"Who is it?" asked Bastianello of the boatman who passed nearest to him.
"The Giovannina," answered the man.
She had returned from her last voyage to Calabria, having taken macaroni
from Amalfi and bringing back wine of Verbicaro. A fine boat, the
Giovannina, able to carry twenty tons in any weather, and water-tight
too, being decked with hatches over which you can stretch and batten
down tarpaulin. A pretty sight as she ran up to the end of the
breakwater, old Luigione standing at the stern with the tiller between
his knees and the slack of the main-sheet in his hand. She was running
wing and wing, with her bright new sails spreading far over the water on
each side. Then came a rattle and a sharp creak as the main-yard swung
over and came down on deck, the men taking in the bellying canvas with
wide open arms and old Luigione catching the end of the yard on his
shoulder while he steered with his knees, his great gaunt profile black
against the bright sky. Down foresail, and the good felucca forges ahead
and rounds the little breakwater. Let go the anchor and she is at rest
after her long voyage.
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