The wind now began to blow strongly from the north. When I reached the shore, after passing the outskirts of the town, great black clouds, preceded by drifting scud, veiled the face of the sky, and an icy blast, charged with cold from Hudson's Bay, struck me at intervals upon the face. The waves broke on the beach with a mighty roar, and the water came up as far as my horse's feet in large sheets of white foam. The farther I advanced, the wind seemed to increase in fury, and the night was growing darker and darker. Forced sometimes to turn my back to avoid the clouds of drifting sand, I now and then had a glimpse of the town that I repented of having left. At regular intervals, the light-house of San Juan de Ulloa blazed up in all the beauty of its revolving light, sometimes gleaming on Vera Cruz shrouded in darkness, and then on the roadstead white with foam. For a moment I discerned the ships at their anchors pitching up and down on the broken swell, and almost driving on each other. The light soon turned, and all was dark. It was scarcely the season for a nocturnal excursion. I advanced, however, with a resolution that deserved some credit, and had already approached the wood at the extremity of which lies the village of Bocca del Rio, when I fancied I distinguished a cavalier somewhat in advance of me. I hastened toward him. Enveloped in a large blue cloak, he seemed at a distance like a Franciscan. The noise of the tempest was so loud and overpowering that I was by his side before he perceived me. I then saw he was not a monk, but a peasant of the coast, whose bayeta[65] I had taken for a frock. With his hand upon his eyes to guard them from the dazzling glare of the lightning, the horseman rode on, casting keen glances toward one side, as if seeking to pierce the dark veil which hung over the ocean; but nothing could be seen but the white crest of the waves lashed into fury by the violence of the storm. I shouted to the stranger with all the force of my lungs, but the violence of the wind hindered my words from reaching him. All at once a loud report was heard in the distance. At the sound, as if it had been a signal he had been ardently expecting, the cavalier put spurs to his horse, and galloped off in the direction of the woods of Bocca del Rio. He was soon lost to view among the trees, and my only care was, in the midst of the lianas and underwood, to keep the straight path which led to the houses. I had reason to hope that, once among the trees and sheltered from the fury of the wind, I could follow the road with ease. As soon as I entered the wood, the noise of the waves gradually died away. I rode almost an hour beneath this leafy vault in complete darkness, and it was not without regret that I again perceived, by a flash of lightning, a long line of foaming breakers. I soon arrived at Bocca del Rio, so called from its situation at the mouth of the river; but, on issuing from the wood, an interesting spectacle met my view, which decided me to make a short halt.
FOOTNOTES:
[64] Con espada en mano, a local term to denote the fury of the north-east wind. It commonly blows for fifty hours when it is strong. If weak, it lasts sometimes five or six days.
[65] A kind of cloak of woolen cloth worn almost exclusively by the Jarochos.
CHAPTER II.
The Wreckers.—Narrow Escape of Ventura.
In spite of the violence of the tempest, the whole population of Bocca del Rio were assembled on the beach, and all eyes were fixed on the boiling sheet of foam, whose phosphorescent light contrasted strongly with the deep black of the heavens above. Not a sail was in sight. The distant boom of a gun, however, signaled that a ship was in distress, and that a pilot was required. In such a night as this, it was evident that nothing short of a miracle could save the luckless vessel from being dashed to pieces. Still, as another gun had not been heard, it was hoped that the ship exposed to the tempest had weathered the danger. Besides, a pilot who had left that morning before the norther began to blow had very likely got on board, and his consummate seamanship and skill eased some minds. A few, however, persisted in looking upon the ship as doomed.
I soon recognized Calros, whom curiosity had brought to the spot. Just when he was concluding his account about the general gathering of the people of the village, we heard another heavy boom, and this time more distinctly than the last. A flash was soon followed by a third report, and at the end of a few seconds the dark mass of a vessel was distinctly seen, driving on shore with as much rapidity as if she had been impelled by sails. Apparently no power could now save her. A by-stander, however, remarked that there was still a chance of safety, if she succeeded in reaching a part of the bay, opposite to which ran a kind of natural canal, where she might glide softly on to a sandy beach; but if, on the contrary, the luckless ship were driven on the rocks, she would infallibly go to pieces as soon as she grounded. Unfortunately, no one could exactly make out the place in question in the dark, since we could not light any fires for fear of guiding her in a wrong direction.
All the manœuvres of the ship appeared to be now directed to impelling her in the direction of the canal that was covered by the waves. Sometimes she drifted broadside on, sometimes she ran right before the gale, in the direction of the shore. A cry of joy suddenly arose that was heard above the roaring of the tempest. About a gunshot from the place where we were standing, a beacon-fire flashed up with a brilliant flame. Had some courageous fellow hazarded his life to point out the passage into the place of safety? We fancied that the people on board put the same construction upon the light as we did, for the ship was seen advancing toward the light with great rapidity, looming larger and larger as she approached the shore. The light was waved backward and forward, but was kept always in a straight line. A single jib was the only sail that could be set to assist her in answering her helm. Sometimes, when the wind lulled for an instant, her motion appeared to be checked, but a fresh gust soon gave her a new impulse. At last, carried on the top of a high wave, the vessel hung for an instant upon her larboard quarter, then upon her starboard; she then started forward and canted on her broadside, her timbers grinding heavily against the ground. A cry of distress reached our ears, heard distinctly above the roar of the winds and waves; at the same instant the light went out, like one of those glow-worms which flit through the air at night in fenny places, and lead the incautious traveler into quagmires. The schooner was a complete wreck. All we could now do was to save the crew and passengers. While some were deliberating on the means that should be adopted for that purpose, a man was seen making his way along the bows of the wrecked ship, and, by the light of a lamp which shone full upon his face, I distinguished a person who was no longer unknown to me since his visit to Manantial—I mean the pilot Ventura. Some words that he directed to us through a speaking-trumpet were heard very indistinctly, but a line that he held in his hand left us in no doubt as to his meaning. Ventura was begging us to launch a boat to take the end of a rope on shore. But it was impossible that any thing could swim amid these breakers. A boat was then lowered from the bows of the schooner, several seamen got in, and pulled hard to reach the shore; but, in a few minutes, struck by a sea, it filled with water and disappeared.