The Roman, to whom the empire of the sea, or, more properly speaking, the petty principality of the Mediterranean, was transferred, had little liking for that sceptre.  He was driven to the water by sheer necessity, but he never took to it kindly.  He was at best a sea-soldier, a marine, not brought up from the start in the merchant-service and then polished into the complete blue-jacket and able seaman of the navy.  Nobody can think of those ponderous old Romans, whose comedies were all borrowed from Attica, whose poems were feeble echoes of the Greek, and whose architecture, art, and domestic culture were at best the work of foreign artists,—­nobody can think of them at sea without a quiet chuckle at the inevitable consequences of the first “reef-topsail breeze.”  Fancy those solemn, stately Patricians, whose very puns are ponderous enough to set their galleys a streak deeper in the water, fancy them in a brisk sea with a nor’wester brewing to windward, watching off the port of Carthage for Admiral Hasdrubal and his fleet to come out.  They were good hand-to-hand fighters,—­none better; and so they won their victories, no doubt; but, having won them, they dropped sea-going, and made the conquered nations transport their corn and troops, while they went back to their congenial camps and solemn Senate-debates.

But Italy was not settled by the Roman alone.  A black-haired, fire-eyed, daring, flexible race had colonized the Sicilian Islands, and settled thickly around the Tarentine Gulf, and built their cities up the fringes of the Apennines as far as the lovely Bay of Parthenope.  Greek they were,—­by tradition the descendants of those who took Troy-town,—­Greek they are to this day, as any one may see who will linger on the Mole or by the Santa Lucia Stairs at Naples.  At Salerno, at Amalfi, were cradled those fishing-hamlets which were to nurse seamen, and not soldiers.  Far up the Adriatic, the storm of Northern invasion had forced a fair-haired and violet-eyed folk into the fastnesses of the lagoons, to drive their piles and lay their keels upon the reedy islets of San Giorgio and San Marco; while on the western side an ancient Celtic colony was rising into prominence, and rearing at the foot of the Ligurian Alps the palaces of Genoa the Proud.

Thus upon the Italian stock was begun the language of the seas.  Upon the Italian main the words “tack” and “sheet,” “prow” and “poop,” were first heard; and those most important terms by which the law of the marine highway is given,—­“starboard” and “larboard.”  For if, after the Italian popular method, we contract the words questo bordo (this side) and quello bordo (that side) into sto bordo and lo bordo, we have the roots of our modern phrases.  And so the term “port,” which in naval usage supersedes “larboard,” is the abbreviated porta lo timone, (carry the helm,) which, like the same term in military usage, “port arms,” seems traditionally to suggest the left hand.