 | CHAPTER V. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet |  |
5. CHAPTER V.
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 podestâ
sought their homes and their pillows, leaving the lugger
riding quietly at her anchor, in the spot where she was last
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
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 harbour, 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 harbour, 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 éclat, 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
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, Etooell.”
“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—”
“Tonnère! 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
went 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 accessary 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
we remember who created principles) the providence of God.
Let that people dread the future, who, in their collected
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 towards
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
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 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 canvass 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,
to let the national character of the stranger be known.
“Peste!” exclaimed Raoul Yvard, as soon 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 tricolor,
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.”
“Ay, 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-two's, 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 of 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 colours 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
Américain?”
“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 galère! —
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
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 masque.
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
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 visiters 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
harbour, 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, endeavoured 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
endeavoured to insinuate themselves into their confidence,
by offerings of fruit and flowers.
“Amico,” said Annunziate, one of the prettiest girls of
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 podestâ,
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
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 subjected 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, can 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 let 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,” drily remarked Andrea Barrofaldi
— “é 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 Yankés,
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 honourable 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,
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
Podestâ, a battle you seem so much to admire.”
“That would be a manœuvre 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 Françese?”
“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 connexion 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 arisen the wind, and a few minutes before the colonel
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 canvass 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 honour 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
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 V. The wing-and-wing, or, Le Feu-follet | |