Chapter 10

"Oh! 'tis a thought sublime, that man can force
A path upon the waste, can find a way
Where all is trackless, and compel the winds,
Those freest agents of Almighty power,
To lend them untamed wings, and bear him on
To distant climes."

WARE.

The situation of Ghita Caraccioli, on board the lugger, was of the most
unpleasant nature during the fierce struggle we have related.
Fortunately for her, this struggle was very short, Raoul having kept her
in profound ignorance of the approach of any danger until the instant le
Feu-Follet commenced her fire. It is true she heard the guns between the
felucca and the boats, but this she had been told was an affair in which
the privateer had no participation; and the reports sounding distant to
one in the cabin, she had been easily deceived. While the actual
conflict was going on, she was on her knees, at the side of her uncle;
and the moment it ceased, she appeared on deck, and interposed to save
the fugitives in the manner related.

Now, however, the scene was entirely changed. The lugger had escaped all
damage worthy of notice; her decks had not been stained with blood; and
her success had been as complete as could be desired. In addition to
these advantages, the result removed all apprehension from the only
source of danger that Raoul thought could exist as between his own
vessel and the frigate, of a boat-attack in a calm; for men who had just
been so roughly handled in an enterprise so well concealed would not be
likely to renew the attempt while they still smarted under the influence
of the late repulse. Affairs of this sort exact all the discipline and
resolution that a well-regulated service can afford; and are not to be
thought of under the temporary demoralization of defeat. All in the
lugger, therefore, considered this collision with the Proserpine at an
end, for the moment at least.

Ghita had dined, for the day had now turned some time, and the girl had
come on deck to escape the confinement of a very small cabin, leaving
her uncle to enjoy his customary _siesta_. She was seated under the
awning of the quarter-deck, using her needle, as was her wont at that
hour on the heights of Argentaro. Raoul had placed himself on a gunslide
near her, and Ithuel was busy within a few feet of them, dissecting a
spy-glass, with a view to clean its lenses.

"I suppose the most excellent Andrea Barrofaldi will sing a Te Deum for
his escape from our fangs," suddenly exclaimed Raoul, laughing.
"_Pardie!_ he is a great historian and every way fit to write an account
of this glorious victory, which Monsieur l'Anglais, _là bas_, is about
to send to his government!"

"And you, Raoul, have no occasion