lines from Tony Butler, saying that he was to sail that morning with a
detachment for Garibaldi. They were bound for Marsala, and only hoped
that they might not be caught by the Neapolitan cruisers which were said
to swarm along the coast. “I suppose,” he writes, “there's plenty of
'fight' amongst us; but we are more picturesque than decent-looking; and
an honest countryman of mine, who has attached himself to my fortunes,
tells me in confidence that 'they 're all heathens, every man of them.'
They are certainly a wild, dare-devil set, whom it will be difficult
to reduce to any discipline, and, I should fear, impossible to restrain
from outrage if occasion offers. We are so crowded that we have only
standing-room on deck, and those below are from time to time relieved
in squads, to come up and breathe a little fresh air. The suffering from
heat and thirst was bad yesterday, but will, perhaps, be less at sea,
with a fresh breeze to cool us. At all events, no one complains. We
are the jolliest blackguards in the world, and going to be killed in a
better humor with life than half the fine gentlemen feel as they wake in
the morning to a day of pleasure.
“I shall be glad when we put foot on land again; for I own I 'd rather
fight the Neapolitans than live on in such close companionship with my
gallant comrades. If not 'bowled' over, I 'll write to you within a week
or two. Don't forget me.--Yours ever,
“Tony Butler.”
M'Gruder was carefully plodding his way through this not very legible
document, exploring it with a zeal that vouched for his regard for the
writer, when he was informed that an English gentleman was in the office
inquiring for Mr. Butler.
The stranger soon presented himself as a Mr. Culter, of the house of Box
& Culter, solicitors, London, and related that he had been in search of
Mr. Anthony Butler from one end of Europe to the other. “I was first of
all, sir,” said he, “in the wilds of Calabria, and thence I was sent off
to the equally barbarous north of Ireland, where I learned that I must
retrace my steps over the Alps to your house; and now I am told that Mr.
Butler has left this a week ago.”
“Your business must have been important to require such activity,” said
M'Gruder, half inquiringly.
“Very important, indeed, for Mr. Butler, if I could only meet with him.
Can you give any hint, sir, how that is to be accomplished?”
“I scarcely think you 'll follow him when I tell you where he has gone,”
said M'Gruder, dryly. “He has gone to join Garibaldi.”
“To join Garibaldi!” exclaimed the other. “A man with a landed estate
and thirty-six thousand in the Three per Cents gone off to Garibaldi!”
“It is clear we are not talking of the same person. My poor friend had
none olthat wealth you speak of.”
“Probably not, sir, when last you saw him; but his uncle, Sir Omerod
Butler, has died, leaving him all he had in the world.”
“I never knew he had an uncle. I never heard him speak of a rich
relation.”
“There was some family quarrel,--some estrangement, I don't know
what; but when Sir Omerod sent for me to add a codicil to his will, he
expressed a great wish to see his nephew before he died, and sent me off
to Ireland to fetch him to him; but a relapse of his malady occurred the
day after I left him, and he died within a week.”
The man of law entered into a minute description of the property to
which Tony was to succeed. There was a small family estate in Ireland,
and a large one in England; there was a considerable funded fortune, and
some scattered moneys in foreign securities; the whole only charged with
eight hundred a-year on the life of a lady no longer young, whom
scandal called not the widow of Sir Omerod Butler. M'Grader paid little
attention to these details; his whole thought was how to apprise Tony
of his good-luck,--how call him back to a world where he had what would
make life most enjoyable. “I take it, sir,” asked he, at last, “that
you don't fancy a tour in Sicily?”
“Nothing is less in my thoughts, sir. We shall be most proud to act as
Mr. Butler's agents, but I 'm not prepared to expose my life for the
agency.”
“Then, I think I must go myself. It's clear the poor fellow ought to
know of his good fortune.”
“I suspect that the Countess Brancaleone, the annuitant I mentioned,
will not send to tell him,” said the lawyer, smiling; “for if Mr. Butler
should get knocked over in this ugly business, she inherits everything,
even to the family plate with the Butler arms.”
“She sha'n't, if I can help it,” said M'Gruder, firmly. “I'll set out
to-night.”
Mr. Culter passed a warm eulogium on this heroic devotion, enlarged on
the beauty of friendship in general, and concluded by saying he would
step over to his hotel, where he had ordered dinner; after which he
would certainly drink Mr. M'Grader's health.
“I shall want some details from you,” said M'Grader,--“something written
and formal,--to assure my friend that my tidings are trustworthy. I know
it will be no easy task to persuade him that he is a man of fortune.”
“You shall have all you require, sir,--a copy of the will, a formal
letter from our house, reciting details of the property, and, what will
perhaps impart the speediest conviction of all, a letter of credit, in
Mr. Butler's favor, for five hundred pounds for immediate use. These are
the sort of proofs that no scepticism is strong enough to resist. The
only thing that never jests, whose seriousness is above all levity,
is money;” and so M'Grader at once acknowledged that when he could go
fortified with such testimonies, he defied all doubt.
His preparations for departure were soon made. A short letter to his
brother explained the cause of his sudden leaving; a longer one to Dolly
told how, in his love for her, he could not do enough for her friend;
and that, though he liked Tony well for his own sake, he liked him far
more as the “adopted brother and old playfellow of his dearest Dolly.”
Poor fellow! he wrote this from a full heart, and a very honest one too.
Whether it imparted all the pleasure he hoped it might to her who read
it, is none of our province to tell. It is only ours to record that he
started that night for Genoa, obtained from a friend--a subordinate in
the Government employment--a letter to Garibaldi himself, and sailed
with an agent of the General's in charge of a supply of small-arms and
ammunition.
They were within thirty miles of Sicily when they were boarded by
the Neapolitan corvette the “Veloce,” and carried off prisoners to
Palermo,--the one solitary capture the royal navy made in the whole of
that eventful struggle.
The proofs that they were Garibaldians were too strong and many for
denial; and for a day and a half their fate was far from hopeful.
Indeed, had the tidings of the first encounters between the King's
forces and the buccaneers been less disastrous than they were, the
prisoners would have been shot; but already a half doubt had arisen
as to the fidelity of the royal troops. This and that general, it was
rumored, had resigned; and of those who remained, it was said, more than
one had counselled “concessions.” Ominous word at such a moment, but the
presage of something darker and more ominous still.
M'Gruder bore up with a stout heart, and nothing grieved him in all his
calamity more than the thought that all this time Tony might be exposing
his life as worthless and hopeless, while, if he only knew it, he had
already succeeded to what men are content to pass their whole existence
to grasp and gain.
Nor was he inactive in his imprisonment He wrote letters to Garibaldi,
enclosing others to Tony; he wrote to all the consuls he could think of;
to the Minister at Naples, or to his representative; and he proclaimed
his right as a “civis Romanus,” and threatened a Palmerstonian vengeance
on all and every that had a hand in curtailing his freedom.
In this very natural and British pursuit we must now leave him, and
betake ourselves to other cares and other characters.
CHAPTER LII. ON THE CHIAJA AT NIGHT
The night had just closed in after a hot sultry day of autumn in Naples,
as Maitland and Caffarelli sat on the sea-wall of the Chiaja, smoking
their cigars in silence, apparently deep in thought, or sometimes
startled by the distant shouts and cries of the populace who crammed
the Toledo or the Quarter of St Lucia; for all Naples was now in the
streets, and wild songs and yells resounded on every side.
In the bay the fleet lay at anchor; but the rapid flash of lanterns,
as they rose and fell in the riggings, showed that the signalman was at
work, and that messages were being transmitted and replied to throughout
the squadron. A like activity seemed to prevail in the forts above the
city, and the roll of the drum and the bugle-call occasionally could be
heard overtopping all other sounds.
“What would a newly come traveller say to all this?” said Caffarelli, at
last. “Would he think it was a city about to be attacked by an enemy, or
would he deem it a town in open revolt, or one given up to pillage
after the assault? I have seen to-night what might confirm any of these
impressions.”
“And all three are present,” said Maitland, moodily. “Your traveller
could scarcely be more puzzled than we are.”
The other sighed wearily, and Maitland went on. “What do you trust, or
whom? Is it those noisy legions up there, who only muster to disband;
or that gallant fleet that has come to anchor, only the more easily to
surrender and change its flag?”
“There may be some traitors, but the great majority, I 'll swear, will
stand by the King.”
“No; not one in fifty,--not one in a hundred. You don't seem to
apprehend that loyalty is not a sudden instinct. It is a thing a man
inherits. Take my word for it, Carlo, these men will not fight to keep
a certain set of priests around a bigoted old Queen, or support a King
whose highest ambition is to be a Jesuit.”
“And if you thought so meanly of the cause, why have you adopted it?”
“Because, ill as I think of the Court, I hate the rabble more. Remember,
Carlo,”--and now he spoke in a rapid and marked tone,--“remember that,
when I joined you, I deemed myself a rich man, and I had my ambitions,
like the rest of you. Had I known what I now know,--had I foreseen that
the day was so near wherein I was to find myself a beggar--”
“No, no, Maitland; don't say this.”
“And why not say it? It is true. You know as well as I do, that amongst
that yelling rabble there is none poorer than myself; and for this
reason, I repeat, I might have chosen my associates more wisely. You
yourself saw the treatment I met with this morning.”
“Ay, but bear in mind, Maitland, what was the provocation you gave.
It is no small thing to tell a king, surrounded by his ministers and
generals, that he has not one loyal and true man in his train; that,
what between treachery and cowardice, he will find himself alone, at the
head of a few foreign regiments, who will only fight to cut their way
through towards home.”
“I scarcely went so far as this,” said Maitland, smiling.
“Did you not, _per Bacco!_ I was there and heard you. You accused
Laguila to his face of being bought, and named the sum; and you told
Cadorno that you had a copy of his letter promising to surrender the
flag-ship to Garibaldi.”
“And they listened to me with an admirable patience.”
“I don't know that; I am certain Cadorno will send you a message before
the week is over.”
“And why not before the day was over? Are these accusations a man sleeps
upon?”
“The King commanded them both to reply to your charges formally and
distinctly, but not with the sword; and he was right so far.”
“At all events, was it kingly to tell me of the favors that had been
bestowed upon me, and to remind me that I was an alien, and unknown?”
“The King was angry.”
“He was angrier when I handed him back his patent, and told him that I
did not care to be the last-made noble of a dynasty.”
“It was outrageous, I was shocked to hear you; and for one so young, I
was struck with the dignity with which he heard you.”
