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336 us. The Jarocho seized the oars and began rowing vigorously. Not a sound was heard but the dip of the oar in the water. Had our enemies retreated, or were they waiting for us at the narrow reach we must unavoidably pass? We could not escape the fate that seemed to be awaiting us. We were soon in the dangerous pass. The trunk of a guaiacum or cedar hanging over the water the noise of the wind in their branches—an iguana leaving its bed of dry leaves—a squirrel frightened by the working of the oars—the slightest sound, or the least object that we saw, all kept our minds on the rack, and our hands on our arms. We stopped at short intervals, after which Calros resumed his oars with new ardor.

We reached at last a spot where the vegetation was not so abundant, and one of the banks was destitute of wood. We landed there. A rapid survey convinced us that this was not the place for an ambuscade. We decided to remain a short time to rest our selves, and we should afterward consider whether to continue our journey by land or water. The sun was just beginning to make his appearance. What was our surprise, when, as we were about to throw our selves upon the ground, we heard a voice calling to us! The voice was that of our late companion Ventura. We thought at first that we were laboring under a hallucination; but in a short time we could no longer doubt about the resurrection of our brave friend, who appeared on the opposite bank, waving his hand to invite us to carry him across. To cross the stream was with Calros the work of an instant.

"And by what miracle are you still in this world?" I asked of Ventura. "The cry of agony you uttered still rings in my ears."