The manner of these two young officers towards Falmouth was extremely respectful; they called him "my lord" and he addressed them with a familiarity that was friendly and almost paternal.
It was early in the month of June; the weather was magnificent; the wind, quite brisk and very favourable to our voyage, was from the north. After having consulted Williams as to the time of our departure, Falmouth decided that we should set sail the following morning.
In order to take a route towards the south it was necessary that we should reconnoitre the western coasts of Corsica, Sardinia, and of Sicily, and put into port at Malta; then, after having seen the governor and taken a pilot on board we would set sail to the northeast, and enter the Grecian Archipelago, in order to reach Hydra, where Falmouth hoped to meet Canaris.
The bay of Frais-Port, where the Gazelle was moored, was situated south of Porquerolles, and frequented only by fishing-boats or small Sardinian ships which cruised along its shores.
When we reached this harbour, we found there, at anchor, some distance from the Gazelle, a large mystic, flying a Sardinian flag.
Night came on, the moon rose with all its dazzling brilliancy in the centre of a magnificent starry heaven; the air was perfumed with the odour of orange-blossoms from the gardens of Hyères.
Falmouth proposed a walk along the shore, so we set out. We followed a range of perpendicular rocks, rising from twenty-five to thirty feet above the shore which they outlined, and upon which the large waves of the Mediterranean broke, and died peacefully.
From the height of this sort of natural terrace, we discovered, at some distance before us, an immense sea, whose sombre azure was furrowed by a zone of silver light,—for the moon was still rising radiant and bright. In the west we could distinguish the entrance of the bay of Frais-Port, where the yacht was moored, and in the east the mountainous point of Cape Armes, whose white cliffs cut boldly into the deep blue of the sky.
We were much impressed by this calm and majestic picture; no sound disturbed the profound silence of the night, except from time to time the low, monotonous murmur of the waves breaking on the beach.
I had fallen into a deep reverie, when Falmouth pointed out to me, by the light of the moon, the mystic of which I have spoken, advancing out of the bay, towed by its long-boat. Some minutes later it cast anchor at the extreme point outside the port, as if it wished to hold itself in readiness to set sail at the first signal.