if I see Soradaci make the smallest movement, or look at Lorenzo, I will rush on him and strangle him without mercy, to your honor and glory." I relied quite as much on this threat as on his oath. Wishing, however, to be as secure as possible, I asked him whether he had any objection to raise to this pledge; and after a moment's reflection, he said that he was content. Well pleased with myself, I gave him some supper, and then bid him go to bed, for that I needed sleep. As soon as he was asleep I wrote for two hours. I told Balbi the whole story, saying that if his work was far enough advanced he need only come to the ceiling of my cell, to break through the last boards, and come in. I notified to him that we were to escape on the night of the 31st of October, and that we should be four, including his messmate and mine. It was now the 28th. On the next day the monk wrote that the communication was complete, and there was no more for him to do but to get out on the top of my cell and break through the lowest surface, which could be done in five minutes. Soradaci was faithful to his word, making believe to be asleep; Lorenzo did not even speak to him. I never took my eyes off him, and I believe I should have killed him if he had made the smallest attempt to look at Lorenzo; for a mere treacherous wink would have been enough to betray me. The rest of the day was devoted to lofty discourse and exaggerated phrases, which I pronounced with all the gravity I could command; and I had the pleasure of seeing his fanatical excitement grow greater and greater. I took care to enhance the effect of my mystical preaching by a copious exhibition of wine, of which I gave him large draughts from time to time; and I never left him in peace till I saw him dropping with drunkenness and torpor. Although he had no notion of metaphysical speculation, and had never exercised his wits for any purpose but to devise some spy's tricks, the brute embarrassed me for an instant by saying that he could not imagine how an angel could need make so much work of opening our prison. But I, raising my eyes to heaven-or rather to the ceiling of my dismal cell - replied: "The ways of God are inscrutable to mortals: besides, the messenger of Heaven does not work as an angel, for a mere breath would suffice; he labors as a man, having no doubt taken the form of a man, since we are unworthy to endure the glorious presence of a celestial being. But indeed,” I added, like a true Jesuit, able to take advantage of every trifle, "I foresee that to punish you for your evil thought, which is an offense to the Blessed Virgin, the angel will not come to-day. Wretched man! your thoughts are not those of an honest, pious soul, but of a vile sinner who is always dealing with Messer Grande and his servants." I had hoped to make him miserable, and I had succeeded. He began to cry violently, and was choked with sobs when the clock had struck nineteen and he did not hear the angel. Far from soothing him, I tried to add to his despair by my own bitter lamentations. Next morning he was still obedient, for Lorenzo having inquired after his health, he replied without looking round. He behaved equally well next day, and at length I saw Lorenzo for the last time on the morning of the 31st of October. I gave him a book for Balbi, and desired the monk to come at about noon to pierce the ceiling. This time I feared no disaster, having learnt from Lorenzo that the Secretary and the Inquisitors had already gone into the country. I had no reason to fear the advent of a new messmate, and I need no longer try to hoodwink my rascally companion. When Lorenzo had left us I told Soradaci that the angel would come to make the opening in the ceiling of our cell at about eleven o'clock. "He will bring a pair of scissors," said I, "and you must trim my beard and his." "An angel with a beard!" "Yes. You will see. When that is done, we will get out and force our way through the roof of the palace; then we will get down into the Piazza of St. Mark, and from thence make our way to Germany." He made no reply. He ate by himself, for my heart and mind were too full to allow of my eating. I had not even slept. The hour strikes. Hark! the angel! Soradaci was about to fall on his face, but I assured him that this was superfluous. In three minutes the hole was pierced through; the board fell at my feet, and Father Balbi slid into my arms. "Your task is done," said I, "and now mine begins." CHARLES DIBDIN'S SEA SONGS. [CHARLES DIBDIN, English songwright, playwright, and actor, was born at Southampton in 1745; died July 25, 1814. He managed a little theater in London, and was leading man in his own plays, which were interspersed with songs written and set to music by himself. He wrote many hundred songs, some fifty plays and operettas, two novels, a "History of the Stage," and his autobiography (1803).] POOR JACK. Go patter to lubbers and swabs, do ye see, 'Bout danger, and fear, and the like; A tight water boat and good sea room give me, And it ent to a little I'll strike; Though the tempest topgallant masts smack smooth should smite, Clear the wreck, stow the yards, and bouse everything tight, Avast! nor don't think me a milksop so soft To be taken for trifles aback; For they say there's a Providence sits up aloft, I heard our good chaplain palaver one day And a many fine things that proved clearly to me That Providence takes us in tow: "For," says he, "do you mind me, let storms e'er so oft Take the topsails of sailors aback, There's a sweet little cherub that sits up aloft, To keep watch for the life of poor Jack!" I said to our Poll, for, d'ye see, she would cry, Why, what a damned fool you must be! Can't you see the world's wide, and there's room for us all, Both for seamen and lubbers ashore? And if to old Davy I should go, friend Poll, You never will hear of me more: |