The Wing and Wing by J. Fenimore Cooper

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"You mean the prisoner? I wish with all my heart he was not there,
Strand. I think I would rather he were in his lugger again, to run the
chances of that fourth chase of which you seem to think so lightly."

"Your hanging ships are not often lucky ships, Captain Cuffe. In my
judgment, asking your pardon, sir, there ought to be a floating jail in
every fleet, where all the courts and all the executions should
be held."

"It would be robbing the boatswains of no small part of their duty, were
the punishments to be sent out of the different vessels," answered
Cuffe, smiling.

"Aye, aye, sir--the punishments, I grant, your honor; but hanging is an
_execution_, and not a punishment. God forbid that at my time of life I
should be ordered to sail in a ship that has no punishment on board; but
I am really getting to be too old to look at executions with any sort of
pleasure. Duty that isn't done with pleasure is but poor duty at the
best, sir."

"There are many disagreeable and some painful duties to be performed,
Strand; this of executing a man, let the offence be what it may, is
among the most painful."

"For my part, Captain Cuffe, I do not mind hanging a mutineer so very
much, for he is a being that the world ought not to harbor; but it is a
different thing with an enemy and a spy. It's our duty to spy as much as
we can for our king and country, and one ought never to bear too hard on
such as does their duty. With a fellow that can't obey orders, and who
puts his own will above the pleasure of his superiors, I have no
patience; but I do not so much understand why the gentlemen of the
courts are so hard on such as do a little more reconn'itrin'
than common."

"That is because ships are less exposed to the attempts of spies than
armies' Strand. A soldier hates a spy as much as you do a mutineer. The
reason is, that he may be surprised by an enemy through his means, and
butchered in his sleep. Nothing is so unpleasant to a soldier as a
surprise; and the law against spies, though a general law of war,
originated with soldiers, rather than with us sailors, I should think."

"Yes, sir, I dare say your honor is right. He's a rum 'un, a soldier,
at the best; and this opinion proves it. Now, sir, Captain Cuffe, just
suppose a Frenchman of about our own metal took it into his head to
surprise the Proserpine some dark night; what would come of it, after
all? There's the guns, and it's only to turn the hands up, to set 'em at
work, just the same as if there wasn't a spy in the world. And should
they prefer to come on board us, and to try their luck at close
quarters, I rather think, sir, the surprise would meet 'em face to face.
No, no, sir; spies is nothing to us--though it might teach 'em manners
to keel-haul one, once-and-a-while."

Cuffe now became thoughtful and silent, and even Strand did not presume
to speak, when the captain was in this humor. The latter descended to
the forecastle, and walked aft, his hands behind his back, and his head
inclining downward. Every one he met made way for him, as a matter of
course. In that mood, he moved among the throng of a ship of war as a
man tabooed. Even Winchester respected his commander's abstraction,
although he had a serious request to make, which it is time to explain.

Andrea Barrofaldi and Vito Viti remained on board the frigate, inmates
of the cabin, and gradually becoming more accustomed to their novel
situation. They did not escape the jokes of a man-of-war, but, on the
whole, they were well treated, and were tolerably satisfied; more
especially as the hope of capturing le Feu-Follet began to revive. As a
matter of course, they were apprised of the condition of Raoul; and,
both kind and benevolent men in the main, they were desirous of
conversing with the prisoner, and of proving to him that they bore no
malice. Winchester was spoken to on the subject; but before he granted
the permission, he thought it safest to consult the Captain in the
matter. At length an opportunity offered, Cuffe suddenly rousing
himself, and giving an order in relation to the canvas the ship
was under.

"Here are the two Italian gentlemen, Captain Cuffe." observed
Winchester, "desirous of speaking to the prisoner. I did not think it
right, sir to let him have communication with any one, without first
ascertaining your pleasure."

"Poor fellow! His time is getting very short, unless we hear from
Clinch; and there can be no harm in granting him every indulgence. I
have been thinking of this matter, and do not possibly see how I can
escape ordering the execution, unless it be countermanded from
Nelson himself."

"Certainly not, sir. But Mr. Clinch is an active and experienced seaman,
when he is in earnest; we may still hope something from him. What is to
be done with the Italians, sir?"

"Let them, or any one else that poor Yvard is willing to see, go below."

