Lowered in their skiff to be less visible, having ceased to talk, pushing the bottom with their oars in order to make less noise, they approach softly, softly, with pauses as soon as something has seemed to budge, in the midst of so much diffuse black, of shadows without outlines.
Now they are crouched against one of these large, empty barks and almost touching the earth.

And this is the place agreed upon, it is there that the comrades of the other country should be to receive them and to carry their boxes to the receiving house--There is nobody there, however!--Where are they ?--The first moments are passed in a sort of paroxysm of expectation and of watching, which doubles the power of hearing and of seeing.

With eyes dilated, and ears extended, they watch, under the monotonous dripping of the rain--But where are the Spanish comrades?
Doubtless the hour has passed, because of this accursed custom house patrol which has disarranged the voyage, and, believing that the undertaking has failed this time, they have gone back-- Several minutes flow, in the same immobility and the same silence.

They distinguish, around them, the large, inert barks, similar to floating bodies of beasts, and then, above the waters, a mass of obscurities denser than the obscurities of the sky and which are the houses, the mountains of the shore--They wait, without a movement, without a word.
They seem to be ghosts of boatmen near a dead city.
Little by little the tension of their senses weakens, a lassitude comes to them with the need of sleep--and they would sleep there, under this winter rain, if the place were not so dangerous.
Itchoua then consults in a low voice, in Basque language, the two eldest, and they decide to do a bold thing.

Since the others are not coming, well! so much the worse, they will go alone, carry to the house over there, the smuggled boxes.