“I don't think he understood me; he was impassive because he did not
know he was wounded. But why do I talk of these things? They have no
longer the faintest interest for me. Except yourself, there is not a man
in the cause I care for.”
“This is a mere passing depression, my dear Maitland. All things seem
sad-colored to you now. Wait till tomorrow, or wait till there be a
moment of danger, and you will be yourself again.”
“As for that,” said Maitland, bitterly, “I am terribly myself just
now. The last eight or ten years of my life were the dream; now is the
awakenment. But cheer up, my old friend. I will stand by _you_, though I
care very little for the cause you fight for. I will still serve on the
Staff, and play out my part to the fall of the curtain.”
“What a strange scene that council was this morning!” said Caffarelli,
half wishing to draw him from the personal theme.
“What a strange thing to call a council, where not merely men walked in
and out unbidden, but where a chance traveller could sit down amongst
the King's advisers, and give his opinion like a servant of the crown!
Do you even know his name?”
“I'm not sure that I do; but it sounded like Tchernicheff. He
distinguished himself against the Turks on the Danube.”
“And because he routed some ill-disciplined hordes with others a
mere shade more civilized, he comes here to impose his opinion on our
councils, and tell us how we are to defend ourselves!”
“I did not hear him utter a word.”
“No, but he handed in a paper drawn up by himself, in which he
recommends the King to withdraw all the forces in front of Capua, and
meet these marauders, where they will less like to fight, in the
open. The advice was good, even though it came from a barbarian. In
street-fighting your buccaneer is as good as, if not better than,
a regular. All the circumstances of the ground favor him. Take him,
however, where he must move and manouvre,--where he will have to form
and re-form, to dress his line under fire, and occasionally change his
flank,--then all the odds will be against him. So far the Scythian
spoke well. His only miscalculation was to suppose that we will fight
anywhere.”
“I declare, Maitland, I shall lose temper with you. You can't surely
know what insulting things you say.”
“I wish they could provoke any other than yourself, _mio caro_. But come
away from this. Let us walk back again. I want to have one more look at
those windows before I go.”
“And are you really in love?” asked the other, with more of astonishment
in his voice than curiosity.
“I wish I knew how to make _her_ believe it, that's all,” said he,
sadly; and, drawing his arm within his friend's, moved on with bent-down
head and in silence.
“I think your friends are about the only travellers in Naples at this
moment, and, indeed, none but English would come here at such a season.
The dog-days and the revolution together ought to be too much even for
tourist curiosity.”
Caffarelli went on to describe the arrival of the three heavy-laden
carriages with their ponderous baggage and their crowd of servants, and
the astonishment of the landlord at such an apparition; but Maitland
paid him no attention,--perhaps did not even hear him.
Twice or thrice Caffarelli said something to arouse notice Or attract
curiosity, even to pique irritability, as when he said: “I suppose I
must have seen your beauty, for I saw two,--and both good-looking,--but
neither such as would drive a man distracted out of pure admiration. Are
you minding me? Are you listening to me?”
“No, I have not heard one word you were saying.”
“Civil, certainly; but, seriously, Maitland, is there not something more
pressing to do at this moment than to loiter along the Chiaja to catch
a glimpse of the closed curtains within which some blond angel may be
taking her tea?”
“Go home, and I will join you later on. I have given orders about the
horses. My man will have all in readiness by daybreak. You seem to me
most terribly eager to have your head smashed. The King ought to reward
your valor. It will be the only 'Cross' he will have to bestow.”
Caffarelli turned impatiently from him, and walked away.
Maitland looked after him for a moment, and then continued his way. He
sauntered on, rather like one seeking to kill time than to reach a goal,
and once or twice he stopped, and seemed to reflect whether he would
go on. At last he reached a spot where a broad path of light streamed
across the street, and extended till it was lost in the thick foliage-of
the garden on the sea-side, and, looking suddenly up, he saw he was
in front of the great hotel of Naples, “L'Universo.” The drawing-room
windows were open on a long balcony, and Maitland could see in the
well-lighted room certain figures which he persuaded himself he could
recognize even through the muslin curtains, which slightly moved and
waved in the faint night-air. As he still strained his eyes to mark
the scene, two figures approached the window, and passed out upon the
balcony. There could be no mistake,--they were Alice and her sister;
and so perfect was the stillness of the air, and so thin withal, that he
could hear the sound of their voices, though not trace their words.
“Is it not delicious here, Alice?” said Bella. “These are the glorious
nights of Italy Maitland used to tell us of,--so calm, so balmy, and so
starry.”
“What was that Skeffy was saying to you about Maitland as you came
upstairs?” asked Alice, sharply.
“Oh, it was a rumor he mentioned that Maitland had quarrelled with the
Court party. He had advised something, or rejected something; in fact,
I paid little attention, for I know nothing of these Italian plots
and schemes, and I like Maitland much better when he does not speak of
them.”
“Is he here now, do you know?”
“Yes; Skeff said he saw him this morning.”
“I hope and pray he may not hear that we have arrived. I trust that we
may not see him.”
“And why so, Alice dearest?”
“Can you ask me?”
“I mean, why not receive him on the terms of an easy intimacy? A person
of his tact is always quick enough to appreciate the exact amount of
favor he is held in.”
“It is of myself I am thinking,--not of him,” said she, with something
of resentment in her tone.
“If you speak this way, Alice, I shall believe that you care for him.”
“The greater mistake yours, my dear Bella.”
“Well--that you did once care for him, and regret the fact, or regret
the change,--which is it?”
“Neither, on my honor! He interested me,--I own to that; but now that
I know his mystery, and what a vulgar mystery it is, I am half ashamed
that I even felt an interest in him.”
“Gossip would say you did more, Alice,--that you gave him
encouragement.”
“What an odious word you have impressed into your service! but I deny
it; nor was he one to want it. Your adventurer never does.”
“Adventurer!”
“I mean it in its least offensive sense; but, really, I see no reason
why this man's name is to persecute me. I left Ireland half to avoid it.
I certainly need not encounter it here.”
“And if you meet him?”
“I shall not meet him. I don't intend to go out so long as we are here,
and I trust I can refuse to receive him when at home.”
“I had almost said, Poor fellow!”
“Say it, by all means; compassionate--console him, too, if Skeff has no
objection.”
“Oh, Alice!”
“Your own fault, Bella, if I say provoking things. No, mamma,” added
she, to some remark from within; “our secrets, as you call them, cannot
be overheard; for, first of all, we are talking English; and secondly,
there is no person whatever in the street.”
Lady Lyle now made her appearance on the balcony, and soon afterwards
they all re-entered the room. Maitland sat hours long on the stone
bench, watching with intense eagerness as a shadow would pass or repass
behind the curtains, and there he remained till all the lights were out
in the hotel and the whole house sunk in silence.
CHAPTER LIII. UNPLEASANT RECKONINGS
There were few busier diplomatists in Europe during these eventful days
of Naples than Skeffington Darner; and if England had not her share of
influence, it was no fault of his. He sent off special messengers every
day. He wrote to F. O. in a cipher, of which it was said no one had the
key; and he telegraphed in mystical language to the Admiral at Malta,
which went far to persuade the gallant seaman that his correspondent was
a maniac. He besieged the Court and the ministerial offices, and went
home to receive deputations from the wildest leaders of the extreme
democracy. He was determined, as he said, to “know the truth,” and he
surrounded himself for that purpose with a mass of inextricable perfidy
and falsehood; and yet, with all these occupations, he passed his entire
mornings with the Lyles, and dined with them every day.
It was a great pleasure, as Sir Arthur said, to be “behind the scenes;”
and really the phrase did not ill represent their position, for they
knew as much of what was going on upon the stage as people usually do
who have only an occasional glimpse, and that from a wrong point of
view. Sir Arthur, however, believed Skeffy to be the rising diplomatist,
the embryo Talleyrand of Great Britain; and it was strange to see an
old, crafty, case-hardened man of the world listening with implicit
trustfulness to the hare-brained speculations of a young fellow, whose
solitary pretensions were, that he sent off his daily balderdash marked
“On Her Majesty's Service,” and sealed with the royal arms.
Lady Lyle only half believed in him; and as for Alice, she laughed at,
but liked him; while Bella gave him all her confidence, and admired him
greatly. And a very nice thing it is of young ladies, and never to be
too much commended, how they will hang on the words, and store up the
sayings, and repeat the opinions of the man who prefers them. It is
not exactly Love, no more than gooseberry wine is champagne; but it
effervesces and exhilarates, and I 'm not sure if it does not agree very
well with weak constitutions.
Now Skeffy told Bella every morning in the most mysterious manner how he
had checkmated Bresson, the French Minister, and outwitted Caraffa
and the Cardinal Riario. They never could make out whence he had his
information. The Queen had spent a fortune in paying spies to watch him,
but he out-manoeuvred them all. Nobody knew--nobody ever could know--the
resources of his craft; and, indeed, except Louis Napoleon, there was
not a man in Europe had fathomed the depth of his astuteness. “I have
to pretend,” would he say, “to be a light, flippant, volatile creature,
given up to pleasure, fond of play, of the ballet, and all that sort of
thing. I let them bear every day of the sums I have lost at lansquenet,
and the enormous extravagance of my daily life, but they don't know what
goes on here,” and he would tap his forehead; “they never suspect what
plots and plans and machinations are at work within that brain they
imagine to be abandoned to enjoyment. It will come out one of these
days, dearest Bella; they'll know who 'did it' yet.” And this was a
very favorite phrase with him, and Bella caught it up, and talked of the
people who had not “done it,” and never could “do it,” and hinted at one
whom an ignorant world would awake one morning to see had “done it,” and
“done it” to perfection.
To hear him talk, you would say that he rather liked the mistaken
estimate the world had formed of him; that it was one of those excellent
jokes whose point lay in a surprise; and what a surprise would that be
one of these days when he came forth in his true character, the great
political genius of Europe! Bella believed it all; not that she was
deficient in common sense, or wanting in discernment; but she liked
him,--there was the secret. She had made her investment in a certain
stock, and would persist in regarding it as a most profitable venture;
and thus would they pass their mornings,--a strange way to make love,
perhaps; but that passion, etherealize it how you may, trades on some
one form or other of selfishness; and all these endearments were blended
with the thought of how happy they should be when they were great
people.
Skeffy would bring with him, besides, a whole bagful of papers,
despatches, and “private and confidentials,” and such-like, and make
Bella copy out pages for him of that dreary trash, which, like a bad
tapestry, has served no other purpose than to employ the small mind that
devised it. And he would sit there, with his eyes closed, and dictate
to her endless “brief glances” at the present aspect of the Italian
question, till the poor girl was half worn out between the importance of
her task and its weariness.