"Do you mean to include old Giuntotardi and his niece, Captain
Cuffe?--and this deserter of our own, Bolt--he, too, has had something
to say of a wish to take leave of his late shipmate?"

"We might be justified in denying the request of the last, Mr.
Winchester, but hardly of the others. Still, if Raoul Yvard wishes to
see even him, his desire may as well be granted."

Thus authorized, Winchester no longer hesitated about granting the
several permissions. An order was sent to the sentinel, through the
corporal of the guard, to allow any one to enter the prisoner's room
whom the latter might wish to receive. A ship was not like a prison on
shore, escape being next to impossible, more especially from a vessel at
sea. The parties accordingly received intimation that they might visit
the condemned man, should the latter be disposed to receive them.

By this time, something like a general gloom had settled on the ship.
The actual state of things was known to all on board, and few believed
it possible that Clinch could reach the Foudroyant, receive his orders,
and be back in time to prevent the execution. It wanted now but three
hours of sunset, and the minutes appeared to fly, instead of dragging.
The human mind is so constituted, that uncertainty increases most of its
sensations;--the apprehension of death even, very usually exciting a
livelier emotion than its positive approach. Thus it was with the
officers and people of the Proserpine; had there been no hope of
escaping the execution, they would have made up their minds to submit to
the evil, as unavoidable; but the slight chance which did actually exist
created a feverish excitement that soon extended to all hands; and this
as completely as if a chase were in sight, and each individual was bent
on overtaking her. As minute after minute flew by, the feeling
increased, until it would not much exceed the bounds of truth to say
that under none of the vicissitudes of war did there ever exist so
feverish an hour on board his Britannic Majesty's ship the Proserpine,
as the very period of which we are now writing. Eyes were constantly
turned toward the sun, and several of the young gentlemen collected on
the forecastle, with no other view than to be as near as possible to the
headland around which the boat of Clinch was expected to make her
reappearance, as behind it she had last been seen.

The zephyr had come at the usual hour, but it was light, and the ship
was so close to the mountains as to feel very little of its force. It
was different with the two other vessels. Lyon had gone about in time to
get clear of the highest mountains, and his lofty sails took enough of
the breeze to carry him out to sea, three or four hours before; while,
the Terpsichore, under Sir Frederick Dashwood, had never got near enough
in with the land to be becalmed at all. Her head had been laid to the
southwest, at the first appearance of the afternoon wind; and that
frigate was now hull-down to seaward--actually making a free wind of it,
as she shaped her course up between Ischia and Capri. As for the
Proserpine, when the bell struck three in the first dog-watch, she was
just abeam of the celebrated little islets of the Sirens, the western
breeze now beginning to die away, though, getting more of it, the ship
was drawing ahead faster than she had been since the turn of the day.

Three bells in the first dog-watch indicate the hour of half-past five.
At that season of the year, the sun sets a few minutes past six. Of
course there remained but little more than half an hour, in which to
execute the sentence of the law. Cuffe had never quitted the deck, and
he actually started when he heard the first sound of the clapper.
Winchester turned toward him, with an inquiring look; for everything had
been previously arranged between them; he received merely a significant
gesture in return. This, however, was sufficient. Certain orders were
privately issued. Then there appeared a stir among the foretop-men and
on the forecastle, where a rope was rove at the fore-yard-arm, and a
grating was rigged for a platform--unerring signs of the approaching
execution.

Accustomed as these hardy mariners were to brave dangers of all sorts,
and to witness human suffering of nearly every degree, a feeling of
singular humanity had come over the whole crew. Raoul was their enemy,
it is true, and he had been sincerely detested by all hands,
eight-and-forty hours before; but circumstances had entirely changed the
ancient animosity into a more generous and manly sentiment. In the first
place, a successful and a triumphant enemy was an object very different
from a man in their own power, and who lay entirely at their mercy. Then
the personal appearance of the young privateersman was unusually
attractive, and altogether different from what it had been previously
represented, and that, too, by an active rivalry that was not altogether
free from bitterness. But chiefly was the generous sentiment awakened by
the conviction that the master-passion, and none of the usual
inducements of a spy, had brought their enemy into this strait; and
though clearly guilty in a technical point of view, that be was
influenced by no pitiful wages, even allowing that he blended with the
pursuit of his love some of the motives of his ordinary warfare. All
these considerations, coupled with the reluctance that seamen ever feel
to having an execution in their ship, had entirely turned the tables;
and there, where Raoul would have found so lately between two and three
hundred active and formidable enemies, he might almost be said now to
have as many sympathizing friends.

