“How good this cigar is!” said Barabbas. “Did you smoke these at Naples?”
“Yes, plenty of them.”
“All the same, the corks are beginning to sink,” said Goodman Mangiacarubbe.
“Do you see where the Provvidenza went down with your father?” said Barabbas to ’Ntoni; “there at the Cape, where the sun glints on those white houses, and the sea seems as if it were made of gold.”
“The sea is salt, and the sailor sinks in the sea,” replied ’Ntoni.
Barabbas passed him his flask, and they began to mutter to each other under their breath against Uncle Cola, who was a regular dog for the crew of the bark, watching everything they said and did; they might as well have Padron Cipolla himself on board.
“And all to make him believe that the boat couldn’t get on without him,” added Barabbas; “an old spy. Now he’ll go saying that it is he that has caught the fish by his cleverness, in spite of the rough sea. Look how the nets are sinking; the corks are quite under water; you can’t see them.”
“Holloa, boys!” shouted Uncle Cola; “we must draw in the net, or the tide will sweep it away.”
“O-hi! O-o-o-hi!” the crew began to vociferate, as they passed the rope from hand to hand.
“Saint Francis!” cried Uncle Cola, “who would have thought that we should have taken all this precious load in spite of the tide?”