“What's that you are poring over, Bella?” he asked, as she read over a
somewhat lengthy letter.
“It is the complaint of an Englishman at being detained by the
authorities, first at Palermo and again here: he was a mere traveller,
he asserts, and not in any way engaged in political schemes. He says
that this is his fourth appeal to you without an answer, and he declares
that if this be not replied to, he will address the Chief Secretary at
home.”
“Tell the fellow that a Darner is inaccessible to a menace; tell him
that his stupid letter would be promptly referred back to me; and say
that, so far as this peninsula is concerned, I am F. O., and to be
propitiated by humility, and not outraged by a threat.”
“But if it be really true--if the poor fellow should be imprisoned for
nothing, Skeff?”
“If so, I shall liberate him;” and as he spoke, he arose and walked the
room with a haughty stride and a head erect “Write--
“'Sir,--I am directed by H. M.'s Chargé d'Affaires'--or rather say, 'The
undersigned has to acknowledge the receipt of'--what's his name?”
“Samuel M'Gruder.”
“What a name!--'of Samuel M'Gruder's letter; and although he takes
exception to the passages marked A and B, and requires explanation
of the paragraph C, beginning at the words “nor can I,” and ending at
“British subject”'--You 'll have to copy out the whole of this despatch,
Bella, and then I shall mark the passages--Where was I?”
“'British subject.'”
“Yes, I remember. 'Yet that, conceding much to the feelings '--no, that
is too familiar--'making allowances for an irritability--'”
“I don't think you can say that, Skeff. He has now been seven weeks in
confinement.”
“'Lucky dog that he has not been seven weeks worked almost to a
skeleton, like me, with the cares of a whole nation on my head, and the
eyes of Europe upon me.”
“Just let me say that you will look into his case, and do your best to
get him out of prison.”
“With all my heart. It is fearfully undignified; but let it go, and I'll
send off a messenger to the Prefetto Lanzi to deliver up the prisoner
M'Gruder to me to-morrow morning, and we will interrogate him here.”
The roll of a drum was now heard in the street without, and from the
balcony could be seen an immense crowd of people moving in front of an
infantry regiment, who marched past, travel-stained and disordered, and
with an indescribable something in their air that indicated, it might be
defeat, it might be disaffection.
“Here's strange news,” said Sir Arthur, as he joined them. “The landlord
tells me Garibaldi has landed in Calabria, near Reggio, beaten the royal
troops, and is in full march on Naples. The regiment that you see there
were ordered off to reinforce the advanced guard, but cried out, 'Viva
Garibaldi!' and have been now recalled, and are to be sent into the
fortress.”
“Look!” cried Skeff; “here comes the Artillery after them, a strong
proof that they don't trust these fellows. Bella, I must write off the
news at once.”
“Let me first finish about M'Gruder,” said she, as she sat down to the
table.
“I wish we were all safe back in England,” said Lady Lyle, as she came
up.
“I was just thinking the very same thing,” said Sir Arthur.
“Have no fears,” interposed Skeffy; “I shall order up the fleet from
Malta. You shall have a frigate--a line-of-battle ship, if you like it
better.”
“I'd much rather we had post-horses and an escort,” said Lady Lyle.
“Would that be possible, Darner?”
“All is possible, Sir Arthur, to power properly exercised. I 'll go down
at once to the War Office, and see what can be done.”
“If it were perfectly safe,” said Bella, “I should like to drive through
the streets and see what is going on; and as Alice refuses to go out,
we are just enough for one carriage.” The project was agreed to, all the
more readily that Skeff assured them his presence was au aegis that all
parties would know how to respect; he was, in fact, as he put it, a sort
of emblematized British lion, who with folded paws was about to take an
airing for his own amusement.
“As we drive along,” whispered he to Bella, “just watch the recognitions
fellows will throw me,--a look, a gesture, a sign, scarcely perceptible,
but enough to say, 'Your Excellency may depend upon us.'”
And Bella felt a certain elation at the thought that she was the chosen
one of a man so eminent and so distinguished. And, oh dear, let us not
be severe upon her for it! If we could not make occasional swans of our
geese in this life, we should be very ill off in matters of ornithology.
Away they drove down the Chiaja and up the Toledo, where, amidst wild
yells and cries for the King, and at times for Garibaldi, a dense mass
of people surged and swayed like a mighty monster awaking out of slumber
and arousing to deeds of violence.
The populace seemed intoxicated, but not with wine or with joy, but a
sort of dare-devil recklessness which sought something--anything--to
vent its passion upon. Lines of men linked arm in arm, and, filling the
full breadth of the street, marched rapidly on, chanting wild songs; and
it was strange to mark in these the old gray-headed feeble man coupled
with the stalwart youth, or, perhaps, the mere boy. Here and there were
groups listening to some street-orator, now greeting his words with a
cheer, now with a burst of vociferous laughter; and through all these
went other men, busily, eagerly whispering to this, conferring with
that, now exerting every effort of persuasiveness, now seeming to employ
incentives to vengeance.
Except the carriage where sat the Lyles, not another vehicle of any kind
was to be seen; and as the horses moved slowly along through the dense
crowd, many a rude jest and droll comment was passed upon the _matti
Inglesi_,--the mad English,--who had taken such a time and place for a
carriage airing. Nor was the courage of the act unrecognized, and twice
or thrice a wild cheer proclaimed what they thought of a nation whose
very ladies were above all fear and timidity.
The most striking, feature in all this tumult was that soldiers were
seen everywhere mixed up with the civilians; not merely furloughed men
in undress, but soldiers in full uniform and perfectly armed, but yet
displaying, sometimes ostentatiously, by the way they carried their
shakoes or their bayonets, or wore their coats open and unbuttoned, that
they no longer respected the claims of discipline.
Patrols on foot or horseback would be met, too; but the men, under no
restraint, would not only exchange words of greeting with the mob, but
accept offers of wine or cigars; and it was seen that the officers were
either powerless to prevent or unwilling to curb this indiscipline.
“What does all this portend, Damer?” asked Sir Arthur. “We hear cheers
for the King; but all I see seems to threaten his downfall.”
Skeffy was puzzled, and a wiser man might have been puzzled; but his
diplomatic instincts forbade such a humiliating avowal, and so he merely
muttered something to the purport that “We” had not fully determined
what was to be the issue; and that till “We” had made up our minds, all
these signs and portents were mere street-noises.
If I am not perfectly just to him in this rendering of his explanation,
I am, at least, merciful to my reader; and, leaving the party to follow
out the exploration, I shall return to the drawing-room they had just
quitted, and where Alice now sat alone, and deep in thought The yells
and cries that filled the street outside, and the continual uproar that
resounded through the city, were all unheeded by her; and so immersed
was she in her reflection, that when a servant entered the room to
present the card of a visitor, she was unaware of his presence till he
had twice addressed her.
“It cannot be for us,” said she, looking at the name. “I do not know the
Count d'Amalfi.”
“He hopes to be better remembered as Mr. Maitland,” said that gentleman,
as, pushing wide the half-opened door, he approached her and made a low
bow.
The servant had time to retire and shut the door before Alice had
sufficiently recovered herself to ask Maitland to be seated. So coldly
was the request conveyed, however, that if he was not determined on
having an interview, he would have affected to make his call an offer
of some sort of attention, and taken his leave almost on the instant Far
different were his present intentions; and as he deposited his hat
and cane, and took his place in front of her, there was a methodical
slowness that indicated purpose.
“I am almost afraid to tell you, Mr. Maitland,” she began, “that I gave
orders to be denied to all visitors. They have all gone out to drive,
and--”
“It was for that reason that I took this opportunity to call, madam,”
said he, very quietly, but in a tone of some decision. “I desired to see
you all alone.”
“Not, surely, if you were aware that I did not receive?”
“Do not oblige me to convict myself, Mrs. Trafford; for I, too, shall be
almost afraid to tell the truth;” and a very faint smile moved his mouth
as he spoke.
“But, as I conjecture, you would like to meet my father--”
“My visit at present is for you,” said he, interrupting; “and as I
cannot assure myself how long the opportunity may last, let me profit by
it.”
She became very pale; some fear she certainly felt; but there was more
of anger than fear in the thought that this man was, by his manner,
almost asserting a right to see and speak with her.
“Mr. Maitland is too accomplished a man of the world to need being told
that, when a person has declared an indisposition to receive, it is
usually deemed enough to secure privacy.”
“Usually,--yes; but there are occasions which are not in this category.”
“And do you mean to say this is one of them, sir?” said she, haughtily.
“Most certainly, madam, this is one of them!” As Mait-land said this,
he saw the color mount to her face; and he saw, too, how, now that
her proud spirit was, as it were, challenged, she would not think of
retreat, but brave him, whatever might come of it.
“Indeed!” said she, with a scornful laugh,--“indeed!” and the last
syllable was drawn out in an accent of most insolent irony.
“Yes, madam,” he continued, in a tone perfectly calm and un impassioned;
“our last relations together fully warrant me to say so much; and
however presumptuous it might have been in me to aspire as I did, the
gracious favor with which I was listened to seemed to plead for me.”
“What favor do you speak of, sir?” said she, with evident agitation.
“I must not risk the faint hope that remains to me, by recalling what
you may not wish to remember; but I may at least ask you to bring to
mind a certain evening--a certain night--when we walked together in the
garden at Tilney.”
“I do not think I am likely to forget it, sir; some anonymous slanderer
has made it the pretext of a most insolent calumny. I do not, I need not
say, connect you in any way with this base scandal; but it is enough to
make the incident the reverse of a pleasant memory.”
“And yet it was the happiest of my whole life.”
“It is unfortunate, sir, that we should look back to an event with
feelings so diametrically opposite.”
Maitland gave no heed to the irony of her tone, but went on: “If I was
conscious of my own unworthiness, I had certain things in my favor which
served to give me courage,--not the least of these was your brother's
friendship.”
“Mark was always proud of being Mr. Maitland's friend,” said she, rather
touched by this haughty man's humility.
“That friendship became very precious to me when I knew his sister.
Indeed, from that hour I loved him as a brother.”
“Forgive me, sir, if I interrupt you. At the time to which you allude
we would seem to have been living in a perfect realm of misconceptions.
Surely it is not necessary to revive them; surely, now that we
have awoke, we need not take up the clew of a dream to assist our
reflections.”
