This question was put with so much interest, that Raoul cursed his interrogator in his heart; imagining that he was burning with the wish to learn his own execution. He was also now aware that this was he boat which had left the Proserpine about noon. "I can tell you there was not, s'nore--if that will gladden your heart. A man was all _ready_ to be hanged, when Captain Cuffe was pleased to order him taken down." "Just as three heavy guns were fired up at town--was it not so?" Clinch eagerly inquired. "_Diable!_ this man may have been my preserver, after all! You say true, s'nore; it _was_ just as three guns were fired up at Naples; though I did not know those guns had anything to do with the intended execution. Can you tell me if they had?" "If they had! Why I touched them off with my own hands, they were signals made by the admiral to spare poor Raoul Yvard, for a few days at, least. I am rejoiced to hear that all my great efforts to teach the fleet were not in vain. I don't like this hanging, Mr. Italian." "S'nore, you show a kind heart, and will one day reap the reward of such generous feelings. I wish I knew the name of so humane a gentleman, that I might mention him in my prayers." "They'll never fancy that Captain Rule said _that_," muttered Ithuel, grinning. "As for my name, friend, it's no great matter. They call me Clinch, which is a good fast word to sail under, too; but it has no handle to it, other than of a poor devil of a master's-mate; and that, too, at an age when some men carry broad pennants." This was said bitterly, and in English; when uttered, the supposed Italian was wished a "_buona sera_" and the gig proceeded. "That is _un brave_" said Raoul, with emphasis, as they departed. "If ever I meet with Monsieur Cleench, he will learn that I do not forget his good wishes. _Peste!_ if there were a hundred such men in the British marine, Etooelle, we might love it." "They're fiery serpents, Captain Rule, and not to be trusted, any on 'em. As for fine words, I might have fancied myself a cousin of the king's, if I'd only put my name to their shipping articles. This Mr. Clinch is well enough in the main; being his own worst inimy, in the way of the grog pitcher." "Boat, ahoy!" shouted Clinch again, now about a hundred yards distant, having passed toward the cape. Raoul and Ithuel mechanically ceased rowing, under the impression that the master's-mate had still something to communicate. "Boat, ahoy! Answer at once, or you'll hear from me," repeated Clinch. "Aye, aye," answered another voice, which, in fact, was Yelverton's; "Clinch, is that you?" "Aye, aye, sir--Mr. Yelverton, is it not? I think I know the voice, sir." "You are quite right; but make less noise--who was that you hailed a minute or two since?"