“Certainly not, sir.  But Mr. Clinch is an active and experienced seaman, when he is in earnest; we may still hope something from him.  What is to be done with the Italians, sir?”

“Let them, or any one else that poor Yvard is willing to see, go below.”

“Do you mean to include old Giuntotardi and his niece, Captain Cuffe?—­and this deserter of our own, Bolt—­he, too, has had something to say of a wish to take leave of his late shipmate?”

“We might be justified in denying the request of the last, Mr. Winchester, but hardly of the others.  Still, if Raoul Yvard wishes to see even him, his desire may as well be granted.”

Thus authorized, Winchester no longer hesitated about granting the several permissions.  An order was sent to the sentinel, through the corporal of the guard, to allow any one to enter the prisoner’s room whom the latter might wish to receive.  A ship was not like a prison on shore, escape being next to impossible, more especially from a vessel at sea.  The parties accordingly received intimation that they might visit the condemned man, should the latter be disposed to receive them.

By this time, something like a general gloom had settled on the ship.  The actual state of things was known to all on board, and few believed it possible that Clinch could reach the Foudroyant, receive his orders, and be back in time to prevent the execution.  It wanted now but three hours of sunset, and the minutes appeared to fly, instead of dragging.  The human mind is so constituted, that uncertainty increases most of its sensations;—­the apprehension of death even, very usually exciting a livelier emotion than its positive approach.  Thus it was with the officers and people of the Proserpine; had there been no hope of escaping the execution, they would have made up their minds to submit to the evil, as unavoidable; but the slight chance which did actually exist created a feverish excitement that soon extended to all hands; and this as completely as if a chase were in sight, and each individual was bent on overtaking her.  As minute after minute flew by, the feeling increased, until it would not much exceed the bounds of truth to say that under none of the vicissitudes of war did there ever exist so feverish an hour on board his Britannic Majesty’s ship the Proserpine, as the very period of which we are now writing.  Eyes were constantly turned toward the sun, and several of the young gentlemen collected on the forecastle, with no other view than to be as near as possible to the headland around which the boat of Clinch was expected to make her reappearance, as behind it she had last been seen.