The day, as it advanced, threatened to be very stormy.  The clouds came driving across the sky, and a gale began to blow, such as is rarely seen in those latitudes.  It gave us rest, however, for the natives are not fond of venturing out in such weather, and we had less fear of being attacked.  During the night we were aroused by hearing a gun fired.  We peered out seaward through the darkness; another gun was heard, and a flash was seen.  It was evidently from a vessel in distress.  It was just before daybreak.  The dawn came and revealed to us a schooner, with all her canvas gone, drifting towards the breakers, which rolled in with terrific power, a quarter of a mile from the shore.  We gazed at the vessel; we all knew her at a glance, even through the gloom.  She was the pirate schooner.  On she drove.  In another instant she was among the foaming breakers.  Her time had come at last.  We could hear the shrieks and despairing cries of the wretched men on board.  She struck very near the spot where the whaler had been lost.  Over the reef she drove.  We could see the people one after the other washed overboard, and engulfed by the foaming waters.  To help them would have been impossible, even had we not had to consider our own safety.  At last one man appeared in the clear water inside the breakers.  He seemed to be swimming, though he advanced but slowly, and we saw that he was lashed to a piece of timber.  At last he drifted on shore.