With this sort of thing Saul had no concern. He knew that his comrades must be gratified in their thirst for plunder, but his work had been accomplished when the great vessel struck without hope of succour. As the larger boat could not approach too nearly to the wreck, all the men had gone off in the smaller one, and were to bring to him from time to time such valuables as they could find and secure. Twice already had this been done, and the men reported that there was more still to come, and that they might make a second journey to the wreck perhaps, if she would only hold together whilst both the laden boats put ashore and came out again empty. His comrades were daring and skilful, and ran less risk than they appeared to do in thus treading the decks of the vessel. She had lodged now, and though still swept by heavy seas, was not tossed about as she had been at first. The tide was falling and had landed her fast upon a serrated ledge of rock. Unless she broke up, she would lie there till the next tide dashed her off again and sucked her into the quicksand. But as the water fell, more and more booty became accessible. The greed in the men’s hearts rose with what they found. They told themselves that this night’s work would make them rich for life. But Saul would not leave the spot. A curious fascination held him rooted to it. When the boats were filled and the men insisted on going, he said he would get upon the wreck and await their return there. The wind was abating. The sea was running less high. It was clear to experienced eyes that for some hours at least the vessel would lie where she was, and that there would be no great peril in remaining on her. Saul was not a man easy to thwart or contradict. His comrades raised no objection to what he proposed. It was his affair, not theirs, and they helped him to a station on the deck and left him. They left a light with him--it would serve them as a beacon in returning. Saul sat where he had been placed and watched them row away, their light growing fainter and fainter over the great crested waves. He sat alone upon the shivering, heaving wreck, pondering on the night’s work, and on all he had seen and done. He pictured the scene that these decks must have witnessed but one short hour ago, and thought of all the dead men--and fair women, perhaps--lying drowned and dead in the cabins beneath his feet. A savage light came into his eyes. A wild triumphant laugh rang out in the silence and the darkness. He thought for a moment of trying to get below and looking upon the dead faces of his foes--men and women he had hated for no other cause than that they lived in a world that was for him a place of evil and oppression, and deserved to die for the tyranny and oppression of the race they represented to his disordered imagination.