The Wing-and-Wing by J. Fenimore Cooper (page 2)

that very account, and so fall into the notion you worship him, which would be idolatry, the awfullest of all sins, and the one to which every ra’al Christian gives the widest bairth. I would rather worship this flask of wine any day, than worship the best saint on your parsons’ books.”

As Filippo was no casuist, but merely a believer, and Ithuel applied the end of the flask to his mouth, at that moment, from an old habit of drinking out of jugs and bottles, the Genoese made no answer; keeping his eyes on the flask, which, by the length of time it remained at the other’s mouth, appeared to be in great danger of being exhausted; a matter of some moment to one of his own relish for the liquor.

“Do you call _this_ wine!” exclaimed Ithuel, when he stopped literally to take breath; “there isn’t as much true granite in a gallon on’t as in a pint of our cider. I could swallow a butt, and then walk a plank as narrow as your religion, Philip-o!”

This was said, nevertheless, with a look of happiness which proved how much the inward man was consoled by what it had received, and a richness of expression about the handsome mouth, that denoted a sort of consciousness that it had been the channel of a most agreeable communication to the stomach. Sooth to say, Benedetta had brought up a flask at a paul, or at about four cents a bottle; a flask of the very quality which she had put before the vice-governatore; and this was a liquor that flowed so smoothly over the palate, and of a quality so really delicate, that Ithuel was by no means aware of the potency of the guest which he had admitted to his interior.

All this time the vice-governatore was making up his mind concerning the nation and character of the stranger. That he should mistake Bolt for an Englishman was natural enough, and the fact had an influence in again unsettling his opinion as to the real flag under which the lugger sailed, Like most Italians of that day, he regarded all the families of the northern hordes as a species of barbarians–an opinion that the air and deportment of Ithuel had no direct agency in changing; for, while this singular being was not brawlingly rude and vulgar, like the coarser set of his own countrymen, with whom he had occasionally been brought in contact, he was so manifestly uncivilized in many material points, as to put his claim to gentility much beyond a cavil, and that in a negative way.

“You are a Genoese?” said Andrea to Filippo, speaking with the authority of one who had a right to question.

“Signore, I am, at your eccellenza’s orders, though in foreign service at this present moment.”

“In what service, friend? I am in authority, here in Elba, and ask no more than is my duty.”

“Eccellenza, I can well believe this,” answered Filippo, rising and making a respectful salutation, and one, too, that was without any of the awkwardness of the same act in a more northern man, “as it is to be seen in your appearance. I am now in the service of the king of England.”

Filippo said this steadily, though his eyes dropped to the floor under the searching scrutiny they endured. The answer of the vice-governatore was delivered coolly, though it was much to the point.

“You are happy,” he said, “in getting so honorable masters; more especially as your own country has again fallen into the hands of the French. Every Italian heart must yearn for a government that has its existence and its motives on this side of the Alps.”

“Signore, we are a republic to-day, and ever have been, you know.”

“Aye–such as it is. But your companion speaks no Italian–he is an Inglese?”

“No, Signore–an Americano; a sort of an Inglese, and yet no Inglese, after all. He loves England very little, if I can judge by his discourse.”

“Un’ Americano!” repeated Andrea Barrofaldi; “Americano!” exclaimed Vito Viti; “Americano!” said each of the marines in succession, every eye turning with lively curiosity toward the subject of the discourse, who bore it all with appropriate steadiness and dignity. The reader is not to be surprised that an American was then regarded with curiosity, in a country like Italy; for, two years later, when an American ship of war anchored suddenly before the town of Constantinople, and announced her nation, the authorities of the Sublime Porte were ignorant that such a country existed. It is true, Leghorn was beginning to be much frequented by American ships, in the year 1799; but even with these evidences before their eyes, the people of the very ports into which these traders entered were accustomed to consider their crews a species of Englishmen, who managed to sail the vessels for the negroes at home[3]. In a word, two centuries and a half of national existence, and more than half a century of national independence, have not yet sufficed to teach all the inhabitants of the old world, that the great modern Republic is peopled by men of a European origin, and possessing white skins. Even of those who are aware of the fact, the larger proportion, perhaps, have obtained their information through works of a light character, similar to this of our own, rather than by the more legitimate course of regular study and a knowledge of history.

[3] As recently as 1828, the author of this book was at Leghorn. The Delaware, so, had just left there; and speaking of her appearance to a native of the place, who supposed the writer to be an Englishman, the latter observed: “Of course, her people were all blacks.” “I thought so, too, signore, until I went on board the ship,” was the answer; “but they are as white as you and I are.”

“Si” repeated Ithuel, with emphasis, as soon as he heard his nationality thus alluded to, and found all eyes on himself–“Si, oon Americano–I’m not ashamed of my country; and if you’re any way partic’lar in such matters, I come from New Hampshire–or, what we call the Granite state. Tell ’em this, Philip-o, and let me know their idees, in answer.”

Filippo translated this speech as well as he could, as he did the reply; and it may as well be stated here, once for all, that in the dialogue which succeeded, the instrumentality of this interpreter was necessary that the parties might understand each other. The reader will, therefore, give Filippo credit for this arrangement, although we shall furnish the different speeches very much as if the parties fully comprehended what was said.

“_Uno stato di granito_!” repeated the vice-governatore, looking at the podesta with some doubt in the expression of his countenance–“it must be a painful existence which these poor people endure, to toil for their food in such a region. Ask him, good Filippo, if they have any wine in his part of the world.”

“Wine!” echoed Ithuel; “tell the Signore that we shouldn’t call this stuff wine at all. Nothing goes down our throats that doesn’t rasp like a file, and burn like a chip of Vesuvius. I wish, now, we had a drink of New England rum here, in order to show him the difference. I despise the man who thinks all his own things the best, just because they’re his’n; but taste _is_ taste, a’ter all, and there’s no denying it.”

“Perhaps the Signor Americano can give us an insight into the religion of his country–or are the Americani pagans? I do not remember, Vito, to have read anything of the religion of that quarter of the world.”

“Religion too!–well, a question like this, now, would make a stir among our folks in New Hampshire! Look here, Signore; we don’t call your ceremonies, and images, and robes, and ringing of bells, and bowing and scraping, a religion at all; any more than we should call this smooth liquor, wine.”

Ithuel was more under the influence of this “smooth liquor” than he was aware of, or he would not have been so loud in the expression of his dissent; as experience had taught him the necessity of reserve on such subjects, in most Catholic communities. But of all this the Signor Barrofaldi was ignorant, and he made his answer with the severity of a good Catholic, though it was with the temper of a gentleman.

“What the Americano calls our ceremonies, and images, and ringing of bells, are probably not understood by him,” he said; “since a country as little civilized as his own cannot very well comprehend the mysteries of a profound and ancient religion.”

“Civilized! I calculate that it would _stump_ this part of the world to produce such a civilization as our very youngest children are brought up on. But it’s of no use _talking_, and so we will _drink_.”

Andrea perceiving, indeed, that there was not much use in _talking_, more especially as Filippo had been a good deal mystified by the word “_stump_,” was now disposed to abandon the idea of a dissertation on “religion, manners, and laws,” to come at once to the matter that brought him into the present company.

“This Americano is also a servant of the English king, it would seem,” he carelessly remarked; “I remember to have heard that there was a war between his country and that of the Inglesi, in which the French assisted the Americani to obtain a sort of national independence. What that independence is, I do not know; but it is probable that the people of the New World are still obliged to find mariners to serve in the navy of their former masters.”

Ithuel’s muscles twitched, and an expression of intense bitterness darkened his countenance. Then he smiled in a sort of derision, and gave vent to his feelings in words.

“Perhaps you’re right, Signore; perhaps this is the ra’al truth of the matter; for the British _do_ take our people just the same as if they had the best right in the world to ’em. After all, we _may_ be serving our masters; and all we say and think at home about independence is just a flash in the pan! Notwithstanding, some on us contrive, by hook or by crook, to take our revenge when occasion offers; and if I don’t sarve master John Bull an ill turn, whenever luck throws a chance in my way, may I never see a bit of the old State again–granite or rotten wood.”

This speech was not very closely translated, but enough was said to awaken curiosity in the vice-governatore, who thought it odd one who served among the English should entertain such feelings toward them. As for Ithuel himself, he had not observed his usual caution; but, unknown to himself, the oily wine had more “granite” in it than he imagined, and then he seldom spoke of the abuse of impressment without losing more or less of his ordinary self-command.

“Ask the Americano when he first entered into the service of the king of Inghilterra,” said Andrea, “and why he stays in it, if it is unpleasant to him, when so many opportunities of quitting it offer?”

“I never entered,” returned Ithuel, taking the word in its technical meaning; “they pressed me, as if I had been a dog they wanted to turn a spit, and kept me seven long years fighting their accursed battles, and otherwise sarving their eends. I was over here, last year, at the mouth of the Nile, and in that pretty bit of work–and off Cape St. Vincent, too–and in a dozen more of their battles, and sorely against my will, on every account. This was hard to be borne, but the hardest of it has not yet been said; nor do I know that I shall tell on’t at all.”

“Anything the Americano may think proper to relate will be listened to with pleasure.”

Ithuel was a good deal undecided whether to go on or not; but taking a fresh pull at the flask, it warmed his feelings to the sticking point.

“Why, it was adding insult to injury. It’s bad enough to injure a man, but when it comes to insulting him into the bargain, there must be but little grit in his natur’ if it don’t strike fire.”

“And yet few are wronged who are not calumniated,” observed the philosophical vice-governatore. “This is only too much the case with our Italy, worthy neighbor Vito Viti.”

“I calculate the English treat all mankind alike, whether it’s in Italy or Ameriky,” for so Ithuel would pronounce this word, notwithstanding he had now been cruising in and near the Mediterranean several years; “but what I found hardest to be borne was their running their rigs on me about my language and ways, which they were all the time laughing at as Yankee conversation and usages, while they pretended that the body out of which all on it come was an English body, and so they set it up to be shot at, by any of their inimies that might happen to be jogging along our road. Then, squire, it is generally consaited among us in Ameriky, that we speak much the best English a-going; and sure am I, that none on us call a ‘hog’ an ”og,’ an ‘anchor’ a ‘hanchor,’ or a ‘horse’ an ”orse.’ What is thought of that matter in this part of the world, Signor Squire?”

“We are not critics in your language, but it is reasonable to suppose that the English speak their own tongue better than any other people. That much must be conceded to them, at least, Signor Bolto.”

“I shall acknowledge no such advantage as belonging to them. I have not been to school for nothing; not I. The English call c-l-e-r-k, clark; and c-u-c-u-m-b-e-r, cowcumber; and a-n-g-e-l, aingel; and no reasoning can convince me that’s right. I’ve got a string of words of this sort, that they pronounce out of all reason, that’s as long as a pair of leading-lines, or a ship’s tiller-rope. You must know, Signor Squire, I kept school in the early part of my life.”

“_Non e possible_!” exclaimed the vice-governatore, astonishment actually getting the better of his habitual good breeding; “you must mean, Signor Americano, that you gave lessons in the art of rigging and sailing luggers.”

“You never was more mistaken, Signore. I taught on the general system, all sorts of things in the edication way; and had one of my scholars made such a blunder as to say ‘clark,’ or ‘aingel,’ or ‘harth,’ or ‘cowcumber,’ he wouldn’t have heard the last of it, for that week, at least. But I despise an Englishman from the very bottom of my soul; for heart isn’t deep enough for my feelings.”

