"Ha! Signor Guevarra, I knew that the clear fires of Stromboli betokened something—behold!" As he spoke, a heavy and dense bank of clouds spread from the northern horizon, and gradually veiled the whole sky; the moon disappeared, or shot forth her lustre only at times on the whitening waves: the sea became black, and the land loomed close and high. The mainsail filled as the breeze freshened, and the boatswain warned the slaves to prepare for hard work. The darkness was now dense; and I felt, I knew not why, considerable anxiety as to the issue of the night. The little captain generally about this time retired to his cabin, to enjoy, alone, his cigar and a glass of lacrima; resigning the command to Vinoni. The features of the young lieutenant were clouded with care, or by some gloomy presentiment: he often walked to windward to watch the weather and look at the waves, which the rushing breeze edged with white. Suddenly he ordered the great mainsail to be furled, and all made snug for the night. "Out sweeps: give way there forward!" The shrill pipe of the boatswain echoed his command, and a commotion immediately took place among the slaves, who had hitherto been sitting silent and motionless in the dark. From the bosom of the startled deep a fierce yell arose. Imagine my astonishment and the horror of Vinoni, on beholding the galley-slaves, instead of resuming their monotonous labour at the oar, spring up at once from their benches, and rush, some forward and some aft, shouting like devils or maniacs broken loose. A desperate but momentary conflict ensued: most of the seamen were tossed overboard, while the rest were driven below the forecastle. Vinoni, brave to rashness, sprang to the front of the poop, and drawing from his belt pistols (which the galley-officers were never without) he fired, and a slave fell bleeding on the deck; then rushing to the swivel-guns he slued them round to sweep the waist: but they were without matches and useless. Instinctively I drew my sabre; but old Gismondo threw his arms around me. "Madman!" he exclaimed, "would you tempt the unfettered fury of two hundred and fifty ruffians—the fiercest in Italy: men whom years of slavery, tyranny, and toil have transformed into demons? Sheath your sword, signor—I alone can protect you." I returned my sabre to its scabbard: but a groan burst from me on beholding what followed.