Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 429 | Page 5

community. His name was
Pierre Sandeau. He was not a native of the place; but had long been
established among them, and had at once shewn himself a worthy
brother. He was pitiless, selfish, and cold. Less fiery than his fellows,
he had an amount of caution, which made them feel his value; and a
ready wit, which often helped them out of difficulties. His influence
was soon felt, and he became a kind of chief. He was at last recognised
as the head of the village, and the leader in all marauding expeditions.
But the great source of his power was his foresight. He had always
either money or provisions at hand, and was always ready to help one
of his companions--for a consideration. In times of distress, he bought
up all the stock on hand, and even sold on credit. In course of time, he
had become rich, had a better house than the rest, and could, if he liked,
have retired from business. But he seemed chained to his trade, and
never gave any sign of abandoning his disgraceful occupation.
One day, however, he left Montreaux, and stayed away nearly a
fortnight. When he came back, he was not alone: he was accompanied
by a young and lovely girl--one of those energetic but sweet creatures,
whose influence would be supreme with a good man. Madeleine
Sandeau was eighteen--tall, well-proportioned, and exceedingly

handsome; she was, moreover, educated. Her father had taken her from
school, to bring her to his house, which, though so different from what
she was used to, she presided over at once with ease and nature. Great
was the horror of the young girl when she found out the character of the
people around her. She remonstrated freely with her father as to the
dreadful nature of his life; but the old man was cold and inexorable. 'He
had brought her there to preside over his solitary house,' he said, 'and
not to lecture him:' and Madeleine was forced to be silent.
She saw at once the utter futility of any attempt to civilise or humanise
the degraded beings she associated with; and so she took to the children.
With great difficulty, she formed a school, and made it her daily labour
to instil not only words, but ideas and principles, into the minds of the
young, unfledged wreckers. She gained the goodwill of the elders, by
nursing both young and old during their hours of sickness, as well as by
a slight knowledge of medicine, which she had picked up in a way she
never explained, but which always made her silent and sad when she
thought of it.
When a black and gloomy night came round, and the whole village was
on foot, then Madeleine locked herself in her room, knelt down, and
remained in prayer. Now and then she would creep to the window, look
out, and interrogate the gloom. She never came forth to greet her father
on his return from these expeditions. Her heart revolted even against
seeing her parent under such circumstances, and towards morning she
went to bed--rarely, however, to sleep.
On one occasion, after a cold and bitter day, the evening came on
suddenly. Black clouds covered the horizon as with a funeral pall; the
wind began to howl round the hamlet with fearful violence; and
Madeleine shuddered, for she knew what was to be expected that night.
Scarcely had the gale commenced, when Pierre rose, put on a thick
pea-jacket and a sou'-wester, armed himself, and swallowing a glass of
brandy, went out. He was the last to leave the village; all the rest had
preceded him. He found them encamped in a narrow gorge, round a
huge fire, carefully concealed behind some rocks. It was a cold, windy,
wet night; but the wreckers cared not, for the wind blew dead on shore,

and gave rich promise of reward for whatever they might endure.
A man lay on the look-out at the mouth of the gorge under a tarpaulin.
He had a night-glass in his hand, with which he swept the dark horizon,
for some time in vain. But the wind was too good to fail them, and the
wreckers had patience.
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