Absurd as Ithuel’s critical dissertations must appear to all who have any familiarity with real English, they were not greatly below many criticisms on the same subject that often illustrate the ephemeral literature of the country; and, in his last speech, he had made a provincial use of the word “despise,” that is getting to be so common as almost to supplant the true signification. By “despising,” Ithuel meant that he “hated”; the passion, perhaps, of all others, the most removed from the feeling described by the word he had used, inasmuch as it is not easy to elevate those for whom we have a contempt, to the level necessary to be hated.

“Notwithstanding, the Inglese are not a despicable people,” answered Andrea, who was obliged to take the stranger literally, since he knew nothing of his provincial use of terms; “for a nation of the north, they have done marvellous things of late years, especially on the ocean.”

This was more than Ithuel could bear. All his personal wrongs, and sooth to say they had been of a most grievous nature, arose before his mind, incited and inflamed by national dislike; and he broke out into such an incoherent tirade of abuse, as completely set all Filippo’s knowledge of English at fault, rendering a translation impossible. By this time, Ithuel had swallowed so much of the wine, a liquor which had far more body than he supposed, that he was ripe for mischief, and it was only his extreme violence that prevented him from betraying more than, just at the moment, would have been prudent. The vice-governatore listened with attention, in the hope of catching something useful; but it all came to his ears a confused mass of incoherent vituperation, from which he could extract nothing. The scene, consequently, soon became unpleasant, and Andrea Barrofaldi took measures to put an end to it. Watching a favorable occasion to speak, he put in a word, as the excited Bolt paused an instant to take breath.

“Signore,” observed the vice-governatore, “all this may be very true; but as coming from one who serves the Inglese, to one who is the servant of their ally, the Grand Duke of Tuscany, it is quite as extraordinary as it is uncalled for; and we will talk of other things. This lugger, on board which you sail, is out of all question English, notwithstanding what you tell us of the nation.”

“Aye, _she_ is English,” answered Ithuel, with a grim smile, “and a pretty boat she is. But then it is no fault of hers, and what can’t be cured must be endured. A Guernsey craft, and a desperate goer, when she wakes up and puts on her travelling boots.”

“These mariners have a language of their own,” remarked, Andrea to Vito Viti, smiling as in consideration of Ithuel’s nautical habits; “to you and me, the idea of a vessel’s using boots, neighbor, seems ridiculous; but the seamen, in their imaginations, bestow all sorts of objects on them. It is curious to hear them converse, good Vito; and now I am dwelling here on our island, I have often thought of collecting a number of their images, in order to aid in illustrating the sort of literature that belongs to their calling. This idea of a lugger’s putting on her boots is quite heroic.”

Now Vito Viti, though an Italian with so musical a name, was no poet, but a man so very literal, withal, as to render him exceedingly matter of fact in most of his notions. Accordingly, he saw no particular beauty in the idea of a vessel’s wearing boots; and, though much accustomed to defer to the vice-governatore’s superior knowledge and more extensive reading, he had the courage, on this occasion, to put in an objection to the probability of the circumstance mentioned.

“Signor Vice-governatore,” he replied, “all is not gold that glitters. Fine words sometimes cover poor thoughts, and, I take it, this is an instance of what I mean. Long as I have lived in Porto Ferrajo, and that is now quite fifty years, seeing that I was born here, and have been off the island but four times in my life–and long, therefore, as I have lived here, I never saw a vessel in the harbor that wore boots, or even shoes.”

“This is metaphorical, good Vito, and must be looked at in a poetical point of view. Homer speaks of goddesses holding shields before their favorite warriors; while Ariosto makes rats and asses hold discourse together, as if they were members of an academy. All this is merely the effect of imagination, Signore; and he who has the most is the aptest at inventing circumstances, which, though not strictly true, are vastly agreeable.”

“As for Homer and Ariosto, Signor Vice-governatore, I doubt if either ever saw a vessel with a boot on, or if either ever knew as much about craft in general as we who live here in Porto Ferrajo. Harkee, friend Filippo, just ask this Americano if, in his country, he ever saw vessels wear boots. Put the question plainly, and without any of your accursed poetry.”

Filippo did as desired, leaving Ithuel to put his own construction on the object of the inquiry; all that had just passed being sealed to him, in consequence of its having been uttered in good Tuscan.

“Boots!” repeated the native of the Granite state, looking round him drolly; “perhaps not exactly the foot-part, and the soles, for they ought, in reason, to be under water; but every vessel that isn’t coppered shows her boot-_top_–of _them_, I’ll swear I’ve seen ten thousand, more or less.”

This answer mystified the vice-governatore, and completely puzzled Vito Viti. The grave mariners at the other table, too, thought it odd, for in no other tongue is the language of the sea as poetical, or figurative, as in the English; and the term of _boot-top,_ as applied to a vessel, was Greek to them, as well as to the other listeners. They conversed among themselves on the subject, while their two superiors were holding a secret conference on the other side of the room, giving the American time to rally his recollection, and remember the precise circumstances in which not only he himself, but all his shipmates, were placed. No one could be more wily and ingenious than this man, when on his guard, though the inextinguishable hatred with which he regarded England and Englishmen had come so near causing him to betray a secret which it was extremely important, at that moment, to conceal. At length a general silence prevailed, the different groups of speakers ceasing to converse, and all looking towards the vice-governatore, as if in expectation that he was about to suggest something that might give a turn to the discourse. Nor was this a mistake, for, after inquiring of Benedetta if she had a private room, he invited Ithuel and the interpreter to follow him into it, leading the way, attended by the podesta. As soon as these four were thus separated from the others, the door was closed, and the two Tuscans came at once to the point.

“Signor Americano,” commenced the vice-governatore, “between those who understand each other, there is little need of many words. This is a language which is comprehended all over the world, and I put it before you in the plainest manner, that we may have no mistake.”

“It is tolerable plain, sartain!” exclaimed Ithuel–“two–four–six–eight–ten–all good-looking gold pieces, that in this part of the world you call _zecchini_–or sequins, as we name ’em, in English. What have I done, Signor Squire, or what am I to do for these twenty dollars? Name your tarms; this working in the dark is ag’in the grain of my natur’!”

“You are to tell the _truth_; we suspect the lugger of being French; and by putting the proof in our hands, you will make us your friends, and serve yourself.”

Andrea Barrofaldi knew little of America and Americans, but he had imbibed the common European notion that money was the great deity worshipped in this hemisphere, and that all he had to do was to offer a bribe, in order to purchase a man of Ithuel’s deportment and appearance. In his own island ten sequins would buy almost any mariner of the port to do any act short of positive legal criminality; and the idea that a barbarian of the west would refuse such a sum, in preference to selling his shipmates, never crossed his mind. Little, however, did the Italian understand the American. A greater knave than Ithuel, in his own way, it was not easy to find; but it shocked all his notions of personal dignity, self-respect, and republican virtue, to be thus unequivocally offered a bribe; and had the lugger not been so awkwardly circumstanced, he would have been apt to bring matters to a crisis at once by throwing the gold into the vice-governatore’s face; although, knowing where it was to be found, he might have set about devising some means of cheating the owner out of it at the very next instant. Boon or bribe, directly or unequivocally offered in the shape of money, as coming from the superior to the inferior, or from the corrupter to the corrupted, had he never taken, and it would have appeared in his eyes a species of degradation to receive the first, and of treason to his nationality to accept the last; though he would lie, invent, manage, and contrive, from morning till night, in order to transfer even copper from the pocket of his neighbor to his own, under the forms of opinion and usage. In a word, Ithuel, as relates to such things, is what is commonly called law-honest, with certain broad salvoes, In favor of smuggling of all sorts, in foreign countries (at home he never dreamed of such a thing), custom-house oaths, and legal trickery; and this is just the class of men apt to declaim the loudest against the roguery of the rest of mankind. Had there been a law giving half to the informer, he might not have hesitated to betray the lugger, and all she contained, more especially in the way of regular business; but he had long before determined that every Italian was a treacherous rogue, and not at all to be trusted like an American rogue; and then his indomitable dislike of England would have kept him true in a case of much less complicated risk than this. Commanding himself, however, and regarding the sequins with natural longing, he answered with a simplicity of manner that both surprised and imposed on the vice-governatore.

“No–no–Signor Squire,” he said; “in the first place, I’ve no secret to tell; and it would be a trickish thing to touch your money and not give you its worth in return; and then the lugger is Guernsey built, and carries a good King George’s commission. In my part of the world we never take gold unless we sell something of equal valie. Gifts and begging we look upon as mean and unbecoming, and the next thing to going on to the town as a pauper; though if I can sarve you lawfully, like, I’m just as willing to work for _your_ money as for that of any other man. I’ve no preference for king’s in that partic’lar.”

All this time Ithuel held out the sequins, with a show of returning them, though in a very reluctant manner, leaving Andrea, who comprehended his actions much better than his words, to understand that he declined selling his secret.

“You can keep the money, friend,” observed the vice-governatore, “for when we give, in Italy, it is not our practice to take the gift back again. In the morning, perhaps, you will remember something that it may be useful for me to know.”

“I’ve no occasion for gifts, nor is it exactly accordin’ to the Granite rule to accept ’em,” answered Ithuel, a little sharply. “Handsome conduct is handsome conduct; and I call the fellow-creetur’ that would oppress and overcome another with a gift, little better than an English aristocrat. Hand out the dollars in the way of trade, in as large amounts as you will, and I will find the man, and that, too, in the lugger, who will see you out in’t to your heart’s content. Harkee, Philip-o; tell the gentleman, in an undertone, like, about the three kegs of tobacco we got out of the Virginy ship the day we made the north end of Corsica, and perhaps that will satisfy him we are not his enemies. There is no use in bawling it out so that the woman can hear what you say, or the men who are drinking in the other room.”

“Signor Ithuello,” answered the Genoese, in English, “it will not do to let these gentlemen know anything of them kegs–one being the deputy-governor and the other a magistrate. The lugger will be seized for a smuggler, which will be the next thing to being seized for an enemy.”

“Yet I’ve a longing for them ‘ere sequins, to tell you the truth, Philip-o! I see no other means of getting at ’em, except it be through them three kegs of tobacco.”

“Why you don’t take ’em, when the Signore put ’em into your very hand? All you do is put him in your pocket, and say, ‘Eccellenza, what you please to wish?'”

“That isn’t Granite, man, but more in the natur’ of you Italians. The most disgraceful thing on ‘airth is a paupe”–so Ithuel pronounced “pauper”–“the next is a street-beggar; after him comes your chaps who takes sixpences and shillin’s, in the way of small gifts; and last of all an Englishman. All these I despise; but let this Signore say but the word, in the way of trade, and he’ll find me as ready and expairt as he can wish. I’d defy the devil in a trade!”

Filippo shook his head, positively declining to do so foolish a thing as to mention a contraband article to those whose duty it would be to punish a violation of the revenue laws. In the meanwhile the sequins remained in the hands of Andrea Barrofaldi, who seemed greatly at a loss to understand the character of the strange being whom chance had thus thrown in his way. The money was returned to his purse, but his distrust and doubts were by no means removed.

“Answer me one thing, Signor Bolto,” asked the vice-governatore, after a minute of thought; “if you hate the English so much, why do you serve in their ships? why not quit them on the first good occasion? The land is as wide as the sea, and you must be often on it.”

“I calculate, Signor Squire, you don’t often study charts, or you wouldn’t fall into such a consait. There’s twice as much water as solid ground on this ‘airth, to begin with; as in reason there ought to be, seeing that an acre of good productive land is worth five or six of oceans; and then you have little knowledge of my character and prospects to ask such a question. I sarve the king of England to make him pay well for it. If you want to take an advantage of a man, first get him in debt; then you can work your will on him in the most profitable and safe manner!”