No wonder, then, that the preparations of the foretop-men were regarded
with unfavorable eyes. The unseen hand of authority, nevertheless, held
all in restraint. Cuffe himself did not dare to hesitate any longer. The
necessary orders were given, though with deep reluctance, and then the
captain went below, as if to hide himself from human eyes.

The ten minutes that succeeded were minutes of intense concern. All
hands were called, the preparations had been completed, and Winchester
waited only for the reappearance of Cuffe, to issue the order to have
the prisoner placed on the grating. A midshipman was sent into the
cabin, after which the commanding officer came slowly, and with a
lingering step, upon the quarter-deck. The crew was assembled on the
forecastle and in the waists; the marine guard was under arms; the
officers clustered around the capstan; and a solemn, uneasy expectation
pervaded the whole ship. The lightest footfall was audible. Andrea and
his friend stood apart, near the taffrail, but no one saw Carlo
Giuntotardi or his niece.

"There is yet some five-and-twenty minutes of sun, I should think, Mr.
Winchester," observed Cuffe, feverishly glancing his eye at the western
margin of the sea, toward which the orb of day was slowly settling,
gilding all that side of the vault of heaven with the mellow lustre of
the hour and latitude.

"Not more than twenty, I fear, sir," was the reluctant answer.

"I should think five might suffice, at the worst; especially if the men
make a swift run." This was said in a half whisper, and thick husky
tones, the Captain looking anxiously at the lieutenant the while.

Winchester shrugged his shoulders, and turned away, unwilling to reply.

Cuffe now had a short consultation with the surgeon, the object of which
was to ascertain the minimum of time a man might live, suspended by the
neck at the yard-arm of a frigate. The result was not favorable; for a
sign followed to bring forth the prisoner.

Raoul came on deck, in charge of the master-at-arms and the officer who
had acted as provost-marshal. He was clad in his clean white lazzarone
garb, wearing the red Phrygian cap already mentioned. Though his face
was pale, no man could detect any tremor in the well-turned muscles that
his loose attire exposed to view. He raised his cap courteously to the
group of officers, and threw an understanding glance forward at the
fearful arrangement on the fore-yard. That he was shocked when the
grating and rope met his eye, is unquestionable; but, rallying in an
instant, he smiled, bowed to Cuffe, and moved toward the scene of his
contemplate execution, firmly, but without the smallest signs of bravado
in his manner.

A deathlike stillness prevailed, while the subordinates adjusted the
rope, and placed the condemned man on the grating. Then the slack of the
rope was drawn in by hand, and the men were ordered to lay hold of the
instrument of death, and to stretch it along the deck.

"Stand by, my lads, to make a swift run and a strong jerk, at your first
pull," said Winchester, in a low voice, as he passed down the line.
"Rapidity is mercy, at such a moment."

"Good God!" muttered Cuffe, "can the man die in this manner, without a
prayer; without even a glance toward heaven, as if asking for mercy?"

"He is an unbeliever, I hear, sir," returned Griffin, "We have offered
him all the religious consolation we could; but he seems to wish
for none."

"Hail the topgallant yards once more, Mr. Winchester," said Cuffe,
huskily.

"Foretopgallant yard, there!"

"Sir?"

"Any signs of the boat--look well into the bay of Naples--we are opening
Campanella now sufficiently to give you a good look up toward the head."

A pause of a minute succeeded. Then the lookout aloft shook his head in
the negative, as if unwilling to speak. Winchester glanced at Cuffe, who
turned anxiously, mounted a gun, and strained his eyes in a gaze to the
northward.

"All ready, sir," said the first lieutenant, when another minute
elapsed.

Cuffe was in the act of raising his hand, which would have been the
signal of death, when the dull, heavy report of a distant gun came
booming down from the direction of the town of Naples.

"Stand fast!" shouted Cuffe, fearful the men might get the start of-him.
"Make your mates take their calls from their mouths, sir. Two more guns,
Winchester, and I am the happiest man in Nelson's fleet!"

A second gun _did_ come, just as these words were uttered: then followed
a breathless pause of half a minute, when a third smothered but
unequivocal report succeeded.

"It must be a salute, sir," Griffin uttered, inquiringly..

"The interval is too long. Listen! I hope to _God_ we have had the
last!"

