"Wherever there is a corpse," said the pilot, pointing to the schooner, "there you wild find zopilotes[1] or sharks. We shall soon see the wretch that caused the loss of the vessel, and it will be a shame if we allow others to share in any thing that the sea may throw upon our coasts."
No sound, however, save the wild war of the elements was heard, and, while waiting for the wreckers, I had leisure to examine the situation of the different places. A few paces from us was the mouth of a river, whose banks were covered on both sides with thick brushwood. On our side of the stream stood the houses of Bocca del Rio, and between it and us ran a thick range of mangroves, which would, owing to the darkness, hide us completely from view. Upon the suggestion of the pilot, we agreed to lie in ambush at this spot.
We were not long kept in suspense. A body of men on horseback soon appeared, riding along the bank of the stream. They stopped upon the beach. The troop halted a short distance from the mangroves as if in doubt, and a horseman advanced alone to reconnoitre.
"The rascal has gone away to get assistance," said the pilot to me, in a low voice.
"And some mules, doubtless, to carry away the spoil," remarked one of the river-men.
In the horseman who had left the main body I was not long in distinguishing the man whose odd behavior had raised my suspicions while on my way from Vera Cruz to Bocca del Rio. Astonished, no doubt, to find the place which he had left so full of life some
- ↑ Black vultures that abound in the streets of Vera Cruz, which perform the part of public scavengers by clearing the streets of carrion, &c.
