“And when it blows from the west-southwest we say, evil befall this time of storm,” said Padre Francesco, nodding wisely.  “Be seated in the shade.  I will fetch water.”

“And also let us drink here, so that we may take the jug away full.”

“You shall also drink here.”  The old watchman went into the tower.

“The last time I passed this way, it was in a west-southwest gale,” said the man, addressing Ercole, who had sat down in his old place with his dog at his feet.

“It is an evil shore,” Ercole answered.  “Many vessels have been lost here.”

“We were saved by a miracle that time,” said the sailor, who seemed inclined to talk.  “I was with a brigantine with wine for Marseilles.  That vessel was like a rock in the sea, she would not move with less than seven points of the wind in fair weather.  We afterwards went to Rio Janeiro, and it was two years before we got back.”

“So it was two years ago that you passed?” inquired Ercole.

“Two years ago May or the beginning of June.  She was so low in the water that she would have swamped if we had tried to carry on sail, and with the sail she could carry she could make no headway; so there we were, hove to under lower topsail and balance-reefed mainsail and storm-jib, with a lee shore less than a mile away.  We recommended ourselves to the saints and the souls of purgatory, and our captain said to us, ’My fine sons, unless the wind shifts in half an hour we must run her ashore and save the cargo!’ That is what he said.  But I said that I knew this Roman shore from a boy, and that sometimes there was no bar at the mouth of the Incastro, so that a vessel might just slip into the pool where the reeds grow.  You certainly know the place.”

“I know it well,” said Ercole.

“Yes.  So I pointed out the spot to our captain, standing beside him, and he took his glasses and looked to see whether the sea was breaking on the bar.”

“The bar has not been open since I came here,” said Padre Francesco, returning with water.  “And that is ten years.”

The men drank eagerly, one after the other, and there was silence.  The one who had been speaking wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and drew a long breath of satisfaction.

“No, I daresay not,” he said at last.  “The captain looked all along the shore for a better place.  Then he saw a bad thing with his glasses; for they were fine glasses, and though he was old, he had good sight.  And I stood beside him, and he told me what he saw while he was looking.”

“What did he see?” asked Ercole, watching the man.

“What did he see?  I tell you it was a bad sight!  Health to us all, as many as are here, he saw one man kill another and drag his body into some bushes.”

“Apoplexy!” observed Ercole, glancing at Padre Francesco.  “Are there brigands here?”