All this was unintelligible to the vice-governatore, who, after a few more questions and answers, took a civil leave of the strangers, intimating to Benedetta that they were not to follow him back into the room he had just quitted.

As for Ithuel, the disappearance of the two gentlemen gave him no concern; but as he felt that it might be unsafe to drink any more wine, he threw down his reckoning, and strolled into the street, followed by his companion. Within an hour from that moment, the three kegs of tobacco were in the possession of a shopkeeper of the place, that brief interval sufficing to enable the man to make his bargain, and to deliver the articles, which was his real object on shore. This little smuggling transaction was carried on altogether without the knowledge of Raoul Yvard, who was to all intents and purposes the captain of his own lugger, and in whose character there were many traits of chivalrous honor, mixed up with habits and pursuits that would not seem to promise qualities so elevated. But this want of a propensity to turn a penny in his own way was not the only distinguishing characteristic between the commander of the little craft and the being he occasionally used as a mask to his true purposes.

CHAPTER V.

“The great contention of the sea and skies Parted our fellowship;–But, hark! a sail!”

Cassio

Whatever may have been the result of the vice-governatore’s further inquiries and speculations that night, they were not known. After consuming an hour in the lower part of the town, in and around the port, he and the podesta sought their homes and their pillows, leaving the lugger riding quietly at her anchor in the spot where she was last presented to the reader’s attention. If Raoul Yvard and Ghita had another interview, too, it was so secretly managed as to escape all observation, and can form no part of this narrative.

A Mediterranean morning, at midsummer, is one of those balmy and soothing periods of the day that affect the mind as well as the body. Everywhere we have the mellow and advancing light that precedes the appearance of the sun–the shifting hues of the sky–that pearly softness that seems to have been invented to make us love the works of God’s hand and the warm glow of the brilliant sun; but it is not everywhere that these fascinating changes occur, on a sea whose blue vies with the darkest depths of the void of space, beneath a climate that is as winning as the scenes it adorns, and amid mountains whose faces reflect every varying shade of light with the truth and the poetry of nature. Such a morning as this last was that which succeeded the night with which our tale opened, bringing with it the reviving movements of the port and town. Italy, as a whole, is remarkable for an appearance of quiet and repose that are little known in the more bustling scenes of the greedier commerce of our own quarter of the world, or, indeed, in those of most of the northern nations of Europe. There is in her aspect, modes of living, and even in her habits of business, an air of decayed gentility that is wanting to the ports, shops, and marts of the more vulgar parts of the world; as if conscious of having been so long the focus of human refinement, it was unbecoming, in these later days, to throw aside all traces of her history and power. Man, and the climate, too, seem in unison; one meeting the cares of life with a _far niente_ manner that is singularly in accordance with the dreamy and soothing atmosphere he respires.

Just as day dawned, the fall of a billet of wood on the deck of the Feu-Follet gave the first intimation that any one was stirring in or near the haven. If there had been a watch on board that craft throughout the night–and doubtless such had been the case–it had been kept in so quiet and unobtrusive a manner as to render it questionable to the jealous eyes which had been riveted on her from the shore until long past midnight. Now, however, everything was in motion, and in less than five minutes after that billet of wood had fallen from the hands of the cook, as he was about to light his galley fire, the tops of the hats and caps of some fifty or sixty sailors were seen moving to and fro, just above the upper edge of the bulwarks. Three minutes later, and two men appeared near the knight-heads, each with his arms folded, looking at the vessel’s hawse, and taking a survey of the state of the harbor, and of objects on the surrounding shore.

The two individuals who were standing in the conspicuous position named were Raoul Yvard himself, and Ithuel Bolt. Their conversation was in French, the part borne by the last being most execrably pronounced, and paying little or no attention to grammar; but it is necessary that we should render what was said by both into the vernacular, with the peculiarities that belonged to the men.

“I see only the Austrian that is worth the trouble of a movement,” quietly observed Raoul, whose eye was scanning the inner harbor, his own vessel lying two hundred yards without it, it will be remembered–“and she is light, and would scarce pay for sending her to Toulon. These feluccas would embarrass us, without affording much reward, and then their loss would ruin the poor devils of owners, and bring misery into many a family.”

“Well, that’s a new idee, for a privateer!” said Ithuel sneeringly; “luck’s luck, in these matters, and every man must count on what war turns up. I wish you’d read the history of _our_ revolution, and then you’d ha’ seen that liberty and equality are not to be had without some ups and downs in fortin’s and chances.”

“The Austrian _might_ do,” added Raoul, who paid little attention to his companion’s remarks, “if he were a streak or two lower in the water–but, after all, E-too-_ell_,”–for so he pronounced the other’s name–“I do not like a capture that is made without any _eclat_, or spirit, in the attack and defence.”

“Well,”–this word Ithuel invariably pronounced, “wa-a-l”–“well, to my notion, the most profitable and the most agreeable battles are the shortest; and the pleasantest victories are them in which there’s the most prize money, Howsever, as that brig is only an Austrian, I care little what you may detairmine to do with her; was she English, I’d head a boat myself, to go in and tow her out here, expressly to have the satisfaction of burning her. English ships make a cheerful fire!”

“And that would be a useless waste of property, and perhaps of blood, and would do no one any good, Etoo_ell_.”

“But it would do the accursed English _harm_, and that counts for a something, in my reckoning. Nelson wasn’t so over-scrupulous, at the Nile, about burning your ships, Mr. Rule–“

“_Tonnerre!_ why do you always bring in that _malheureux _ Nile?–Is it not enough that we were beaten–disgraced–destroyed–that a friend must tell us of it so often?”

“You forget, Mr. Rule, that I was an _inimy, then_” returned Ithuel, with a grin and a grim smile. “If you’ll take the trouble to examine my back, you’ll find on it the marks of the lashes I got for just telling my Captain that it was ag’in the grain for me, a republican as I was by idee and natur’, to fight other republicans. He told, me he would first try the grain of my skin, and see how that would agree with what he called my duty; and I must own, he got the best on’t; I fit like a tiger ag’in you, rather than be flogged twice the same day. Flogging on a sore back is an awful argument!”

“And now has come the hour of revenge, _pauvre Etooell; _ this time you are on the right side, and may fight with heart and mind those you so much hate.”

A long and gloomy silence followed, during which Raoul turned his face aft, and stood looking at the movements of the men as they washed the decks, while Ithuel seated himself on a knight-head, and his chin resting on his hand, he sat ruminating, in bitterness of spirit, like Milton’s devil, in some of his dire cogitations, on the atrocious wrong of which he had really been the subject. Bodies of men are proverbially heartless. They commit injustice without reflection, and vindicate their abuses without remorse. And yet it may be doubtful if either a nation or an individual ever tolerated or was an accessory in a wrong, that the act, sooner or later, did not recoil on the offending party, through that mysterious principle of right which is implanted in the nature of things, bringing forth its own results as the seed produces its grain, and the tree its fruits; a supervision of holiness that it is usual to term (and rightly enough, when we remember who created principles) the providence of God. Let that people dread the future, who, in their collective capacity, systematically encourage injustice of any sort; since their own eventual demoralization will follow as a necessary consequence, even though they escape punishment in a more direct form.

We shall not stop to relate the moody musings of the New Hampshire man. Unnurtured, and, in many respects, unprincipled as he was, he had his clear conceptions of the injustice of which he had been one among thousands of other victims; and, at that moment, he would have held life itself as a cheap sacrifice, could he have had his fill of revenge. Time and again, while a captive on board the English ship in which he had been immured for years, had he meditated the desperate expedient of blowing up the vessel; and had not the means been wanting, mercenary and selfish as he ordinarily seemed, he was every way equal to executing so dire a scheme, in order to put an end to the lives of those who were the agents in wronging him, and his own sufferings, together. The subject never recurred to his mind without momentarily changing the current of its thoughts, and tinging all his feelings with an intensity of bitterness that it was painful to bear. At length, sighing heavily, he rose from the knight-head, and turned toward the mouth of the bay, as if to conceal from Raoul the expression of his countenance. This act, however, was scarcely done, ere he started, and an exclamation escaped him that induced his companion to turn quickly on his heel and face the sea. There, indeed, the growing light enabled both to discover an object that could scarcely be other than one of interest to men in their situation.

It has been said already that the deep bay, on the side of which stands the town of Porto Ferrajo, opens to the north, looking in the direction of the headland of Piombino. On the right of the bay, the land, high and broken, stretches several miles ere it forms what is called the Canal, while, on the left, it terminates with the low bluff on which stands the residence then occupied by Andrea Barrofaldi; and which has since become so celebrated as the abode of one far greater than the worthy vice-governatore. The haven lying under these heights, on the left of the bay and by the side of the town, it followed, as a matter of course, that the anchorage of the lugger was also in this quarter of the bay, commanding a clear view to the north, in the direction of the main land, as far as the eye could reach. The width of the Canal, or of the passage between Elba and the Point of Piombino, may be some six or seven miles; and at the distance of less than one mile from the northern end of the former stands a small rocky islet, which has since become known to the world as the spot on which Napoleon stationed a corporal’s guard, by way of taking possession, when he found his whole empire dwindled to the sea-girt mountains in its vicinity. With the existence and position of this island both Raoul and Ithuel were necessarily acquainted, for they had seen it and noted its situation the previous night, though it had escaped their notice that, from the place where the Feu-Follet had brought up, it was not visible. In their first look to seaward, that morning, which was ere the light had grown sufficiently strong to render the houses on the opposite side of the bay distinct, an object had been seen in this quarter which had then been mistaken for the rock; but by this time the light was strong enough to show that it was a very different thing. In a word, that which both Raoul and Ithuel had fancied an islet was neither more nor less than a ship.

The stranger’s head was to the northward, and his motion, before a light southerly air, could not have exceeded a knot an hour. He had no other canvas spread than his three topsails and jib; though his courses were hanging in the brails. His black hull was just beginning to show its details; and along the line of light yellow that enlivened his side were visible the dark intervals of thirteen ports; a real gun frowning in each. Although the hammocks were not stowed, and the hammock-cloths had that empty and undressed look which is so common to a man-of-war in the night, it was apparent that the ship had an upper deck, with quarter-deck and forecastle batteries; or, in other words, that she was a frigate. As she had opened the town of Porto Ferrajo several minutes before she was herself seen from the Feu Follet, an ensign was hanging from the end of her gaff, though there was not sufficient air to open its folds, in a way to let the national character of the stranger be known.

“Peste!” exclaimed Raoul Yvard, as soon as he had gazed a minute at the stranger in silence; “a pretty _cul de sac_ are we in, if that gentleman should happen to be an Englishman! What say you, Etooell; can _you_ make out anything of that ensign–your eyes are the best in the lugger?”

“It is too much for any sight to detairmine, at this distance, and that before the sun is risen; but, by having a glass ready, we shall soon know. Five minutes will bring us the Great Luminary, as our minister used to call him.”

Ithuel had descended from the bulwark while speaking; and he now went aft in quest of a glass, returning to his old station, bringing two of the instruments; one of which he handed to his commander, while he kept the other himself. In another minute both had levelled their glasses at the stranger, whom each surveyed attentively, for some time, in profound silence.

“_Pardie_!” exclaimed Raoul, “that ensign is the tri-color, or my eyes are untrue to my own country. Let me see, Etooell; what ship of forty-two, or forty-four, has the republic on this coast?”

