University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

A long summer's evening did the body of Francesco
Caraccioli hang suspended at the yard-arm of the Minerva;
a revolting spectacle to his countrymen, and to most of the
strangers who had been the witnesses of his end. Then was
it lowered into a boat, its feet loaded with double-headed
shot, and it was carried out a league, or more, into the bay,
and cast into the sea. The revolting manner in which it
rose to the surface, and confronted its destroyers, a fortnight
later, has passed into history; and, to this day, forms one
of the marvels related by the ignorant and wonder-loving of
that region.[1] As for Ghita, she disappeared, no one knew
how; Vito Viti, and his companions, being too much absorbed
with the scene, to note the tender and considerate manner in
which Raoul rowed her off from a spectacle that could but
be replete with horrors, to one so situated. Cuffe, himself,
stood but a few minutes longer; but he directed his boat's
crew to pull alongside of the Proserpine. In half-an-hour
after the execution took place, this frigate was aweigh; and
then she was seen standing out of the bay, before a light air,

covered with canvass, from her truck to her hammock-cloths.
Leaving her, for the moment, we will return to the
party in the skiff.

Neither Carlo Giuntotardi, nor Ghita Caraccioli—for so
we must continue to call the girl, albeit the name is much
too illustrious to be borne by one of her humble condition in
life—but, neither of these two had any other design, in thus
seeking out the unfortunate admiral, than to perform what
each believed to be a duty. As soon as the fate of Caraccioli
was decided, both were willing to return to their old
position in life; not that they felt ashamed to avow their
connection with the dead; but because they were quite devoid
of any of that worldly ambition, which renders rank
and fortune necessary to happiness.

When he left the crowd of boats, Raoul pulled towards
the rocks which bound the shores of the bay, near the gardens
of Portici. This was a point sufficiently removed from
the common anchorage, to be safe from observation; and
yet so near, as to be reached in considerably less than an
hour. As the light boat proceeded, Ghita gradually regained
her composure. She dried her eyes, and looked around her
inquiringly, as if wondering whither their companion was
taking them.

“I will not ask you, Raoul, why you are here, at a moment
like this, and whence you have come,” she said; “but
I may ask whither you are now carrying us? Our home
is at St. Agata, on the heights above Sorrento, and on the
other side of the bay. We come there, annually, to pass
a month with my mother's sister; who asks this much of
our love.”

“If I did not know all this, Ghita, I would not, and could
not be here. I have visited the cottage of your aunt, this
day; followed you to Naples; heard of the admiral's trial
and sentence; understood how it would affect your feelings;
traced you on board the English admiral's ship, and was in
waiting, as you found me; having first contrived to send
away the man who took you off. All this has come about
as naturally, as the feeling which has induced me to venture,
again, into the lion's mouth.”

“The pitcher that goes often to the well, Raoul, gets
broken at last,” said Ghita, a little reproachfully, though it

surpassed her power to prevent the tones of tenderness from
mingling with her words.

“You know all, Ghita. After months of perseverance,
and a love such as man seldom felt before, you deliberately
and coldly refused to be my wife;—nay, you have deserted
Monte Argentaro, purposely to get rid of my importunities;
for there I could go with the lugger, at any moment; and
have come here, upon this bay, crowded with the English,
and other enemies of France, fancying that I would not dare
to venture hither.—Well, you see with what success; for
neither Nelson, nor his two-deckers, can keep Raoul Yvard
from the woman he loves, let him be as victorious and skilful
as he may!”

The sailor had ceased rowing, to give vent to his feelings
in this speech, neither of the two colloquists regarding the
presence of Carlo Giuntotardi, any more than if he had been
a part of themselves. This indifference to the fact that a
third person was a listener, proceeded from habit, the worthy
scholar and religionist being usually too abstracted to attend
to concerns as light as love, and the youthful affections.
Ghita was not surprised, either at the reproaches of her
suitor, or at his perseverance; and her conscience told her
he uttered but the truth, in attributing to her the motives he
had, in urging her uncle to make their recent change of residence;
for, while a sense of duty had induced her to quit
the towers, her art was not sufficient to suggest the expediency
of going to any other abode than that which she was
accustomed to inhabit periodically, and about which Raoul
knew, from her own innocent narrations, nearly as much as
she knew herself.

