A hasty application of an oar brought the boat's nose to the bank, and I was thrust in unceremoniously, the three others following, each man shipping an oar into the rowlocks.

Herman alone remained on shore, scattering the embers of a small fire, and staring back toward the house.

A few moments we waited in silence, then the slender figure of the one who seemed the leading spirit, emerged from out the cane.

He glanced at the motionless figures in the boat, spoke a few words to Herman, and then the two joined us, the latter taking the tiller, the former pushing off, and springing alertly into the bow.
Lying between the thwarts, face turned upward, all I could see distinctly was the black oarsman, although occasionally, when he leaned forward, I caught glimpses of the fellow I believed to be the captain of the strange crew.

Our boat skirted the shore, keeping close within the concealing shadows, as evidenced by overhanging trees.