The half hour that succeeded, on board the Proserpine, was one of gayety and merriment. Every person was glad that the ship had escaped an execution; and then it was the hour for piping down the hammocks, and for shifting the dogwatches. Cuffe recovered all his animation, and conversed cheerfully, having Griffin for an interpreter, with his two Italian guests. These last had been prevented from paying their visit to the prisoner, on account of the latter's wish to be alone; but the intention was now renewed; and sending below, to ascertain if it would be agreeable, they proceeded together on their friendly mission. As the two worthies, who had not altogether got their sea-legs, slowly descended the ladder, and threaded their way among the throng of a ship, the discourse did not flag between them. "Cospetto!" exclaimed the podestà; "Signor Andrea, we live in a world of wonders! A man can hardly say whether he is actually alive or not. To think how near this false Sir Smees was to death, half an hour since; and now, doubtless, he is as much alive, and as merry as any of us." "It would be more useful, friend Vito Viti," answered the philosophical vice-governatore, "to remember how near those who live are always to death, who has only to open his gates to cause the strongest and fairest to pass at once into the tomb." "By San Stefano, but you have a way with you, vice-governatore, that would become a cardinal! It's a thousand pities the church was robbed of such a support; though I do think, Signor Andrea, if your mind would dwell less on another state of being, it would be more cheerful; and I may say, more cheering to those with whom you discourse. There are evils enough in this life, without thinking so much of death." "There are philosophers who pretend, good Vito, that nothing that we see around us actually has an existence: that we _fancy_ everything; fancy that this is a sea, called the Mediterranean; fancy this is a ship--yonder is the land; fancy that we live; and even fancy death." "Corpo di Bacco! Signor Andrea," exclaimed the other, stopping short at the foot of the ladder, and seizing his companion by a button, afraid he would desert him in the midst of a strange delusion, "you would not trifle in such a matter with an old friend; one who has known you from childhood? _Fancy_ that I am alive!" "_Si_--I have told you only the truth. The imagination is very strong, and may easily give the semblance of reality to unreal things." "And that I am not a podestà, in fact, but one only in fancy!" "Just so, friend Vito; and that I am only a vice-governatore, too, in the imagination." "And that Elba is not a real island, or Porto Ferrajo a real town; and that even all our iron, of which we _seem_ to send so much about the world, in good, wholesome ships, is only a sort of ghost of solid, substantial metal!" "_St, si_--that everything which appears to be material is, in fact, imaginary; iron, gold, or flesh."