“I can say no more than I have said, already,” the
thoughtful girl answered, after Raoul had begun again to
row. “It is better, on every account, that we should part.
I cannot change my country; nor can you desert that
glorious republic, of which you feel so proud. I am an
Italian, and you are French; while, more than all, I worship
my God, while you believe in the new opinions of your own
nation. Here are causes enough for separation, surely,
however favourably and kindly we may happen to think
of each other, in general.”

“Tell me not, any more, of the heart of an Italian girl,

and of her readiness to fly to the world's end, with the man
of her choice!” exclaimed Raoul, bitterly. “I can find a
thousand girls, in Languedoc, who would make the circuit
of the earth, yearly, rather than be separated, a day, from
the seamen they have chosen for their husbands.”

“Then look among the girls of Languedoc, for a wife,”
answered Ghita, with a smile so melancholy that it contradicted
her words. “Better to take one of your own nation
and opinion, Raoul, than risk your happiness with a stranger;
who might not answer all your hopes, when you came to
know her better.”

“We will not talk further of this, now, dearest Ghita;
my first care must be to carry you back to the cottage of
your aunt—unless, indeed, you will at once embark in le
Feu-Follet, and return to the towers?”

“Le Feu-Follet! — she is hardly here, in the midst of a
fleet of her enemies! — Remember, Raoul, that your men
will begin to complain, if you place them too often in such
risks, to gratify your own wishes.”

“Peste! — I keep them in good-humour, by rich prizes.
They have been successful; and that which makes yonder
Nelson popular, and a great man, makes Raoul Yvard popular,
and a great man, also, in his little way. My crew is
like its captain—it loves adventures, and it loves success.”

“I do not see the lugger—among a hundred ships, there
is no sign of yours?”

“The Bay of Napoli is large, Ghita,” returned Raoul,
laughing; “and le Feu-Follet takes but little room. See—
yonder vaisseaux-de-ligne appear trifling among these noble
mountains, and on this wide gulf; you cannot expect my
little lugger to make much show. We are small, Ghita
mia, if not insignificant!”

“Still, where there are so many vigilant eyes, there is
always danger, Raoul! Besides, a lugger is an unusual rig,
as you have owned to me, yourself.”

“Not here, among all these eastern craft. I have always
found, if I wished to be unnoticed, it was best to get into a
crowd; whereas, he who lives in a village, lives in open
day-light. But we will talk of these things, when alone,
Ghita—yonder fisherman is getting ready to receive us.”

By this time the skiff was near the shore, where a little

yawl was anchored, containing a solitary fisherman. This
man was examining them, as they approached; and, recognising
Raoul, he was gathering in his lines, and preparing
to raise his grapnel. In a few minutes the two craft lay
side by side; and then, though not without difficulty, owing
to a very elaborate disguise, Ghita recognised Ithuel Bolt.
A very few words sufficed to let the American into all that
it was necessary he should know, when the whole party
made its arrangements to depart. The skiff which Raoul,
having found it lying on the beach, had made free with,
without leave, he anchored, in the full expectation that its
right owner might find it, some day or other; while its cargo
was transferred to the yawl, which was one of the lugger's
own attendants. The latter was a light, swift-pulling little
boat, admirably constructed, and fit to live in a sea-way;
requiring, moreover, but two good oars, one of which Raoul
undertook to pull, himself, while Ithuel managed the other.
In five minutes after the junction was made, the party was
moving again from the land, in a straight line across the bay,
steering in the direction of its southern cape, and proceeding
with the steady, swift movement of men accustomed to the
toil.

There are few portions of the sea in which a single ship
or boat is an object of so little notice, as the Bay of Naples.
This is true of all times and seasons; the magnificent scale
on which nature has created her panorama, rendering ordinary
objects of comparative insignificance; while the constant
movement, the fruit of a million of souls thronging
around its teeming shores, covers it, in all directions, with
boats, almost as the streets of a town are crowded with
pedestrians. The present occasion, too, was one likely to
set everything in motion; and Raoul judged rightly, when
he thought himself less likely to be observed in such a scene,
than on a smaller and less-frequented water. As a matter
of course, while near the mole, or the common anchorage,
it was necessary to pass amid a floating throng; but, once
beyond the limits of this crowd, the size of the bay rendered
it quite easy to avoid unpleasant collisions, without any apparent
effort; while the passage of a boat, in any direction,
was an occurrence too common to awaken distrust. One
would think no more of questioning a craft that was encountered,

even in the centre of that spacious bay, than he would
think of inquiring about the stranger, met in a market-place.
All this both Raoul and Ithuel knew and felt; and, once in
motion, in their yawl, they experienced a sense of security,
that, for the four or five previous hours, had not always
existed.

