  We’re out of reach; they’re too far away, now.  Don’t be afraid, boy, we’re safe!  Now, we. . .”

Tchelkache looked around him triumphantly.

“Yes, we’re safe.  Out!  You were in luck, you worthless stick!”

Gavrilo rowed in silence; breathing heavily, he cast sidelong glances at the spot where still rose and fell the sword of fire.  He could not believe that it was only, as Tchelkache said, a lantern with a reflector.  The cold, blue light, cutting the darkness, awoke silver reflections upon the sea; there seemed something mysterious about it, and Gavrilo again felt his faculties benumbed with fear.  The presentiment of some misfortune oppressed him a second time.  He rowed like a machine, bent his shoulders as though expecting a blow to descend and felt himself void of every desire, and without soul.  The emotions of that night had consumed all that was human in him.

Tchelkache was more triumphant than ever:  his success was complete!  His nerves, accustomed to shocks, were already calmed.  His lips trembled and his eyes shone with an eager light.  He felt strong and well, whistled softly, inhaled long breaths of the salt sea air, glanced about from right to left and smiled good-naturedly when his eyes fell upon Gavrilo.