The expedition then made for the island of St. Marguerite, which was made the depôt, but more correctly speaking, the grave of the European troops. Landed at St. Marguerite, the anticipation of wealth and glory vanished, and the truth presented itself. Owing to the state of starvation, the badness of the food, and the unwholesomeness of the climate, the men, one after the other, sunk into the grave. Langan, with a constitution unbroken, defied all the horrors by which he was surrounded, and never enjoyed a better state of health. He was always foremost in giving assistance to his sick comrades, and never complained of being unwell for a single day. To describe the sufferings of this wretched, ill-fated band, is impossible; the officers did not experience any kinder treatment than the men. It was nothing uncommon to meet with superior officers, with scarcely any covering upon their backs, ragged as beggars, an old blanket thrown across their emaciated frames, with holes made to admit their head and arms. The proverb says that “hunger will force its way through stone walls.” Langan, who had been without food for a considerable time, in company with Captain Collins and Major Brian, were compelled to compromise their feelings, and went seven miles up the country one night to pay their respects to an inviting pig. The residence of this four-footed beauty had been marked down in the course of the day, and the spot was soon recognised in the dark. Our hero, who did not want for science in flooring an opponent, was quite at a loss to quiet a pig: coaxing proved fruitless, and the pig made so much noise that its owner was instantly alarmed for the safety of his inmate, and a party sallied out well armed to shoot the abductors. Langan, at this juncture, had got hold of the pig’s leg by way of a parley; but his companions catching a glimpse of the farmers, who were approaching in battle array, and being unarmed, made their escape. Running away from the scene of action was so contrary to the feelings of our hero, that he hesitated for a moment whether he should show fight or bolt; but ten to one being rather too much odds for Jack, he plunged into the nearest thicket and laid himself down. In this situation he waited their approach, and heard his pursuers thrust their rifles, with a sword affixed to the end, into every bush and thicket which they supposed able to conceal a man. When Langan’s pursuers approached the place where he had hid himself, they thrust the rifle, with the sword, into the thicket several times without doing him the slightest injury; but the last push wounded Langan in the leg. His game was put to the test. To cry out would have cost him his life; silence, therefore, was his only security. The armed band now retired, concluding the borrowers of the pigs had made good their retreat. When the coast was clear, Langan hobbled from his place of concealment, and joined his companions in safety.