University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

The glance which Ithuel cast around him was brief, but
comprehensive. He saw that two of the party in the room
were much superior to the other four, and that the last were
common Mediterranean mariners. The position which
Benedetta occupied in the household could not be mistaken,
for she proclaimed herself its mistress by her very air; whether
it were in the upper or in the lower room.

“Vino,” said Ithuel, with a flourish of the hand, to help

along his Italian, this and one or two more being the only
words of the language he ventured to use directly, or without
calling in the assistance of his interpreter; “vino —
vino, vino, Signora.”

“Si, si, si, Signore,” answered Benedetta, laughing, and
this with her meaning eyes so keenly riveted on the person
of her new guest, as to make it very questionable whether
she were amused by anything but his appearance; “your
eccellenza shall be served; but whether at a paul, or a half-paul
the flask, depends on your own pleasure. We keep
wine at both prices, and,” glancing towards the table of
Andrea Barrofaldi, “usually serve the first to signori of
rank and distinction.”

“What does the woman say?” growled Ithuel to his
interpreter, a Genoese, who from having served several
years in the British navy, spoke English with a very tolerable
facility — “you know what we want, and just tell her
to hand it over, and I will fork out her St. Paul, without
more words. What a desperate liking your folks have for
saints, Philip-o,” for so Ithuel pronounced Filippo, the name
of his companion — “what a desperate liking your folks
have for saints, Philip-o, that they must even call their
money after them.”

“It not so in America, Signor Bolto?” asked the Genoese,
after he had explained his wishes to Benedetta, in Italian;
“it no ze fashion in your country to honour ze saints?”

“Honour the saints!” repeated Ithuel, looking curiously
around him, as he took a seat at a third table, shoving aside
the glasses at the same time, and otherwise disposing of
every thing within reach of his hand, so as to suit his own
notions of order, and then leaning back on his chair until
the two ends of the uprights dug into the plaster behind him,
while the legs on which the fabric was poised cracked with
his weight; “honour the saints! we should be much more
like to dishonour them! What does any one want to honour
a saint for? A saint is but a human — a man like you and
me, after all the fuss you make about 'em. — Saints abound
in my country, if you 'd believe people's account of themselves.”

“Not quite so, Signor Bolto. You and me no great saint,
Italian honour saint because he holy and good.”

By this time Ithuel had got his two feet on the round of
his seat, his knees spread so as to occupy as much space
as an unusual length of leg would permit, and his arms
extended on the tops of two chairs, one on each side of him,
in a way to resemble what is termed a spread eagle.

Andrea Barrofaldi regarded all this with wonder. It is
true, he expected to meet with no great refinement in a
wine-house like that of Benedetta's; but he was unaccustomed
to see such nonchalance of manner in a man of the stranger's
class; or, indeed, of any class; the Italian mariners present
occupying their chairs in simple and respectful attitudes, as
if each man had the wish to be as little obtrusive as possible.
Still he let no sign of his surprise escape him, noting all that
passed in a grave but attentive silence. Perhaps he saw
traces of national peculiarities, if not of national history, in
the circumstances.

“Honour saint because he holy and good!” said Ithuel,
with a very ill-concealed disdain — “why, that is the very
reason why we don't honour 'em. When you honour a
holy man, mankind may consait you do it on 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
rayther worship this flask of wine, any day, than worship
the best saint on your parson's 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 honourable
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.”

“Ay — 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 mariners in succession, all eyes turning with lively
curiosity towards 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.[1] 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.

“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 podestâ 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 out
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 a 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.
A'ter 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 towards 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, 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 neighbour, 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;
an 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 possibile!” 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 in 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 favourable
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.”

“Ay, 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, neighbour, 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 harbour 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 favourite 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 podestâ. 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 and 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 neighbour 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 favour 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 manking. 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's.
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'll 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 under-tone,
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 inimies.

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 no 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 take 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 shop-keeper 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 honour,
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.