. She called over and
over again. There was no reply. Looking down in the dim morning
twilight she could see plainly that the water had penetrated there.

An awful fear came over her.

The sails were lowered. The boat was gone. No one was on board
besides herself. The schooner was sinking. She had been deserted. She
had been betrayed. She would never see Hilda. Who had betrayed her?
Was Hilda really at Naples? Had she really written that letter and
sent Gualtier to her? A thousand horrid suspicions rushed through her
mind. One thought predominated--_she had been betrayed!_

But why?




CHAPTER XXIX.


TWO NEW CHARACTERS.


In spite of Gualtier's assurances, a steamer was running regularly
between Naples and Marseilles, and the war had made no disturbance in
the promptitude and dispatch of its trips. It belonged to a line
whose ships went on to Malta, touching at Italian ports, and finally
connecting with the steamers of the Peninsular and Oriental Company.
The day after Zillah had left Marseilles one of these left Naples on
its way to the former port, having on hoard the usual number and
variety of passengers.

On the stern of this vessel stood two men, looking out over the water
to where the purple Apennines arose over the Italian coast, where the
grand figure of Vesuvius towered conspicuous, its smoke cloud
floating like a pennon in the air. One of these men was tall,
broad-shouldered, sinewy, with strong square head, massive forehead,
firm chin, and eyes which held in their expression at once gentleness
and determination; no very rare compound in the opinion of some, for
there are those who think that the strongest and boldest natures are
frequently the tenderest. He was a man of about fifty, or perhaps
even sixty, but his years sat lightly on him; and he looked like a
man whom any one might reasonably dread to meet with in a personal
encounter. The other was much younger. His face was bronzed by
exposure to a southern sun; he wore a heavy beard and mustache, and
he had the unmistakable aspect of an English gentleman, while the
marked military air which was about him showed that he was without
doubt a British officer. He was dressed, however, as a civilian. His
hat showed that he was in mourning; and a general sadness of demeanor
which he manifested was well in keeping with that sombre emblem.

"Well, Windham," said the former, after a long silence, "I never
thought that there was a place on this green earth that could take
hold of me like that Italian city. I don't believe that there is a
city any where that comes up to Naples. Even New York is not its
equal. I wouldn't leave it now--no, _Sir!_--ten team of horses
couldn't drag me away, only my family are waiting for me at
Marseilles, you see--and I must join them. However, I'll go back
again as soon as I can; and if I don't stay in that there country
till I've exhausted it--squeezed it, and pressed out of it all the
useful and entertaining information that it can give--why, then, my
name's not Obed Chute."

The one called Windham gave a short laugh.

"You'll have a little difficulty in Lombardy, I think," said he.

"Why?"

"The war."

"The war? My friend, are you not aware that the war need not be any
obstacle to a free American?"

"Perhaps not; but you know that armies in the field are not very much
inclined to be respecters of persons, and the freest of free
Americans might find himself in an Austrian or a French prison as a
spy."

"Even so; but he would soon get out, and have an interesting
reminiscence. That is one of the things that he would have to be
prepared for. At any rate, I have made up my mind to go to Lombardy,
and I'll take my family with me. I should dearly like to get a
Concord coach to do it in, but if I can't I'll get the nearest
approach to it I can find, and calmly trot on in the rear of the
army. Perhaps I'll have a chance to take part in some engagement. I
should like to do so, for the honor of the flag if nothing else."

"You remind me of your celebrated countryman, who was, as he said,
'blue moulded for want of a fight.'"

"That man, Sir, was a true representative American, and a type of our
ordinary, everyday, active, vivacious Western citizen--the class of
men that fell the forests, people the prairies, fight the fever,
reclaim the swamps, tunnel the mountains, send railroads over the
plains, and dam all the rivers on the broad continent. It's a pity
that these Italians hadn't an army of these Western American men to
lead them in their struggle for liberty."

"Do you think they would be better than the French army?"

"The French army!" exclaimed Obed Chute, in indescribable accents.

"Yes. It is generally conceded that the French army takes the lead in
military matters. I say so, although I am a British officer."

"Have you ever traveled in the States?" said Obed Chute, quietly.

"No. I have not yet had that pleasure."

"You have never yet seen our Western population. You don't know it,
and you can't conceive it. Can you imagine the original English
Puritan turned into a wild Indian, with all his original honor, and
morality, and civilization, combining itself with the intense
animalism, the capacity for endurance, and the reckless valor of the
savage? Surround all this with all that tenderness, domesticity, and
pluck which are the ineradicable characteristics of the Saxon race,
and then you have the Western American man--the product of the Saxon,
developed by long struggles with savages and by the animating
influences of a boundless continent."

"I suppose by this you mean that the English race in America is
superior to the original stock."

