IN THREE VOLUMES. BY CAPTAIN COLOMB, R.A., Author of "A Flying Shot at the United States," &c. VOL. III. London: T. CAUTLEY NEWBY, PUBLISHER, HEARTHS & WATCH-FIRES. CHAPTER I. Cœlum, non animum, mutant, qui trans mare currunt. HORACE. THE island of Malta, with its numberless stone walls (built to keep the patches of soil transported thither with much trouble and at a great expense, from washing into the sea) was hailed with joy by all on board the transport, which had hitherto made a voyage of remarkable brevity. It was evening when the pilot, coming on board, conducted the transport safely into the spacious harbour of Valetta. Those who had not before visited the locality were struck with the imposing appearance of the remarkable city, raised by the indomitable Knights of St. John of Jerusalem. Tier upon tier of batteries upon all sides shewed bristling rows of guns peeping from embrasures, and threatening a concentrated fire upon intruders daring enough to enter the harbour with hostile intentions. To the right the principal part of the town was to be seen, terrace rising above terrace, and domes and cupolas here and there towering above humbler edifices. All loomed rather darkly against the sky, where the sun had just disappeared, but a flood of golden light poured through a row of arches, at one of the highest points; in appearance not dissimilar to a Roman aqueduct. The wind had suddenly subsided; the air was sultry, and the reflections of buildings, rocks and shipping, in the almost still water, were only agitated by numberless little boats of peculiar structure, which were to be seen moving about in all directions. Immediately in front, an exceedingly lofty pile, called Fort St. Angelo, reared itself on a long promontory, jutting from the left hand side of the harbour, which is divided into several bays or creeks. Suddenly, from the upper part of the fort, there came a red flash, followed by a loud report, which was tossed back and forward against rocks and buildings, till the roaring sound at last died away, and a wreath of white smoke slowly ascended into the sky. It was the evening gun. Just before this, a boat with a yellow flag had approached the transport, whose skipper presently informed the officers that he had got "produc" (pratique), and St. Vincent having obtained permission to go on shore, was presently ferried (in company with some others) towards a landing place called "Nix Mangiare," and during the passage had time to admire the peculiar scenery around, and the picturesque air of the little creaking bark and its gon |