was
shining brightly from a cloudless sky, and his vision swept the ocean
far beyond the dangerous reefs which formed a natural guard about the
island. There he saw a sight calculated to startle him. A large Spanish
galleon was coming directly toward the island, pursued by a vessel which
from the first he surmised to be a pirate. Even as he looked, he saw the
flash of a gun and imagined he could hear the crash of the iron ball
striking into the side of the fugitive ship. He heard the cry of dread
from the poor wretches on board, as the pirate drew nearer. On the
still evening air came wild shouts of the buccaneers as they fired shot
after shot at the prize.

John Stevens was greatly excited. Here was an opportunity to escape or
be slain, either preferable to living on this terrible island alone.

The Spanish galleon was being driven directly through the only gap in
the reefs to the island. Like a bird chased by a vulture she sought any
shelter. She returned the fire as well as she could; but was no match
for the well-equipped and daring pirate.

John's whole sympathies were with the unfortunate Spaniards. Their
vessel evidently drew considerable water, for entering the gap in the
reef, the tide being low, it stranded. The pirate, being much lighter
draft, came nearer and poured in her volleys thick and fast. They were
so near to the headland that John Stevens, a spellbound spectator, heard
the iron balls and shot tearing into her timbers. With his glass he
could even see her deck strewn with dead and dying.

The foremast of the galleon was cut through and fell, and the ship's
rudder was shot away. The Spaniards, evidently bewildered, lowered
boats, abandoned the galleon and pulled toward a rocky promontory two
miles to the south.

Their enemies saw them and, manning boats, headed them off, killing or
capturing every one. The captured men were taken aboard the
victorious ship.

While these startling scenes were being enacted, a great change had come
over the sky. The tide began to rise and floated the galleon clear of
the sand, and it drifted into the little bay not a mile from John's
house. The sky was obscured with clouds and one of those tropical
hurricanes called squalls swept over the island and sea. It struck the
pirate broadside, and John Stevens last saw the vessel amid a mountain
of waves and spray struggling to right itself. It probably went down, as
he never saw or heard of it more.

For hours the am