“What may be the misconceptions you refer to?” said he, with a voice
much shaken and agitated.
“One was, it would appear, that Mr. Maitland made me certain
professions. Another, that he was--that he had--that is, that he held--I
cannot say it, sir; and I beg you to spare me what a rash temper might
possibly provoke me to utter.”
“Say all that you will; I loved you, Alice.”
“You will force me to leave you, sir, if you thus forget yourself.”
“I loved you, and I love you still. Do not go, I beg, I implore you.
As the proof of how I love you, I declare that I know all that you have
heard of me, all that you have said of me,--every harsh and cruel word.
Ay, Alice, I have read them as your hand traced them, and through all, I
love you.”
“I will not stoop to ask how, sir; but I will say that the avowal has
not raised you in my estimation.”
“If I have not your love, I will never ask for your esteem; I wanted
your affection as a man wants that which would make his life a reality.
I could have worked for you; I could have braved scores of things I have
ever shrunk from; and I had a right to it.”
“A right!--what right?”
“The right of him who loved as I did, and was as ready to prove his
love. The man who has done what I have is no adventurer, though that
fair hand wrote him one. Remember that, madam; and remember that you are
in a land where men accept no such slights as this you would pass upon
me.” His eyes glared with passion as he spoke, and his dark cheeks grew
purple. “You are not without those who must answer for your levity.”
“Now, sir, I leave you,” said she, rising.
“Not yet. You shall hear me out. I know why you have treated me thus
falsely. I am aware who is my rival.”
“Let me pass, sir.”
He placed his back to the door, and folded his arms on his breast;
but though he made an immense effort to seem calm, his lip shook as he
spoke. “You shall hear me out. I tell you, I know my rival, and I am
ready and prepared to stake my pretensions against his.”
“Go on, sir, go on; very little more in this strain will efface any
memory I preserved of what you first appeared to me.”
“Oh, Alice!” cried he, in a voice of deep anguish. “It is despair has
brought me to this. When I came, I thought I could have spoken with calm
and self-restraint; but when I saw you--saw what I once believed might
have been mine--I forgot all--all but my misery.”
“Suffer me to pass out, sir,” said she, coldly. He moved back, and
opened the door wide, and held it thus as she swept past him, without a
word or a look.
Maitland pressed his hat deep over his brow, and descended the stairs
slowly, one by one. A carriage drove to the door as he reached it, and
his friend Caffarelli sprang out and grasped his hand.
“Come quickly, Maitland!” cried he. “The King has left the palace. The
army is moving out of Naples to take up a position at Capua. All
goes badly. The fleet is wavering, and Garibaldi passed last night at
Salerno.”
“And what do I care for all this? Let me pass.”
“Care for it! It is life or death, _caro mio!_ In two hours more the
populace will tear in pieces such men as you and myself, if we 're found
here. Listen to those yells, _Morte ai Reali!_ Is it with 'Death to the
Royalists!' ringing in our ears we are to linger here?”
“This is as good a spot to die in as another,” said Maitland; and he
lighted his cigar and sat down on the stone bench beside the door.
“The Twenty-fifth of the Line are in open revolt, and the last words of
the King were, 'Give them to Maitland, and let him deal with them.'”
Maitland shrugged his shoulders, and smoked on.
“Genario has hoisted the cross of Savoy over the fort at Baia,”
continued the other, “and no one can determine what is to be done. They
all say, 'Ask Maitland.'”
“Imitate him! Do the same over the Royal Palace!” said the other,
mockingly.
“There, there! Listen to that cry! The mob are pouring down the Chiaja.
Come away.”
“Let us look at the scoundrels,” said Maitland, taking his friend's arm,
and moving into the street Caffarelli pushed and half lifted him into
the carriage, and they drove off at speed.
CHAPTER LIV. SKEFF DAMER TESTED
When the Lyles returned from their drive, it was to find that Alice was
too ill to come down to dinner. She had, she said, a severe headache,
and wished to be left perfectly quiet and alone. This was a sore
disappointment to Bella, brimful of all she had seen and heard, and
burning with impatience to impart how Skeffy had been sent for by the
King, and what he said to his Majesty, and how the royal plans had
been modified by his sage words; and, in fact, that the fate of the
Neapolitan kingdom was at that moment in the hands of that “gifted
creature.”
It was such she called him; and I beg my kind reader not to think the
less of her that she so magnified her idol. The happiest days of our
lives are the least real, just as the evils which never befall us are
the greatest.
Bella was sincerely sorry for her sister's headache; but with all that,
she kept stealing every now and then into her room to tell what
Skeff said to Caraffa, and the immense effect it produced. “And then,
dearest,” she went on, “we have really done a great deal to-day. We have
sent off three 'formal despatches,' and two 'confidential,' and Skeff
has told my Lord B., Secretary of State though he be, a piece of his
mind,--he does write so ably when he is roused; and he has declared
that he will not carry out his late instructions. Few men would have had
courage to say that; but they know that, if Skeff liked, he has only to
go into Parliament: there are scores of boroughs actually fighting for
him; he would be positively terrible in opposition.”
A deep wearied sigh was all Alice's response.
“Yes, dearest, I 'm sure I am tiring you; but I must tell how we
liberated Mr. M'Gruder. He has been, he says, fifty-three days in
prison, and really he looks wretched. I might have felt more for the
man, but for the cold good-for-nothing way he took all Skeff's kindness.
Instead of bursting with gratitude, and calling him his deliverer, all
he said was, 'Well, sir, I think it was high time to have done this,
which, for aught I see, might just as easily have been done three or,
perhaps, four weeks ago.' Skeff was magnificent; he only waved his hand,
and said, 'Go; you are free!' 'I know that well enough,' said he, in the
same sturdy voice; 'and I intend to make use of my freedom to let the
British people know how I have been treated. You 'll see honorable
mention of it all, and yourself, too, in the “Times,” before ten days
are over.'”
“My dear Bella, my head is racking; would you just wet that handkerchief
and lay it on my forehead?”
“My poor sweet Alice! and I so cruel, with all my stupid stories; but I
thought you 'd like to hear about Tony.”
“Tony!--what of Tony?” asked she, raising herself on one elbow and
looking up.
“Well, dearest, it was while in search after Tony that M'Grader got
imprisoned. They were sworn friends, it seems. You know, dear, Tony was
never very particular in his choice of friends.”
“But what of him,--where is he?”
“I'll tell you everything, if you'll only have a little patience. Tony,
who was living with M'Grader in Leghorn,--a partner, I think, in some
odious traffic,--cast-off clothes, I believe,--grew tired of it, or got
into debt, or did something that brought him into trouble, and he ran
away and joined that mad creature Garibaldi.”
“Well, go on.”
“Well, he had not been gone more than ten days or so, when a lawyer came
out from England to say that his uncle, Sir Somebody Butler, had died
and left him all he had,--a fine estate, and I don't know how much
money. When Mr. M'Grader was quite satisfied that all this was
true,--and, like a canny Scotchman, he examined it thoroughly,--he set
off himself to find Tony and tell him his good news; for, as he said,
it would have been a terrible thing to let him go risk his life for
nothing, now that he had a splendid fortune and large estate. Indeed,
you should have heard Mr. M'Gruder himself on this theme. It was about
the strangest medley of romance and worldliness I ever listened to.
After all, he was a stanch friend, and he braved no common dangers in
his pursuit. He had scarcely landed, however, in Sicily, when he was
arrested and thrown into prison.”
“And never met Tony?”
“Never,--of course not; how could he? He did not even dare to speak of
one who served under Garibaldi till he met Skeffy.”
“But where is Tony? Is he safe? How are we to hear of him?” asked Alice,
hurriedly.
“Skeff has undertaken all that, Alice. You know how he has relations
with men of every party, and is equally at home with the wildest
followers of Mazzini and the courtiers about the throne. He says he 'll
send off a confidential messenger at once to Garibaldi's camp with a
letter for Tony. Indeed, it was all I could do to prevent him going
himself, he is so attached to Tony, but I begged and implored him not to
go.”
“Tony would have done as much for him,” said Alice, gloomily.
“Perhaps he would; but remember the difference between the men, Alice.
If anything should befall Skeffy, who is there to replace him?”
Alice, perhaps, could not satisfactorily answer this, for she lay back
on her bed, and covered her face with her hands.
“Not, indeed, that he would listen to me when I made that appeal to him,
but he kept on repeating, 'Tony is the finest, truest-hearted fellow I
ever met. _He_'d never have left a friend in the lurch; he'd never have
thought of himself if another was in danger; and help him I must and
will:' and that's the reason we are waiting dinner, dear, for he would
go off to the Minister of War or the President of the Council; and he
told papa, as he shook hands, on no account to wait for him, for he
might be detained longer than he expected.”
As she spoke, a tap came to the door, and a servant announced dinner.
“Has Mr. Damer arrived?” asked Bella, eagerly.
“No, ma'am, but Sir Arthur has just got a note from him.”
“I must see what he says!” cried she, and left the room.
Sir Arthur was reading the letter when she entered.
“Here's Skeff gone off to what he calls the 'front;' he says that Tony
Butler has joined the insurgents, and he must get him out of their hands
at any price.”
“But of course, papa, you 'll not permit it; you 'll forbid him
peremptorily,” broke in Bella.
“I 'm not so sure of that, Bella; because, amongst other reasons, I
'm not so sure he 'd mind me. Our gifted friend is endowed with
considerable self-will.”
“Immense determination, I should rather call it, papa; but, pray, try to
stop this mad freak. He is not certainly called on to expose such a life
as his, and at such a moment.”
“What am I to do?”
“Go over to him at once; declare that you have the right to speak on
such a subject. Say that if he is pleased to overlook the necessity of
his presence here at this crisis, he ought to remember his position with
regard to us,--ought to think of _me_,” said she, with a burst of grief
that ended in a shower of tears, and drove her from the room.
Sir Arthur was far more disposed to sit down to his dinner than go off
on this mission of affection; but Lady Lyle took the same view of the
case as her daughter, and there was no help for it. And although the
bland butler repeated, “Soup is served, sir,” the poor man had to step
downstairs to his carriage and drive off to the Legation.
On arriving there, he learned that his Excellency had gone to see the
Prime Minister. Sir Arthur set off in the pursuit, which led him from
one great office of the state to another, always to discover that the
object of his search had just left only five minutes before; till, at
length, his patience became exhausted on hearing that Mr. Darner was
last seen in company with an officer of rank on the road to Castelamare,
whither, certainly, he determined not to follow him.
