"A droll fellow that hunchback who pulls the bow-oar."
"Ah!" replied Guevarra, "a perfect imp of Etna: I am very much indebted to my good friend, the Visconte Santugo, for sending him off to me yesterday. He was caught lurking near the villa D'Alfieri by the soldiers who guard it. Per baccho! I was half frightened when I saw him on board—ha, ha! he has all the aspect of a stunted Cyclope, and works so well that he has a fair prospect of being promoted to the rank of task-master. He laughs, chuckles, and sings incessantly; but for what reason is beyond my comprehension, as there is nothing here but hard work, heavy blows, and scanty provender—unless we except the honour of serving in his Majesty's galley Sea-horse. Diavolo!" he cried, rushing to the other side of the poop, "the Maltese schooner has passed us. Pull rascals—give way ye lubberly Padri—give way fore and aft! Shall the gallant Cavallo Marino, the flower of our galleys, and the peculiar care of our thrice blessed Madonna, be beaten by a d——d scampavia?" He bowed and crossed himself with great devotion before a little gilt figure of the Virgin, which occupied a niche in the centre of a row of brightly painted buckets, ranged along the top of the poop. But Madonna was sued in vain. Again the whistling rattans were flourished on all sides: even Gaspare Truffi did not escape, and his elfish yell sounded shrill as the whistle of a steam-engine when the blows descended on his naked hump.
On—on shot the scampavia, and the lofty galley toiled after her in vain: the former carried a press of canvass sufficient to run her under the water, which flashed like blue fire before her sharp prow: and she shipped sea after sea, as we rounded the Capo del Armi, and the snow-clad summit of Etna sank beneath the dim horizon astern: the water was getting rough, the breeze increasing, and it was evident that she must take in sail or be capsized. A half-smothered cheer arose from her crew, who crowded her side, as they saw us rapidly dropping astern.
Boundless was the wrath of Guevarra: he stamped about the deck, while his long sword became entangled at every stride with his little bandy legs; he curled his bushy whiskers, fumed and blasphemed like a pagan. Save the slaves, all on board, more or less, partook of his chagrin: while smiling at his rage, even I could not avoid a feeling of annoyance; for one becomes jealous of being passed at sea, or beaten by a rival mail, or getting the "go-by" from a friend's team on a country road.
"By the miraculous blood of Gennaro! I will teach these mongrel curs, these Arabian Maltese, to beware how they try speed with his Majesty's galley. Is the gun ready there forward?"
"All ready, Signor Capitano," replied the gunner, taking the tompion from the lofty forecastle-piece, and lighting his match.
"Then give them a shot between wind and water. Madonna speed the ball—fire!"
The helmsman brought the galley's head round, and the thirty-two pounder was levelled and fired. The Sea-Horse shook with the concussion: the shot whistled over the water; a breach was made in the low bulwarks of the Maltese, and a shower of white splinters flew away to leeward. The schooner was immediately thrown in the wind: down came her fore and main topsails, her jib and staysail, like lightning on her deck; while the scarlet flag of Britain was run up to her gaff-peak. The galley shot ahead: her great latteen sail, that tapered away and aloft, was braced sharp up, and once more we flew forward; while the Maltese did not again begin to make sail, until she was a league or so astern.
"Bravissimo, Sea-Horse!" said Guevarra, clapping his hands in glee. "Now we are leaving her hand over hand."
In the ardour of the race he had not been paying due attention to his course; and, in keeping to seaward of the scampavia, which was probably bound for the Venetian Gulf, the galley was further from the land than she ought to have been: her head was turned northward; and, as we slowly approached the Apennine chain, the promontory of Hercules rose gradually on the view.