sea boat, but slow and clumsy, and needs a strong crew to handle her.

The two boys who sat in the fishing boat alongside the martingane on
that dark night had no idea that all sea-going vessels were not called
ships; but there was something mysteriously attractive to them in the
black hull, the high tapering yard, and the shadowy rigging. They were
certainly not imaginative boys, but they could not help wondering where
the great dark thing had been and whither she might be going. They did
not know what going to sea meant, nor what real deep-sea vessels were
like, and they even fancied that this one might have been to America.
But they understood well enough that they were to make no noise, and
they kept their reflections to themselves, silently holding on to the
end of the rope as they sat in their places.

They did not wait very long. In a few minutes Antonino and the other man
came to the side, carrying an odd-looking black bundle, sewn up in what
Ruggiero felt was oiled canvas as he steadied it down into the stern of
the little boat, and neatly hitched round from end to end with
spun-yarn, so as to be about the shape of an enormous sausage. The two
men lowered it without much caution; it was heavy but rather limp. Then
came another exactly like the first, which they also lowered into the
boat, and a moment later Don Antonino came over the side as quickly and
noiselessly as he had gone up, and shoved off quietly into the
starlight.

Half an hour later he ran alongside of a narrow ledge of rock,
apparently quite inaccessible from the land above, but running up along
the cliff in such a way that, in case of danger from the sea, a man
could get well out of reach of the breakers. He went ashore, taking the
end of his own coil of rope with him. He made it fast in the dark