It was near nine o'clock when he got home to report himself
unsuccessful, to meet dark looks from his wife and daughter, and sit
down alone to a comfortless dinner, chagrined and disconcerted.
Lady Lyle tried to interest him by relating the news of Tony Butler's
accession to fortune; but the re-heated mutton and the half-cold
_entrées_ were too trying to leave any portion of his nature open
to such topics, and he sulkily muttered something about the folly of
“having snubbed the young fellow,”--a taunt Lady Lyle resented by rising
and leaving him to his own reflections.
And now to turn to Skeff Darner. I am forced to confess, and I do not
make the confession without a certain pain, that our gifted friend had
not that amount of acceptance with the Ministers of the King that his
great talents and his promise might be supposed to have inspired;
nor had he succeeded in acquiring for the country he represented the
overwhelming influence he believed to be her due. When, therefore, he
drove to Caraffa's house, the Prince frankly told him, what certainly
was true, that he had affairs far too weighty on his mind to enter upon
that small question H. M.'s Chargé d'Affaires desired to discuss. “Try
Carini,” said he, “the Minister of Grace and Justice; he looks after the
people who break the law.” Skeff grew angry, and the Minister bowed him
out. He went in succession to some five or six others, all occupied,
all overwhelmed with cares, troubles, and anxieties. At last, by a mere
accident, he chanced upon Filangieri going off to wait on the King; he
was accompanied by a small man, in a very gorgeous uniform, studded over
with stars and decorations.
In a few hurried words Skeff told how his friend, a man of rank and
fortune, had been seduced by some stupid representations to take service
with Garibaldi, and that it was all-important to rescue him from such
evil associations, and restore him at once to his friends and country.
“Where is he?”
“Wherever Garibaldi may be,--I can't tell.”
“He's nearer than we like,” said the other, with a faint smile. “Are
you sure your friend will return with you, even if you should track him
out?”
“I think I can answer for him. I am almost certain that I can.”
“Can you answer for Garibaldi, too?--will _he_ give him up?”
“I believe Garibaldi cares a great deal for the good opinion of England;
and when he sees me, her Majesty's--”
“Yes, yes, I can understand that. Well, I have no time to give you for
more consideration of the matter; but I 'll do better. I'll give you
this gentleman,--my aide-decamp, Colonel the Count M'Caskey; he'll pass
you through our lines, and go, as flag of truce, to the head-quarters
of the rebels. The whole thing is a blunder, and I am doing exceedingly
wrong; but here we are, making one mistake after another every day, and
all regularity and order are totally forgotten.” Turning to M'Caskey, he
took him aside for a few seconds and spoke eagerly and rapidly to him,
and then, once more shaking Skeff's hand, he wished him well through his
adventure and drove off.
“Whenever you have all in readiness, sir,” said M'Cas-key, slightly
raising his hat,--“and I hope your carriage is a comfortable one,--take
me up at the Aquila d' Oro, two doors from the Café di Spagno;” uttering
the words in a tone of such positive command that Skeffy had only to
accede; and, coldly bowing to each other, they separated.
CHAPTER LV. AMONGST THE GARIBALDIANS
By heavy bribery and much cajolery, Skeff Darner secured a carriage
and horses, and presented himself at the Café di Spagna a little before
midnight. It was not, however, till he had summoned M'Caskey for the
third time that the gallant Colonel arose and joined him.
“I suspect that waiter did not tell you I was here, and waiting for
you?” said Skeff, somewhat irritated.
“I rather apprehend,” replied M'Caskey, “that you were not aware I was
at supper.”
With this brief passage of arms each sank back into his corner, and
nothing more was said.
For a long while the way led through that long suburb of Naples that
lies on the south of the city, and the tramp of the horses over the
pavement would have made any conversation difficult to hear. At length,
however, they gained the smooth road, and then Skeff discovered, from
the long-drawn breathings of his companion, that he was sound asleep.
By the small wax taper with which he lighted his cigar, Skeff examined
the features of the man; and, brief as was the inspection, there was
enough seen to show him that he was not a subject for either dictation
or raillery. The hard, stern, thin-lipped mouth, the knitted brows, the
orbits marked with innumerable wrinkles, and an ugly scar, evidently
from a sabre, that divided one whisker, and reached from nigh the ear
to the chin, presented enough to show that he might easily have chanced
upon a more genial fellow-traveller.
Skeff knew that the Neapolitan service had for some years back attracted
adventurers from various countries. Poles, Americans, with Irish and
Hungarian refugees, had flocked to the scene of what they foresaw must
be a struggle, and taken their side with the Royalists or against
them as profit or inclination prompted. Now this man's name, M'Caskey,
proclaimed him as Irish or Scotch; and the chances were, in either case,
if a renegade from his own country, he would not be over well disposed
towards one who represented the might and majesty of England.
“If I could only let him see,” thought Skeff, “that I am one of those
fellows who have done everything and know every one, a thorough man of
the world, and no red-tapist, no official pendant, we should get on all
the better.” He puffed away at his cigar as he thus mused, turning over
in his mind by what species of topic he should open acquaintance with
his companion.
“That's good tobacco,” said M'Caskey, without opening his eyes. “Who's
smoking the cheroot?”
“I am. May I offer you one?”
“A dozen if you like,” said the Colonel, giving himself a shake, and
sitting bolt upright.
Skeff held out his cigar-case, and the other coolly emptied it, throwing
the contents into his hat, which lay on the cushion in front of him.
“When old Olozaga was Captain-General of Cuba, he always supplied me
with havannahs; but when O'Donnell's party came into power, I came down
to cheroots, and there I have been ever since. These are not bad.”
“They are considered particularly good, sir,” said Skeff, coldly.
“_That_ I will not say; but I own I am not easy to please either in
wine, women, or tobacco.”
“You have had probably large experiences of all three?”
“I should like much to meet the man who called himself my equal.”
“It might be presumptuous in me, perhaps, to stand forward on such
ground; but I, too, have seen something of life.”
“You! you!” said M'Caskey, with a most frank impertinence in his tone.
“Yes, sir, I, I,--Mr. Skeffington Darner, Her Majesty's Representative
and Chargé d'Affaires at this Court.”
“Where the deuce was it I heard your name?
Darner--Darner--Skeff--Skeffy--I think they called you? Who could it be
that mentioned you?”
“Not impossibly the newspapers, though I suspect they did not employ the
familiarity you speak of.”
“Well, Skeff, what's all this business we're bent on? What wildgoose
chase are we after here?”
Darner was almost sick with indignation at the fellow's freedom; he
nearly burst with the effort it cost him to repress his passion; but he
remembered how poor Tony Butler's fate lay in the balance, and that if
anything should retard his journey by even an hour, that one hour might
decide his friend's destiny.
“Might I take the liberty to observe, sir, that our acquaintance is of
the very shortest; and until I shall desire, which I do not anticipate,
the privilege of addressing you by your Christian name--”
“I am called Milo,” said M'Caskey; “but no man ever called me so but the
late Duke of Wellington; and once, indeed, in a moment of enthusiasm,
poor Byron.”
“I shall not imitate them, and I desire that you may know me as Mr.
Damer.”
“Damer or Skeffy--I don't care a rush which--only tell me where are we
going, and what are we going for?”
Skeff proceeded in leisurely fashion, but with a degree of cold reserve
that he hoped might check all freedom, to explain that he was in search
of a young countryman, whom he desired to recall from his service with
Garibaldi, and restore to his friends in England.
“And you expect me to cross over to Garibaldi's lines?” asked M'Caskey,
with a grin.
“I certainly reckon on your accompanying me wherever I deem it essential
to proceed in furtherance of my object. Your General said as much when
he offered me your services.”
“No man disposes of M'Caskey but the Sovereign he serves.”
“Then I can't see what you have come for!” cried Skeff, angrily.
“Take care, take care,” said the other, slowly.
“Take care of what?”
“Take care of Skeffington Darner, who is running his head into a very
considerable scrape. I have the most tenacious of memories; and
there's not a word--not a syllable--falls from you, I 'll not make you
accountable for hereafter.”
“If you imagine, sir, that a tone of braggadocio--”
“There you go again. Braggadocio costs blood, my young fellow.”
“I'm not to be bullied.”
“No; but you might be shot.”
“You 'll find me as ready as yourself with the pistol.”
“I am charmed to hear it, though I never met a fellow-brought up at a
desk that was so.”
Skeff was by no means deficient in courage, and, taken with a due regard
to all the conventional usages of such cases, he would have “met
his man” as became a gentle-man; but it was such a new thing in his
experiences to travel along in a carriage arranging the terms of a duel
with the man who ought to have been his pleasant companion, and who
indeed, at the very moment, was smoking his cheroots, that he lost
himself in utter bewilderment and confusion.
“What does that small flask contain?” said M'Caskey, pointing to a
straw-covered bottle, whose neck protruded from the pocket of the
carriage.
“Cherry brandy,” said Skeff, dryly, as he buttoned the pocket-flap over
it.
“It is years upon years since I tasted that truly British cordial.”
Skeff made no reply.
“They never make it abroad, except in Switzerland, and there, too,
badly.”
Still Skeff was silent.
“Have you got a sandwich with you?”
“There is something eatable in that basket,--I don't know what,” said
Skeff, pointing to a little neatly corded hamper. “But I thought you had
just finished supper when I drove up.”
“You 're a Londoner, I take it,” said M'Caskey.
“Why so, sir? for what reason do you suppose so?”
“The man who reminds another of the small necessity there is to press
him to take something--be it meat or drink--must be a Cockney.”
“I am neither a Cockney, nor accustomed to listen to impertinence.”
“Hand me your flask and I 'll give you my opinion of it, and that will
be better than this digression.”
The impudence seemed superhuman, and in this way overcame all power of
resistance; and Skeffy actually sat there looking on while M'Caskey cut
the cords of the little provision-basket, and arranged the contents on
the front seat of the carriage, assuring him, as he ate, that he “had
tasted worse.”
For some time the Major continued to eat and drink, and was so
completely immersed in this occupation as to seem quite oblivious of
his companion. He then lighted his cigar and smoked on till they reached
Caserta, where the carriage halted to change horses.
“The fellow is asking for something for the ostler,” said M'Caskey,
nudging Skeffy with his elbow as he spoke.
“My servant, sir, looks to these details,” said Skefify, haughtily.
“Take these, old boy,” said M'Caskey, pitching out to him the basket
with the fragments of his late meal, and the silver forks and cup it
contained; and the horses whirled the carriage along at full speed as he
did so.
