time before, quite deserted, the man, still enveloped in the same blue bayeta, continued silently to examine every place, and at last advanced near the mangroves. He soon, however, returned to his comrades.
The remains of the schooner's cargo, which the tide was washing on shore, could now be plainly seen. This was a sure indication that the most valuable parts of the lading would not be long in being thrown up. The wreckers could no longer restrain their impatience. They stationed themselves in a long line along the strand, so that nothing could escape them. The man in the blue cloak, who seemed to be the chief of these wretches, rode his horse into the waves, to have a better view of the boxes and bales floating about.
"Will any of you lend me a gun?" asked the pilot.
One of our party handed him his musket. Ventura seized it. At this moment the dark profile of the chief wrecker and his horse, relieved by the white foam of the sea, presented an admirable mark. He fired, and we saw the cavalier fall from his steed, and disappear beneath the waves. The other wretches took to flight. Immediately after, a man came out of the water, and walked up the beach, the ball which Ventura had intended for him having only struck his horse. The pilot ran toward the villain to prevent his escape. A struggle took place in the darkness. Just when we had come up to assist the pilot, he was thrown to the ground by the marauder, whose poniard happily had glided over his clothes without injuring him. It was impossible to overtake the fugitive, as he fled as fast as his legs could carry him, fancying, probably, his opponent had been killed. Ventura rose with difficulty.
"I was not able to hold him," said he, passing his
