Then Hans took them down the hatchway, for the little vessel was decked, being in shape and size not unlike a modern Norfolk herring boat, though somewhat more slightly built.  Then having lit a lantern, he showed them the cargo.  On the top were bags of salt.  Dragging one or two of these aside, Hans uncovered the heads of five barrels, each of them marked with the initial B in white paint.

“That is what men will die for before to-morrow night,” he said.

“The treasure?” asked Foy.

He nodded.  “These five, none of the others.”  Then still lower down he pointed out other barrels, eight of them, filled with the best gunpowder, and showed them too where the slow matches ran to the little cabin, the cook’s galley, the tiller and the prow, by means of any one of which it could be fired.  After this and such inspection of the ropes and sails as the light would allow, they sat in the cabin waiting till the wind should change, while the two watching men unmoored the vessel and made her sails ready for hoisting.  An hour passed, and still the breeze blew from the sea, but in uncertain chopping gusts.  Then it fell altogether.

“Pray God it comes soon,” said Martin, “for the owner of that finger in your pocket will have laid the hounds on to our slot long ago, and, look! the east grows red.”

The silent, hard-faced Hans leant forward and stared up the darkling water, his hand behind his ear.

“I hear them,” he said presently.

“Who?” asked Foy.

“The Spaniards and the wind—­both,” he answered.  “Come, up with the mainsail and pole her out to midstream.”

So the three of them took hold of the tackle and ran aft with it, while the rings and booms creaked and rattled as the great canvas climbed the mast.  Presently it was set, and after it the jib.  Then, assisted by the two watchmen thrusting from another of the boats, they pushed the Swallow from her place in the line out into mid-stream.  But all this made noise and took time, and now men appeared upon the bank, calling to know who dared to move the boats without leave.  As no one gave them any answer, they fired a shot, and presently a beacon began to burn upon a neighbouring mound.

“Bad business,” said Hans, shrugging his shoulders.  “They are warning the Government ship at the harbour mouth.  Duck, masters, duck; here comes the wind,” and he sprang to the tiller as the boom swung over and the little vessel began to gather way.

“Yes,” said Martin, “and here with it come the Spaniards.”

Foy looked.  Through the grey mist that was growing lighter every moment, for the dawn was breaking, he caught sight of a long boat with her canvas spread which was sweeping round the bend of the stream towards them and not much more than a quarter of a mile away.

“They had had to pole down stream in the dark, and that is why they have been so long in coming,” said Hans over his shoulder.