“O galant’uomo, but why should any one desire to sail to the island to-night of all nights, seeing that to-night they have set it on fire?”

I stared at his simplicity.  “You are not patriots, it seems, at this end of the Cape?”

He shook his head gravely.  “The Genoese on the island are our customers, and buy our fish.  Why should men quarrel?”

“If it come to commerce, then, will you sell me your boat?  The price of her should be worth many a day’s barter of fish.”

He shook his head again, but called his neighbours to him, men and women, and they began to discuss my offer, all muttering together, their voices mingling confusedly as in a dream.

By-and-by the man turned to me.  “The price is thirty-five livres, signore, on deposit, for which you may choose any boat you will.  We are peaceable folk and care not to meddle; but the half shall be refunded if you bring her back safe and sound.”

“Fetch me a shore-boat, then,” said I, while they counted my money, having fetched a lantern for the purpose.

But it appeared that shore-boat there was none.  I learned later that my father and Captain Pomery, acting on his behalf, had hired all the shore-boats at these marinas (of which there are three hard by the extremity of the Cape) for use in the night attack upon the island.

“Hold you my gun, then, Princess,” said I, “while I swim out to the nearest:”  and wading out till the dark water reached to my breast, I chose out my boat, swam to her—­it was but a few strokes—­clambered on board, caught up a sweep, and worked her back to the beach.  The Princess, holding our two guns high, waded out to me, and I lifted her on board.

We heard the voices of the villagers murmuring behind us while I hoisted the little sail and drew the sheet home.  The night-breeze, fluking among the gullies, filled the sail at once, fell light again and left it flapping, then drew a steady breath aft, and the voices were lost in the hiss of water under the boat’s stern.

But not until we had passed the extreme point of land did we find the true breeze, which there headed us lightly, blowing (as nearly as I can guess) from N.N.E., yet allowed us a fair course, so that by hauling the sheet close I could point well to windward of the fiery reflection on the water and fetch the island on a single tack.  It was here, as we ran out of the loom of the land, that the waning moon lifted her rim over the hills astern; and it was here, as we cleared the point, that her rays, traversing the misty sea between us and Elba, touched the grey-white canvas of a vessel jeeling along (as we say at the fishing in Cornwall) and holding herself to windward for a straight run down upon the island—­a vessel which at first glance I recognized for the Gauntlet.