Since that eventful evening at the vicarage of Beaussuet eight days have passed. On the evening of the eighth day a sharp northeast wind blew and whipped the waves of the Mediterranean Sea so violently that they rose mountain high and almost buried a small frigate under their white caps. The captain of the frigate stood at the helm and hoarsely roared out his commands to the sailors, but they did not understand him, and when the storm tore off the mainmast a loud outcry was heard. The captain was the only one who did not lose his senses. With his axe he chopped off the remaining pieces of the mast, and turning to his crew, his face convulsed with passion, he said:

"Thunder and lightning! what do you mean by disobeying my orders? Have you got cotton in your ears?"

"No, captain," replied the oldest sailor, "we do not disobey your orders, but why should we carry them out, since we are lost anyhow?"

As if in confirmation of his words a terrific wind threw the frigate on its side, and even the captain could hardly sustain himself on his feet.

"You are miserable cowards," he cried to the sailors; "one would imagine you had never seen a storm before! Do you still remember how the frigate was almost wrecked off Malta, and yet we saved our lives then?—"

"Yes, captain," interrupted a sailor, "but that was different."

"How so? What do you mean? Open your mouth, or—"

"That time we did not have any branded men on board," said the sailor, firmly.

"No branded men? Are you mad?"

"No, captain; but so long as we have these unhappy men on board the storm rages, and neither God nor the devil can save us. Look over there; there he lies on the floor, and, Jesus, Mary and Joseph!—another such a crash and we shall be food for the sharks!"

Unconsciously the captain looked in the direction indicated. A man, whose face could not be seen, lay flat on the vessel, his arms nervously clutching a package enveloped in a piece of sail-cloth. Now and then a tremor ran through his frame. He was apparently greatly frightened.

"What's the matter with the man?" asked the captain, gruffly.

"When he came on board at St. Tropez he was covered with blood, and—"

"Well, what then?"

"Well, his hair is shaved clean to the skin, as if he just came from the Bagnio."

"One would think," exclaimed the captain, loudly, "you are all saints. Do you remember, Pietro, what you had done before I shipped you?"

"Bah! I killed a Custom House officer, that is no crime."

"So, and what was the matter with you, Rosario?"

"Captain," answered Rosario, proudly, "you ought to know what a vendetta is."

"Didn't I say so? You are all as innocent as newborn babes. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves."

In spite of his apparent indifference, the captain felt inwardly uneasy, and the sailors' statements appeared to him to be well founded.

About four days before, as the frigate lay at anchor at St. Tropez, a man had approached the captain and offered him three thousand francs if he would take him along and land him on the Italian coast. Gennaro, the captain and owner of a smuggling vessel, did not hesitate long. Three thousand francs was a large sum, and as the passenger paid cash he overlooked certain things which he might otherwise have noticed. The closely shaved head pointed to a former galley slave, but as he conducted himself well on board and kept out of every one's way, the captain no longer thought about it.

The sailors, however, thought differently. With that superstition peculiar to Italians, they blamed the strange passenger for all the mishaps which had befallen the vessel since the "Shaven Redhead," as they called him, had come on board the vessel. On the first night a sudden storm carried away the rudder, on the second day one of the planks near the helm split, and the storm kept on increasing, finally reaching such a height that even Gennaro, the veteran sailor, could not remember to have ever seen one like it.

The boatswain now approached Gennaro.

"Well, Mello," said the captain, trying to appear indifferent, "do you also think the frigate is lost because the branded man is on board?"

"Yes," replied Mello, briefly, "if God does not perform a miracle."

At this moment a terrific crash was heard, and with loud cries the sailors rushed on deck.

"A waterspout; we are sinking!" they exclaimed, terror-stricken. "Help, captain, help!"

Immense waves of water poured over the deck and tore away part of the stern, making a deep hole in the frigate, which rapidly filled with water.

"To the pumps, men!" exclaimed Gennaro—"to the pumps!"

This time his command was immediately obeyed. The feeling of self-protection was stronger than their superstition, and the sailors were soon hard at work at the pumps.

Only two persons remained behind.

"Pietro," said one of them to the other, "are you anxious to swallow water?"

"Corpo di Dio, no!"

"How do you expect to save yourself?"

"Oh, there is still a remedy!"

The men exchanged knowing looks, and then one of them whispered:

"Be careful; do not let the captain hear of it; he might hinder us."

"He would be foolish enough to do so. We are heading straight for Elba, on the rocks of which we will be hopelessly dashed, if we do not take our steps beforehand. Let me attend to it as soon as she lies in the water."

As he said this, he looked toward the stranger, who was still lying motionless on the deck.

"Comrade," said Pietro to the stranger, "are you aware that we are sinking?"

A look of horror met the speaker, and then Benedetto, for it was he, said:

"Is there no rescue possible?"

"Oh, yes; with money you can do anything."

"Then rescue me, and I will pay you what you ask."

"Then listen. The frigate has but one boat. Follow us and make no noise. We will get into the boat and push off. For the rest, may God look out."

Benedetto nodded. When had he ever said no to any deviltry?

With staggering steps he followed the two sailors.

"Here!" exclaimed Pietro.

Benedetto could not see his hands before his eyes and blindly followed his guides. Suddenly he felt himself grasped by strong arms, and the next minute he was hurled headlong into the sea. The sailors had thrown him overboard to save the ship!

The package enveloped in sail cloth, and which contained his fortune, the wretch firmly clasped.

The waves threw him here and there. He lost consciousness. Suddenly he came to; a wave had thrown him upon a rock, and his forehead struck violently on a sharp stone. A dark stream of blood flowed over the pale face of the parricide, and heaving a deep sigh he lost consciousness anew.