Even with a stone tied to its leg, the world, as we have
said, contrives 'to get on some way or other.'
THE WRECKER.
On a certain part of the coast of Brittany, some years back, a gang of
wreckers existed, who were the terror of all sailors. Ever on the
look-out for the unfortunate vessels, which were continually dashed
upon their inhospitable shores, their delight was in the storm and the
blast; they revelled in the howling of fierce wind, and the
lightning's glare was to them more delightful than the brightest show
of fireworks to the dweller in large towns. Then they came out in
droves, hung about the cliffs and rocks, hid in caverns and holes, and
waited with intense anxiety for the welcome sight of some gallant ship
in distress. So dreadful were the passions lit up in these men by the
love of lucre, that they even resorted to infamous stratagems to lure
vessels on shore. They would light false beacons; and strive in every
way to delude the devoted bark to its destruction.
The village of Montreaux was almost wholly inhabited by men, who made
wrecking their profession. It was a collection of miserable huts,
built principally out of the broken materials of the various vessels
driven on shore; and ostensibly inhabited by fishermen, who, however,
rarely resorted to the deep, except when a long continuance of fine
weather rendered their usual avocation less prosperous than usual.
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