“You are perfectly munificent, sir,” cried Skefif, angrily, “with what
does not belong to you. The proprietor of the Hotel d'Universo will
probably look to you for payment for hi s property.”
“If your friend of the Universo has a salt spoon of his own this time
to-morrow, he 'll be a lucky dog.”
“How so? What do you mean?”
“I mean, sir, that as the troops withdraw, pillage will begin. There is
but one force in Naples that could control a mob.”
“And that is?”
“The Camorra! and but one man could command the Camorra, and he is
here!”
“Indeed!” said Skeff, with the very faintest possible sarcasm.
“As I tell you, sir. Colonel M'Caskey might have saved that city; and,
instead of it, he is rumbling along over a paved road, going heaven
knows where, with heaven knows whom, for heaven knows what!”
“You are either rude or forgetful, sir. I have already told you my name
and quality.”
“So you have, Skeff; but as a man rises in the service, he forgets the
name of the uncommissioned officers. You are attaché, or what is it?”
“I am Chargé d'Affaires of Great Britain.”
“And devilish few will be the affairs you 'll have in your charge this
day week.”
“How do you make out that?”
“First of all, if we are to pass through our lines to reach Garibaldi,
all our fellows will fire a parting salute after us as we go,--ay, and
with ball. Secondly, as we approach the rebels, they 'll pay us the same
attention.”
“Not with our flag of truce flying.”
“Your flag of truce, Skeffy, will only show them that we come unarmed,
and make their aim all the steadier in consequence.”
“And why was I told that your presence would be protection?”
“Because, sir, if it should fail to be, it is that no other man's in
Europe could be such.”
“I 'll not turn back, if you mean that,” said Skeff, boldly; and for
the first time on the journey M'Caskey turned round and took a leisurely
survey of his companion.
“You are, I hope, satisfied with my personal appearance,” said Skeff,
insolently.
“Washy, washy,” said M'Caskey, dryly; “but I have met two or three of
the same stamp who had pluck.”
“The freedom of your tongue, sir, inclines me very considerably to doubt
_yours_.”
M'Caskey made a bound on his seat, and threw his cigar through the
window, while he shouted to the postilion to stop.
“Why should he stop?” asked Skeff.
“Let us settle this at once; we 'll take each of us one of the carriage
lamps and fire at the word three. One--two--three! Stop, I say.”
“No, sir; I shall hold myself at your orders, time and place fitting,
but I 'll neither shoot nor be shot at like a brigand.”
“I have travelled with many men, but in my long and varied experience,
I never saw a fellow so full of objections. You oppose everything. Now I
mean to go asleep; have you anything against _that_, and what is it?”
“Nothing,--nothing whatever!” muttered Skeff, who for the first time
heard words of comfort from his companion's lips.
Poor Skeff! is it too much to say that, if you had ever imagined the
possibility of such a fellow-traveller, you would have thought twice
ere you went on this errand of friendship? Perhaps it might be unfair
to allege so much; but unquestionably, if his ardor were not damped, his
devotion to his friend was considerably disturbed by thoughts of himself
and his own safety.
Where could this monster have come from? What land could have given
him birth? What life had he led? How could a fellow of such insolent
pretensions have escaped being flayed alive ere he reached the age he
looked to be?
Last of all, was it in malice and out of malevolence that Filangieri had
given him this man as his guide, well knowing what their companionship
must end in? This last suspicion, reassuring so far, as it suggested
dreams of personal importance, rallied him a little, and at last he fell
asleep.
The hours of the night rolled over thus; and just as the dawn was
breaking the _calèche_ rattled into the ruinous old piazza of Nocera.
Early as it was, the market-place was full of people, amongst whom were
many soldiers, with or without arms, but, evidently, under no restraint
of discipline, and, to all seeming, doubtful and uncertain what to do.
Aroused from his sleep by the sudden stoppage of the carriage, M'Caskey
rubbed his eyes and looked out. “What is all this?” cried he. “Who are
these fellows I see here in uniform? What are they?”
“Part of Cardarelli's brigade, your Excellency,” said a café-keeper who
had come to the carriage to induce the travellers to alight. “General
Cardarelli has surrendered Soveria to Garibaldi, and his men have
dispersed.”
“And is there no officer in command here to order these fellows into
arrest?” cried M'Caskey, as he sprang out of the carriage into the midst
of them. “Fall in!” shouted he, in a voice of thunder; “fall in, and be
silent: the fellow who utters a word I 'll put a bullet through.”
If the first sight of the little fellow thus insolently issuing his
orders might have inspired laughter, his fierce look, his flashing
eye, his revolver in hand, and his coat blazing with orders, speedily
overcame such a sentiment, and the disorderly rabble seemed actually
stunned into deference before him.
“What!” cried he, “are you deserters? Is it with an enemy in front that
I find you here? Is it thus that you show these civilians what stuff
soldiers are made of?” There was not a degrading epithet, not a word of
infamous reproach, he did not hurl at them. They were Vili! Birbanti!
Ladri! Malandrini! Codardi! They had dishonored their fathers and
mothers, and wives and sweethearts. They had degraded the honor of the
soldier, and the Virgin herself was ashamed of them. “Who laughs there?
Let him come out to the front and laugh here!” cried he. And now, though
a low murmur little indicative of mirth ran through the crowd, strange
to say, the men began to slink away, at first one by one, then in groups
and parties, so that in very few minutes the piazza was deserted,
save by a few of the townsfolk, who stood there half terrified, half
fascinated, by the daring insolence of this diminutive hero.
Though his passion seemed almost choking him, he went on with a
wonderful fluency to abuse the whole nation. They were brigands
for three centuries, and brigands they would be for thirty more, if
Providence would not send an earthquake to swallow them up, and rid the
world of such rascals. He scoffed at them, he jeered them; he told them
that the few Sicilians that followed Garibaldi would make slaves of the
whole kingdom, taking from the degenerate cowards of Calabria wives,
daughters, home, and households; and it was only when the last straggler
shuffled slowly away, and he stood alone in the square, that he would
consent to re-enter the carriage and pursue his journey.
“I 'll know every face amongst them if I meet them again,” said he to
Skeffy, “and it will be an evil day for the scoundrels when that time
comes.” His wrath continued during the entire stage, and never flagged
in its violence till they reached a cluster of poor cabins, around which
a guard of soldiers was stationed. Here they were refused a further
passage, since at Mauro, three miles further on, Melani, with a force
of three thousand men and some guns, held the pass against the
Garibaldians. M'Caskey was not long in explaining who he was, nor,
indeed, very modest in proclaiming his personal importance; and the
subaltern, with every show of deference to such greatness, detached a
corporal of his guard to accompany them to the General's quarters. The
General was asleep when they reached Mauro; he had been, they said, “up
all night,” but they did not add it was in the celebration of an orgie,
in which the festivities were more classic than correct. M'Caskey,
however, learned that at about five miles in front, Garibaldi's
advanced guard was posted, and that Garibaldi himself had ridden up and
reconnoitred their position on the evening before.
“We expect to be attacked by noon,” said the officer, in a tone the very
reverse of hopeful or encouraging.
“You can hold this pass against twenty thousand,” said M'Caskey.
“We shall not try,” said the other. “Why should we be the only men to
get cut to pieces?”
The ineffable scorn of the little Colonel as he turned away was not lost
on the other; but he made no reply to it, and retired. “We are to
have an escort as far as Ravello; after that we are to take care of
ourselves; and I own to you I think we shall be all the safer when we
get out of the reach of his Majesty's defenders.”
“There,” cried the Sergeant who acted as their guard,--“there, on that
rock yonder, are the Reds. I'll go no further.”
And as they looked they saw a small group of red-shirted fellows lying
or lounging on a small cliff which rose abruptly over a stream crossed
by a wooden bridge. Attaching his handkerchief to his walking-stick,
M'Caskey stepped out boldly. Skeffy followed; they reached the bridge,
and crossed it, and stood within the lines of the Garibaldians. A very
young, almost boyish-looking, officer met them, heard their story,
and with much courtesy told them that he would send one of his men to
conduct them to head-quarters. “You will not find the General there,”
said he, smiling; “he's gone on in that direction;” and he pointed, as
he spoke, towards Naples.
Skeff asked eagerly if the young officer had ever heard of Tony Butler,
and described with ardor the handsome face and figure of his friend.
The other believed he had seen him. There was, he knew, a _giovane
Irlandese_ who was wounded at Melazzo, and, if he was not mistaken,
wounded again about four days back at Lauria. “All the wounded are at
Salerno, however,” said he, carelessly, “and you are sure to find him
amongst them.”
CHAPTER LVI. THE HOSPITAL AT CAVA
Had Skeff been in any mood for mirth, he might have enjoyed as rich
drollery the almost inconceivable impertinence of his companion, who
scrutinized everything, and freely distributed his comments around him,
totally regardless that he stood in the camp of the enemy, and actually
surrounded by men whose extreme obedience to discipline could scarcely
be relied on.
“Uniformity is certainly not studied here,” cried M'Cas-key, as he
stared at a guard about to be detached on some duty; “three fellows have
gray trousers; two, blue, one a sort of canvas petticoat; and I see only
one real coat in the party.”
A little further on he saw a group of about a dozen lying on the grass
smoking, with their arms in disorderly fashion about, and he exclaimed,
“How I 'd like to surprise those rascals, and make a swoop down here
with two or three companies of Cacciatori! Look at their muskets; there
has n't been one of them cleaned for a month.
“Here they are at a meal of some sort. Well, men won't fight on beans
and olive oil. My Irish fellows are the only devils can stand up on
roots.”
These comments were all delivered in Italian, and listened to with a
sort of bewildered astonishment, as though the man who spoke them must
possess some especial and peculiar privilege to enable him to indulge so
much candor.
“That's not a knapsack,” said he, kicking a soldier's pack that he saw
on the grass; “that's more like a travelling tinker's bundle. Open it,
and let's see the inside!” cried he to the owner, who, awed by the tone
of command, immediately obeyed; and M'Caskey ridiculed the shreds and
patches of raiment, the tattered fragments of worn apparel, in which
fragments of cheese and parcels of tobacco were rolled up. “Why, the
fellows have not even risen to the dignity of pillage,” said he. “I
was sure we should have found some saintly ornament or a piece of the
Virgin's petticoat among their wares.”
With all this freedom, carried to the extreme of impertinence, none
molested, none ever questioned them; and as the guide had accidentally
chanced upon some old friends by the way, he told M'Caskey that they had
no further need of him; that the road lay straight before them, and that
they would reach Cava in less than an hour.
