Cuffe, and all around him, were forcibly struck with so unlooked-for and so dire a calamity.  The loss of a vessel, under such circumstances, produces an effect like a sudden death among companions.  It is a fate all may meet with, and it induces reflection and sadness.  Still, the English did not give up the hope of rescuing some unfortunate wretch, clinging to a spar, or supporting himself by supernatural efforts, for several hours.  At noon, however, the ship squared away and ran for Naples before the wind, being drawn aside from her course by another chase, in which she succeeded better, capturing a sloop-of-war, which she carried in several days later.

The first act of Cuffe, on anchoring in the fleet, was to go on board the Foudroyant, and report himself and his proceedings to the rear-admiral.  Nelson had heard nothing of the result, beyond what had occurred at the islets, and the separation of the ships.

“Well, Cuffe,” he said, reaching out his remaining hand kindly to his old Agamemnon, as the other entered the cabin—­“the fellow has got off, after all!  It has been a bad business altogether, but we must make the best of it.  Where do you fancy the lugger to be?”

Cuffe explained what had happened, and put into the admiral’s hand an official letter, explaining his recent success.  With the last Nelson was pleased—­at the first surprised.  After a long, thoughtful pause, he went into the after-cabin, and returned, throwing a small, jack-like flag on the floor.

“As Lyon was cruising about,” he said, “and his sloop was pitching her catheads under, this thing was washed upon a spare anchor, where it stuck.  It’s a queer flag.  Can it have had any connection with the lugger?”

Cuffe looked, and he immediately recognized the little ala e ala jack, that the Italians had described to him in their many conversations.  It was the only vestige that was ever found of the Wing-and-Wing.

CHAPTER XXX.

     “How beautiful is sorrow, when ’tis drest
     By virgin innocence!  It makes
     Felicity in others, seem deformed.”

     DAVENANT.

We must return to the rocks, and the melancholy scene they offered.  Our purposes will be answered, however, by advancing the time into the evening, omitting many things that the reader can imagine without our relating them.

It is scarcely necessary to say that Andrea Barrofaldi and Vito Viti took no part in the bloody transactions we have related.  When all was over, however, they drew near to the rocks, and, sitting in their boat, contemplating the sad spectacle presented within the narrow compass of the islet of the ruins, the following short dialogue occurred between them;

“Vice-governatore,” demanded the podesta, pointing to the place where Sir Frederick lay, a motionless corpse, Raoul bleeding, and others were writhing under their wounds—­“do you call this reality, or is it a part of that damnable doctrine which is enough to set the whole earth by the ears, and to turn men into tigers and hawks?”