By this time, the sun was low, though it was possible, as
Raoul perceived, to detect the speck that was still swinging
at the Minerva's fore-yard-arm; a circumstance to which
the young man, with considerate feeling, refrained from
adverting. The Proserpine had been some time in motion,
standing out of the fleet under a cloud of canvass, but with
an air so light as to permit the yawl to gain on her, though
the heads of both were turned in the same direction. In this
manner, mile after mile was passed, until darkness came.
Then the moon arose, rendering the bay less distinct, it is
true, but scarcely more mysterious, or more lovely, than in
the hours of stronger light. The gulf, indeed, forms an exception,
in this particular, to the general rule, by the extent
of its shores, the elevation of its mountains, the beauty of its
water—which has the deep tint of the ocean off soundings—
and the softness of the atmosphere; lending to it, by day,
all the mellowed and dreamy charms that other scenes borrow
from the illusions of night, and the milder brilliance of
the secondary planets. Raoul did not exert himself, at the
oar; and, as he sat aft, his companion was obliged to take
the stroke from his movement. It was so pleasant to have
Ghita with him, on his own element, that he never hurried
himself, while in the enjoyment of her society. The conversation,
it will readily be imagined, was not lively; but
the saddened melancholy of Ghita's voice, as she occasionally
hazarded a remark of her own, or answered one of his
questions, sounded sweeter, in his ears, than the music of
the ships' bands, that was now wafted to them across the
water.

As the evening advanced, the land-breeze increased, and
the Proserpine gradually gained upon the boat. When the
latter was about two-thirds of the distance across the bay,
the frigate caught the stronger current, that came down
athwart the campagna, between Vesuvius and the mountains
behind Castel à Mare, when she drove ahead fast. Her

sails, as seamen express it, were all asleep; or swelled outward,
without collapsing; and her rate of sailing was between
five and six miles in the hour. This brought them up with
the boat, hand-over-hand, as it is called; and Ghita, at Raoul's
request, put the helm aside, in order that they might get
out of the way of the huge body that was approaching. It
would seem that there was some design, on the part of the
ship, in coming so near, for she made a sheer towards the
yawl, in a way to frighten the timid helmswoman, and to
induce her to relinquish her hold of her tiller.

“Fear nothing,” called out Griffin, in Italian—“we intend
to offer you a tow. Stand by, and catch the line—
Heave—”

A small rope was thrown; and, falling directly across
Ithuel's head, that person could do no less than seize it.
With all his detestation of the English in general, and of this
vessel in particular, the man-of-all-work had the labour-saving
propensity of his countrymen; and it struck him as
a good thing, to make a “king's ship” aid an enemy's privateer,
by accepting the offer. As he used the line with proper
dexterity, the yawl was soon towing on the quarter of the
frigate; Raoul taking the helm, and giving the boat the
sheer necessary to prevent her dragging in, alongside. This
was a change so sudden, and so totally unexpected, that
Ghita murmured her disapprobation, lest it should lead to a
discovery of the true character of her companions.

“Fear nothing, dearest,” answered Raoul, “they cannot
suspect us; and we may learn something useful by being
here. At all events, le Feu-Follet is safe from their designs,
just at this moment.”

“Are you boatmen of Capri?” called out Griffin, who
stood on the taffrail of the ship, with Cuffe and the two
Italians near by; the first dictating the questions his lieutenant
put.

“S'nore, si;” answered Raoul, adopting the patois of the
country, as well as he could, and disguising his deep mellow
voice, by speaking on a high shrill key. “Boatmen of
Capri, that have been to Napoli with wine, and have been
kept out later than we intended by the spectacle at the yard-arm
of the Minerva. Cospetto! them signori make no more
of a prince, than we do of a quail, in the season, on our

little island. Pardon me, dearest Ghita; but we must throw
dust into their eyes.”

