Part 35

The Mediterranean was all silver and blue when the three boys met next day in the early summer dawn at the pier near the Porto Olimpio where Carlo Parodi's boat lay. Raffaelle had brought a jug of water and some fishing lines, Giuseppe a basket of provisions, and Cesare his compass. They could hardly wait until the last of the fishing boats had put out to sea before they ran down the pier to embark in their own small craft. The Red Dragon was the boat's name, given her because of the painted picture of a terrible monster that sprawled across the sail. She was old and weather-beaten, a simple sailboat with only a shallow cabin, such as is used in the Mediterranean to coast along the shore.

Under Giuseppe's leadership the food and water were stowed on board, the sail raised, and the boat cast off from the pier. Cesare took the tiller and with a light morning breeze the Red Dragon drew proudly away from the beach and headed eastward toward Genoa.

As the sun rose higher the breeze stiffened, the sail filled and the brilliant dragon spread out his red body and tail. Each of the boys had sailed this inland sea a hundred times before, but never had it seemed so wonderful a place as on this summer morning. The water dashed along the gunwale and sometimes sent a warm spray into their faces. Behind them lay the curving harbor, beyond that the red and yellow and brown roofs and walls of Nice, and still farther back the dim blue outlines of the mountains.

They were so excited that for some time they forgot they had had no breakfast. Presently Raffaelle remembered it, and Giuseppe's basket was opened and its stock of rye bread, bologna sausage and olives handed around. The boys were surprised to find how hungry they were, but like a prudent captain Giuseppe would only let them eat a small part of the rations. "Suppose we should run into a spell of calm weather before we sighted Genoa," said he.

After breakfast Raffaelle took the helm and Cesare and Giuseppe lay up in the bow and planned what they would do after they landed at Genoa.

* * * * *

Meanwhile the three families of Parodi, Deandreis and Garibaldi in Nice were considerably excited. A boy in each family had disappeared. Knowing what close friends the three boys were the fathers sought each other. Each family had the same tale to tell.

Then came word that Carlo Parodi's boat was missing, and this gave the searchers a clue. They went to the beach, but only to find that all the fishing-boats had put out to sea some time ago. Signor Garibaldi, however, was a man of resource and influence, and within an hour he had found a coast-guard captain who would take him in pursuit. The coast-guard boat was big and she could triple the speed of the small Red Dragon. By ten o'clock the runaway boat was sighted just opposite Monaco. The boys saw the pursuers coming, but even by crowding on all their sail they could not gain a lead. So when the coast-guard came alongside of them they surrendered.

Even though they had not reached Genoa, the lads had tasted the salt of adventure. Giuseppe's father boarded the Red Dragon, and, treating the whole matter as a summer's lark, helped the young sailors to bring their boat about, and tacking across toward Monaco and then out to the deeper sea, gave them a lesson in sailing that made them quickly forget that they were going back to Nice.

On that sail home the father learned a good deal about Giuseppe. He heard the boys talk freely to each other, and as he listened he realized that this son of his was not the quiet type of boy who would make a good priest, but that he craved the roving life of the sea, descended as he was from generations of sailors. He himself knew the perils of the sea only too well, how hard a man must work in its service, and how little he might gain, and how much securer was the life on shore. But he also knew that when once the sea called to a boy of Nice it was useless to try to make him forget the call. Giuseppe would not make a good priest, and he might make a good sailor. So the watchful father decided, as he brought the little boat back to shore, to let his son follow his natural bent.

After their adventure Giuseppe and his two friends went quietly on with their school life. Giuseppe's father had promised to teach him something about navigation in the evenings, and had told him that, if he would only be patient and wait a short time, he should make a cruise in earnest. One day, as the boy and his father were coming home from church a tall, black-haired man stepped up to them, and, holding out his hand, said, "Signor, will you give us something for the refugees of Italy?" Giuseppe's father gave the man a few coins, which he received with the greatest thanks. As they walked on the boy kept turning back to look at the tall gaunt-faced man they had met. Finally he said, "Who was he, father, and what did he mean by the refugees of Italy?"

The father looked down into the boy's eager eyes. "Our poor country," said he, "has been thrown to the ground, and different people have been beating her and trying to keep her down, but chiefly the big, white-coated Austrians, Giuseppe boy. Every once in a while some of our men band together and try to do something to help Italy get to her feet again. That man who asked for money was such a man."

"But why did he look so sad and white, father, and why did he say the refugees?"

"Our men are very few, Giuseppe, and have poor arms, and the enemy's army is very large and their men are veteran soldiers, so that we always lose. Then those who fought, like that poor fellow, have to fly and seek refuge out of Italy until the storm blows past."

Giuseppe clasped his hands behind his back, and his face grew very thoughtful. "So that man has been to war," he said, "and for us, and the money you gave him is going to help them the next time?"

"Exactly," said the father, with a smile at the boy's serious manner. Giuseppe was not usually very thoughtful.

"How long do you think the refugees will have to go on fighting, father, before the enemy are finally driven out of our land?"

"Oh, they'll have to fight for years and years, and perhaps they'll never win, for the enemy is much stronger than we Italians."

"Then," said Giuseppe, "I'm glad, for that will give Cesare and Raffaelle and me a chance to help them fight. I'm going to be a refugee myself some day. Will you teach me, father, how to use a sword?"

"All in good time," said the man, smiling. "You've got your hands full learning the points of the compass just now."

For some reason Giuseppe could not get the tall, black-haired man out of his mind, and the next day, at recess, he told his two friends of his meeting with him and what he had learned about him.

"Couldn't we find him or another like him, this afternoon?" suggested Cesare, very much interested.

"We'll hunt," agreed Giuseppe. "A refugee could tell us much better stories than those old sailors can."

After school the three boys looked through the main streets of Nice, but saw no one asking for alms for the cause of Italy. They went down to the harbor, but there were no such men there. Finally in a little square they came upon the very man Giuseppe had seen the day before. He was sitting on the grass under a tree, and seemed to be asleep, for his head was sunk on his folded arms. They crossed over to him quietly. Although the day was warm he had a greatcoat fastened about his shoulders and a soft, broad-brimmed hat pulled down upon his head. He looked tired out.

The three boys stood in front of the man, and finally his eyes opened. He smiled as he saw them staring at him. "What do you want with me, signors?" said he.

Giuseppe dropped on to the grass beside him. "I know now what you meant when you said the refugees of Italy yesterday," he explained. "We three boys mean to be refugees some day. We've made a vow that we'll fight the Austrians until there isn't one of the three of us left. We'd like very much to hear some of the things you've done."

The man threw back his cloak and sat up a trifle straighten "Three future refugees!" he exclaimed. "The world moves! You want to be pushing me away already, do you? Sit down, I'll tell you what I can."

The boys sat in front of him, and listened with rapt attention while he told them that his home was in a little town half-way between Nice and Genoa, that he was a member of a secret society called the Carbonari, and that the first rule of that society was that a man must do exactly as he was told without asking why. Not long before he had received a secret message telling him to go to the city of Milan, taking his sword and pistols with him. He had left his wife and children and gone to Milan, and there he had waited a long time while the leaders of the society planned to surprise the Austrian garrison and drive the troops out of the city.