# Vagabond life in Mexico/The Wreckers

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 star board; 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.
One man only succeeded in reaching the shore, almost exhausted with cold and fatigue. He was the pilot Ventura. Paying no attention to the questions the people put to him, he unwound a line that was fastened round his body, and ordered them to hold on by the end so as to assist in saving the remaining sailors on board the schooner. A hundred hands immediately seized the rope, and held it with the strength of a capstan. That done, the pilot gave me the details of the dark and mysterious proceeding which I had just witnessed. The ship had been lost through a false light. The beacon-fire that had drawn her upon a reef of rocks had been lit by the perfidious hands of one of those wreckers to whom every ship wreck is a godsend. While telling a story which reflected so much credit upon himself for his courage, Ventura's eyes wandered about among the crowd, seeking to discover the malicious individual who had caused the loss of the schooner. I could hardly help thinking on the person whom I had seen in advance of me before my arrival at Bocca del Rio, and who, on the first signal of distress given by the ship, had galloped off so furiously in the direction of the sea.
"Curse them!" cried Ventura, on finishing his account; "to the devil with those wreckers whom the north wind brings to the coast to rob the shipwrecked and pillage the cargo! Above all, confound the rascal who led us ashore to gratify his own infernal cupidity!"
While he was speaking, the vibratory motion given to the cordage announced that the sailors of the ship were striving to reach the land by its assistance. In ​fact, partly by swimming, partly by wading, the shipwrecked seamen were not long in reaching the shore, though not without great difficulty and danger, as the sea was running higher, and the wind had increased in fury. The vessel, which was an American schooner, had been bound to Alvarado with a rich cargo of contraband goods, which was destined to become, to all appearance, a prey to the waves and the inhabitants of the coast; but, with American prudence, the lading had been insured for a sum at least equal to its value, and the captain, knowing it was an affair between the underwriters and the proprietors of the ship, interested himself only to procure shelter for him self and crew. The peasants received both him and his men with every demonstration of hospitality, in cited, no doubt, by the consideration of profiting without scruple, during the night, by the waifs which the sea would not be long in throwing up. For my part, I intrusted my horse to one of the villagers, after taking the precaution of placing in my belt the pistols which were in the holsters. My intention was to remain upon the beach, that I might not lose a single portion of the strange scene which the organized pillage of a wreck promised me.
​"Wherever there is a corpse," said the pilot, pointing to the schooner, "there you wild find zopilotes or sharks. We shall soon see the wretch that caused the loss of the vessel, and it will be a shame if we allow others to share in any thing that the sea may throw upon our coasts."
No sound, however, save the wild war of the elements was heard, and, while waiting for the wreckers, I had leisure to examine the situation of the different places. A few paces from us was the mouth of a river, whose banks were covered on both sides with thick brushwood. On our side of the stream stood the houses of Bocca del Rio, and between it and us ran a thick range of mangroves, which would, owing to the darkness, hide us completely from view. Upon the suggestion of the pilot, we agreed to lie in ambush at this spot.
We were not long kept in suspense. A body of men on horseback soon appeared, riding along the bank of the stream. They stopped upon the beach. The troop halted a short distance from the mangroves as if in doubt, and a horseman advanced alone to reconnoitre.
"The rascal has gone away to get assistance," said the pilot to me, in a low voice.
"And some mules, doubtless, to carry away the spoil," remarked one of the river-men.
In the horseman who had left the main body I was not long in distinguishing the man whose odd behavior had raised my suspicions while on my way from Vera Cruz to Bocca del Rio. Astonished, no doubt, to find the place which he had left so full of life some ​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 ​hand over his body; "but that's nothing. I recognized the fellow; it is Campos! I am not hurt a bit; but it is a wonder that the rascal did not pin me to the ground with his dagger. I am curious to know, however, where the deuce the scoundrel got that horse."
"Did you say that the miscreant's name was Campos?" cried Calros; "Tereso Campos?"
"Yes, Tereso Campos."
"That's the man I am seeking," returned the Jarocho, grasping my hand.
"Are you in search of him?" asked the pilot; "and why?"
"To kill him," answered Calros, quite naively.
"Well, I warrant you we shall find him to-morrow; and if the proprietor of the horse he stole join us, as he ought to do, the scoundrel will be very fortunate if he escape."
"You hear, Señor Cavalier," said Calros to me; "you have a like interest with us in avenging your self upon Campos."
"Why?"
"Because, if I am not mistaken, it is your horse he has carried off."
​Before advancing up the country in pursuit of the fugitives, a very delicate business still remained to be accomplished. This was the equitable division of the spoils from the wreck, vast quantities of which had been thrown up by the waves. I was not long in perceiving that the wrath of Ventura was chiefly directed against the marauders, because they were poaching on his preserves. At first, a few isolated portions of the rigging had been collected, then casks of wine and brandy, which were soon followed by large quantities of boxes filled with various articles. As they were thrown upon the shore, they were seized and piled up in a dry, sandy hollow till the distribution was made. I must say that Ventura conducted himself on this occasion with the strictest impartiality; he reserved nothing to himself beyond his share but a number of small boxes containing a goodly number of yards of fine Irish linen, as a sort of recompense for the dangers he had run. All was arranged to the full satisfaction of the river-men, who carried their booty away with such expedition that, in a short time, not a single article was to be seen on the sands.
​"All that," said he, with a melancholy smile, "is not to be compared to a fandango under the palmtrees, nor a look from Sacramenta."
I could not help thinking that the Jarocho was right; but it was scarcely the moment to lose one's self in amorous reveries. A short walk took us to the village; and, after a frugal repast, a necessary precaution before setting out to encounter new fatigues, we directed our steps in silence to the place where Ventura was waiting for us.