Every ear in the ship listened intently, Cuffe holding his watch in his
hand. Two entire minutes passed, and no fourth gun was heard. As second
after second went by, the expression of the captain's countenance
changed, and then he waved his hand in triumph.

"It's as it should be, gentlemen," he said. "Take the prisoner below,
Mr. Winchester. Unreeve the rope, and send that d--d grating off the
gun. Mr. Strand, pipe down."

Raoul was immediately led below. As he passed through the after-hatch,
all the officers on the quarter-deck bowed to him, and not a man was
there in the ship who did not feel the happier for the reprieve.

CHAPTER XXIII.

"He saw with his own eyes the moon was round,
Was also certain that the earth was square,
Because he'd journeyed fifty miles, and found
No sign that it was circular anywhere."

_Don Juan_.

Raoul Yvard was indebted to a piece of forethought in Clinch for his
life. But for the three guns fired so opportunely from the Foudroyant,
the execution could not have been stayed; and but for a prudent care on
the part of the master's-mate, the guns would never have been fired. The
explanation is this: when Cuffe was giving his subordinate instructions
how to proceed, the possibility of detention struck the latter, and he
bethought him of some expedient by which such an evil might be remedied.
At his suggestion then, the signal of the guns was mentioned by the
captain, in his letter to the commander-in-chief, and its importance
pointed out. When Clinch reached the fleet, Nelson was at Castel a Mare,
and it became necessary to follow him to that place by land. Here Clinch
found him in the palace of Qui-Si-Sane, in attendance on the court, and
delivered his despatches. Nothing gave the British admiral greater
pleasure than to be able to show mercy, the instance to the contrary
already introduced existing as an exception in his private character and
his public career; and it is possible that an occurrence so recent, and
so opposed to his habits, may have induced him the more willingly now to
submit to his ordinary impulses, and to grant the respite asked with the
greater promptitude.

"Your captain tells me here, sir," observed Nelson, after he had read
Cuffe's letter a second time, "little doubt exists that Yvard was in the
Bay on a love affair, and that his purposes were not those of a spy,
after all?"

"Such is the, opinion aboard us, my lord," answered the master's-mate.
"There are an old man and a very charming young woman in his company,
who Captain Cuffe says were in the cabin of this ship, on a visit to
your lordship, only a few days since."

Nelson started, and his face flushed. Then he seized a pen, and, with
the only hand he had, scratched a letter, directing a reprieve until
further orders. This he signed and handed to Clinch, saying, as he
did so:

"Get into your boat, sir, and pull back to the frigate as fast as
possible; God forbid that any man suffer wrongfully!"

"I beg your pardon, my lord--but there is not time, now, for me to reach
the ship before the sun set. I have a signal prepared in the boat, it is
true; but the frigate may not come round Campanella before the last
moment, and then all these pains will be lost. Does not Captain Cuffe
speak of some guns to be fired from the flag-ship, my lord?"

"He does, sir; and this may be the safest mode of communicating, after
all. With this light westerly air, a gun will be heard a long distance
at sea. Take the pen, and write as I dictate, sir."

Clinch seized the pen, which the admiral, who had lost his right arm
only a few years before, really felt unable to use, and wrote
as follows:

"Sir--Immediately on the receipt of this, you will fire three heavy
guns, at intervals of half a minute, as a signal to the Proserpine to
suspend an execution.

"To the Commanding Officer of His Majesty's Ship Foudroyant."

As soon as the magical words of "Nelson and Bronte" were affixed to
this order, with a date, Clinch rose to depart. After he had made his
bows, he stood with his hand on the lock of the door, as if uncertain
whether to prefer a request or not.

"This is a matter of moment, sir, and no time is to be lost," added
Nelson. "I feel great anxiety about it, and wish you to desire Captain
Cuffe to send you back with a report of all that has passed, as soon as
convenient."

"I will report your wishes, my lord," answered Clinch, brightening up;
for he only wanted an opportunity to speak of his own promotion, and
this was now offered in perspective. "May I tell the commanding officer
of the flag-ship to use the lower-deck guns, my lord?"

"He will do that of his own accord, after reading those orders; heavy
guns mean the heaviest. Good afternoon, sir; for God's sake, lose
no time."

