It is risking terribly, but the idea is in their heads and nothing can stop them.
"You," says Itchoua to Ramuntcho, in his manner which admits of no discussion, "you shall be the one to watch the bark, since you have never been in the path that we are taking; you shall tie it to the bottom, but not too solidly, do you hear?
We must be ready to run if the carbineers arrive." So they go, all the others, their shoulders bent under the heavy loads, the rustling, hardly perceptible, of their march is lost at once on the quay which is so deserted and so black, in the midst of the monotonous dripping of the rain.

And Ramuntcho, who has remained alone, crouches at the bottom of the skiff to be less visible becomes immovable again, under the incessant sprinkling of the rain, which falls now regular and tranquil.
They are late, the comrades--and by degrees, in this inactivity and this silence, an irresistible numbness comes to him, almost a sleep.
But now a long form, more sombre than all that is sombre, passes by him, passes very quickly,--always in this same absolute silence which is the characteristic of these nocturnal undertakings: one of the large Spanish barks!--Yet, thinks he, since all are at anchor, since this one has no sails nor oars--then, what ?--It is I, myself, who am passing!--and he has understood: his skiff was too lightly tied, and the current, which is very rapid here, is dragging him:--and he is very far away, going toward the mouth of the Bidassoa, toward the breakers, toward the sea-- An anxiety has taken hold of him, almost an anguish--What will he do ?--What complicates everything is that he must act without a cry of appeal, without a word, for, all along this coast, which seems to be the land of emptiness and of darkness, there are carbineers, placed in an interminable cordon and watching Spain every night as if it were a forbidden land--He tries with one of the long oars to push the bottom in order to return backward;--but there is no more bottom; he feels only the inconsistency of the fleeting and black water, he is already in the profound pass--Then, let him row, in spite of everything, and so much for the worse--! With great trouble, his forehead perspiring, he brings back alone against the current the heavy bark, worried, at every stroke of the oar, by the small, disclosing grating that a fine ear over there might so well perceive.

And then, one can see nothing more, through the rain grown thicker and which confuses the eyes; it is dark, dark as in the bowels of the earth where the devil lives.

He recognizes no longer the point of departure where the others must be waiting for him, whose ruin he has perhaps caused; he hesitates, he waits, the ear extended, the arteries beating, and he hooks himself, for a moment's reflection, to one of the large barks of Spain--Something approaches then, gliding with infinite precaution on the surface of the water, hardly stirred: a human shadow, one would think, a silhouette standing:--a smuggler, surely, since he makes so little noise! They divine each other, and, thank God! it is Arrochkoa; Arrochkoa, who has untied a frail, Spanish skiff to meet him--So, their junction is accomplished and they are probably saved all, once more! But Arrochkoa, in meeting him, utters in a wicked voice, in a voice tightened by his young, feline teeth, one of those series of insults which call for immediate answer and sound like an invitation to fight.
It is so unexpected that Ramuntcho's stupor at first immobilizes him, retards the rush of blood to his head.

Is this really what his friend has just said and in such a tone of undeniable insult ?-- "You said ?" "Well!" replies Arrochkoa, somewhat softened and on his guard, observing in the darkness Ramuntcho's attitudes.