For three days more I was doomed to solitude. On the fourth, the boats came back, with the pilot's cutter, and I quickly saw that a serious encounter had taken place. The pilot-boat appeared to be deeply laden. Next day, she was taken to the mazes of the winding and wooded creek, where, I learned, the booty was disembarked and hidden. While the party had gone to complete this portion of their enterprise, the Frenchman, who was wounded in the head and remained behind, took that opportunity to enlighten me on passing events. When the wreckers reached Cayo Verde, they found the French vessel already taken possession of by "fishermen" of that quarter. Anticipated in their dirty work, our comrades were in no mood to be sociable with the fortunate party. An affray was the natural result, in which knives had been freely used, while Mesclet himself had been rescued by Rafael, pistol in hand, after receiving the violent blow on his head from which he was now suffering. Having secured a retreat to their boats, they were just beginning to think of a rapid departure, when the friendly pilot-boat hove in sight. So fortunate a reinforcement renerved our gang. A plan of united action was quickly concerted. The French vessel was again hoarded and carried. Two of the opposite party were slain in the onslaught; and, finally, a rich remnant of the cargo was seized, though the greater part of the valuables had, no doubt, been previously dispatched ashore by the earlier band of desperadoes. "Thank God!" added the narrator, "we have now the boat and the assistance of Bachicha, who is as brave as Rafael: with his '_Baltimore clipper_,' we shall conduct our affairs on a grander scale than heretofore. _Sacre-bleu!_ we may now cruise under the Columbian flag, and rob Peter to pay Paul!" In fact, the "clipper" had brought down an ample store of ammunition, under the innocent name of "provisions," while she carried in her bowels a long six, which she was ready to mount amidships at a moment's notice. But poor Mesclet did not live to enjoy the fruits of the larger piracy, which he hoped to carry on in a more elegant way with Bachicha. The _roue_ could not be restrained from the favorite beverages of his beautiful France. His wound soon mastered him; and, in a month, all that was mortal of this gallant Gaul, who, in earlier years, had figured in the best saloons of his country, rested among sand-graves of a Cuban key. "Ah!" growled Gallego, as they came home from his burial, "there is one less to share our earnings; and, what is better, claret and brandy will be more plentiful now that this sponge is under the sand!" * * * * *