“Not _that_, Monsieur Yvard,” answered Ithuel, with a manner so changed, and an emphasis so marked, as at once to draw his companion’s attention from the frigate to his own countenance; “not _that_, Monsieur Capitaing. It is not easy for a bird to forget the cage in which he was shut up for two years; if that is not the accursed Proserpine, I have forgotten the cut of my own jib!”

“La Proserpine!” repeated Raoul, who was familiar with his shipmate’s adventures, and did not require to be told his meaning; “if you are not mistaken, Etooell, le Feu-Follet needs put her lantern under a shade. This is only a forty, if I can count her ports.”

“I care nothing for ports or guns; it is the Proserpine; and the only harm I wish her is, that she were at the bottom of the ocean. The Proserpine, thirty-six, Captain Cuffe; though Captain Flog would have been a better name for him. Yes, the Proserpine, thirty-six, Captain Cuffe, Heaven bless her!”

“Bah!–this vessel has forty-four guns–now I can see to count them; I make twenty-two of a side.”

“Aye, that’s just her measure–a thirty-six on the list and by rate, and forty-four by count; twenty-six long eighteens below; twelve thirty-twos, carronades, on her quarter-deck; and four more carronades, with two barkers, for’ard. She’d just extinguish your Jack-o’-Lantern, Monsieur Rule, at one broadside; for what are ten twelve-pound carronades, and seventy men, to such a frigate?”

“I am not madman enough, Etooell, to dream of fighting a frigate, or even a heavy sloop-of-war, with the force you have just mentioned; but I have followed the sea too long to be alarmed before I am certain oL my danger. La Railleuse is just such a ship as that.”

“Hearken to reason, Monsieur Rule,” answered Ithuel earnestly; “La Railleuse, nor no other French frigate, would show her colors to an enemy’s port; for it would be uselessly telling her errand. Now, an English ship might show a French ensign, for _she_ always has it in her power to change it; and then _she_ might be benefited by the cheat. The Proserpine is French built, and has French legs, too, boots or no boots”–here Ithuel laughed a little, involuntarily, but his face instantly became serious again–“and I have heard she was a sister vessel of the other. So much for size and appearance; but every shroud, and port, and sail, about yonder craft, is registered on my back in a way that no sponge will ever wash out.”

“Sa-a-c-r-r-r-e,” muttered Raoul between his teeth; “Etooell, if an Englishman, he may very well take it into his head to come in here, and perhaps anchor within half-a-cable’s length of us! What think you of that, _mon brave Americain?_”

“That it may very well come to pass; though one hardly sees, either, what is to bring a cruiser into such a place as this. Every one hasn’t the curiosity of a Jack-o’-Lantern.”

“_Mais que diable allait-il faire dans cette galere!–Bien;_ we must take the weather as it comes; sometimes a gale, and sometimes a calm. As he shows his own ensign so loyally, let us return the compliment, and show ours. Hoist the ensign there aft.”

“Which one, Monsieur?” demanded an old, demure-looking quartermaster, who was charged with that duty, and who was never known to laugh; “the captain will remember we came into port under the _drapeau_ of Monsieur Jean Bull.”

“_Bien_–hoist the drapeau of Monsieur Jean Bull again. We must brazen it out, now we have put on the mask. Monsieur Lieutenant, clap on the hawser, and run the lugger ahead, over her anchor, and see everything clear for spreading our pocket-handkerchiefs. No one knows when le Feu-Follet may have occasion to wipe her face. Ah!–now, Etooell, we can make out his broadside fairly, he is heading more to the westward.”

The two seamen levelled their glasses, and renewed their examinations. Ithuel had a peculiarity that not only characterized the man, but which is so common among Americans of his class as in a sense to be national. On ordinary occasions he was talkative, and disposed to gossip; but, whenever action and decision became necessary, he was thoughtful, silent, and, though in a way of his own, even dignified. This last fit was on him, and he waited for Raoul to lead the conversation. The other, however, was disposed to be as reserved as himself, for he quitted the knight-head, and took refuge from the splashing of the water used in washing the decks, in his own cabin.

Two hours, though they brought the sun, with the activity and hum of the morning, had made no great change in the relative positions of things within and without the bay. The people of le Feu-Follet had breakfasted, had got everything on board their little craft in its proper place, and were moody, observant, and silent. One of the lessons that Ithuel had succeeded in teaching his shipmates was to impress on them the necessity of commanding their voluble propensities if they would wish to pass for Englishmen. It is certain, more words would have been uttered in this little lugger in one hour, had her crew been indulged to the top of their bent, than would have been uttered in an English first-rate in two; but the danger of using their own language, and the English peculiarity of grumness, had been so thoroughly taught them, that her people rather caricatured, than otherwise, _ce grand talent pour le silence_ that was thought to distinguish their enemies. Ithuel, who had a waggery of his own, smiled as he saw the seamen folding their arms, throwing discontent and surliness into their countenances, and pacing the deck singly, as if misanthropical and disdaining to converse, whenever a boat came alongside from the shore. Several of these visitors arrived in the course of the two hours mentioned; but the sentinel at the gangway, who had his orders, repulsed every attempt to come on board, pretending not to understand French when permission was asked in that language.

Raoul had a boat’s crew of four, all of whom had acquired the English, like himself, in a prison-ship, and with these men he now prepared to land; for, as yet, he had made little progress in the business which brought him into his present awkward predicament, and he was not a man to abandon an object so dear to him, lightly. Finding himself in a dilemma, he was resolved to make an effort to reap, if possible, some advantage from his critical situation. Accordingly, after he had taken his coffee and given his orders, the boat’s crew was called, and he left the lugger’s side. All this was done tranquilly, as if the appearance of the stranger in the offing gave no trouble to any in le Feu-Follet.

On this occasion the boat pulled boldly into the little harbor, its officer touching the shore at the common landing. Nor were the men in any haste to return. They lounged about the quay, in waiting for their captain, cheapening fruits, chatting with the women in such Italian as they could muster, and affecting to understand the French of the old sea-dogs that drew near them, all of whom knew more or less of that universal language, with difficulty. That they were the objects of suspicion, their captain had sufficiently warned them, and practice rendered them all good actors. The time they remained in waiting for Raoul was consequently spent in eluding attempts to induce them to betray themselves, and in caricaturing Englishmen. Two of the four folded their arms, endeavored to look surly, and paced the quay in silence, refusing even to unbend to the blandishments of the gentler sex, three or four of whom endeavored to insinuate themselves into their confidence by offerings of fruit and flowers.

“Amico,” said Annunziate, one of the prettiest girls of her class in Porto Ferrajo, and who had been expressly employed by Vito Viti to perform this office, “here are figs from the main land. Will you please to eat a few, that when you go back to Inghilterra you may tell your countrymen how we poor Elbans live?”

“Bad fig”–sputtered Jacques, Raoul’s cockswain, to whom this offering was made, and speaking in broken English; “better at ‘ome. Pick up better in ze street of Portsmout’!”

“But, Signore, you need not look as if they would hurt you, or bite you; you can eat them and, take my word for it, you will find them as pleasant as the melons of Napoli!”

“No melon good but English melon. English melon plenty as pomme de terres–bah!”

“Yes, Signore, as the melons of Napoli,” continued Annunziate, who did not understand a syllable of the ungracious answers she received; “Signor Vito Viti, our podesta, ordered me to offer these figs to the forestieri–the Inglesi, who are in the bay–“

“God-dam,” returned Jacques, in a quick, sententious manner, that was intended to get rid of the fair tormentor, and which, temporarily at least, was not without its effect.

But, leaving the boat’s crew to be badgered in this manner until relief came, as will be hereafter related, we must follow our hero in his way through the streets of the town. Raoul, guided by an instinct, or having some special object before his eyes, walked swiftly up the heights, ascending to the promontory so often mentioned. As he passed, every eye was turned on him, for, by this time, the distrust in the place was general; and the sudden appearance of a frigate, wearing a French ensign, before the port, had given rise to apprehensions of a much more serious nature than any which could possibly attend the arrival of a craft as light as the lugger, by herself. Vito Viti had long before gone up the street, to see the vice-governatore; and eight or ten of the principal men of the place had been summoned to a council, including the two senior military dignitaries of the island. The batteries, it was known, were manned; and although it would have puzzled the acutest mind of Elba to give a reason why the French should risk so unprofitable an attack as one on their principal port, long ere Raoul was seen among them such a result was not only dreaded, but in a measure anticipated with confidence. As a matter of course, then, every eye followed his movements as he went with bounding steps up the narrow terraces of the steep street, and the least of his actions was subjeected to the narrowest and most jealous scrutiny.

The heights were again thronged with spectators of all ages and classes, and of both sexes. The mantles and flowing dresses of females prevailed as usual; for whatever is connected with curiosity is certain to collect an undue proportion of a sex whose imaginations are so apt to get the start of their judgments. On a terrace in front of the palace, as it was the custom to designate the dwelling of the governor, was the group of magnates, all of them paying the gravest attention to the smallest change in the direction of the ship, which had now become an object of general solicitude and apprehension. So intent, indeed, were they in gazing at this apprehended enemy, that Raoul stood in front of Andrea Barrofaldi, cap in hand, and bowing his salutation, before his approach was even anticipated. This sudden and unannounced arrival created great surprise, and some little confusion; one or two of the group turning away instinctively, as it might be, to conceal the flushes that mounted to their cheeks at being so unexpectedly confronted by the very man whom the minute before they had been strongly denouncing.

“_Bon giorno_, Signor Vice-governatore,” commenced Raoul, in his gay, easy, and courteous manner, and certainly with an air that betrayed any feeling but those of apprehension and guilt; “we have a fine morning on the land, here; and apparently a fine frigate of the French republic in the offing yonder.”

“We were conversing of that vessel, Signor Smees,” answered Andrea, “as you approached. What, in your judgment, c an induce a Frenchman to appear before our town in so menacing a manner?”

“Cospetto! you might as well ask me, Signore, what induces these republicans to do a thousand other out-of-the-way things. What has made them behead Louis XVI? What has made them overrun half of your Italy, conquer Egypt, and drive the Austrians back upon their Danube?”

“To say nothing of their letting Nelsoni destroy them at Aboukir,” added Vito Viti, with a grunt.

“True, Signore, or letting Nelson, my gallant countryman, annihilate them near the mouth of the Nile. I did not consider it proper to boast of English glory, though that case, too, may very well be included. We have several men in ze Ving-and-Ving who were in that glorious battle, particularly our sailing-master, Etooell Bolt, who was on board Nelson’s own ship, having been accidentally sent on service from the frigate to which he properly belonged, and carried off expressly to share, as it might be, in the glory of this famous battle.”

“I have seen the Signore,” dryly remarked Andrea Barrofaldi–“_e uno Americano?_”

“An American!” exclaimed Raoul, starting a little in spite of his assumed indifference of manner; “why, yes, I believe Bolt _was_ born in America–English America, you know, Signori, and that is much the same thing as having been born in England herself. We look upon _ze Yankes_ as but a part of our own people, and take them into our service most cheerfully.”

“So the Signor Ituello has given us reason to believe; he is seemingly a great lover of the English nation.”

Raoul was uneasy; for he was entirely ignorant of all that had passed in the wine-house, and he thought he detected irony in the manner of the vice-governatore.

“Certainly, Signore,” he answered, however, with unmoved steadiness; “certainly, Signore, the Americani adore Inghilterra; and well they may, considering all that great nation has done for them. But, Signor Vice-governatore, I have come to offer you the service of my lugger, should this Frenchman really intend mischief. We are small, it is true, and our guns are but light; nevertheless we may break the frigate’s cabin-windows, while you are doing him still greater injury from these heights. I trust you will assign ze Ving-and-Ving some honorable station, should you come to blows with the republicans.”