“Has any strange sail been seen about your island,
within the last twenty-four hours?”

“The bay is full of strange sail, S'nore; even the Turks
coming to see us, since the last trouble with the French.”

“Ay—but the Turks are now your allies, like us English.—Have
you seen any other strangers?”

“They tell me, there are ships from the far north, too,
S'nore, off the town. Russians, I believe, they call them.”

“They, too, are allies; but, I mean, enemies. Has there
not been a lugger seen off your island, within the last day
or two—a lugger of the French?”

“Si—si—I know what you mean, now, S'nore; there
has been a vessel like that you mention, off the island; for I
saw her with my own eyes—si—si. It was about the
twenty-third hour, last evening—a lugger, and we all said
she must be French, by her wicked looks.”

“Raoul!” said Ghita, as if reproaching him for an indiscretion.

“This is the true way to befog them,” answered the young
man; “they have certainly heard of us; and by seeming
to tell a little truth, frankly, it will give me an opportunity
of telling more untruth.”

“Ah, Raoul, it is a sad life, that renders untruths necessary!”

“It is the art of war, dearest; without it, we should soon
be outwitted, by these knaves of English.—Si—si, S'nori;
we all said just that, concerning her looks and rig.”

“Will you sheer your boat alongside, friend!” inquired
Griffin, “and come on board of us? We have a ducat,
here, that wants an owner; I fancy it will fit your pocket,
as well as another's. We will haul you ahead, abreast of
the gangway.”

“Oh! Raoul, do not think of this rash act,” whispered
Ghita; “the vice-governatore, or the podestâ, will recollect
you; and then all will be lost!”

“Fear nothing, Ghita—a good cause, and a keen wit,
will carry me through; while the least hesitation might,
indeed, ruin us. These English first ask, and then take,

without asking, if you tell them no. Corpo di Bacco! who
ever heard, either, of a lazzarone's refusing a ducat!”

Raoul then whispered a few words to Ithuel, when, the
boat being, by this time, far enough ahead, he gave it a
sheer alongside of the ship, seized a man-rope, and went up
the cleets as actively as a cat. It is certain, not a soul on
board that fine frigate had the least suspicion of the true character
of the individual who now confidently trod her quarter-deck.
The young man, himself, loved the excitement of
such an adventure, and he felt the greater confidence in his
impunity, from the circumstance that there was no other
light than that of the moon. The sails, too, cast their shadows
upon deck; and then, neither of the two Italians was
a wizard, at detecting impostors, as he knew by experience.

The watch was set for the night, and Winchester, who
had returned to duty, held the trumpet, while Griffin had no
other immediate office, but to interpret. Two or three midshipmen
were lounging about the quarter-deck; here and
there a seaman was on the look-out, at the halyards, or on
a cat-head; some twenty or thirty old sea-dogs were pacing
the gangways or the forecastle, with their arms crossed, and
hands stuck in their jackets; and a quick-eyed, active
quarter-master stood near the man at the wheel, conning
the ship. The remainder of the watch had stowed themselves
between the guns, or among the booms, in readiness
to act, but, in truth, dozing. Cuffe, Griffin, and the two
Italians, descended from the taffrail, and awaited the approach
of the supposed lazzarone, or boatman of Capri, as he
was now believed to be, near the stern of the vessel. By an
arrangement among themselves, Vito Viti became the spokesman;
Griffin translating to the captain, all that passed, in
an under-tone, as soon as it was uttered.

“Come hither, friend,” commenced the podestâ, in a
patronizing, but somewhat lofty manner; “this generous and
noble English captain, Sir Kooffe, desires me to present you
with a ducat, by way of showing that he asks no more of
you than he is willing to pay for. A ducat[2] is a great deal

of money, as you know; and good pay merits good services.”

“S'nore, si; your eccellenza says the truth; a good
ducat, certainly, deserves good services.”

“Bene. Now, tell these signori all you know about that
said lugger; where you saw her; when you saw her; and
what she was about. Keep your mind clear, and tell us
one thing at a time.”

