At that moment all the occupants of the boat pricked up their ears. A sound had reached them, a similar sound—a sound that recalled the distant firing of a big gun. Boom! It reverberated among the rocks. The rowers dropped their oars. Everyone listened.
The sound came again. This time there was no question as to its origin.
It was artillery, beyond a doubt.
The old sailor had grown preternaturally grave.
"IL CANNONE DEL DUCA," he said.
The cannon of the Good Duke Alfred, never used save on urgent or solemn occasions, was being discharged.
Then the boatman made another remark, in Italian, to Keith.
"What does he say?" asked Mr. Heard.
"He thinks they must be calling out the militia."
Something was very wrong, up yonder, on the market-place.