No sign of hope for the Maroon. The sun
shines with a red and scorching influence. There is
not a cloud in the sky to curtain the brazen terrors
of his countenance. The ocean sleeps, smooth as
glass, unbroken in its wilderness of range, spread out
like an endless mirror of steel, that fired the very
brain to gaze upon. And in the sky, on the return
of night, might be seen the moon, bright but placid,
nearly at her full, giving to the scene something of
an aspect melancholy, such as she habitually wears
herself. Not a speck upon the waters—not a speck—
and, while the lull continues, no possibility of a sail
in sight. He looks toward the faint uncertain line of
shore, which he has fancied to be beyond him on the
south. It is no fancy now. It is certain. The subdued
waves lessen the usual obstacles of vision. The
line of land, if it be land, and no mocking cloud, appears
to rise. It undulates. There are inequalities
which strike his eye, and which, seen at that distance,
cannot be subject to doubt or disbelief. He trembles
with mixed feelings of hope and terror as he comes to
this conclusion. Once more to behold the human
form—once more to look upon the friendly aspect of
man, and to say, “Brother!” But will the aspects

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be friendly that shall look upon him from that shore?
Will they hearken to his cry of pleading? Will
they understand him when he uses the endearing title
of “brother,” to the savage chief who leads the marauding
party? These suggestions but fill our Maroon
with dismay.

Crouching in the shade, his eye fixed on the opposite
shores, as he believes them, he starts suddenly to
his feet. He passes his hand across his brows—his
fingers press his eyes, as if to remove some speck,
some foreign atom, from his vision. Can he believe
his eyes? Does he, indeed, behold an object upon
the waters approaching him from that doubtful and
hostile shore? He sees—but now it disappears. It
is gone! He looks in vain, his whole frame convulsed
and quivering with the emotions of his soul!
Again it rises into view. It disturbs the smooth surface
of the deep. The brightness of the mirror is
shaded by a speck, and that speck grows upon his
sight. He can doubt no longer. It is a boat which
he beholds—it brings with it a savage enemy—the
fierce cannibal of the Caribbean Sea! He drops his
spear and his crossbow—his hand grapples, not his
knife, but his rosary. He falls upon his knees—he
counts the beads with hurried hand and failing memory.
He clutches the agnus Dei—he strains it to
his lips, and with many a broken invocation to some
favorite saint, he hurries away to put himself in
shelter.

His search has fortunately enabled him to find
many places of temporary hiding, such as would

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probably suffice for safety during the stay—which
was evidently brief always—of the savages by whom
the islet was visited. At first, he thought of occupying
a dense piece of copse, which lay at a little distance
in the rear of the elevation in which the cavern
was found. But a doubt whether this would not be
penetrated, in a desultory ramble of the intruders
after fruit, and a curious desire to be in some situation,
which would enable him to watch their proceedings,
led him to abandon this idea. The cave itself
was obviously one of their places of greatest resort.
It was here that their religious rites were performed.
The islet itself was unemployed. It was a place set
apart and sacred to some special and superior purpose.
The vaulted chamber was the place of their
mysteries. He determined that it should be the place
of his concealment. He had sought out all its secret
places. He had seen that certain of their remains—
their shreds of hair—their baskets of shell—their
broken arrows—had been undisturbed for a long season;
and behind these, in convenient fissures of the
rock, which were wholly unlighted by the day, he
prepared to bestow himself. The suggestions of the
naturally timid person, under a consciousness of approaching
danger, are usually prompt enough. Lopez
de Levya hurried to execute the plan he had conceived.
He entered the cave, ere yet the strangers could behold
any movement on the shore. His provisions—a
supply for several days, at least, had been already
transferred to the safe-keeping of the vaulted apartment.
These were all disposed of, conveniently to

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his reach, in the crevice of the rock in which his
own person was to find security. And, all prepared,
he planted himself within the mouth of the cave,
anxiously looking forth—yet not so as to be seen—
for the unknown object of his apprehension.