CASTELCICALA.
The Grand-Duchy of Castelcicala is bounded on the north by the Roman
States, on the south by the kingdom of Naples, on the east by the
Apennine Mountains, and on the west by the Mediterranean Sea.
It is the most beautiful, the best cultivated, and the finest portion of
the Italian Peninsula. The inhabitants are brave, enlightened, and
industrious.
Castelcicala is divided into seven districts, or provinces, the capitals
of which are Montoni (which is also the metropolis of the Grand Duchy),
Abrantani, Veronezzi, Pinalla, Estella, Terano, and Montecuculi. Each
province is governed by a Captain-General (the chief military
authority), and a Political Prefect, (the chief civil authority).
The principal city, Montoni, stands at the mouth of the Ferretti, and
contains a hundred thousand inhabitants. It is built on both sides of
the river, has a fine harbour, spacious dockyards, and extensive
arsenals, and is one of the principal trading-ports of Italy. It is
strongly fortified on the system of Vauban.
The entire population of the Grand-Duchy of Castelcicala is two
millions. Its revenues are three millions sterling; and the annual
income of the sovereign is two hundred thousand pounds.
From these details the reader will perceive that Castelcicala is by no
means an unimportant country in the map of Europe.
[Illustration]
We shall now continue our narrative.
It was the middle of November, 1840, and at an early hour in the
morning, before sunrise, when three vessels (two large brigs and a
schooner) ran in as close as the depth of water would permit them with
safety, on the Castelcicalan coast a few miles below Ossore.
The boats of these vessels were immediately lowered; and by the time the
sun dawned on the scene, nearly twelve hundred armed men were landed
without molestation.
This force was divided into two columns: one of seven hundred strong was
commanded by General Grachia; the other of five hundred was led by
Colonel Morosino. Richard Markham, as Secretary-General of the
Constitutional Chiefs, and attended by Morcar, accompanied General
Grachia. The chiefs and their staff were all provided with horses.
The army presented a somewhat motley aspect, the officers alone
appearing in uniforms. The entire force was, however, well provided with
weapons; and every heart beat high with hope and patriotism.
The banners were unfurled; an excellent brass band struck up an
enlivening national air; and the two columns marched in the direction of
Ossore.
It was deemed most important to possess this sea-port without delay; as
its harbour would afford a safe refuge for the three ships to which the
Constitutionalists (as the invaders termed themselves) could alone look
for the means of retreat, in case of the failure of their enterprise.
But of such a result they entertained not the slightest apprehension.
And now the peasants in the farm-houses and hamlets near which they
passed, were suddenly alarmed by the sounds of martial music: but the
rumour of the real object of the invaders spread like wild-fire; and
they had not marched three or four miles, before they were already
joined by nearly a hundred volunteer-recruits.
The hearts of the Constitutionalists were enlivened by this success; for
while the male inhabitants of the district through which they passed
hastened to join them, the women put up audible prayers to heaven to
prosper their glorious enterprise.
Ossore was in the province of Abrantani, which had for nearly a year
groaned under the tyranny of the Captain-General, who governed his
district by martial law, the jurisdiction of the civil tribunals having
been superseded by the odious despotism of military courts. The
Constitutionalists, therefore, entertained the strongest hopes that
Ossore would pronounce in their favour the moment they appeared beneath
its walls.
The Constitutionalists were now only three miles from Ossore, which was
hidden from their view by a high hill, up the acclivity of which the two
columns were marching, when the quick ear of General Grachia suddenly
caught the sound of horses' feet on the opposite side of the eminence.
Turning to one of his _aides-de-camp_, he said, "Hasten to Colonel
Morosino—tell him to take that road to the left and possess himself of
yonder grove. Our landing is known—a body of cavalry is approaching."
These words were delivered in a rapid but firm tone. The _aide-de-camp_
galloped away to execute the order; and General Grachia proceeded to
address a few brief but impressive words to the patriots of his
division, telling them that the moment to strike a blow was now at hand.
"Markham," said the General, when he had concluded his harangue, "we
shall have hot work in a few minutes."
Scarcely were these words uttered, when a large body of cavalry made its
appearance on the summit of the hill. A general officer, surrounded by a
brilliant staff, was at their head.
"That is Count Santa-Croce, the Captain-General of Abrantani!" exclaimed
Grachia, drawing his sword. "Parley with him were vain—he is devoted to
the Grand Duke. My friends, before us lies death or victory!"
The Constitutionalists gave a deafening cheer in answer to the words of
their commander.
Then, like an avalanche bursting from its rest on the Alpine height, and
rolling with dread and deafening din in its precipitate path, the ducal
cavalry thundered down the hill.
But they were well received; and a terrific contest ensued.
The ear was deafened with the report of musketry and the clang of
weapons. Bullets whistled through the air; and as the serried ranks on
either side poured forth volumes of smoke,—the Constitutionalists with
their muskets, and the cavalry with their carbines,—the shouts of the
combatants and the groans of the dying announced the desperate nature of
the conflict.
But, alas! the Constitutionalists were doomed to experience a sad blow!
General Grachia,—a patriot whose memory demands our admiration and
respect,—was slain at the commencement of the battle. He died, fighting
gallantly at the head of his troops; and not before the enemy had felt
the weight of his valiant arm.
Almost at the same moment the ensign who bore the Constitutional banner
was struck to the earth; and an officer of the ducal cavalry seized the
standard.
