Sundry and manifold remedies we tried against this last and most terrible plague; but all in vain.
One friend, a consul, counselled the use of carbolic soap, and we accordingly each invested in a slab of this not over inviting article, submitting ourselves to a scent like that of puppy dogs on washing day. But the enemy didn't mind it in the least.
Another, military, friend believed strongly in Keating's powder, and informed me how, one night in Poland, upon a threatened attack of vermin, he had put it to a severe test. He had thrown up an earthwork of Keating in a ring round the bed, reposing within peacefully unmolested until morning. The enemy had stormed the bastion, but failed to make a breach, being repulsed with heavy loss; and, when day broke, retired discomfited and utterly routed, leaving their dead upon the plain. But clearly the Polish bug has not the indomitable energy and insular enterprise of his Corsican relative. Our carefully prepared entrenchments were utterly futile; and the foe, when present, speedily gained possession of the battle-field, causing ignominious flight. But in many instances, where the village inn looked of the poorest and lowest, our anticipations, in respect of uncleanliness, were agreeably disappointed.
Our party, when at last it started for the island, consisted of three unprotected ladies, whom, for the sake of distinction, we will call Nos. 1, 2, and 3.
It was towards the end of April when we left Leghorn for Bastia, and not a propitious day. All night long a high gale had been blowing, and the lightning dancing across a black sky; and when, at about 8 a.m., we left the quay in our little boat, the wind had not moderated much, and even in the harbour the waves tossed us up and down in a most lively manner. When we reached the steamer, we saw that she was a most wretched little concern, laden with merchandise, and of no beam at all; whilst the open sea beyond was covered with high white breakers.
I think our hearts would have failed us, and we should have turned back, notwithstanding the good augury of a Sunday morning, had it not been for the tedious term of delay circumstances had already imposed upon us at Leghorn and at Florence. We felt that if we did not go by this boat, we might never go: the season was already late for Corsica: so we shut our eyes, and went.
For nearly three quarters of an hour that horrid little knife-shaped steamer rose and sank on the heavy swell inside the harbour; and then, at length, when every one was beginning to look pale, she heaved up her anchors and departed on her way. And what a way it was!
There were but few passengers on board beside ourselves, and no ladies. The others consisted of half a dozen French and Corsican gentlemen, one of whom, a stout, middle-aged individual, returning to his native land after a thirty years' absence in France, took a special interest in the three adventurous English ladies, who could brave such a sea for its dear sake. This person, watching our failing powers, offered us much kindly sympathy and well-meant advice, received, I fear, with the amount of ingratitude usual on such occasions.
For eight long hours we tossed, and rolled, and danced about on the bosom of that heartless sea. It was really bad weather, and the waves washed clean over the rickety little vessel. I lay vaguely wondering whether we should share the fate of a large Indian steamer, which the very day before had been wrecked in this sea, on the Elba rocks, on its way to Bombay. Starting from Leghorn at 5 a.m., at seven o'clock she struck upon the rocks, and before an hour was over the fine vessel was not only a total wreck, but almost entirely submerged. Fortunately, a fleet of fishing-boats in the neighbourhood rescued the crew, and passengers, who, after an unenviable cruise of seven or eight hours, and with the loss of all their baggage, found themselves relanded at Leghorn, where some of them came to our hotel and detailed their misfortunes.
But over those eight hours I draw a veil. I would only caution any intending visitor to Corsica, who may not be a good sailor and a tough traveller, not to be misled by any popular delusions as to the "calm blue waters of the Mediterranean," but to be careful as to the boat and day he selects for his voyage. Also, to make sure that the boat marked in his time-table does really go at the hour specified, or indeed at all that day, which is by no means to be taken for granted.