“And what particular service would it be most agreeable to you to undertake, Signore?” inquired the vice-governatore, with considerate courtesy; “we are no mariners, and must leave the choice to yourself. The colonello, here, expects some firing, and has his artillerists already at their guns.”

“The preparation of Porto Ferrajo is celebrated among the mariners of the Mediterranean, and, should the Frenchman venture within reach of your shot, I expect to see him unrigged faster than if he were in a dock-yard. As for ze leetl’ Ving-and-Ving, in my opinion, while the frigate is busy with these batteries, it might be well for us to steer along the shore on the east side of the bay until we can get outside of her, when we shall have the beggars between two fires. That was just what Nelson did at Aboukir, Signor Podesta, a battle you seem so much to admire.”

“That would be a manoeuvre worthy of a follower of Nelsoni, Signore,” observed the colonel, “if the metal of your guns were heavier. With short pieces of twelve, however, you would hardly venture within reach of long pieces of eighteen; although the first should be manned by Inglese, and the last by Francese?”

“One never knows. At the Nile one of our fifties laid the Orient, a three-decker, athwart-hawse, and did her lots of injury. The vaisseau, in fact, was blown up. Naval combats are decided on principles altogether different from engagements on the land, Signor Colonello.”

“It must be so, truly,” answered the soldier; “but what means this movement? you, as a seaman, may be able to tell us, Capitano.”

This drew all eyes to the frigate again, where, indeed, were movements that indicated some important changes. As these movements have an intimate connection with the incidents of the tale, it will be necessary to relate them in a manner to render them more intelligible to the reader.

The distance of the frigate from the town might now have been five English miles. Of current there was none; and there being no tides in the Mediterranean, the ship would have lain perfectly stationary all the morning, but for a very light air from the southward. Before this air, however, she had moved to the westward about a couple of miles, until she had got the government-house nearly abeam. At the same time she had been obliquely drawing nearer, which was the circumstance that produced the alarm. With the sun had risen the wind, and a few minutes before the colonel interrupted himself in the manner related, the topsails of the stranger had swelled, and he began to move through the water at the rate of some four or five knots the hour. The moment her people felt that they had complete command of their vessel, as if waiting only for that assurance, they altered her course and made sail. Putting her helm a-starboard, the ship came close by the wind, with her head looking directly in for the promontory, while her tacks were hauled on board, and her light canvas aloft was loosened and spread to the breeze. Almost at the same instant, for everything seemed to be done at once, and as by instinct, the French flag was lowered, another went up in its place, and a gun was fired to leeward–a signal of amity. As this second emblem of nationality blew out, and opened to the breeze, the glasses showed the white field and St. George’s cross of the noble old ensign of England.

An exclamation of surprise and delight escaped the spectators on the promontory, as their doubts and apprehensions were thus dramatically relieved. No one thought of Raoul at that happy moment, though to him there was nothing of new interest in the affair, with the exception of the apparent intention of the stranger to enter the bay. As le Feu-Follet lay in plain view from the offing, he had his doubts, indeed, whether the warlike appearance of that craft was not the true reason of this sudden change in the frigate’s course. Still, lying as he did in a port hostile to France, there was a probability that he might yet escape without a very critical or close examination.

“Signor Smees, I felicitate you on this visit of a countryman,” cried Andrea Barrofaldi, a pacific man by nature, and certainly no warrior, and who felt too happy at the prospects of passing a quiet day, to feel distrust at such a moment; “I shall do you honor in my communications with Florence, for the spirit and willingness which you have shown in the wish to aid us on this trying occasion.”

“Signor Vice-governatore, do not trouble yourself to dwell on my poor services,” answered Raoul, scarce caring to conceal the smile that struggled about his handsome mouth; “think rather of those of these gallant signori, who greatly regret that an opportunity for gaining distinction has been lost. But here are signals that must be meant for us–I hope my stupid fellows will be able to answer them in my absence.”

It was fortunate for le Feu-Follet, perhaps, that her commander was not on board, when the stranger, the Proserpine, the very ship that Ithuel so well knew, made her number. The mystification that was to follow was in much better hands while conducted by the New Hampshire man than it could possibly be in his own, Ithuel answered promptly, though what, he did not know himself; but he took good care that the flags he showed should become so entangled as not to be read by those in the frigate, while they had every appearance of being hoisted fearlessly and in good faith.

CHAPTER VI.

“Are all prepared?
They are–nay more–embarked; the latest boat Waits but my chief–My sword and my capote.”

_The Corsair._

What success attended the artifice of Ithuel it was impossible to tell, so far as the frigate was concerned; though the appearance of mutual intelligence between the two vessels had a very favorable tendency toward removing suspicion from the lugger among those on shore. It seemed so utterly improbable that a French corsair could answer the signals of an English frigate that even Vito Viti felt compelled to acknowledge to the vice-governatore in a whisper that, so far, the circumstance was much in favor of the lugger’s loyalty. Then the calm exterior of Raoul counted for something, more especially as he remained apparently an unconcerned observer of the rapid approach of the ship.

“We shall not have occasion to use your gallant offer, Signor Smees,” said Andrea kindly, as he was about to retire into the house with one or two of his counsellors; “but we thank you none the less. It is a happiness to be honored with the visit of two cruisers of your great nation on the same day, and I hope you will so far favor me as to accompany your brother commander, when he shall do me the honor to pay the customary visit, since it would seem to be his serious intention to pay Porto Ferrajo the compliment of a call. Can you not guess at the name of the frigate?”

“Now I see she is a countryman, I think I can, Signore,” answered Raoul carelessly; “I take her to be la Proserpine, a French-built ship, a circumstance that first deceived me as to her character.”

“And the noble cavaliere, her commander–you doubtless know his name and rank?”

“Oh! perfectly; he is the son of an old admiral, under whom I was educated, though we happen ourselves never to have met. Sir Brown is the name and title of the gentleman.”

“Ah! that is a truly English rank, and name, too, as one might say. Often have I met that honorable appellation in Shakespeare, and other of your eminent authors, Miltoni has a Sir Brown, if I am not mistaken, Signore?”

“Several of them, Signor Vice-governatore,” answered Raoul, without a moment’s hesitation or the smallest remorse; though he had no idea whatever who Milton was; “Milton, Shakespeare, Cicero, and all our great writers, often mention Signori of this family.”

“Cicero!” repeated Andrea, in astonishment–“he was a Roman, and an ancient, Capitano, and died before Inghilterra was known to the civilized world.”

Raoul perceived that he had reached too far, though he was not in absolute danger of losing his balance. Smiling, as in consideration of the other’s provincial view of things, he rejoined, with an _aplomb_ that would have done credit to a politician, in an explanatory and half-apologetic tone.

“Quite true, Signor Vice-governatore, as respects him you mention,” he said; “but not true as respects Sir Cicero, my illustrious compatriot. Let me see–I do not think it is yet a century since our Cicero died. He was born in Devonshire”–this was the county in which Raoul had been imprisoned–“and must have died in Dublin. Si–now I remember, it _was_ in Dublin, that this virtuous and distinguished author yielded up his breath.”

To all this Andrea had nothing to say, for, half a century since, so great was the ignorance of civilized nations as related to such things, that one might have engrafted a Homer on the literature of England, in particular, without much risk of having the imposition detected. Signor Barrofaldi was not pleased to find that the barbarians were seizing on the Italian names, it is true; but he was fain to set the circumstance down to those very traces of barbarism which were the unavoidable fruits of their origin. As for supposing it possible that one who spoke with the ease and innocence of Raoul was inventing as he went along, it was an idea he was himself much too unpractised to entertain; and the very first thing he did on entering the palace was to make a memorandum which might lead him, at a leisure moment, to inquire into the nature of the writings and the general merits of Sir Cicero, the illustrious namesake of him of Rome. As soon as this little digression terminated he entered the palace, after again expressing the hope that “Sir Smees” would not fail to accompany “Sir Brown,” in the visit which the functionary fully expected to receive from the latter, in the course of the next hour of two. The company now began to disperse, and Raoul was soon left to his own meditations, which just at that moment were anything but agreeable.

The town of Porto Ferrajo is so shut in from the sea by the rock against which it is built, its fortifications, and the construction of its own little port, as to render the approach of a vessel invisible to its inhabitants, unless they choose to ascend to the heights and the narrow promenade already mentioned. This circumstance had drawn a large crowd upon the hill again, among which Raoul Yvard now threaded his way, wearing his sea cap and his assumed naval uniform in a smart, affected manner, for he was fully sensible of all the advantages he possessed on the score of personal appearance. His unsettled eye, however, wandered from one pretty face to another in quest of Ghita, who alone was the object of his search and the true cause of the awkward predicament into which he had brought not only himself, but le Feu-Follet. In this manner, now thinking of her he sought, and then reverting to his situation in an enemy’s port, he walked along the whole line of the cliff, scarce knowing whether to return or to seek his boat by doubling on the town, when he heard his own name pronounced in a sweet voice which went directly to his heart. Turning on his heel, Ghita was within a few feet of him.

“Salute me distantly and as a stranger,” said the girl, in almost breathless haste, “and point to the different streets, as if inquiring your way through the town. This is the place where we met last evening; but, remember, it is no longer dark.”

As Raoul complied with her desire any distant spectator might well have fancied the meeting accidental, though he poured forth a flood of expressions of love and admiration.

“Enough, Raoul,” said the girl, blushing and dropping her eyes, though no displeasure was visible on her serene and placid face, “another time I might indulge you. How much worse is your situation now than it was last night! Then you had only the port to fear; now you have both the people of the port and this strange ship–an Inglese, as they tell me?”

“No doubt–la Proserpine, Etooell says, and he knows; you remember Etooell, dearest Ghita, the American who was with me at the tower–well, he has served in this very ship, and knows her to be la Proserpine, of forty-four.” Raoul paused a moment; then he added, laughing in a way to surprise his companion–“Qui–la Proserpine, le Capitaine Sir Brown!”

“What you can find to amuse you in all this, Raoul, is more than I can discover. Sir Brown, or sir anybody else, will send you again to those evil English prison-ships, of which you have so often told me; and there is surely nothing pleasant in _that_ idea.”

“Bah! my sweet Ghita, Sir Brown, or Sir White, or Sir Black has not yet got me. I am not a child, to tumble into the fire because the leading-strings are off; and le Feu-Follet shines or goes out, exactly as it suits her purposes. The frigate, ten to one, will just run close in and take a near look, and then square away and go to Livorno, where there is much more to amuse her officers, than here in Porto Ferrajo. This Sir Brown has his Ghita, as well as Raoul Yvard.”

“No, not a Ghita, I fear, Raoul,” answered the girl, smiling in spite of herself, while her color almost insensibly deepened–“Livorno has few ignorant country girls, like me, who have been educated in a lone watch-tower on the coast.”

“Ghita,” answered Raoul, with feeling, “that poor lone watch-tower of thine might well be envied by many a noble dame at Roma and at Napoli; it has left thee innocent and pure–a gem that gay capitals seldom contain; or, if found there, not in its native beauty, which they sully by use.”

“What know’st thou, Raoul, of Roma and Napoli, and of noble dames and rich gems?” asked the girl, smiling, the tenderness which had filled her heart at that moment betraying itself in her eyes.

“What do I know of such things, truly! why, I have been at both places, and have seen what I describe. I went to Roma on purpose to see the Holy Father, in order to make certain whether our French opinions of his character and infallibility were true or not, before I set up in religion for myself.”