“S'nore, si. I will keep my mind clear, and tell you no
more than one thing at a time. I believe, eccellenza, I am
to begin with where I saw her; then I'm to tell you when
I saw her; after which, you wish to know what she was
about. I believe, this is the way you put it, S'nore?”

“Excellently well; answer in that order, and you will
make yourself understood. But, first, tell me;—do all the
natives of Capri speak the same sort of Italian as you do
yourself, friend?”

“S'nore, si—though my mother having been a French
woman, they tell me that I have caught a little from her.
We all get something from our mothers, eccellenza; and its
a pity we could not keep more of it.”

“True, friend; but now for the lugger. Remember that
honourable signori will hear what you say; therefore, for
your own credit, speak to the point; and speak nothing but
truth, for the love of God.”

“Then, S'nore, first, as to where I saw her—does your
eccellenza mean, where I was at the time, or where the
lugger was?”

“Where the lugger was, fellow. Dost think Sir Kooffe
cares where thou spent thy day!”

“Well, then, eccellenza, the lugger was near the Island
of Capri, on the side next the Mediterranean, which, you
know, S'nore, is on the side opposite to the bay, and near,
as might be, abreast of the house of Giacomo Alberti—does
your eccellenza know anything of the house I mean?”

“Not I; but tell your story, as if I knew all about it. It
is these particulars which give value to a tale. How far
from the nearest land?—Mention that fact, by all means, if
you happen to remember.”

“Well, eccellenza, could the distance be measured, now
I think it would prove to be about as far—not quite, S'nore

but, I say, about—about as far as from the said Giacomo's
largest fig-tree, to the vines of Giovanni, his wife's cousin.
Si—I think, just about that distance.”

“And how far may that be, friend. Be precise, as much
may depend on your answers.”

“S'nore, that may be a trifle farther than it is from the
church to the top of the stairs that lead to Ana Capri.”

“Cospetto!—Thou wilt earn thy ducat speedily, at this
rate! Tell us, at once, in miles; was the lugger one, two,
six, or twenty miles from your island, at the time thou
speak'st of?”

“Eccellenza, you bid me speak of the time, in the second
place; after I had told you of the where, in the first place.
I wish to do whatever will give you pleasure, S'nore.”

“Neighbour Vito Viti,” put in the vice-governatore, “it
may be well to remember that this matter is not to be recorded,
as you would put on file the confessions of a thief;
it may be better to let the honest boatman tell his story in his
own way.”

“Ay, now the veechy has set to work, I hope we shall
get the worth of our ducat,” observed Cuffe, in English.

“S'nori,” rejoined Raoul, “it shall be just as your
eccellenzi say. The lugger you speak of was off the island,
last evening, steering towards Ischia; which place she must
have reached, in the course of the night, as there was a good
land-wind, from the twenty-third to the fifth hour.”

“This agrees with our account, as to the time and place,”
said Griffin; “but not at all, as to the direction the corsair
was steering. We hear, she was rather rounding the
southern cape, for the Gulf of Salerno.”

Raoul started, and gave thanks, mentally, that he had
come on board, as this statement showed that his enemies
had received only too accurate information of his recent
movements. He had hopes, however, of being able, yet, to
change their intentions, and to put them on a wrong scent.

“S'nori,” he said, “I should like to know who it is that
mistakes south-east for north-west. None of our pilots or
boatmen, I should think, could ever make so great a blunder.
S'nore, you are an officer, and understand such things; and
I will just ask you, if Ischia does not lie north-west of
Capri?”

“Of that fact, there can be no manner of doubt,” returned
Griffin; “it is equally true, that the Gulf of Salerno lies
south-east of both—”

“There, now!” interrupted Raoul, with a well-acted
assumption of vulgar triumph; “I knew, your eccellenza,
when you came to look into it, would see the folly of saying
that a vessel, which was standing from Capri towards Ischia,
was going on any other course than north-west!”

“But this is not the question, amico. We all understand
the bearings of these islands, which are the bearings of the
whole coast, down here-away; but the question is, which
way the lugger was steering?”

“I thought I had said, eccellenza, that she was heading
across towards Ischia,” answered Raoul, with an air of
obtuse innocence.

