I refused to go—except for double fare.

He accepted and placed the double fare in silver in my palm. Then he
gave a whistle and from behind the corners came trooping enough
swashbuckler students to swamp my gondola. I let in just enough to
fill the seats and pushed off, leaving several standing on the stone
steps cursing me and everything and everybody.

As my boat slid away in the fog and headed on our course, I glanced
back and saw the three barca-loads following in my wake.

There was much muffled talk, and orders from some one in charge to
keep silence. But there was passing of strong drink, and then talk,
and from it I gathered that these were all students from Pascale’s,
out on one of those student carousals, intent on heaven knows what! It
was none of my business.

We shipped considerable water, and some of the students were down on
their knees praying and bailing, bailing and praying.

At last we reached the Murano landing. All got out, the barcas tied
up, and I tied up, too, determined to see what was doing. The strong
drink was passed, and a low, heavy-set fellow who seemed to be captain
charged all not to speak, but to follow him and do as he did.

We took a side street where there was little travel and followed
through the dark and dripping way, fully a half-mile, down there in
that end of the island called the sailors’ broglio, where they say no
man’s life is safe if he has a silver coin or two. There was much
music in the wine-shops and shouts of mirth and dancing feet on stone