“And thou _didst_ find him holy and venerable, Raoul,” interposed the girl, with earnestness and energy, for this was the great point of separation between them–“I _know_ thou found’st him thus, and worthy to be the head of an ancient and true church. My eyes never beheld him; but this do I _know_ to be true.”

Raoul was aware that the laxity of his religious opinions, opinions that he may be said to have inherited from his country, as it then existed morally, alone prevented Ghita from casting aside all other ties, and following his fortunes in weal and in woe. Still he was too frank and generous to deceive, while he had ever been too considerate to strive to unsettle her confiding and consoling faith. Her infirmity even, for so he deemed her notions to be, had a charm in his eyes; few men, however loose or sceptical in their own opinions on such matters, finding any pleasure in the contemplation of a female infidel; and he had never looked more fondly into her anxious but lovely face than he did at this very instant, making his reply with a truth that bordered on magnanimity.

“_Thou_ art my religion, Ghita!” he said; “in thee I worship purity and holiness and–“

“Nay–nay, Raoul, _do_ not–refrain–if thou really lov’st me, utter not this frightful blasphemy; tell me, rather, if thou didst not find the holy father as I describe him?”

“I found him a peaceful, venerable, and, I firmly believe, a _good_ old man, Ghita; but _only_ a man. No infallibility could I see about him; but a set of roguish cardinals and other plotters of mischief, who were much better calculated to set Christians by the ears than to lead them to Heaven, surrounded his chair.”

“Say no more, Raoul–I will listen to no more of this. Thou knowest not these sainted men, and thy tongue is thine own enemy, without–hark! what means that?”

“It is a gun from the frigate, and must be looked to; say, when and where do we meet again?”

“I know not, now. We have been too long, much too long, together as it is; and must separate. Trust to me to provide the means of another meeting; at all events, _we_ shall shortly be in our tower again.”

Ghita glided away as she ceased speaking and soon disappeared in the town. As for Raoul, he was at a loss for a moment whether to follow or not; then he hastened to the terrace in front of the government-house again, in order to ascertain the meaning of the gun. The report had drawn others to the same place, and on reaching it the young man found himself in another crowd.

By this time the Proserpine, for Ithuel was right as to the name of the stranger, had got within a league of the entrance of the bay and had gone about, stretching over to its eastern shore, apparently with the intention to fetch fairly into it on the next tack. The smoke of her gun was sailing off to leeward in a little cloud, and signals were again flying at her main-royal-mast-head. All this was very intelligible to Raoul, it being evident at a glance that the frigate had reached in nearer both to look at the warlike lugger that she saw in the bay, and to communicate more clearly with her by signals. Ithuel’s expedient had not sufficed; the vigilant Captain Cuffe, alias Sir Brown, who commanded the Proserpine, not being a man likely to be mystified by so stale a trick. Raoul scarcely breathed as he watched the lugger in anticipation of her course.

Ithuel certainly seemed in no hurry to commit himself, for the signal had now been flying on board the frigate several minutes, and yet no symptoms of any preparation for an answer could be discovered. At length the halyards moved, and then three fair, handsome flags rose to the end of le Feu-Follet’s jigger yard, a spar that was always kept aloft in moderate weather. What the signal meant Raoul did not know, for though he was provided with signals by means of which to communicate with the vessels of war of his own nation, the Directory had not been able to supply him with those necessary to communicate with the enemy. Ithuel’s ingenuity, however, had supplied the deficiency. While serving on board the Proserpine, the very ship that was now menacing the lugger, he had seen a meeting between her and a privateer English lugger, one of the two or three of that rig which sailed out of England, and his observant eye had noted the flags she had shown on the occasion. Now, as privateersmen are not expected to be expert or even very accurate in the use of signals, he had ventured to show these very numbers, let it prove for better or worse. Had he been on the quarter-deck of the frigate, he would have ascertained, through the benedictions bestowed by Captain Cuffe, that his _ruse_ had so far succeeded as to cause that officer to attribute his unintelligible answer to ignorance, rather than to design. Nevertheless, the frigate did not seem disposed to alter her course; for, either influenced by a desire to anchor, or by a determination to take a still closer look at the lugger, she stood on, nearing the eastern side of the bay, at the rate of some six miles to the hour.

Raoul Yvard now thought it time to look to the safety of le Feu-Follet in person. Previously to landing he had given instructions as to what was to be done in the event of the frigate’s coming close in; but matters now seemed so very serious that he hurried down the hill, overtaking Vito Viti in his way, who was repairing to the harbor to give instructions to certain boatmen concerning the manner in which the quarantine laws were to be regarded, in an intercourse with a British frigate.

“You ought to be infinitely happy at the prospect of meeting an honorable countryman in this Sir Brown,” observed the short-winded podesta, who usually put himself out of breath both in ascending and descending the steep street, “for he really seems determined to anchor in our bay, Signor Smees.”

“To tell you the truth, Signor Podesta, I wish I was half as well persuaded that it _is_ Sir Brown and la Proserpine as I was an hour ago. I see symptoms of its being a republican, after all, and must have a care for ze Ving-and-Ving.”

“The devil carry away all republicans, is my humble prayer, Signor Capitano; but I can hardly believe that so graceful and gracious-looking a frigate can possibly belong to such wretches.”

“Ah! Signore, if that were all, I fear we should have to yield the palm to the French,” answered Raoul, laughing; “for the best-looking craft in His Majesty’s service are republican prizes. Even should this frigate turn out to be the Proserpine herself, she can claim no better origin. But I think the vice-governatore has not done well in deserting the batteries, since this stranger does not answer our signals as she should. The last communication has proved quite unintelligible to him.”

Raoul was nearer to the truth than he imagined perhaps, for certainly Ithuel’s numbers had made nonsense, according to the signal book of the Proserpine; but his confident manner had an effect on Vito Viti, who was duped by his seeming earnestness, as well as by a circumstance which, rightly considered, told as much against as it did in favor of his companion.

“And what is to be done, Signore?” demanded the podesta, stopping short in the street.

“We must do as well as we can, under the circumstances. My duty is to look out for ze Ving-and-Ving, and yours to look out for the town. Should the stranger actually enter the bay and bring his broadside to bear on this steep hill, there is not a chamber window that will not open on the muzzles of his guns. You will grant me permission to haul into the inner harbor, where we shall be sheltered by the buildings from his shot, and then perhaps it will be well enough to send my people into the nearest battery. I look for bloodshed and confusion ere long.”

All this was said with so much apparent sincerity that it added to the podesta’s mystification. Calling a neighbor to him, he sent the latter up the hill with a message to Andrea Barrofaldi, and then he hurried down toward the port, it being much easier for him, just at that moment, to descend than to ascend. Raoul kept at his side, and together they reached the water’s edge.

The podesta was greatly addicted to giving utterance to any predominant opinion of the moment, being one of those persons who _feel_ quite as much as they _think_. On the present occasion he did not spare the frigate, for, having caught at the bait that his companion had so artfully thrown out to him, he was loud in the expression of his distrust. All the signalling and showing of colors he now believed to be a republican trick; and precisely in proportion as he became resentful of the supposed fraud of the ship, was he disposed to confide blindly in the honesty of the lugger. This was a change of sentiment in the magistrate; and, as in the case of all sudden but late conversions, he was in a humor to compensate for his tardiness by the excess of his zeal. In consequence of this disposition and the character and loquacity of the man, all aided by a few timely suggestions on the part of Raoul, in five minutes it came to be generally understood that the frigate was greatly to be distrusted, while the lugger rose in public favor exactly in the degree in which the other fell. This interposition of Vito Viti’s was exceedingly apropos, so far as le Feu-Follet and her people were concerned, inasmuch as the examination of and intercourse with the boat’s crew had rather left the impression of their want of nationality in a legal sense, than otherwise. In a word, had not the podesta so loudly and so actively proclaimed the contrary, Tommaso and his fellows were about to report their convictions that these men were all bona fide wolves in sheep’s clothing–alias Frenchmen.

“No, no–amici miei,” said Vito Viti, bustling about on the narrow little quay, “all is not gold that glitters, of a certainty; and this frigate is probably no ally, but an enemy. A very different matter is it with ze Ving-y-Ving and Il Signor Smees–we may be said to know _him_–have seen his papers, and the vice-governatore and myself have examined him, as it might be, on the history and laws of his island, for England is an island, neighbors, as well as Elba; another reason for respect and amity–but we have gone over much of the literature and history of Inghilterra together and find everything satisfactory and right; therefore are we bound to show the lugger protection and love.”

“Most true, Signor Podesta,” answered Raoul from his boat; “and such being the case, I hasten to haul my vessel into the mouth of your basin, which I will defend against boats or any attempt of these rascally republicans to land.”

Waving his hand, the young sailor pulled quickly out of the crowded little port, followed by a hundred vivas. Raoul now saw that his orders had not been neglected. A small line had been run out from the lugger and fastened to a ring in the inner end of the eastern side of the narrow haven, apparently with the intention of hauling the vessel into the harbor itself. He also perceived that the light anchor, or large kedge, by which le Feu-Follet rode, was under foot, as seamen term it; or that the cable was nearly “up and down.” With a wave of the hand he communicated a new order, and then he saw that the men were raising the kedge from the bottom. By the time his foot touched the deck, indeed, the anchor was up and stowed, and nothing held the vessel but the line that had been run to the quay. Fifty pairs of hands were applied to this line, and the lugger advanced rapidly toward her place of shelter. But an artifice was practised to prevent her heading into the harbor’s mouth, the line having been brought inboard abaft her larboard cathead, a circumstance which necessarily gave her a sheer in the contrary direction, or to the eastward of the entrance. When the reader remembers that the scale on which the port had been constructed was small, the entrance scarce exceeding a hundred feet in width, he will better understand the situation of things. Seemingly to aid the movement, too, the jigger was set, and the wind being south, or directly aft, the lugger’s motion was soon light and rapid. As the vessel drew nearer to the entrance, her people made a run with the line and gave her a movement of some three or four knots to the hour, actually threatening to dash her bows against the pier-head. But Raoul Yvard contemplated no such blunder. At the proper moment the line was cut, the helm was put a-port, the lugger’s head sheered to starboard, and just as Vito Viti, who witnessed all without comprehending more than half that passed, was shouting his vivas and animating all near him with his cries, the lugger glided past the end of the harbor, on its outside, however, instead of entering it. So completely was every one taken by surprise by this evolution that the first impression was of some mistake, accident, or blunder of the helmsman, and cries of regret followed, lest the frigate might have it in her power to profit by the mishap. The flapping of canvas, notwithstanding, showed that no time was lost, and presently le Feu-Follet shot by an opening between the warehouses, under all sail. At this critical instant the frigate, which saw what passed, but which had been deceived like all the rest, and supposed the lugger was hauling into the haven, tacked and came round with her head to the westward. But intending to fetch well into the bay, she had stretched so far over toward the eastern shore as, by this time, to be quite two miles distant; and as the lugger rounded the promontory close under its rocks, to avoid the shot of the batteries above, she left, in less than five minutes, her enemy that space directly astern. Nor was this all. It would have been dangerous to fire as well as useless, on account of the range, since the lugger lay nearly in a line between her enemy’s chase guns and the residence of the vice-governatore. It only remained, therefore, for the frigate to commence what is proverbially “a long chase,” viz. “a stern chase.”

