He found them encamped in a narrow gorge, round a
huge fire, carefully concealed behind some rocks. It was a cold,
windy, wet night; but the wreckers cared not, for the wind blew dead
on shore, and gave rich promise of reward for whatever they might
endure.
A man lay on the look-out at the mouth of the gorge under a tarpaulin.
He had a night-glass in his hand, with which he swept the dark
horizon, for some time in vain. But the wind was too good to fail
them, and the wreckers had patience.
It was really a terrible night. It was pitchy dark: not a star, nor
one glimpse of the pale moon could be distinguished. The wind howled
among the rocks, and cast the spray up with violence against the
cliffs, which, however, in front of the gorge, gave way to a low sandy
beach, forming the usual scene of the wreckers' operations. A current
rushed into this narrow bight, and brought on shore numerous spars,
boxes, and boats--all things welcome to these lawless men.
'A prize!' cried the look-out suddenly. 'A tall Indiaman is not more
than a mile off shore. She is making desperate efforts to clear the
point, but she won't do it. She is ours, lads!'
'Give me the glass!' exclaimed Pierre rising.
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