At Cava they found the same indifference. They learned that Garibaldi
had not come up, though some said he had passed on with a few followers
to Naples, and others maintained that he had sent to the King of Naples
to meet him at Salerno to show him the inutility of all resistance, and
offer him a safe-conduct out of the kingdom. Leaving M'Caskey in the
midst of these talkers, and not, perhaps, without some uncharitable
wish that the gallant Colonel's bad tongue would involve him in serious
trouble, Skeffy slipped away to inquire after Tony.
Every one seemed to know that there was a brave _Irlandese_,--a daring
fellow who had shown himself in the thick of every fight; but the
discrepant accounts of his personal appearance and looks were most
confusing. Tony was fair-haired, and yet most of the descriptions
represented a dark man, with a bushy black beard and moustache. At all
events, he was lying wounded at the convent of the Cappuccini, on a hill
about a mile from the town; and Father Pantaleo--Garibaldi's Vicar, as
he was called--offered his services to show him the way. The Frate--a
talkative little fellow, with a fringe of curly dark-brown hair around
a polished white head--talked away, as they went, about the war, and
Garibaldi, and the grand future that lay before Italy, when the tyranny
of the Pope should be overthrown, and the Church made as free--and,
indeed, he almost said as easy--as any jovial Christian could desire.
Skeffy, by degrees, drew him to the subject nearest his own heart at the
moment, and asked about the wounded in hospital. The Frate declared that
there was nothing very serious the matter with any of them. He was an
optimist. Some died, some suffered amputations, some were torn by shells
or grape-shot. But what did it signify? as he said. It was a great cause
they were fighting for, and they all agreed it was a pleasure to shed
one's blood for Italy. “As for the life up there,” said he, pointing
to the convent, “it is a _vita da Santi_,--the 'life of saints
themselves.'”
“Do you know my friend Tony the Irlandese?” asked Skeff, eagerly.
“If I know him! _Per Bacco!_ I think I know him. I was with him when he
had his leg taken off.”
Skeff's heart sickened at this terrible news, and he could barely steady
himself by catching the Fra's arm. “Oh, my poor dear Tony,” cried he, as
the tears ran down his face,--“my poor fellow!”
“Why did you pity him? Garibaldi gave him his own sword, and made him an
officer on the day of the battle. It was up at Calanzaro, so that he 's
nearly well now.”
Skeff poured in innumerable questions,--how the mischance occurred, and
where; how he bore up under the dreadful operation; in what state he
then was; if able to move about, and how? And as the Fra was one of
those who never confessed himself unable to answer anything, the details
he obtained were certainly of the fullest and most circumstantial.
“He's always singing; that's how he passes his time,” said the Frate.
“Singing! how strange! I never knew him to sing. I never heard him even
hum a tune.”
“You 'll hear him now, then. The fellows about curse at him half the day
to be silent, but he does n't mind them, but sings away. The only quiet
moment he gives them is while he's smoking.”
“Ah, yes! he loves smoking.”
“There--stop. Listen. Do you hear him? he's at it now.” Skeff halted,
and could hear the sound of a full deep voice, from a window overhead,
in one of those prolonged and melancholy cadences which Irish airs
abound in.
“Wherever he got such doleful music I can't tell, but he has a dozen
chants like that.”
Though Skeff could not distinguish the sounds, nor recognize the voice
of his friend, the thought that it was poor Tony who was there singing
in his solitude, maimed and suffering, without one near to comfort him,
so overwhelmed him that he staggered towards a bench, and sat down sick
and faint.
“Go up and say that a friend, a dear friend, has come from Naples to
see him; and if he is not too nervous or too much agitated, tell him my
name; here it is.” The friar took the card and hurried forward on his
mission. In less time than Skeff thought it possible for him to have
arrived, Pantaleo called out from the window, “Come along; he is quite
ready to see you, though he doesn't remember you.”
Skeff fell back upon the seat at the last words. “Not remember me! my
poor Tony,--my poor, poor fellow,--how changed and shattered you must
be, to have forgotten me!” With a great effort he rallied, entered the
gate, and mounted the stairs,--slowly, indeed, and like one who dreaded
the scene that lay before him. Pantaleo met him at the top, and, seeing
his agitation, gave him his arm for support. “Don't be nervous,” said
he, “your friend is doing capitally; he is out on the terrace in an
armchair, and looks as jolly as a cardinal.”
Summoning all his courage, Skeflf walked bravely forwards, passed down
the long aisle, crowded with sick and wounded on either side, and passed
out upon a balcony at the end, where, with his back towards him, a man
sat looking out over the landscape.
“Tony, Tony!” said Skeffy, coming close. The man turned his head, and
Skeff saw a massive-looking face, all covered with black hair, and a
forehead marked by a sabre cut. “This is not my friend. This is not
Tony!” cried he, in disappointment. “No, sir; I'm Rory Quin, the man
that was with him,” said the wounded man, submissively.
“And where is he himself? Where is Tony?” cried he.
“In the little room beyond, sir. They put him there when he began to
rave; but he's better now, and quite sensible.”
“Take me to him at once; let me see him,” said Skefif, whose impatience
had now mastered all prudence.
The moment after, Skefif found himself in a small chamber, with a single
bed in it, beside which a Sister of Charity was seated, busily employed
laying cloths wet with iced water on the sick man's head. One glance
showed that it was Tony. The eyes were closed, and the face thinner, and
the lips dry; but there was a hardy manhood in the countenance, sick
and suffering as he was, that told what qualities a life of hardship
and peril had called into activity. The Sister motioned to Skefif to
sit down, but not to speak. “He's not sleeping,” said she, softly, “only
dozing.”
“Is he in pain?” asked Skefify.
“No; I have no pain,” said Tony, faintly.
Skefif bent down to whisper some words close to his ear, when he heard a
step behind. He looked up and saw it was M'Caskey, who had followed
him. “I came here, sir,” said the Colonel, haughtily, “to express my
astonishment at your unceremonious departure, and also to say that I
shall now hold myself as free of all further engagement towards you.”
“Hush, be quiet,” said Skefif, with a gesture of caution.
“Is that your friend?” asked M'Caskey, with a smile.
Tony slowly opened his eyes at these words, looking at the speaker,
turning his gaze then on Skeff, gave a weak, sickly smile, and then in
a faint, scarce audible voice, said, “So he _is_ your godfather, after
all.”
Skeff's heart grew full to bursting, and for a moment or two he could
not speak.
“There--there, no more,” whispered the Sister; and she motioned them
both to withdraw. Skeff arose at once, and slipped noiselessly away;
but the Colonel stepped boldly along, regardless of everything and every
one.
“He 's wandering in his mind,” said M'Caskey, in a loud, unfeeling tone.
“By all that's holy, there's the scoundrel I 'm dying to get at,”
screamed Rory, as the voice caught his ear. “Give me that crutch; let me
have one lick at him, for the love of Mary.”
“They're all mad here, that's plain,” said M'Caskey, turning away with
a contemptuous air. “Sir,” added he, turning towards Skeff, “I have
the honor to salute you;” and with a magnificent bow he withdrew,
while Rory, in a voice of wildest passion and invective, called
down innumerable curses on his head, and inveighed even against the
bystanders for not securing the “greatest villain in Europe.” “I shall
want to send a letter to Naples,” cried out Skeff to the Colonel; “I
mean to remain here;” but M'Caskey never deigned to notice his words,
but walked proudly down the stairs, and went his way.
CHAPTER LVII. AT TONY'S BEDSIDE
My story draws to a close, and I have not space to tell how Skeff
watched beside his friend, rarely quitting him, and showing in a hundred
ways the resources of a kind and thoughtful nature. Tony had been
severely wounded; a sabre-cut had severed his scalp, and he had been
shot through the shoulder; but all apprehension of evil consequences
was now over, and he was able to listen to Skeff's wondrous tidings,
and hear all the details of his accession to wealth and fortune. His
mother--how she would rejoice at it! how happy it would make her!--not
for her own sake, but for his; how it would seem to repay to her all she
had suffered from the haughty estrangement of Sir Omerod, and how proud
she would be at the recognition, late though it came! These were Tony's
thoughts; and very often, when Skeflf imagined him to be following the
details of his property, and listening with eagerness to the description
of what he owned, Tony was far away in thought at the cottage beside the
Causeway, and longing ardently when he should sit at the window with his
mother at his side planning out some future in which they were to be no
more separated.
There was no elation at his sudden fortune, nor any of that anticipation
of indulgence which Skeff himself would have felt, and which he indeed
suggested. No. Tony's whole thoughts so much centred in his dear mother,
that she entered into all his projects; and there was not a picture of
enjoyment wherein she was not a foreground figure.
They would keep the cottage,--that was his first resolve: his mother
loved it dearly; it was associated with years long of happiness and of
trials too; and trials can endear a spot when they are nobly borne, and
the heart will cling fondly to that which has chastened its emotions and
elevated its hopes. And then, Tony thought, they might obtain that long
stretch of land that lay along the shore, with the little nook where
the boats lay at anchor, and where he would have his yacht. “I suppose,”
said he, “Sir Arthur Lyle would have no objection to my being so near a
neighbor?”
“Of course not; but we can soon settle that point, for they are all
here.”
“Here?”
“At Naples, I mean.”
“How was it that you never told me that?” he asked sharply.
Skeff fidgeted--bit his cigar--threw it away; and with more confusion
than became so distinguished a diplomatist, stammered out, “I have had
so much to tell you--such lots of news;” and then with an altered voice
he added, “Besides, old fellow, the doctor warned me not to say anything
that might agitate you; and I thought--that is, I used to think--there
was something in that quarter, eh?”
Tony grew pale, but made no answer.
“I know she likes you, Tony,” said Skeff, taking his hand and pressing
it. “Bella, who is engaged to me--I forget if I told you that--”
“No, you never told me!”
“Well, Bella and I are to be married immediately,--that is, as soon as
I can get back to England. I have asked for leave already; they 've
refused me twice. It 's all very fine saying to me that I ought to know
that in the present difficulties of Italy no man could replace me at
this Court. My answer to that is: Skeff Darner has other stuff in him as
well as ambition. He has a heart just as much as a head. Nor am I to go
on passing my life saving this dynasty. The Bourbons are not so much to
me as my own happiness, eh?”
“I suppose not,” said Tony, dryly.
“You 'd have done the same, would n't you?”
“I can't tell. I cannot even imagine myself filling any station of
responsibility or importance.”
