‘It’s under yonder head,’ was the reply of the Italian, as the party moved forward. ‘But, deuce take it,’ said Blodget, ‘we shall perish of cold and hunger before morning. I’ve got a touch of the ‘chills’ already.’ ‘As to the cold, the beach is strewn with drift wood, and we can soon have a fire,’ said Maretzo. ‘But is the beach strewn with provisions?’ asked Blodget. ‘I have provisions for a month in the cave,’ said Maretzo. ‘Come, come, old hoss,—none of that Robinson Crusoe gammon. It’s bad fooling with a hungry man.’ ‘I’ll explain to you. During the last great fire, I happened to be near the end of Long Wharf. A lighter full of goods had just been made fast. All the hands rushed up the wharf, probably to assist in putting out the fire. They hadn’t stopped even to lower the sail of their boat. The temptation was too strong. I leaped on board, set the sail, and was flying before a stiff breeze right for this cove, where I beached her. Her cargo, instead of rich goods, as I had hoped, proved to be provisions of different kinds, packed in tins. These I carried to the cave. That night it blew hard, and the lighter went to pieces. But, here we are at our journey’s end.’ So saying, Maretzo, again taking the lead, went boldly in among the breakers.—Blodget followed, leading the horse of the young man, and the remainder of the party brought up the rear. For a few moments, they proceeded on; now turning to the right hand, now to the left, to avoid some vast rock that blocked their way, or to escape falling into some hole in the bottom. The water meanwhile was at times so deep that the horses barely kept their footing, and their riders found great difficulty in making them proceed amid the dashing breakers and the horrid din. Maretzo, at length, turned sharply to the left, and the next moment the whole party were in utter darkness, in a vast cave, through which they could hear the wind soughing and the roar of the sea reverberating. ‘Stand fast, where you are, till I get a light,’ said Maretzo, and dismounting, he groped about until his hand rested upon a box of candles, part of the cargo of the lighter. Half a dozen of them were soon burning, and by their glimmer the party fastened their jaded horses. Monteagle was released from his Mazeppa-like bonds, and placed on the floor of the cave, more dead than alive from the cruel way in which he had been tortured and afterwards lashed to the horse. A roaring fire was soon kindled, and by its lurid flames the party could see the vast size of the cavern. Maretzo pointed out where the provisions were stowed, and each man bountifully helped himself, and then they all assembled around the blazing fire. One of the gang less unfeeling than the others, gave Monteagle a biscuit, and a drink out of his flask, which tended to relieve him somewhat.