I drew my knife, and passed it along a stone to assure its edge; but I did so with such carelessness or agitation that it shivered to the hilt. Thus deprived of the sole weapon that I could rely upon for my revenge, I felt that I had not an instant to lose. I ran in all haste to the beach, and unmoored a boat that lay alongside. My rage renewed my energies: I crossed the strait, rushed to my hut, procured another knife, and again set out to Espiritu Sante. The gale increased in violence. The sea gleamed like a fiery lake. The gavista's[4] wailing cry re-echoed along the rocks; the sea-wolf's howl was heard amid the darkness. All at once sounds of another kind broke upon my ear: they seemed to proceed from the very bosom of the ocean. I listened; but a sudden squall overpowered the confused murmurings of the waves, and I fancied my senses had deceived me, when, some seconds afterward, the cry was repeated. This time I was not mistaken: the cry I heard was that of a human being in the very extremity of anguish and despair. As the voice proceeded from the direction of the island, I at once conjectured it was Rafael who was calling for help. I looked out, but looked in vain; the obscurity was too thick, and I could distinguish nothing. Suddenly, I again heard the voice exclaim, "Boat ahoy, for God's blessed sake!" It was Rafael's voice. 'Tis all very well to have sworn to do your enemy to death, to wreak your just revenge on him who has so bitterly aggrieved you; yet when, on a night murky and dark as that his tones arise from forth a sea swarming with monsters, and when those tones are uttered by a fearless man, and, albeit, wrestling in mortal peril, there is in that cry of last anguish somewhat that strikes awe to the very soul. I could not repress a shudder.