“My reply was brief: Leave for six months' time, to recruit an
over-taxed frame and over-wrought intellect; time also for them to look
out what to offer me, for I 'll not go to Mexico, nor to Rio; neither
will I take Washington, nor any of the Northern Courts. Dearest Bella
must have climate, and I myself must have congenial society; and so I
said, not in such terms, but in meaning, Skeff Darner is only yours at
_his_ price. Let them refuse me,--let me see them even hesitate, and I
give my word of honor, I'm capable of abandoning public life altogether,
and retiring into my woods at Tilney, leaving the whole thing at sizes
and sevens.”
Now, though Tony neither knew what the “whole thing” meant, nor the dire
consequences to which his friend's anger might have consigned it, he
muttered something that sounded like a hope that he would not leave
Europe to shift for herself at such a moment.
“Let them not drive me to it, that's all,” said he, haughtily; and he
arose and walked up and down with an air of defiance. “The Lyles do not
see this,--Lady Lyle especially. She wants a peerage for her daughter,
but ambition is not always scrupulous.”
“I always liked her the least of them,” muttered Tony, who never could
forget the sharp lesson she administered to him.
“She 'll make herself more agreeable to you now, Master Tony,” said
Skeff, with a dry laugh.
“And why so?”
“Can't you guess?”
“No.”
“On your word?”.
“On my word, I cannot.”
“Don't you think Mr. Butler of something or other in Herefordshire is
another guess man from Tony Butler of nowhere in particular?”
“Ah! I forgot my change of fortune: but if I had ever remembered it, I
'd never have thought so meanly of _her_.”
“That's all rot and nonsense. There's no meanness in a woman wanting
to marry her daughter well, any more than in a man trying to get
a colonelcy or a legation for his son. You were no match for Alice
Trafford three months ago. Now both she and her mother will think
differently of your pretensions.”
“Say what you like of the mother, but you shall not impute such motives
to Alice.”
“Don't you get red in the face and look like a tiger, young man, or
I 'll take my leave and send that old damsel here with the ice-pail to
you.”
“It was the very thing I liked in you,” muttered Tony, “that you never
did impute mean motives to women.”
“My poor Tony! the fellow who has seen life as I have, who knows
the thing in its most minute anatomy, comes out of the investigation
infernally case-hardened; he can't help it. I love Alice. Indeed, if I
had not seen Bella, I think I should have married Alice. There, you are
getting turkey-cock again. Let us talk of something else. What the deuce
was it I wanted to ask you?--something about that great Irish monster
in the next room, the fellow that sings all day: where did you pick him
up?”
Tony made no reply, but lay with his hand over his eyes, while Skeff
went on rambling over the odds and ends he had picked up in the course
of Rory Quin's story, and the devoted love he bore to Tony himself. “By
the way, they say that it was for you Garibaldi intended the promotion
to the rank of officer, but that you managed to pass it to this fellow,
who could n't sign his name when they asked him for it.”
“If he could n't write, he has left his mark on some of the
Neapolitans!” said Tony, fiercely; “and as for the advancement, he
deserved it far more than I did.”
“It was a lucky thing for that aide-de-camp of Filangieri who
accompanied me here, that your friend Rory had n't got two legs, for
he wanted to brain him with his crutch. Both of you had an antipathy to
him, and indeed I own to concurring in the sentiment. My godfather you
called him!” said he, laughing.
“I wish he had come a little closer to my bedside, that's all,” muttered
Tony; and Skeff saw by the expression of his features that he was once
more unfortunate in his attempt to hit upon an unexciting theme.
“Alice knew of your journey here, I think you said?” whispered Tony,
faintly.
“Yes. I sent them a few lines to say I was setting out to find you.”
“How soon could I get to Naples? Do you think they would let me move
to-morrow?”
“I have asked that question already. The doctor says in a week; and I
must hasten away to-night,--there's no saying what confusion my absence
will occasion. I mean to be back here by Thursday to fetch you.”
“Good fellow! Remember, though,” added he, after a moment, “we must take
Rory. I can't leave Rory here.”
Skeff looked gravely.
“He carried _me_ when I was wounded out of the fire at Melazzo, and I am
not going to desert him now.”
“Strange situation for her Majesty's Chargé d'Affaires,” said
Skeff,--“giving protection to the wounded of the rebel army.”
“Don't talk to me of rebels. We are as legitimate as the fellows we were
fighting against. It was a good stand-up fight, too,--man to man, some
of it; and if it was n't that my head reels so when I sit or stand up, I
'd like to be at it again.”
“It is a fine bull-dog,--just a bull-dog,” said Skeff, patting him on
the head, while in the compassionate pity of his voice he showed how
humbly he ranked the qualities he ascribed to him. “Ah! now I remember
what it was _I_ wished to ask you (it escaped me till this moment): who
is the creature that calls himself Sam M'Gruder?”
“As good a fellow as ever stepped, and a true friend of mine. What of
him?”
“Don't look as if you would tear me in pieces, and scatter the fragments
to the four winds of heaven. Sir, I 'll not stand it,--none of your
buccaneering savageries _to me!_”
Tony laughed, and laughed heartily at the air of offended dignity of the
other; and Skeff was himself disposed at last to smile at his own anger.
“That 's the crying sin of _your_ nature, Tony,” said he. “It is the one
defect that spoils a really fine fellow. I tell you frankly about it,
because I 'm your friend; and if you don't curb it, you 'll never be
anything,--never! never!”
“But what is this fault? you have forgotten to tell it.”
“Over and over again have I told it It is your stupid animal confidence
in your great hulking form: your coarse reliance on your massive
shoulders,--a degenerate notion that muscle means manhood. It is here,
sir,--here;” and Skeff touched his forehead with the tip of his finger;
“here lies the godlike attribute. And until you come to feel that, you
never will have arrived at the real dignity of a great creature.”
“Well, if I be the friend of one, Skeffy, it will satisfy all my
ambition,” said he, grasping his hand warmly; “and now what of M'Gruder?
How did you come to know of him?”
“Officially,--officially, of course. Skeffington Darner and Sam M'Gruder
might revolve in ether for centuries and their orbits never cross!
but it happened this honest fellow had gone off in search of you into
Sicily; and with that blessed propensity for blundering the British
subject is gifted with, had managed to offend the authorities and get
imprisoned. Of course he appealed to me. They all appeal to _me!_ but at
the moment unhappily for him, the King was appealing to me, and Cavour
was appealing to me, and so was the Emperor; and, I may mention in
confidence, so was Garibaldi!--not in person, but through a friend. I
know these things must be. Whenever a fellow has a head on his shoulders
in this world, the other fellows who have no heads find it out and work
_him_. Ay, sir, work him! That 's why I have said over and over again
the stupid dogs have the best of it. I declare to you, on my honor,
Tony, there are days I 'd rather be you than be Skeff Darner!”
Tony shook his head.
“I know it sounds absurd, but I pledge you my sacred word of honor I
_have_ felt it.”
“And M'Gruder?” asked Tony.
“M'Gruder, sir, I liberated! I said, Free him! and, like the fellow in
Curran's celebrated passage, his chains fell to the ground, and he
stood forward, not a bit grateful,--far from it,--but a devilish crusty
Scotchman, telling me what a complaint he 'd lodge against me as soon as
he arrived in England.”
“No, no; he 's not the fellow to do that.”
“If he did, sir, _it_ would crush him! The Emperor of Russia could not
prefer a complaint against Skeff Darner, and feel the better of it!”
“He 's a true-hearted, fine fellow,” said Tony.
“With all my heart I concede to him all the rough virtues you may desire
to endow him with; but please to bear in mind, Master Tony, that a man
of your station and your fortune cannot afford such intimacies as your
friend Rory here and this M'Gruder creature.”
“Then I was a richer man when I had nothing, for I _could_ afford it
then,” said Tony, sturdily; “and I tell you more, Skeffy,--I mean to
afford it still. There is no fellow living I love better--no, nor as
well--as I love yourself; but even for your love I'll not give up the
fine-hearted fellows who were true to me in my days of hardship,
shared with me what they had, and gave me--what was better to me--their
loving-kindness and sympathy.”
“You'd bring down the house if you said that in the Adelphi, Tony.”
“It 's well for you that I can't get out of bed,” said Tony, with a grim
laugh.
“There it is again; another appeal to the brute man and the man brute!
Well, I 'll go to dinner, and I 'll tell the fair Sister to prepare your
barley-water, and administer it in a more diluted form than heretofore;”
and, adjusting his hat so as to display a favorite lock to the best
advantage, and drawing on his gloves in leisurely fashion, Skeff
Darner walked proudly away, bestowing little benevolent gestures on the
patients as he passed, and intimating by certain little signs that he
had taken an interest in their several cases, and saying, by a sweet
smile, “You 'll be the better of this visit of mine. You 'll see, you
will.”
CHAPTER LVIII. THE SIXTH OF SEPTEMBER
On the evening of the 6th of September a corvette steamed rapidly out of
the Bay of Naples, threading her way deviously through the other ships
of war, unacknowledged by salute,--not even an ensign dipped as she
passed.
“There goes the King and the monarchy,” said Skeff, as he stood on the
balcony with the Lyles, and pointed to the fast-retreating vessel.
“I suppose the sooner _we_ leave the better,” said Lady Lyle, whose
interest in political affairs was very inferior to that she felt on
personal matters.
“Skeff says that the 'Talisman' will take us on board,” said Sir Arthur.
“Yes,” said Skeff; “Captain Paynter will be here by and by to take your
orders, and know when he is to send in his boats for you; and though I
feel assured my general directions will be carried out here, and that
no public disturbance will take place, you will all be safer under the
Union Jack.”
“And what of Tony Butler? When is he to arrive?” asked Bella.
“Tony,” said Skeff, “is to arrive here to-night I have had a note
from his friend M'Gruder, who has gone down to meet him, and is now at
Salerno.”
“And who is his friend M'Gruder?” asked Lady Lyle, superciliously.
“A rag-merchant from Leghorn,” said Skeff; “but Tony calls him an
out-and-out good fellow; and I must say he did n't take five minutes to
decide when I told him Tony was coming up from Cava, and would be glad
to have his company on the road.”
“These are, of course, exceptional times, when all sorts of strange
intimacies will be formed; but I _do_ hope that Tony will see that his
altered circumstances as to fortune require from him more care in the
selection of his friends than he has hitherto been distinguished for.”
“Don't trouble yourself about that, my dear,” said Sir Arthur; “a man's
fortune very soon impresses itself on all he says and does.”