separates from the side, with prow
turned shoreward.

The barque, with her sails still spread, is left to herself, and the
breeze, which wafts her gently away towards the wide wilderness of
ocean.

Proceeding cautiously, guarding against the rattle of an oar in its
rowlock, the pirates run their boat through the breakers, and approach
the shore. Right ahead are the two summits, with the moon just going
down behind; and between is a cove of horseshoe shape, the cliffs
extending around it.

With a few more strokes the boat is brought into it and glides on to its
innermost end.

As the keel grates upon the shingly strand, their ears are saluted by a
chorus of cries--the alarm signal of seabirds, startled by the
intrusion; among them the scream of the harpy eagle, resembling the
laugh of a maniac.

These sounds, despite their discordance, are sweet to those now hearing
them. They tell of a shore uninhabited--literally, that the "coast is
clear"--just as they wish it.

Beaching the boat, they bound on shore, and lift their captives out;
then the spoils--one unresisting as the other.

Some go in search of a place where they may pass the night; for it is
too late to think of proceeding inland.

Between the strand and the cliff's base, these discover a beach, several
feet above sea-level, having an area of over an acre, covered with
coarse grass, just the spot for a camping-place.

As the sky has become clouded, and threatens a downpour of rain, they
carry thither the boat's sail, intending to rig it up as an awning.

But a discovery is made which spares them the trouble. Along its base
the cliff is honeycombed with caves, one of ample dimensions, sufficient
to shelter the whole crew. A ship's lamp, which they have brought with
them, when lighted throws its glare upon stalactites, that sparkle like
the pendants of chandeliers.

Disposing themselves in various attitudes, some reclined on their spread
pilot-coats, some seated on stones or canvas bags, they enter upon a
debauch with the wines abstracted from the stores of the abandoned
barque--drinking, talking, singing, shouting, and swearing, till the
cavern rings with their hellish revelry. It is well their captives are
not compelled to take part in, or listen to, it. To them has been
appropriated one of the smaller grottoes, the boat-sail fixed in front
securing them privacy. Harry Blew has done this. In the breast of the
British man-o'-war's man there i