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In tacking I gave her all the larboard broadside, and not a vestige of her was to be seen: but,” continued he, “I hear of their taking prizes; but where the devil do they carry them to?” “Not into Boulogne or Calais,” replied I. “Havre and Cherbourg are the ports to sell them in.” “Then why,” said he, “do they keep so many of us on this station and so few to the westward?” “I presume it is,” I replied, “because this being the narrowest part of the Channel, there is more risk of our vessels being captured, and you know all the old women, with the Mayor and Aldermen, would petition the Admiralty to have the fleet back again to watch that frightful bugbear the half-rotten flotilla, which sometimes prevents them from taking their night’s rest.
“Oh, well,” muttered Eph, philosophically, “let’s wait until morning. A night’s sleep straightens out a lot of things.” Williamson, however, having had some sleep earlier in the night, was not drowsy, now. He lighted a pipe, lingering on the platform deck.
The horse wrangler had his string waiting, the cook was scouring his iron pots, saddles were thrown over horses fresh from a long night’s good grazing, cinches were tightened, slickers and blankets were adjusted, and camp melted away in a troup of horsemen winding away through the gray of early morning.
We never once stopped until we reached the bottom of the dome, at our last night’s camp among the rocks. In less than an hour we had dashed down, through a distance which it had taken us nine and a half hours to ascend. The camp was reached at 4 P. M., just twelve hours from the time we left it. Gathering up the remaining baggage, we hurried away to continue the descent.
So utterly were the French beaten that their discouraged garrisons gave up town after town without a blow, and that brilliant night’s work not only ended the control of France over the kingdom of Naples, but filled Louis XII. with apprehension of losing all his possessions in Italy. Such were the most brilliant exploits of the man who well earned the proud title of the Great Captain.
Neither the perfume nor the ostentation was agreeable to Charles, and on leaving the next morning he punished his over-officious host by refusing to permit him to kiss his hand, and by causing him to be paid for the night’s lodging like a common inn-keeper. This was not the first time that cinnamon had been burned in the emperor’s chamber.
The Abbess had just said “Gratias” and the sisters had sung “Qui vivit et regnat per omnia saecula saeculorum, Amen,” when in came the Manciple mysteriously, and, with many deprecating bows and outstretchings of the hands, sidled himself up upon the dais, and, permission having been given him, spoke to the Lady Mother thus: “Madam, there is a certain pilgrim at the gate who asks refreshment and a night’s lodging.” It is true he spoke softly, but little pink ears are sharp of hearing, and nuns, from their secluded way of life, love to hear news of the great world.
Yet how little is required to make a situation—however cheerless at first sight—cheerful and comfortable. The people of the house, who looked kindly upon me, lighted a fire in the dingy grate; and, then, what a change!—the dingy room seemed dingy no more! Oh the luxury of a cheerful fire after a chill night’s journey! I drew near to the blazing grate, rubbed my hands, and felt glad.
Thumping with knife and fork handles, stamping of feet, cries of "Hear! hear!" with at least three cow-boy yells, argued well for a resumption of last night’s festivities. Simpson glowered, but said nothing. "Seems to me you-all goin’ the wrong way ’bout drawin’ Mistu’ Simpson out. He is shy an’ has to be played fo’ like a trout, an’ heah you-all come at him like a cattle stampede."
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