"I was with a brigantine with wine for Marseilles.
That vessel was like a rock in the sea, she would not move with less
than seven points of the wind in fair weather. We afterwards went to Rio
Janeiro, and it was two years before we got back."
"So it was two years ago that you passed?" inquired Ercole.
"Two years ago May or the beginning of June. She was so low in the water
that she would have swamped if we had tried to carry on sail, and with
the sail she could carry she could make no headway; so there we were,
hove to under lower topsail and balance-reefed mainsail and storm-jib,
with a lee shore less than a mile away. We recommended ourselves to the
saints and the souls of purgatory, and our captain said to us, 'My fine
sons, unless the wind shifts in half an hour we must run her ashore and
save the cargo!' That is what he said. But I said that I knew this Roman
shore from a boy, and that sometimes there was no bar at the mouth of
the Incastro, so that a vessel might just slip into the pool where the
reeds grow. You certainly know the place."
"I know it well," said Ercole.
"Yes. So I pointed out the spot to our captain, standing beside him, and
he took his glasses and looked to see whether the sea was breaking on
the bar."
"The bar has not been open since I came here," said Padre Francesco,
returning with water. "And that is ten years."
The men drank eagerly, one after the other, and there was silence.
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