“If you do, you give an account exactly different from
that which has been sent to the admiral, by the good bishop
of your own island. May I never eat another of his own
quails, if I think he would deceive us; and it is not easy to
suppose, a man like him, does not know north from south.”

Raoul inwardly muttered a malediction on all priests; a
class of men, which, rightly enough, he believed to be united
in their hostility to France. But, it would not do to express
this, in his assumed character; and he affected to listen, as
one of his class ought to give ear, to a fact that came from
his spiritual father.

“North from south, eccellenza!—Monsignore knows a
great deal more than that, if the truth were said; though, I
suppose, these noble signori are acquainted with the right
reverend father's great infirmity?”

“Not we—none of us, I fancy, ever had the honour to be
in his company. Surely, fellow, your bishop is a man of
truth?”

“Truth!—Yes, eccellenza, so true is he, that if he were
to tell me that the thing I saw myself, had not, and could
not happen, I should rather believe Monsignore, than believe
my own eyes. Still, signori, eyes are something; and as
the right reverend father has none, or, what are as bad as
none, for any use they can be in looking at a vessel half-a-mile
off, he may not always see what he thinks he sees.
When Monsignore tells us that so and so is Gospel, we all

believe it; for we know the time has been when he could read;
but we never think of going to his door to ask which way a
ship is steering, having the use of our own senses.”

“Can this fellow tell us the truth, Griffin?” asked Cuffe,
a good deal mystified by Raoul's artifice, and his assumed
simplicity. “If so, we shall be going exactly on the wrong
scent, by hauling round Campanella, and running into the
Gulf of Salerno. The French hold Gaeta, yet, and it is
quite likely that Master Yvard may wish to keep a friendly
port open under his lee!”

“You forget, Captain Cuffe, that his lordship has sent a
light cruiser, already, up that way; and le Feu-Follet would
hardly dare to show herself near one of our regular fellows—”

“Umph!—I don't know that, Mr. Griffin;—I don't exactly
know that. The Proserpine is a `regular fellow,' after
a fashion, at least; and the Few-Folly has dared to show
herself to her. Jack-o'-Lantern!—D—n-me, Griffin, but
I think she is well named, now. I'd rather chase a jack-o'-lantern,
in the Island of Sicily, than be hunting after such a
chap;—first, he's here; then, he's there; and, presently,
he's nowhere. As for the sloop, she's gone south, at my
suggestion, to look into the bays along the Calabrian coast.
I told Nelson I wanted another ship; for, just so certain as
this Rule—Raw-owl—what the d—I do you call the
pirate, Griffin?—”

“Raoul, Captain Cuffe; Raoul Yvard is his name. 'T is
thoroughly French.—Raoul, means Rodolph.”

“Well, I told Nelson, if this lad should get to dodging
round one of the islands, we might as well set about playing
`puss in the corner,' by the week, as to think of driving him
off the land, for a fair chase. He works his boat like a
stage-coach, turning in to an inn-yard!”

“I wonder my lord did not think of this, and give us a
sloop or two, to help us.”

“Catch Nel. at that!—He might send one Englishman to
look after two Frenchmen; but he'd never dream of sending
two Englishmen to look after one Frenchman.”

“But this is not a fighting matter, sir; only a chase—
and one Frenchman will run faster than two Englishmen,
any day of the week.”

“Sa-c-r-r-r-e,” muttered Raoul, in a tone that he endeavoured
to suppress, and which was inaudible, to all ears,
but those of Andrea Barrofaldi; the vice-governatore happening
to stand nearer his person, just at that moment, than
any other of the party.

“Very true,” answered Cuffe; “but so it is. We are
sent alone; and if this Few-Folly get in between Ischia and
Procida, it will be easier to unearth a fox, than to drive her
out, single-handed. As for any more boat-service against
her, I suppose, you've all had enough of that?”

“Why, sir, I rather think the people would be shy,”
answered Griffin, with a little hesitation of manner, and yet
with the directness and simplicity of a truly brave man.
“We must let them get over the last brush, before they are
depended on much, for any new set-to, of that sort.”

“Bon!” muttered Raoul, quite unconscious he was overheard.

“Nevertheless, we must catch this fellow, if we wear out
our shoes, in the chase.”

