“Nous gagnerons, j'en gagerais une bouteille de vin!” cried the padróne, much excited, for he was proud of his boat.
“Vous l'aurez, toutefois, pour boire à la santé de vos camarades Anglais.”
Again we flew through the water, making a straight course for the harbour. The felucca had much the advantage of us in breadth of canvas and her high-peaked sails; but being heavily laden, she was deep in the water. As it turned out, we did not overhaul her till just before she lowered her foresail at the consigne office, to wait for her permis d'entrer, when we shot ahead right into the port.
We made out the evening at the theatre, well entertained by a petite comédie. “One is sure to be amused,” said my companion; “and it is good practice. It helps to get up one's French.”
“Monsieur ne manque que d'être plus habitué,” as it is politely suggested when one is at a loss for a phrase.
CHAP. III.
Embark for Corsica—Coast of France and Italy.—Toulon.—Hyères Islands, Frejus, &c.—A Stormy night.—Crossing the Tuscan Sea.
Once more we are at the water stairs. A stout boat is ready to convey us with our baggage to L'Industrie, one of Messrs. Vallery's fine steam-boats, in turn for Bastia. Just as we are pushing off, a carriage drives to the quay, with a niece of General the Count di Rivarola, formerly in the British service. She is returning to Corsica. We do the civil, spread plaids, and place her in the stern sheets; and she is very agreeable.
It is Sunday morning. The bells of the old church of St. Victor are ringing at early mass. The ships in the port have hoisted their colours. There is our dear, time-honoured jack, “the flag that has braved,” &c., as we say on all occasions; and the stars and stripes, the crescent and star, and the towers of Castille; with crosses of all shapes and colours, in as great variety as the costumes we saw in the café. The tricolor floated on the forts of St. Jean and St. Nicholas, as well as on French craft of all descriptions.