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Rh  of the woods of Bocca del Rio. He was soon lost to view among the trees, and my only care was, in the midst of the lianas and underwood, to keep the straight path which led to the houses. I had reason to hope that, once among the trees and sheltered from the fury of the wind, I could follow the road with ease. As soon as I entered the wood, the noise of the waves gradually died away. I rode almost an hour beneath this leafy vault in complete darkness, and it was not without regret that I again perceived, by a flash of lightning, a long line of foaming breakers. I soon arrived at Bocca del Rio, so called from its situation at the mouth of the river; but, on issuing from the wood, an interesting spectacle met my view, which decided me to make a short halt.



The Wreckers.—Narrow Escape of Ventura.

spite of the violence of the tempest, the whole population of Bocca del Rio were assembled on the beach, and all eyes were fixed on the boiling sheet of foam, whose phosphorescent light contrasted strongly with the deep black of the heavens above. Not a sail was in sight. The distant boom of a gun, however, signaled that a ship was in distress, and that a pilot was required. In such a night as this, it was evident that nothing short of a miracle could save the luckless vessel from being dashed to pieces. Still, as another gun had not been heard, it was hoped that the ship exposed to the tempest had weathered the danger. Besides, a pilot who had left that morning before the 