have to go out again with our compromising cargo, to slink and
lurk about the coast for another week or so, unable to trust anybody and
looking at every vessel we met with suspicion. Once we were ambushed by
a lot of "rascally Carabineers," as Dominic called them, who hid
themselves among the rocks after disposing a train of mules well in view
on the seashore. Luckily, on evidence which I could never understand,
Dominic detected something suspicious. Perhaps it was by virtue of some
sixth sense that men born for unlawful occupations may be gifted with.
"There is a smell of treachery about this," he remarked suddenly, turning
at his oar. (He and I were pulling alone in a little boat to
reconnoitre.) I couldn't detect any smell and I regard to this day our
escape on that occasion as, properly speaking, miraculous. Surely some
supernatural power must have struck upwards the barrels of the
Carabineers' rifles, for they missed us by yards. And as the Carabineers
have the reputation of shooting straight, Dominic, after swearing most
horribly, ascribed our escape to the particular guardian angel that looks
after crazy young gentlemen. Dominic believed in angels in a
conventional way, but laid no claim to having one of his own. Soon
afterwards, while sailing quietly at night, we found ourselves suddenly
near a small coasting vessel, also without lights, which all at once
treated us to a volley of rifle fire. Dominic's mighty and inspired
yell: "_A plat ventre_!" and also an unexpected roll to windward saved
all our lives. Nobody got a scratch. We were past in a moment and in a
breeze then blowing we had the heels of anything likely to give us chase.
But an hour afterwards, as we stood side by side peering into the
darkness, Dominic was heard to mutter through his teeth: "_Le metier se
gate_." I, too, had the feeling that the trade, if not altogether
spoiled, had seen its best days. But I did not care. In fact, for my
purpose it was rather better, a more potent influence; like the stronger
intoxication of raw spirit. A volley in the dark after all was not such
a bad thing. Only a moment before we had received it, there, in that
calm night of the sea full of freshness and soft whispers, I had been
looking at an enchanting turn of a head in a faint light of its own, the
tawny hair with snared red sparks brushed up from the nape of a white
neck and held up on high by an arrow of gold feathered with brilliants
and wit