vessels on shore. They would light false beacons; and strive in every
way to delude the devoted bark to its destruction.

The village of Montreaux was almost wholly inhabited by men, who made
wrecking their profession. It was a collection of miserable huts,
built principally out of the broken materials of the various vessels
driven on shore; and ostensibly inhabited by fishermen, who, however,
rarely resorted to the deep, except when a long continuance of fine
weather rendered their usual avocation less prosperous than usual.
They consisted in all of about thirty families, wreckers, for the most
part, from father to son, and even from mother to daughter--for women
joined freely in the atrocious trade. Atrocious indeed! for murder
necessarily accompanied pillage, and it rarely happened that many of
the crew and passengers of the unfortunate vessels escaped alive.
Bodies were indeed found along the shore; but even if they exhibited
the marks of blows, the sea and the rocks got the credit of the deed.

The interior of the huts of the hamlet presented a motley appearance.
Their denizens were usually clothed in all kinds of costume--from the
peculiar garments of Englishmen, to the turbans, shawls, and
petticoats of Lascars, Malays, and others. Cases of spirits, chests of
tools, barrels of flour, piles of hams, cheeses, curious arms,
spy-glasses, compasses, &c. were thrust into coffers and corners;
while all the villagers were in the habit of spending money that
certainly was not coined in France. The state of the good people of
Montreaux was one of splendid misery; for, with all their ill-gotten
wealth, their improvidence and carelessness was such, that they often
wanted necessaries--so true is it that ill-got money is never
well-spent money. A month of fine weather would almost reduce them to
starvation, forcing them to sell to disadvantage whatever they still
possessed.

This was not, however, the case with every one of them. A man dwelt
among them, and had done so for many years, who seemed a little wiser
and more careful than the rest of the 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,