Clinch obeyed this injunction to the letter. He reached the Foudroyant
some time before sunset, and immediately placed the order in her
captain's hands. A few words of explanation set everything in motion,
and the three guns were fired on the side of the ship toward Capri, most
opportunely for our hero.

The half hour that succeeded, on board the Proserpine, was one of gayety
and merriment. Every person was glad that the ship had escaped an
execution; and then it was the hour for piping down the hammocks, and
for shifting the dogwatches. Cuffe recovered all his animation, and
conversed cheerfully, having Griffin for an interpreter, with his two
Italian guests. These last had been prevented from paying their visit to
the prisoner, on account of the latter's wish to be alone; but the
intention was now renewed; and sending below, to ascertain if it would
be agreeable, they proceeded together on their friendly mission. As the
two worthies, who had not altogether got their sea-legs, slowly
descended the ladder, and threaded their way among the throng of a ship,
the discourse did not flag between them.

"Cospetto!" exclaimed the podesta; "Signor Andrea, we live in a world
of wonders! A man can hardly say whether he is actually alive or not. To
think how near this false Sir Smees was to death, half an hour since;
and now, doubtless, he is as much alive, and as merry as any of us."

"It would be more useful, friend Vito Viti," answered the philosophical
vice-governatore, "to remember how near those who live are always to
death, who has only to open his gates to cause the strongest and fairest
to pass at once into the tomb."

"By San Stefano, but you have a way with you, vice-governatore, that
would become a cardinal! It's a thousand pities the church was robbed of
such a support; though I do think, Signor Andrea, if your mind would
dwell less on another state of being, it would be more cheerful; and I
may say, more cheering to those with whom you discourse. There are evils
enough in this life, without thinking so much of death."

"There are philosophers who pretend, good Vito, that nothing that we see
around us actually has an existence: that we _fancy_ everything; fancy
that this is a sea, called the Mediterranean; fancy this is a
ship--yonder is the land; fancy that we live; and even fancy death."

"Corpo di Bacco! Signor Andrea," exclaimed the other, stopping short at
the foot of the ladder, and seizing his companion by a button, afraid he
would desert him in the midst of a strange delusion, "you would not
trifle in such a matter with an old friend; one who has known you from
childhood? _Fancy_ that I am alive!"

"_Si_--I have told you only the truth. The imagination is very strong,
and may easily give the semblance of reality to unreal things."

"And that I am not a podesta, in fact, but one only in fancy!"

"Just so, friend Vito; and that I am only a vice-governatore, too, in
the imagination."

"And that Elba is not a real island, or Porto Ferrajo a real town; and
that even all our iron, of which we _seem_ to send so much about the
world, in good, wholesome ships, is only a sort of ghost of solid,
substantial metal!"

"_St, si_--that everything which appears to be material is, in fact,
imaginary; iron, gold, or flesh."

"And then I am not Vito Viti, but an impostor? What a rascally
philosophy is this! Why, both of us are as bad as this Sir Smees, if
what you say be true, vice-governatore--or make-believe
vice-governatore."

"Not an impostor, friend Vito; for there is no real being of thy name,
if thou art not he."

"Diavolo! A pretty theory this, which would teach the young people of
Elba that there is no actual podesta in the island, but only a poor,
miserable, sham one; no Vito Viti on earth. If they get to think this,
God help the place, as to order and sobriety."

"I do not think, neighbor, that you fully understand the matter, which
may be owing to a want of clearness on my part; but, as we are now on
our way to visit an unfortunate prisoner, we may as well postpone the
discussion to another time. There are many leisure moments on board a
ship, to the language of which one is a stranger, that might be usefully
and agreeably relieved by going into the subject more at large."

"Your pardon, Signor Andrea; but there is no time like the present.
Then, if the theory be true, there is no prisoner at all--or, at the
most, an imaginary one--and it can do Sir Smees no harm to wait; while,
on the other hand, I shall not have a moment's peace until I learn
whether there is such a man as Vito Viti or not, and whether I am he."

"Brother Vito, thou art impatient; these things are not learned in a
moment; moreover, every system has a beginning and an end, like a book;
and who would ever become learned, that should attempt to read a
treatise backward?"

"I know what is due to you, Signor Andrea, both on ac count of your
higher rank, and on account of your greater wisdom, and will say no more
at present; though to keep from _thinking_ on a philosophy that teaches
I am not a podesta, or you a vice-governatore, is more than flesh and
blood can bear."

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