ere only were the waves in motion, as if
pressed by some subaqueous and invisible power; for beyond, scarcely a
breath stirred the sleeping sea. It lay smooth and silent, while a
satellite sky seemed caved out in its azure depths.

On the south, a hundred ships were in the deep roadstead, a cable's
length from each other--their hulls, spars, and rigging magnified to
gigantic proportions under the deceptive and tremulous moonbeam. They
were motionless as if the sea had been frozen around them into a solid
crystal. Their flags drooped listlessly down, trailing along the masts,
or warped and twined around the halyards.

Up against the easy ascent extended the long rows of white tents,
shining under the silvery moonbeam like pyramids of snow. In one a
light was still gleaming through the canvas, where, perchance, some
soldier sat up, wearily wiping his gun, or burnishing the brasses upon
his belts.

Now and then dark forms--human and uniformed--passed to and fro from
tent to tent, each returning from a visit to some regimental comrade.
At equal distances round the camp others stood upright and motionless,
the gleam of the musket showing the sentry on his silent post.

The plunge of an oar, as some boat was rowed out among the anchored
ships--the ripple of the light breaker--at intervals the hail of a
sentinel, "Who goes there?"--the low parley that followed--the chirp of
the cicada in the dark jungle--or the scream of the sea-bird, scared by
some submarine enemy from its watery rest--were the only sounds that
disturbed the deep stillness of the night.

I continued my walk along the beach until I had reached that point of
the island directly opposite to the mainland of Mexico. Here the
chaparral grew thick and tangled, running down to the water's edge,
where it ended in a clump of mangroves. As no troops were encamped
here, the islet had not been cleared at this point, and the jungle was
dark and solitary.

The moon was now going down, and straggling shadows began to fall upon
the water.

Certainly some one skulked into the bushes!--a rustling in the leaves--
yes! some fellow who has strayed beyond the line of sentries and is
afraid to return to camp. Ha! a boat! a skiff it is--a net and buoys!
As I live, 'tis a Mexican craft!--who can have brought it here? Some
fisherman from the coast of Tuspan. No, he would not venture; it must
be--

A strange suspicion flashed across my mind, and I rushed through the