They at once shoved off.
My friend Long Ghost had, among other things which looked somewhat strange in a ship's forecastle, a capital spy-glass, and on the present occasion we had it in use.
When the boat neared the head of the inlet, though invisible to the naked eye, it was plainly revealed by the glass; looking no bigger than an egg-shell, and the men diminished to pigmies.
At last, borne on what seemed a long flake of foam, the tiny craft shot up the beach amid a shower of sparkles.

Not a soul was there.
Leaving one of their number by the water, the rest of the pigmies stepped ashore, looking about them very circumspectly, pausing now and then hand to ear, and peering under a dense grove which swept down within a few paces of the sea.

No one came, and to all appearances everything was as still as the grave.

Presently he with the pistols, followed by the rest flourishing their bodkins, entered the wood and were soon lost to view.

They did not stay long; probably anticipating some inhospitable ambush were they to stray any distance up the glen.
In a few moments they embarked again, and were soon riding pertly over the waves of the bay.