. The night was so dark that I had
nothing to guide me save the lights on the ramparts; but in this lay my
safety. Swimming is, after all, but a slow means of progression. After
what I judged to be an hour in the water, as I turned my head to look
back, I almost fancied that the great bowsprit of the Temeraire was over
me, and that the figure who leaned over the taffrail was steadily gazing
on me. How little way had I made, and what a vast reach of water lay
between me and the shore! I tried to animate my courage by thinking of
the cause, how my comrades would greet me, the honor in which they would
hold me for the exploit, and such like; but the terror of failure damped
this ardor, and hope sank every moment lower and lower.

For some time I resolved within myself not to look back; the
discouragement was too great; but the impulse to do so became all the
greater, and the only means of resisting was by counting the strokes,
and determining not to turn my head before I had made a thousand. The
monotony of this last, and the ceaseless effort to advance, threw me
into a kind of dreamy state, wherein mere mechanical effort remained. A
few vague impressions are all that remain to me of what followed. I
remember the sound of the morning guns from the fleet; I remember, too,
the hoisting of the French standard at daybreak on the fort of the
Mole: I have some recollection of a bastion crowded with people, and
hearing shouts and cheers, like voices of welcome and encouragement; and
then a whole fleet of small boats issuing from the harbor, as if by one
impulse; and then there comes a bright blaze of light over one incident,
for I saw myself, dripping and almost dead, lifted on the shoulders of
strong men, and carried along a wide street filled with people. I was in
Genoa!

CHAPTER XXXIV.

"GENOA IN THE SIEGE."

Up a straight street, so steep and so narrow that it seemed a stair,
with hundreds of men crowding around me, I was borne along. Now, they
were sailors who carried me; now, white-bearded grenadiers, with their
bronzed bold faces; now, they were the wild-looking Faquini of the Mole,
with long-tasseled red caps, and gaudy sashes round their waists.
Windows were opened on either side as we went, and eager faces protruded
to stare at me; and then there were shouts and cries of triumphant joy
bursting forth at every moment, amidst which I could hear the
ever-recurring words--"Escaped from the English fleet."

By