It was really a terrible night.  It was pitchy dark:  not a star, nor one glimpse of the pale moon could be distinguished.  The wind howled among the rocks, and cast the spray up with violence against the cliffs, which, however, in front of the gorge, gave way to a low sandy beach, forming the usual scene of the wreckers’ operations.  A current rushed into this narrow bight, and brought on shore numerous spars, boxes, and boats—­all things welcome to these lawless men.

‘A prize!’ cried the look-out suddenly.  ’A tall Indiaman is not more than a mile off shore.  She is making desperate efforts to clear the point, but she won’t do it.  She is ours, lads!’

‘Give me the glass!’ exclaimed Pierre rising.  The other gave him the telescope.  ‘Faith, a splendid brig!’ said the patriarch with a sinister smile—­’the finest windfall we have had for many a season.  Jean, you must out with the cow, or perhaps it may escape us.’

The cow was an abominable invention which Pierre had taught his comrades.  A cow was tied to a stake, and a huge ship’s lantern fastened to its horns.  This the animal tossed about in the hope of disengaging himself, and in so doing presented the appearance of a ship riding at anchor—­all that could be seen on such nights being the moving light.  By this means had many a ship been lured to destruction, in the vain hope of finding a safe anchoring-ground.  The cow, which was always ready, was brought out, and the trick resorted to, after which the wreckers waited patiently for the result.

The Indiaman was evidently coming on shore, and all the efforts of her gallant crew seemed powerless to save her.  Her almost naked masts, and her dark hull, with a couple of lanterns, could now plainly be distinguished as she rose and fell on the waters.  Suddenly she seemed to become motionless, though quivering in every fibre, and then a huge wave washed clean over her decks.

‘She has struck on the Mistral Rock,’ said Pierre.  ’Good! she will be in pieces in an hour, and every atom will come on shore!’

‘They are putting out the boats,’ observed Jean.

The wreckers clutched their weapons.  If the crew landed in safety, their hopes were gone.  But no crew had for many years landed in safety on that part of the coast:  by some mysterious fatality, they had always perished.

Presently, three boats were observed pulling for the shore, and coming towards the sandy beach at the mouth of the gorge.  They were evidently crammed full of people, and pulling all for one point.  The boats approached:  they were within fifty yards of the shore, and pulling still abreast.  They had entered the narrow gut of water leading to the gorge, and were already out of reach of the huge waves, which a minute before threatened to submerge them.  The wreckers extinguished the lantern on the cow’s horn.  There was no chance of the boats being able to put back to sea.

Suddenly a figure pushed through the crowd, and approached the fire near which Pierre Sandeau stood.  It appeared to be one of the wreckers; but the voice, that almost whispered in the old man’s ear, made him start.