Chapter 22

"I have no dread,
And feel the curse to have no natural fear,
Nor fluttering throb, that beats with hopes or wishes,
Or lurking love of something on the earth"

_Manfred_,

By this time the day had materially advanced, and there were grave
grounds for the uneasiness which Cuffe began so seriously to feel. All
three of the ships were still in the Bay of Salerno, gathering in toward
its northern shore, however; the Proserpine the deepest embayed, the
Terpsichore and the Ringdove having hauled out toward Campanella, as
soon as satisfied nothing was to be seen in-shore of them. The heights
which line the coast, from the immediate vicinity of the town of Salerno
to the headland that ends near Capri, have long been celebrated, not
only for their beauty and grandeur, but in connection with the lore of
the middle ages. As the Proserpine had never been in this bay before, or
never so near its head, her officers found some temporary relief from
the very general uneasiness that was felt on account of their prisoner,
in viewing scenery that is remarkable even in that remarkable section of
the globe. The ship had gone up abreast of Amalfi, and so close in as
to be less than a mile from the shore. This object was to communicate
with some fishermen, which had been done; the information received going
to establish the fact, that no craft resembling the lugger had been in
that part of the Bay. The vessel's head was now laid to the southward
and westward, in waiting for the zephyr, which might soon be expected.
The gallant frigate, seen from the impending rocks, looked like a light
merchantman, in all but her symmetry and warlike guise; nature being
moulded on so grand a scale all along that coast, as to render objects
of human art unusually diminutive to the eye. On the other hand, the
country-houses, churches, hermitages, convents, and villages, clustered
all along the mountain-sides, presented equally delusive forms, though
they gave an affluence to the views that left the spectator in a strange
doubt which most to admire, their wildness or their picturesque beauty.
The little air that remained was still at the southward, and as the ship
moved slowly along this scene of singular attraction, each ravine seemed
to give up a town, each shelf of rock a human habitation, and each
natural terrace a villa and a garden.

Of all men, sailors get to be the most _blasés_ in the way of the
sensations produced by novelties and fine scenery. It appears to be a
part of their calling to suppress the emotions of a greenhorn; and,
generally, they look upon anything that is a little out of the ordinary
track with the coolness of those who feel it is an admission of
inferiority to betray surprise. It seldom