“Now, Jubal, to think of ourselves. Soon we shall have fairly tried our experiment. A few days must exhaust our provisions. The surges roll on the one hand; on the other we have the rock.” “But we shall die at least in pomp,” said Jubal. “No king of Asia will lie in a nobler vault, nor even have sincerer rejoicings at his end; the crows and vultures are no hypocrites.” The dead man’s turban had fallen off in his last violence, and I perceived the corner of a letter in its folds. I read it; its intelligence startled me. It was from the commandant of the Roman fleet on the coast mentioning that a squadron was in readiness to “attack the pirates in their cavern.” A heavy sound, as if something of immense weight had rushed into the entrance of the arch, followed by many voices, stopped our conversation. “The Romans have come,” said I, “and now you will be indulged with your wish—our lives are forfeited—for never will I go back to the dungeon.” [Sidenote: The Arrival of Pirates] “I hear no sound but that of laughter,” said Jubal, listening; “those invaders are the merriest of cutthroats. But before we give ourselves actually into their hands, let us see of what they are made.” We left the chamber and returned to the recess from which we had originally emerged. It commanded a view of the chief avenues of the cavern; and while I secured the door, Jubal mounted the wall, and reconnoitered the enemy through a fissure. “These are no Romans,” whispered he, “but a set of the most jovial fellows that ever robbed on the seas. They have clearly been driven in by the storm, and are now preparing to feast. Their voyage has been lucky, if I am to judge by the bales that they are hauling in; and if wine can do it, they will be in an hour or two drunk to the last man.” “Then we can take advantage of their sleep, let loose one of their boats, and away,” said I. [Sidenote: Plunderers] I mounted to see this pirate festivity. In the various vistas of the huge cavern groups of bold-faced and athletic men were gathering, all busy with the work of the time; some piling fires against the walls and preparing provisions; some stripping off their wet garments and bringing others out of heaps of every kind and color, in the recesses of the rock; some wiping the spray from rusty helmets and corselets. The vaults rang with songs, boisterous laughter, the rattling of armor, and the creaking and rolling of chests of plunder. The dashing of the sea under the gale filled up this animated dissonance; and at intervals the thunder, bursting directly above our heads, mingled with all and overpowered all. CHAPTER XXXVII _A Pirate Band_ [Sidenote: A Pirate Feast]