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320 of drifting sand, I now and then had a glimpse of the town that I repented of having left. At regular intervals, the light-house of San Juan de Ulloa blazed up in all the beauty of its revolving light, sometimes gleaming on Vera Cruz shrouded in darkness, and then on the roadstead white with foam. For a moment I discerned the ships at their anchors pitching up and down on the broken swell, and almost driving on each other. The light soon turned, and all was dark. It was scarcely the season for a nocturnal excursion. I advanced, however, with a resolution that deserved some credit, and had already approached the wood at the extremity of which lies the village of Bocca del Rio, when I fancied I distinguished a cavalier somewhat in advance of me. I hastened toward him. Enveloped in a large blue cloak, he seemed at a distance like a Franciscan. The noise of the tempest was so loud and overpowering that I was by his side before he perceived me. I then saw he was not a monk, but a peasant of the coast, whose bayeta I had taken for a frock. With his hand upon his eyes to guard them from the dazzling glare of the lightning, the horseman rode on, casting keen glances toward one side, as if seeking to pierce the dark veil which hung over the ocean; but nothing could be seen but the white crest of the waves lashed into fury by the violence of the storm. I shouted to the stranger with all the force of my lungs, but the violence of the wind hindered my words from reaching him. All at once a loud report was heard in the distance. At the sound, as if it had been a signal he had been ardently expecting, the cavalier put spurs to his horse, and galloped off in the