"That can hardly be doubted," said Obed Chute, quite seriously. "The
mother country is small and limited in its resources. America is not
a country. It is a continent, over which our race has spread itself.
The race in the mother country has reached its ultimate possibility.
In America it is only beginning its new career. To compare America
with England is not fair. You should compare New York, New England,
Virginia, with England, not America. Already we show differences in
the development of the same race which only a continent could cause.
Maine is as different from South Carolina as England from Spain. But
you Europeans never seem able to get over a fashion that you have of
regarding our boundless continent as a small country. Why, I myself
have been asked by Europeans about the health of friends of theirs
who lived in California, and whom I knew no more about than I did of
the Chinese. The fact is, however, that we are continental, and
nature is developing the continental American man to an astonishing
extent.

"Now as to this Lombard war," continued Obed Chute, as Windham stood
listening in silence, and with a quiet smile that relieved but
slightly the deep melancholy of his face--"as to this Lombard war;
why, Sir, if it were possible to collect an army of Western Americans
and put them into that there territory"--waving his hand grandly
toward the Apennines--"the way they would walk the Austrians off to
their own country would be a caution. For the Western American man,
as an individual, is physically and spiritually a gigantic being, and
an army of such would be irresistible. Two weeks would wind up the
Lombard war. Our Americans, Sir, are the most military people in the
wide universe."

"As yet, though, they haven't done much to show their capacity," said
Windham. "You don't call the Revolutionary war and that of 1812 any
greater than ordinary wars, do you?"

"No, Sir; not at all," said Obed Chute. "We are well aware that in
actual wars we have as yet done but little in comparison with our
possibilities and capabilities. In the revolutionary war, Sir, we
were crude and unformed--we were infants, Sir, and our efforts were
infantile. The swaddling bands of the colonial system had all along
restrained the free play of the national muscle; and throughout the
war there was not time for full development. Still, Sir, from that
point of view, as an infant nation, we did remarkable
well--re-markable. In 1812 we did not have a fair chance. We had got
out of infancy, it is true; but still not into our full manhood.
Besides, the war was too short. Just as we began to get into
condition--just as our fleets and armies were ready to _do_
something--the war came to an end. Even then, however, we did
re-markable well--re-markable. But, after all, neither of these
exhibited the American man in his boundless possibility before the
world."

"You think, I suppose, that if a war were to come now, you could do
proportionally better."

"Think it!" said Obed; "I know it. The American people know it. And
they want, above all things, to have a chance to show it. You spoke
of that American who was blue-moulded for want of a fight. I said
that man was a typical American. Sir, that saying is profoundly true.
Sir, the whole American nation is blue-moulded, Sir. It is spilin for
want of a fight--a big fight."

"Well, and what do you intend to do about it?"

"Time will show," said Obed, gravely. "Already, any one acquainted
with the manners of our people and the conduct of our government will
recognize the remarkable fact that our nation is the most wrathy,
cantankerous, high-mettled community on this green earth. Why, Sir,
there ain't a foreign nation that can keep on friendly terms with us.
It ain't ugliness, either--it's only a friendly desire to have a
fight with somebody--we only want an excuse to begin. The only
trouble is, there ain't a nation that reciprocates our pecooliar
national feeling."

"What can you do, then?" asked Windham, who seemed to grow quite
amused at this conversation.

"That's a thing I've often puzzled over," said Obed, thoughtfully;
"and I can see only one remedy for us."

"And what is that?"

"Well, it's a hard one--but I suppose it's got to come. You see, the
only foreign countries that are near enough to us to afford a
satisfactory field of operations are Mexico and British America. The
first we have already tried. It was poor work, though. Our armies
marched through Mexico as though they were going on a picnic. As to
British America, there is no chance. The population is too small. No,
there is only one way to gratify the national craving for a fight."

"I don't see it."

"Why," said Obed, dryly, "to get up a big fight among ourselves."

"Among yourselves?"

"Yes--quite domestic--and all by ourselves."

"You seem to me to speak of a civil war."

"That's the identical circumstance, and nothing else. It is the only
thing that is suited to the national feeling; and what's more--it's
got to come. I see the pointings of the finger of Providence. It's
got to come--there's no help for it--and mark me, when it does come
it'll be the tallest kind of fightin' that this revolving orb has yet
seen in all its revolutions."

"You speak very lightly about so terrible a thing as a civil war,"
said Windham. "But do you think it possible? In so peaceful and
well-ordered a country what causes could there be?"

"When the whole nation is pining and craving and spilin for a fight,"
said Obed, "causes will not be wanting. I can enumerate half a dozen
now. First, there is the slavery question; secondly, the tariff
question; thirdly, the suffrage question; fourthly, the question of
the naturalization of foreigners; fifthly, the bank question;
sixthly, the question of denominational schools."

Windham gave a short laugh.

"You certainly seem to have causes enough for a war, although, to my
contracted European mind, they would all seem insufficient. Which of
these, do you think, is most likely to be the cause of that civil war
which you anticipate?"

"One, pre-eminently and inevitably," said Obed, solemnly. "All others
are idle beside this one." He dropped abruptly the half gasconading
manner in which he had been indulging, and, in a low voice, added,
"In real earnest, Windham, there is one thing in America which is,
every year, every month, every day, forcing