breeze which was blowing from the south might have carried us to Corfu in
ten hours, but when we had sailed about one hour my cayabouchiri informed
me that he could see by the moonlight a ship which might prove to be a
corsair, and get hold of us. I was unwilling to risk anything, so I
ordered them to lower the sails and return to Otranto. At day-break we
sailed again with a good westerly wind, which would also have taken us to
Corfu; but after we had gone two or three hours, the captain pointed out
to me a brigantine, evidently a pirate, for she was shaping her course so
as to get to windward of us. I told him to change the course, and to go
by starboard, to see if the brigantine would follow us, but she
immediately imitated our manoeuvre. I could not go back to Otranto, and I
had no wish to go to Africa, so I ordered the men to shape our course, so
as to land on the coast of Calabria, by hard rowing and at the nearest
point. The sailors, who were frightened to death, communicated their
fears to my comedians, and soon I heard nothing but weeping and sobbing.
Every one of them was calling earnestly upon some saint, but not one
single prayer to God did I hear. The bewailings of scaramouch, the dull
and spiritless despair of Fastidio, offered a picture which would have
made me laugh heartily if the danger had been imaginary and not real.
Marina alone was cheerful and happy, because she did not realize the
danger we were running, and she laughed at the terror of the crew and of
her companions.

A strong breeze sprang up towards evening, so I ordered them to clap on
all sail and scud before the wind, even if it should get stronger. In
order to escape the pirate, I had made up my mind to cross the gulf. We
took the wind through the night, and in the morning we were eighty miles
from Corfu, which I determined to reach by rowing. We were in the middle
of the gulf, and the sailors were worn out with fatigue, but I had no
longer any fear. A gale began to blow from the north, and in less than an