He thought he distinguished a multitude of
barques and canoes furrowing the surface of the waters; not far from
Swordfish Beach, the flotilla enters a little cove running up into the
mountains.
He no longer sees any thing; but he hears a frightful tumult of
discordant cries.
There is no room for doubt! some Indian tribes, pursued perhaps by new
conquerors from Europe, have just disembarked on the shore. Wo to him!
he can hope from them neither pity nor mercy. A cold sweat bathes his
forehead; he runs to his grotto, takes his gun, puts in his goatskin
pouch some horns of powder and shot, a piece of smoked meat, not
forgetting his Bible! and passes the night wandering in the woods, in
the mountains, a prey to a thousand terrors; hearing without cessation
the steps of pursuers behind him, and seeing fiery eyes glaring at him
through the thickets.
At day-break, with a thousand precautions, he returns to his grotto.
He finds the beach covered with seals.
These were the enemies whose invasion had so alarmed him.
It is now the middle of the month of February, the period of the
greatest tropical heats, and these amphibia, having left the shores of
Chili or Peru, are accomplishing one of their periodical migrations.
They have just taken possession of the island, one of their accustomed
stations.
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