CHAPTER XLIII.
SANGRE POR SANGRE.
Seated under a banana tree, with my back resting against its trunk, I had read thus far; and lulled by the ceaseless hum of insects among the leaves, and by the equally monotonous chafing of the sea on the beach far down below, I permitted the book, so valuable under the circumstances in which I was placed, to drop from my hands, and I was about to sleep, when the appearance of a distant object on the waters gave me a species of electric shock.
A SHIP!
Under a cloud of canvas, she was running direct for the island from the west, and must have been some hours visible before she caught my eye.
I started up as if I would have met her half way, and then seated myself again, and watched her in a species of ecstasy.
Ah! how my heart leaped at this sight! My emotions were suffocating, and with them there was a nervous fear that it might prove another optical delusion—another Fata Morgana—another ship that would melt away on a nearer approach.
But no! On she came—on and on, with the white foam curling under her sharp bows, a long wake weltering under the counter, and running far astern, every thing set upon her that would draw, from deck to trucks; even her studding-sails were rigged out from the lower, the topsail, and top-gallant yards.
She seemed a very large vessel, ship-rigged, and apparently about fifteen miles distant.
How I dreaded that she might change her course! How I longed for some means of attracting her, ere evening came on. How I panted. I rose, and in an incredibly short space reached the summit of the great bluff which overhangs the sea.
There, under a blazing sun, I exhausted myself by waving my tattered jacket, and by shouting as if her crew could have heard me.