From some of these vessels,
early next morning, sounded suddenly a furious cannonade, which
threatened to shatter the windows of the hotel; I found it was in
honour of the Queen of Italy, whose _festa_ fell on that day. This
barbarous uproar must have sounded even to the Calabrian heights; it
struck me as more meaningless in its deafening volley of noise than
any note of joy or triumph that could ever have been heard in old
Tarentum.
I walked all round the island part of the town; lost myself amid its
maze of streets, or alleys rather, for in many places one could
touch both sides with outstretched arms, and rested in the Cathedral
of S. Cataldo, who, by the bye, was an Irishman. All is strange, but
too close-packed to be very striking or beautiful; I found it best
to linger on the sea-wall, looking at the two islands in the offing,
and over the great gulf with its mountain shore stretching beyond
sight. On the rocks below stood fishermen hauling in a great net,
whilst a boy splashed the water to drive the fish back until they
were safely enveloped in the last meshes; admirable figures,
consummate in graceful strength, their bare legs and arms the tone
of terra cotta.
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