The only feasible method of approach to the spot I now sought would be by following this narrow strip of beach, yet this might be attempted safely, as my movements would be concealed by the darker background of the high bluff at the left.
In spite of the unfamiliarity of this passage, I succeeded in making excellent progress, advancing silently along the soft sand, assured I was safe from observation by reason of the intense darkness.

The waves lapping the beach helped muffle my footsteps, but no other sound reached my ears, nor could my eyes perceive the slightest movement along the water surface within reach of vision.

The distance proved somewhat greater than anticipated, because of the deep curve in the shore, and I had nearly reached the conclusion that the boat must have rounded the point and gone on, when suddenly I was brought to a halt by a voice speaking in Spanish--one of those harsh, croaking voices, never to be reduced to a whisper.

Imperfect as was my knowledge of the tongue, I yet managed a fair understanding of what was being said.
"Not the spot, Manuel?
Of course it is; do you not suppose I know?
The cursed fog made me run in close ashore to where I could see the sloop, so as not to mistake.

This is the place, and now there is nothing to do but wait.