on me. It had been a dark, cloudy day, with gusts of wind, followed by
intervals of calm. The air was moist and heavy, and charged with the
depressing influences which the "mestrale," that sickliest of all winds,
ever brings. Masses of leaden-colored clouds floated low over the sea,
which was broken into a short angry "jobbe," as if after a storm.

All betokened the approach of a gale of wind, and, as night set in, the
signs of bad weather thickened. Scarcely had the sun set, when it became
dark as pitch; the wind, which had lulled for a brief space previous,
now sprung up, and the sea fretted and chafed against the rocks with
that peculiar sharp chirping sound that presages "wind." The clank of
chain cables, the plashing noise of falling anchors, the loud shouts
of the sailors as they prepared to meet the gathering storm, even now
heard, while in the changing position of the different lights of the
bay I could discern the movements of the various vessels as they
sought shelter or made ready for sea, in expectation of the "gale." The
impenetrable darkness, the roaring wind, the flashing of the lights,
the cries of the seamen, the hurrying of feet along the quays, and the
sounds of different boats' crews departing in haste,--all gave a charm
to a scene of which the obscurity increased the iuterest. A large French
steamer was to have sailed that night for Marseilles; but I overheard a
voice from the street foretelling that the "Gazonne" might leave without
her passengers, "as no one would go on board of her on such a night." A
red lantern at the peak indicated the vessel, and I could see that she
had changed her position and "taken up a berth" farther out in the bay.

I cannot tell by what instinct I selected her as a peculiar object of my
iuterest, but so it was. I watched her unceasingly, and rarely took my
eyes from the quarter where she lay; and when the heaving motion of the
"red light" showed that she was tossing in a heavy sea, I listened too
with eagerness to catch anything from those that passed beneath that
might concern this vessel, which now engrossed all my sympathy. "Were I
once but on board of her," thought I, "the wildest hurricane that ever
blew would be sweeter to me than all the balmy airs that ever bore the
odor of orange-blossom through my barred window!" I would have braved
the stormiest seas, the maddest gale, shipwreck itself, rather than
longer remain the helpless, hopeless thing a life of imprison