"Right, Vinoni!" said the captain, whose opinion was generally formed on that of his lieutenant; "right: corpo! I feel it blowing down the Straits at this moment, and the white foam that curls before it on the water, announces a coming squall."
Leaving these weatherwise Italians to settle the matter as they chose, I walked forward to observe the accommodation and construction of this peculiar vessel. She was now under weigh; and though strained from stem to stern by every stroke of the sweeps, she moved through the water with a motion so easy and rapid, that her officers had little occasion to dread either contrary winds or tides.
The broad-bladed sweeps brushed the ocean into foam, which roared in surf beneath the sharp bows, boiling away under the counter, and leaving astern a long white wake in the glittering sea. The sun was now up, and his rosy morning light cast a warm glow over land and ocean.
Captain Guevarra stood beside me on the poop, and pointed out the different towns, mountains, and headlands, as we moved down the Straits: his observations proved amusing, from the strange compound of knowledge and ignorance, religion, superstition, and vanity they exhibited.
We were soon in mid-channel: the fruitful shore of old Trinacria, studded with innumerable towns and villages, nestling on the green hills, embosomed among the richest foliage or shining along the sandy and sunny beach, rose in succession on the view, while piles of picturesque mountains closed the background; and soon, chief amongst them all, gigantic Etna reared up its mighty cone, appearing to rise from the watery horizon on our starboard bow. From its yawning crater a lengthened column of light vapour ascended into the pure air, in one steady, straight, and unbroken line, piercing the pale-blue immensity of space, and rising to an altitude, where, in the soft regions of upper air, it was for ever lost to the eye.
As the range of the Neptunian hills, and the town of Messina with its large cathedral—its numerous churches and convents, its terraced streets sweeping round swelling eminences, and its busy harbour crowded by a forest of masts—closed, lessened, and sank astern; the bay of Reggio, on the other hand, opened to our view, with all the spires and casements of its town gleaming in the beams of the morning sun: the high peaks of its hills behind covered to the summit with dark green pines, and fragrant orange or citron trees. The galley-slaves were now pulling with all their strength, to make headway against the strong current which runs towards Cape Pelorus; but we soon got clear of the eddies, and moved through the water with astonishing speed.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE RACE.—GALLEY-SLAVES.
"Yonder is Rhegium, signor," said the Captain Guevarra; "where Eolus dwelt before he removed his government over to Sicily; and where he sold fair winds to mariners, and tied the foul ones up in paper bags—the cursed heathen! And yet it would be some advantage if such commodities could be purchased in these vulgar modern days. I have known the time when I would have given sixty pieces of gold for a single puff of fair wind: but that was before I had the honour of commanding his Majesty's galley Sea-Horse and all those stout rogues who work it.—Ah! Madonna mia!" he ejaculated, crossing himself, as we walked on the weather side of the poop; "what is all this I have been saying? Our Lady of Sicily forgive me the thought, and keep me contented with such winds as pass over the sea, without buying from heathen, heretic, or devil!—Viva! how bravely the old Sea-Horse shoots through the water! Believe me, Signor Dundas, there is not another galley in the service of his Sicilian Majesty equalling this, for strength, speed, and beauty of mould."
"Yet there is a little vessel yonder, cracking on under every stitch of canvass, which seems able and disposed to beat you."