"What, he--that scoundrel?" he cried. "Mr. Trinder, ask the Captain to have her unmoored and to hoist sail, and head the ship for him. We'll soon put him right." I think every Italian in the ship expected him to be struck dead, or a thunderbolt to fall from the clear sky, and not a few of our chaps felt a bit queer over it; but up went the anchors and aloft went the men, and we shook out our sails and bent them, and very soon we were bounding along towards the apparition. How great a man I felt the Admiral to be at that moment! as great as I felt him when we were running into the Nile and Trafalgar, with the French blazing away at us, and us reserving our guns double-shotted until we were near enough for them to tear the whole length of the ships we raked. To head the ship for it, our great _Foudroyant_, of which we were so proud, made every man feel his courage; while if the Admiral had ordered a boat to be lowered it would have taken some stiff-backed men to go in her--though he would, I have not the least doubt, have gone himself. When we did get up to it, and backed our topsails, no Englishman in the ship need have been put out by it, for it was plain to every one that the body had risen because it was so distended with gases, bred by some horrible internal disease. And then we read the Sicilians a lesson of British courage and discipline. For when the Admiral gave his orders, without the smallest unusual bustle or excitement a boat was lowered, and the men took the evil-looking and horrible-smelling thing on board--still, as it proved, with those double-headed thirty-two pound shot fastened to the feet--and rowed it a couple of miles, it might have been, to a point on the shore, where they buried it at their leisure. And I do think that this should have laid the ghost of Caracciolo as effectively among the Admiral's enemies in England as it did among the superstitious Neapolitans, who were veritably more impressed with this than by any of his victories over the French. Hardly had the _Foudroyant_ returned to her moorings, when we beheld the standards of England and the Sicilies run up on the lofty Citadel of St. Elmo, and had it saluted by one-and-twenty guns repeated from every vessel in the fleet, as they noted the proud signal. And as soon as might be after that, a barge dashed out from the Arsenal with Captain Troubridge on board, to announce the surrender of the Citadel, the last point in Naples to hold out against the Sovereign, at a loss to us of only two killed and five wounded, though the Swiss and Russians and Albanians and Calabrians suffered somewhat more severely, owing to a sortie which they had successfully countered.