All that has just been related may have occupied ten minutes; but the news reached Andrea Barrofaldi and his counsellors soon enough to allow them to appear on the promontory in time to see the Ving-y-Ving pass close under the cliffs beneath them, still keeping her English colors flying. Raoul was visible, trumpet in hand; but as the wind was light, his powerful voice sufficed to tell his story.

“Signori,” he shouted, “I will lead the rascally republican away from your port in chase; _that_ will be the most effectual mode of doing you a service.”

These words were heard and understood, and a murmur of applause followed from some, while others thought the whole affair mysterious and questionable. There was no time to interpose by acts, had such a course been contemplated, the lugger keeping too close in to be exposed to shot, and there being, as yet, no new preparations in the batteries to meet an enemy. Then there were the doubts as to the proper party to assail, and all passed too rapidly to admit of consultation or preconcert.

The movement of le Feu-Follet was so easy, as to partake of the character of instinct. Her light sails were fully distended, though the breeze was far from fresh; and as she rose and fell on the long ground-swells, her wedge-like bows caused the water to ripple before them like a swift current meeting a sharp obstacle in the stream. It was only as she sank into the water, in stemming a swell, that anything like foam could be seen under her forefoot. A long line of swift-receding bubbles, however, marked her track, and she no sooner came abreast of any given group of spectators than she was past it–resembling the progress of a porpoise as he sports along a harbor.

Ten minutes after passing the palace, or the pitch of the promontory, the lugger opened another bay, one wider and almost as deep as that on which Porto Ferrajo stands, and here she took the breeze without the intervention of any neighboring rocks, and her speed was essentially increased. Hitherto, her close proximity to the shore had partially becalmed her, though the air had drawn round the promontory, making nearly a fair wind of it; but now the currents came fully on her beam, and with much more power. She hauled down her tacks, flattened in her sheets, luffed, and was soon out of sight, breasting up to windward of a point that formed the eastern extremity of the bay last mentioned.

All this time the Proserpine had not been idle. As soon as she discovered that the lugger was endeavoring to escape, her rigging was alive with men. Sail after sail was set, one white cloud succeeding another, until she was a sheet of canvas from her trucks to her bulwarks. Her lofty sails taking the breeze above the adjacent coast, her progress was swift, for this particular frigate had the reputation of being one of the fastest vessels in the English marine.

It was just twenty minutes by Andrea Barrofaldi’s watch after le Feu-Follet passed the spot where he stood, when the Proserpine came abreast of it. Her greater draught of water induced her to keep half a mile from the promontory, but she was so near as to allow a very good opportunity to examine her general construction and appearance as she went by. The batteries were now manned, and a consultation was held on the propriety of punishing a republican for daring to come so near a Tuscan port. But there flew the respected and dreaded English ensign; and it was still a matter of doubt whether the stranger were friend or enemy. Nothing about the ship showed apprehension, and yet she was clearly chasing a craft which, coming from a Tuscan harbor, an Englishman would be bound to consider entitled to his protection rather than to his hostility. In a word, opinions were divided, and when that is the case, in matters of this nature, decision is obviously difficult. Then, if a Frenchman, she clearly attempted no injury to any on the island; and those who possessed the power to commence a fire were fully aware how much the town lay exposed, and how little benefit might be expected from even a single broadside. The consequence was that the few who were disposed to open on the frigate, like the two or three who had felt the same disposition toward the lugger, were restrained in their wishes, not only by the voice of superior authority, but by that of numbers.

In the mean while the Proserpine pressed on, and in ten minutes more she was not only out of the range, but beyond the reach of shot. As she opened the bay west of the town le Feu-Follet was seen from her decks, fully a league ahead, close on a wind, the breeze hauling round the western end of the island, glancing through the water at a rate that rendered pursuit more than doubtful. Still the ship persevered, and in little more than an hour from the time she had crowded sail she was up with the western extremity of the hills, through more than a mile to the leeward. Here she met the fair southern breeze, uninfluenced by the land, as it came through the pass between Corsica and Elba, and got a clear view of the work before her. The studding-sails and royals had been taken in twenty minutes earlier; the bowlines were now all hauled, and the frigate was brought close upon the wind. Still the chase was evidently hopeless, the little Feu-Follet having everything as much to her mind as if she had ordered the weather expressly to show her powers. With her sheets flattened in until her canvas stood like boards, her head looked fully a point to windward of that of the ship, and, what was of equal importance, she even went to windward of the point she looked at, while the Proserpine, if anything, fell off a little, though but a very little, from her own course. Under all these differences the lugger went through the water six feet to the frigate’s five, beating her in speed almost as much as she did in her weatherly qualities.

The vessel to windward was not the first lugger, by fifty, that Captain Cuffe had assisted in chasing, and he knew the hopelessness of following such a craft under circumstances so directly adapted to its qualities. Then he was far from certain that he was pursuing an enemy at all, whatever distrust the signals may have excited, since she had clearly come out of a friendly port. Bastia, too, lay within a few hours’ run, and there was the whole of the east coast of Corsica, abounding with small bays and havens, in which a vessel of that size might take refuge if pressed. After convincing himself, therefore, by half an hour’s further trial in open sailing under the full force of the breeze, of the fruitlessness of his effort, that experienced officer ordered the Proserpine’s helm put up, the yards squared, and he stood to the northward, apparently shaping his course for Leghorn or the Gulf of Genoa. When the frigate made this change in her course, the lugger, which had tacked some time previously, was just becoming shut in by the western end of Elba, and she was soon lost to view entirely, with every prospect of her weathering the island altogether, without being obliged to go about again.

It was no more than natural that such a chase should occasion some animation in a place as retired and ordinarily as dull as Porto Ferrajo. Several of the young idlers of the garrison obtained horses and galloped up among the hills to watch the result; the mountains being pretty well intersected by bridle-paths, though totally without regular roads. They who remained in the town, as a matter of course, were not disposed to let so favorable a subject for discourse die away immediately, for want of a disposition to gossip on it. Little else was talked of that day than the menaced attack of the republican frigate, and the escape of the lugger. Some, indeed, still doubted, for every question has its two sides, and there was just enough of dissent to render the discussions lively and the arguments ingenious. Among the disputants, Vito Viti acted a prominent part. Having committed himself so openly by his “vivas” and his public remarks in the port, he felt it due to his own character to justify all he had said, and Raoul Yvard could not have desired a warmer advocate than he had in the podesta. The worthy magistrate exaggerated the vice-governatore’s knowledge of English, by way of leaving no deficiency in the necessary proofs of the lugger’s national character. Nay, he even went so far as to affirm that he had comprehended a portion of the documents exhibited by the “Signor Smees” himself; and as to “ze Ving-y-Ving,” any one acquainted in the least with the geography of the British Channel would understand that she was precisely the sort of craft that the semi-Gallic inhabitants of Guernsey and Jersey would be apt to send forth to cruise against the out-and-out Gallic inhabitants of the adjacent main.

During all these discussions, there was one heart in Porto Ferrajo that was swelling with the conflicting emotions of gratitude, disappointment, joy, and fear, though the tongue of its owner was silent. Of all of her sex in the place, Ghita alone had nothing to conjecture, no speculation to advance, no opinion to maintain, nor any wish to express. Still she listened eagerly, and it was not the least of her causes of satisfaction to find that her own hurried interviews with the handsome privateersman had apparently escaped observation. At length her mind was fully lightened of its apprehensions, leaving nothing but tender regrets, by the return of the horsemen from the mountains. These persons reported that the upper sails of the frigate were just visible in the northern board, so far as they could judge, even more distant than the island of Capraya, while the lugger had beaten up almost as far to windward as Pianosa, and then seemed disposed to stand over toward the coast of Corsica, doubtless with an intention to molest the commerce of that hostile island.

CHAPTER VII.

_Ant_.–“And, indeed sir, there are cozeners abroad; therefore it behoves men to be wary.”

_Clo_.–“Fear not thou, man, thou shalt lose nothing here.”

_Ant._–“I hope so, sir, for I have about me many parcels of change.” _Winter’s Tale_.

Such was the state of things at Porto Ferrajo at noon, or about the hour when its inhabitants bethought them of their mid-day meal. With most the siesta followed, though the sea air, with its invigorating coolness, rendered that indulgence less necessary to these islanders than to most of their neighbors on the main. Then succeeded the reviving animation of the afternoon, and the return of the zephyr, or the western breeze. So regular, indeed, are these changes in the currents of the air during the summer months, that the mariner can rely with safety on meeting a light breeze from the southward throughout the morning, a calm at noon–the siesta of the Mediterranean–and the delightfully cool wind from the west, after three or four o’clock; this last is again succeeded at night by a breeze directly from the land. Weeks at a time have we known this order of things to be uninterrupted; and when the changes did occasionally occur, it was only in the slight episodes of showers and thunderstorms, of which, however, Italy has far fewer than our own coast.

Such, then, was the state of Porto Ferrajo toward the evening that succeeded this day of bustle and excitement. The zephyr again prevailed–the idle once more issued forth for their sunset walk–and the gossips were collecting to renew their conjectures and to start some new point in their already exhausted discussions, when a rumor spread through the place, like fire communicated to a train, that “ze Ving-y-Ving” was once more coming down on the weather side of the island, precisely as she had approached on the previous evening, with the confidence of a friend and the celerity of a bird. Years had passed since such a tumult was awakened in the capital of Elba. Men, women, and children poured from the houses and were seen climbing the streets, all hastening to the promenade, as if to satisfy themselves with their own eyes of the existence of some miracle. In vain did the infirm and aged call on the vigorous and more youthful for the customary assistance; they were avoided like the cases of plague, and were left to hobble up the terraced street as best they might. Even mothers, after dragging them at their own sides till fearful of being too late, abandoned their young in the highway, certain of finding them rolled to the foot of the declivity, should they fail of scrambling to its summit. In short, it was a scene of confusion in which there was much to laugh at, something to awaken wonder, and not a little that was natural.

Ten minutes had not certainly elapsed after the rumor reached the lower part of the town ere two thousand persons were on the hill, including nearly all the principal personages of the place, ‘Maso Tonti, Ghita, and the different characters known to the reader. So nearly did the scene of this evening resemble that of the past, the numbers of the throng on the hill and the greater interest excepted, that one who had been present at the former might readily have fancied the latter merely its continuation. There, indeed, was the lugger, under her foresail and mainsail, with the jigger brailed, coming down wing-and-wing, and glancing along the glittering sea like the duck sailing toward her nest. This time, however, the English ensign was flying at the end of the jigger yard, as if in triumph; and the little craft held her way nearer to the rocks, like one acquainted with the coast and fearing no danger. There was a manner of established confidence in the way in which she trusted herself under the muzzles of guns that might have destroyed her in a very few minutes, and no one who saw her approach could very well believe that she was anything but a known, as well as a confirmed, friend.

“Would any of the republican rascals, think you, Signor Andrea,” asked Vito Viti, in triumph, “dare to come into Porto Ferrajo in this style; knowing, too, as does this ‘Sir Smees,’ the sort of people he will have to deal with! Remember, Vice-governatore, that the man has actually been ashore among us, and would not be likely to run his head into the lion’s mouth.”

“Thou hast changed thine opinion greatly, neighbor Vito,” answered the vice-governatore, somewhat dryly, for he was far from being satisfied on the subject of Sir Cicero and on those of certain other circumstances in English history and politics; “it better becomes magistrates to be cautious and wary.”

“Well, if there be a more cautious and circumspect man in Elba than the poor podesta of the Porto Ferrajo, let him stand forth, o’ God’s name, and prove his deeds! I do not esteem myself, Signor Vice-governatore, as the idlest or as the most ignorant man in the Grand Duke’s territories. There may be wiser, among whom I place your eccellenza; but there is not a more loyal subject or a more zealous friend of truth.”

