His smiles and translations soon collected a group of officers, and the sentry respectfully dropping a little on one side, the deck around the state-room of the prisoner became a sort of parquet to a very amusing representation.

Several of the young gentlemen understood a little Italian, and Griffin translating rapidly, though in an undertone, the whole affair was deemed to be particularly diverting.
"This is a rum way of consoling a man who is condemned to die," muttered the master; "I wonder the Frenchman stands all their nonsense." "Oh!" rejoined the marine officer, "drill will do anything.

These Revolutionists are so drilled into hypocrisy, that I dare say the fellow is grinning the whole time, as if perfectly delighted." Raoul, in fact, listened with no little amusement.

At first, his voice was occasionally heard in the discussion, evidently aiming at exciting the disputants; but the warmth of the latter soon silenced him, and he was fain to do nothing but listen.

Shortly after the discussion got to be warm, and just as Griffin was collecting his group, the prisoner stretched himself still further into the port, to enjoy the coolness of the evening breeze, when, to his surprise, a hand was laid gently on his forehead.
"Hush!" whispered a voice close to his ear, "it is the American--Ithuel--be cool;--now is the moment to pull for life." Raoul had too much self-command to betray his astonishment, but in an instant every faculty he possessed was on the alert.