at the port for two days.... Once they were thoroughly
dried out and back on their feet, we bade them farewell and good luck,
and they returned to Toulon, where they later set sail once again for
the Crimea.... It's not too difficult to guess which ship they sailed
on! Yes, monsieur, it was the _Semillante_.... We found all twenty of
them amongst the dead, just where we are now.... I, myself, recovered a
good looking Brigadier with fine whiskers, a fresh-faced man from
Paris, whom I had put up at my house and who had made us laugh
continuously with his tales.... To see him there was heart breaking.
Oh, Holy Mother of God!...

With that, Lionetti, deeply moved, knocked out his pipe and tottered
off to his cabin wishing me goodnight.... The sailors spoke quietly to
each other for a while, then they put out their pipes one by one.
Nothing more was said. The old shepherd went off, and I remained alone,
to mull things over, sitting amongst the sleeping crew.

* * * * *

Still affected by the horrendous tale I had just heard, I tried to
reconstruct in my mind the unfortunate lost ship and the story of the
agonising event witnessed only by the gulls. A few details struck me
and helped me to fill out all the twists and turns of the drama: the
Captain in full dress uniform, the Chaplain's stole, the twenty
soldiers in transit. I visualised the frigate leaving Toulon at night.
As she left the port, the sea was up, the wind was terrible; but the
Captain was a valiant and experienced sailor and everybody on board was
relaxed.

A fog got up in the morning. A sense of unease began to spread. The
whole crew were on deck. The Captain stayed on the quarter-deck. In the
'tween-decks where the soldiers were billeted, it was pitch black, and
the air was hot. Some of the men were sea-sick. The ship pitched
horribly, which made it impossible to stand up. They talked in groups,
sitting on the floor, clutching the benches for dear life; they had to
shout to be heard. Some of them started to feel afraid. Listen,
shipwrecks are common around those parts; the soldiers were there
themselves to prove it, and what they said was not at all reassuring.
Especially the Brigadier, a Parisian, who was always making quips that
made your flesh creep:

--A shipwreck! How hilarious, a shipwreck. We are about to leave for an
icy bath, and then be taken to Captain Lionetti's place in Bonifacio,
where blackbirds are on the menu.

Th