“I believe it, good Vito,” returned Andrea, smiling kindly on his old associate, “and have ever so considered thy advice and services. Still, I wish I knew something of this Sir Cicero; for, to be frank with thee, I have even foregone my siesta in searching the books in quest of such a man.”

“And do they not confirm every syllable the Signor Smees has said?”

“So far from it, that I do not even find the name. It is true, several distinguished orators of that nation are styled _English_ Ciceroes; but then all people do this, by way of commendation.”

“I do not know that, Signore–I do not know that–it may happen in our Italy; but would it come to pass, think you, among remote and so lately barbarous nations as England, Germany, and France?”

“Thou forgettest, friend Vito,” returned the vice-governatore, smiling now, in pity of his companion’s ignorance and prejudices, as just before he had smiled in kindness, “that we Italians took the pains to civilize these people a thousand years ago, and that they have not gone backward all this time. But there can be no doubt that ‘ze Ving-y-Ving’ means to enter our bay again, and there stands the ‘Signor Smees’ examining us with a glass, as if he, too, contemplated another interview.”

“It strikes me, Vice-governatore, that it would be a sin next to heresy to doubt the character of those who so loyally put their trust in us. No republican would dare to anchor in the bay of Porto Ferrajo a second time. _Once_ it might possibly be done; but _twice?_–no, never, never.”

“I do not know but you are right, Vito, and I am sure I hope so. Will you descend to the port and see that the forms are complied with? Then glean such useful circumstances as you can.”

The crowd was now in motion toward the lower part of the town to meet the lugger; and at this suggestion the podesta hurried down in the throng, to be in readiness to receive the “Signor Smees” as soon as he should land. It was thought more dignified and proper for the vice-governatore to remain, and await to hear the report of the supposed English officer where he was. Ghita was one of the few also who remained on the heights, her heart now beating with renewed apprehensions of the dangers that her lover had again braved on her account, and now nearly overflowing with tenderness, as she admitted the agreeable conviction that, had she not been in Porto Ferrajo, Raoul Yvard would never have incurred such risks.

Ghita delle Torri, or Ghita of the Towers, as the girl was ordinarily termed by those who knew her, from a circumstance in her situation that will appear as we advance in the tale, or Ghita Caraccioli, as was her real name, had been an orphan from infancy. She had imbibed a strength of character and a self-reliance from her condition, that might otherwise have been wanting in one so young, and of a native disposition so truly gentle. An aunt had impressed on her mind the lessons of female decorum; and her uncle, who had abandoned the world on account of a strong religious sentiment, had aided in making her deeply devout and keenly conscientious. The truth of her character rendered her indisposed to the deception which Raoul was practising, while feminine weakness inclined her to forgive the offence in the motive. She had shuddered again and again, as she remembered how deeply the young sailor was becoming involved in frauds,–and frauds, too, that might so easily terminate in violence and bloodshed; and then she had trembled under the influence of a gentler emotion as she remembered that all these risks were run for her. Her reason had long since admonished her that Raoul Yvard and Ghita Caraccioli ought to be strangers to each other; but her heart told a different story. The present was an occasion suited to keeping these conflicting feelings keenly alive, and, as has been said, when most of the others hastened down toward the port to be present when the Wing-and-Wing came in, she remained on the hill, brooding over her own thoughts, much of the time bathed in tears.

But Raoul had no intention of trusting his Jack-o’-Lantern where it might so readily be extinguished by the hand of man. Instead of taking shelter against any new roving republican who might come along behind the buildings of the port, as had been expected, he shot past the end of the quay and anchored within a few fathoms of the very spot he had quitted that morning, merely dropping his kedge under foot as before. Then he stepped confidently into his boat and pulled for the landing.

“Eh, Signor Capitano,” cried Vito Viti, as he met his new protege with an air of cordiality as soon as the foot of the latter touched the shore, “we looked for the pleasure of receiving you into our bosom, as it were, here in the haven. How ingeniously you led off that _sans culotte_ this morning! Ah, the Inglese are the great nation of the ocean, Colombo notwithstanding! The vice-governatore told me all about your illustrious female admiral, Elisabetta, and the Spanish armada; and there was Nelsoni; and now we have Smees!”

Raoul accepted these compliments, both national and personal, in a very gracious manner, squeezing the hand of the podesta with suitable cordiality and condescension, acting the great man as if accustomed to this sort of incense from infancy. As became his public situation, as well as his character, he proposed paying his duty immediately to the superior authorities of the island.

“King George, my master,” continued Raoul, as he and Vito Viti walked from the quay toward the residence of Andrea Barrofaldi, “is particularly pointed on this subject, with us all, in his personal orders. ‘Never enter a port of one of my allies, Smeet,’ he said, the very last time I took leave of him, ‘without immediately hastening with your duty to the commandant of the place. You never lose anything by being liberal in politeness; and England is too polished a country to be outdone in these things by even the Italians, the parents of modern civilization.'”

“You are happy in having such a sovrano, and still more so in being allowed to approach his sacred person.”

“Oh! as to the last, the navy is his pet; he considers us captains in particular as his children. ‘Never enter London, my dear Smeet,’ he said to me, ‘without coming to the palace, where you will always find a father’–you know he has one son among us who was lately a captain, as well as myself.”

“San Stefano! and he the child of a great king! I did not know that, I confess, Signore.”

“Why, it is a law in England that the king shall give at least one son to the marine. ‘Yes,’ said his Majesty, ‘always be prompt in calling on the superior authorities, and remember me benevolently and affectionately to them, one and all, even down to the subordinate magistrates, who live in their intimacy.'”

Raoul delighted in playing the part he was now performing, but he was a little addicted to over-acting it. Like all exceedingly bold and decided geniuses, he was constantly striding across that step which separates the sublime from the ridiculous, and consequently ran no small hazard in the way of discovery. But with Vito Viti he incurred little risk on this score, provincial credulity and a love of the marvellous coming in aid of his general ignorance, to render him a safe depository of anything of this sort that the other might choose to advance. Vito Viti felt it to be an honor to converse with a man who, in his turn, had conversed with a king; and as he puffed his way up the steep ascent again he did not fail to express some of the feelings which were glowing in his breast.

“Is it not a happiness to serve such a prince?” he exclaimed–“nay, to die for him!”

“The latter is a service I have not yet performed,” answered Raoul, innocently, “but which may one day well happen. Do you not think, podesta, that he who lays down his life for his prince merits canonization?”

“That would fill the calendar too soon, in these wars, Signor Smees; but I will concede you the generals and admirals, and other great personages. Si–a general or an admiral who dies for his sovereign does deserve to be made a saint–this would leave these miserable French republicans, Signore, without hope or honor!”

“They are _canaille_ from the highest to the lowest, and can reasonably expect nothing better. If they wish to be canonized, let them restore the Bourbons, and put themselves lawfully in the way of such a blessing. The chase of this morning, Signor Vito Viti, must at least have amused the town?”

The podesta wanted but this opening to pour out a history of his own emotions, sensations, and raptures. He expatiated in glowing terms on the service the lugger had rendered the place by leading off the rascally republicans, showing that he considered the manoeuvre of passing the port, instead of entering it, as one of the most remarkable of which he had ever heard, or even read.

“I defied the vice-governatore to produce an example of a finer professional inspiration in the whole range of history, beginning with his Tacitus and ending with your new English work on Roma. I doubt if the Elder Pliny, or Mark Antony, or even Caesar, ever did a finer thing, Signore; and I am not a man addicted to extravagance in compliments. Had it been a fleet of vessels of three decks, instead of a little lugger, Christendom would have rung with the glory of the achievement!”

“Had it been but a frigate, my excellent friend, the manoeuvre would have been unnecessary. Peste! it is not a single republican ship that can make a stout English frigate skulk along the rocks and fly like a thief at night.”

“Ah, there is the vice-governatore walking on his terrace, Sir Smees, and dying with impatience to greet you. We will drop the subject for another occasion, and a bottle of good Florence liquor.”

The reception which Andrea Barrofaldi gave Raoul was far less warm than that he received from the podesta, though it was polite, and without any visible signs of distrust.

“I have come, Signor Vice-governatore,” said the privateersman, “in compliance with positive orders from my master, to pay my respects to you again, and to report my arrival once more in your bay, though the cruise made since my last departure has not been so long as an East India voyage.”

“Short as it has been, we should have reason to regret your absence, Signore, were it not for the admirable proofs it has afforded us of your resources and seamanship,” returned Andrea, with due complaisance. “To own the truth, when I saw you depart it was with the apprehension that we should never enjoy this satisfaction again. But, like your English Sir Cicero, the second coming may prove even more agreeable than the first.”

Raoul laughed, and he even had the grace to blush a little; after which he appeared to reflect intensely on some matter of moment. Smiles struggled round his handsome mouth, and then he suddenly assumed an air of sailor-like frankness and disclosed his passing sensations in words.

“Signor Vice-governatore, I ask the favor of one moment’s private conference; Signor Vito Viti, give us leave a single moment, if you please. I perceive, Signore,” continued Raoul, as he and Andrea walked a little aside, “that you have not easily forgotten my little fanfaronade about our English Cicero. But what will you have?–we sailors are sent to sea children, and we know little of books. My excellent father, Milord Smeet, had me put in a frigate when I was only twelve, an age at which one knows very little of Ciceros or Dantes or Corneilles, even as you will confess. Thus, when I found myself in the presence of a gentleman whose reputation for learning has reached far beyond the island he so admirably governs, a silly ambition has led me into a folly that he finds it hard to forgive. If I have talked of names of which I know nothing, it may be a weakness such as young men will fall into; but surely it is no heinous crime.”

“You allow, Signore, that there has been no English Sir Cicero?”

“The truth compels me to say, I know nothing about it. But it is hard for a very young man, and one, too, that feels his deficiencies of education, to admit all this to a philosopher on a first acquaintance. It becomes a different thing when natural modesty is encouraged by a familiar goodness of heart; and a day’s acquaintance with the Signor Barrofaldi is as much as a year with an ordinary man.”

“If this be the case, Sir Smees, I can readily understand, and as willingly overlook what has passed,” returned the vice-governatore, with a self-complacency that in nothing fell short of that which Vito Viti had so recently exhibited. “It must be painful to a sensitive mind to feel the deficiencies which unavoidably accompany the want of opportunities for study; and I at least can now say how delightful it is to witness the ingenuousness which admits it. Then, if England has never possessed a Cicero in name, doubtless she has had many in qualifications, after allowing for the halo which time ever throws around a reputation. Should your duty often call you this way, Signore, during the summer, it will add to the pleasure I experience in enjoying the advantage of your acquaintance, to be permitted, in some slight degree, to direct your reading to such works as, with a mind like yours, will be certain to lead to profit and pleasure.”

Raoul made a suitable acknowledgment for this offer, and from that moment the best understanding existed between the parties. The privateersman, who had received a much better education than he pretended to, and who was a consummate actor as well as, on certain occasions, a practised flatterer, determined to be more cautious in future, sparing his literary conjectures, whatever liberties he might take with other subjects. And yet this reckless and daring mariner never flattered nor deceived Ghita in anything! With her he had been all sincerity, the influence he had obtained over the feelings of that pure-minded girl being as much the result of the nature and real feeling he had manifested, as of his manly appearance and general powers of pleasing. It would have been, indeed, matter of interesting observation for one curious in the study of human nature to note how completely the girl’s innocence and simplicity of character had extended itself over