All this time Andrea Barrofaldi and Vito Viti were profoundly
ignorant of what was passing between the two officers,
though Raoul listened eagerly, and so well understood
every syllable they uttered. Until this moment, the vice-governatore
had been rather indifferent and inattentive, as to
what occurred; but the two exclamations of Raoul, awakened
a vague distrust in his mind, which, while it had no direct object,
was certainly pregnant with serious consequences to the
Frenchman himself. Deep mortification at the manner in
which they had been duped by this celebrated privateersman,
with a desire to absent themselves from the island, until the
edge was a little taken off the ridicule they both felt they
merited, blended with certain longings to redeem their characters,
by assisting in capturing the corsair, were the reasons
why these two worthies, the deputy-governor and the podestâ,
were now on board the Proserpine. Cuffe had offered them
cots in his cabin, and seats at his table, in a moment of confidence;
and the offer was gladly accepted. Andrea had
not been on board the ship a day, however, before he became
thoroughly convinced of his utter uselessness; a circumstance
that added materially to the awkwardness of his
situation. Like all well-meaning and simple-minded men,

he had a strong wish to be doing; and day and night he
ruminated on the means, by himself, or discussed them in
private dialogues with his friend, the podestâ. Vito Viti
frankly admonished him to put his faith in heaven; affirming
that something worth while, would yet turn up, in the
cruise, to render the enterprise memorable; it being a habit,
with the magistrate, to say an ave or two, on all trying
occasions, and then trust to God.

“You never knew a miracle, vice-governatore,” said Vito
Viti, one day, when they were discussing the matter by
themselves; “you never knew a miracle come to pass, that
another was not close on its heels; the first being a mere
preparation for the last, and the last always proving to be
the most remarkable. Now, when Anina Gotti fell off the
cliffs, it was a miracle she didn't break her neck; but, when
she rolled over into the sea, it was a much greater she wasn't
drowned!”

“It is better to leave these things to the church, neighbour
Vito,” was the vice-governatore's answer; “nor do I see
that there has been any miracle in the affair, to start with.”

“How!—Do you not call it a miracle, Signor Andrea,
that two such men as you and I, should be deceived, as we
were, beyond all doubt, by this knave of a French corsair?
—I look upon it as so great a miracle, myself, that it ought
to follow, instead of going before its companion.”

To this Andrea made an answer suitable to his greater
information, and the discourse took its usual direction, towards
the means of doing something to relieve the two functionaries
from the stigma, that they mutually felt now rested
on their sagacity; and that, too, as this sagacity might be
considered conjointly or individually.

It was probably owing to this fever of the mind, that the
vice-governatore, a man usually so simple and confiding,
was now so suspicious and keen-sighted. The presence of
Carlo Giuntotardi and Ghita had, at first, struck him as a
little out of the common way; and, though he could not
distinguish their faces by the light of the moon, and at the
distance at which they were placed in the yawl, he fancied,
from the first, that his old acquaintances were in the boat
the ship was towing. Now Andrea Barrofaldi, certainly,
had never, before that day, connected Ghita, or her uncle,

in any manner with Raoul Yvard; but, it was beyond dispute,
that the mysterious manner in which they disappeared
from the island, had excited some remarks; and, in his
present state of mind, it was not an extraordinary circumstance
that he had some distant and vague glimmerings of
the truth. But for Raoul's indiscreet exclamations, however,
nothing probably would have come of these indistinct fancies;
and we are to refer all that followed to those unguarded out-breakings
of the Frenchman's humour, rather than to any
very clear process of ratiocination on the part of the vice-governatore.

Just as Cuffe made the declaration last recorded, Andrea
stepped up to the spot where he and Griffin were conversing
apart, and whispered a few words in the ear of the latter.

“The d—l!” exclaimed the lieutenant, in English.
“If what the vice-governatore tells me, be true, Captain
Cuffe, the work is half done to our hands!”

“Ay, the veechy is a good fellow, at the bottom, Griffin;
though he'll never burn the bay of Naples. What has he
to say, now?”

Griffin led his captain a little aside, and conferred a moment
with him, alone. Orders were then passed to the
officer of the deck, when Cuffe and his companion went
below, like men in a hurry.

END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.