But scarcely had he grasped it, when Richard Markham, who had vainly
endeavoured to protect his chief and friend from the weapons of the
enemy, spurred his steed with irresistible fury against the officer,
hurled him from his seat, and snatched the banner from his grasp.
Then, waving the flag above his head with his left hand, and wielding
his sword in the right, Richard plunged into the thickest of the fight,
exclaiming, "Vengeance for the death of our general!"
The moment that Grachia fell, a sudden panic seized upon the
Constitutionalists of his division; and they were already retreating,
when that gallant exploit on the part of Markham rallied them with
galvanic effect.
"Vengeance for the death of our general!" was the cry; and our hero was
instantly backed by his faithful Morcar and a whole host of
Constitutionalists.
The conflict was desperate—both sides fighting as if all idea of quarter
were out of the question, and victory or death were the only
alternatives.
Fired by the loss of General Grachia,—conscious of the desperate
position in which defeat would place the invaders,—and inspired by the
image of Isabella, Richard fought with the fury of the Destroying Angel.
He who had only been looked upon as possessing an able head in
administrative matters, now suddenly appeared in a new light,—a gallant
warrior, who by his bravery had succeeded in rallying a panic-struck
army.
Already were the ducal cavalry retreating;—already had the
Captain-General, who surveyed the conflict from the summit of the hill,
disappeared with his staff-officers on the opposite side;—already were
the Constitutionalists of Richard's division shouting "Victory,"—when
Colonel Morosino's corps, which had been engaged by another body of
cavalry, was observed to be in full retreat—dispersing in
disorder—flying before its triumphant foes.
The rumour that Colonel Morosino himself was slain, and that a strong
body of infantry, provided with cannon, was already advancing from the
opposite side of the hill, now spread like wild-fire through the ranks
of Richard's division.
Vainly did Markham endeavour by his example to inspire the troops with
courage. A panic seized upon them: they exclaimed that some villain had
betrayed them; and the disorder became general.
[Illustration]
The ducal cavalry which were so lately in full retreat, rallied again:
their charge was irresistible; they literally swept the slope of the
hill down which they rushed.
Backed by a small but gallant band that scorned to retreat, and well
seconded by Morcar, Richard fought with a desperation which was truly
marvellous in one who had never wielded a hostile brand until that day.
But a pistol-bullet disabled his right arm; and he was taken prisoner,
together with Morcar and several others.
The Constitutionalists were completely defeated; five hundred fell upon
the field of battle; the remainder were dispersed or captured. But
scarcely three hundred succeeded in saving themselves by flight.
And almost at the same moment when this unfortunate expedition was thus
overwhelmed with ruin, a Castelcicalan frigate, which had put out from
Ossore harbour, shortly after the landing of the Constitutionalists,
captured the three vessels which were the last hope of those patriots
who had escaped from captivity or carnage.
From the summit of the hill, whither he was conducted into the presence
of the Captain-General of Abrantani, Richard beheld the three vessels
strike their colours to the Castelcicalan man-of-war.
"Treachery has been at work here," he said within himself; "or else how
arose these preparations to receive us?"
He was not, however, permitted much time for reflection—either in
respect to his own desperate condition, or that of the unfortunate
fugitives whose last hope was thus cut off by the seizure of the ships;
for the Captain-General—an old man, with white hair, but a stern and
forbidding countenance,—addressed him in a haughty and savage tone.
"Know you the penalty that awaits your crime, young man?" he exclaimed;
"for in you I doubtless behold one of the chiefs of this monstrous
invasion."
"I know how to die," answered Richard, fearlessly.
"Ah!" ejaculated the Captain-General. "What traitor have we here? Some
foreign mercenary perhaps. He is not a Castelcicalan, by the accent with
which he speaks our native tongue."
"I am an Englishman, my lord," said Markham, returning the proud glance
of defiance and scorn which Count Santa-Croce threw upon him.
"An Englishman!" thundered the Captain-General. "Then is a military
death too good for you! What brings a wretched foreigner like you
amongst us with a hostile sword? You have not even the miserable
subterfuge of patriotism as a palliation for your crime. Away with him!
Hang him to yonder tree!"
"I have one favour to implore of your lordship," said Markham, his voice
faltering not, although his cheek grew somewhat pale: "I am prepared for
death—but let me not perish like a dog. Plant your soldiers at a
distance of a dozen paces—let them level their muskets at me—and I
promise you I shall not die a coward."
"No—you are a foreigner!" returned the Captain-General ferociously.
"Away with him!"
Markham was instantly surrounded by soldiers, and dragged to the foot of
a tree at a little distance.
An _aide-de-camp_ of the Count was ordered to superintend the sad
ceremony.
"Have you any thing which you desire to be communicated to your friends
in your native country?" asked the officer, who was a generous-minded
young man, and who, having beheld Richard's bravery in the conflict,
could not help respecting him.
"I thank you sincerely for the kindness which prompts this question,"
replied our hero; "and all I have now to hope is that those who know
me—in my native land—may not think that cowardice or dishonour closed
the career of Richard Markham."
"Richard Markham!" ejaculated the officer. "Tell me—is that your name?"
"It is," answered our hero.
"Then there is hope for you _yet_, brave Englishman!" cried the officer;
and without uttering another word, he hastened back to the spot where
the Captain-General of Abrantani was standing.
Were we to say that Richard was now otherwise than a prey to the most
profound suspense, we should be exaggerating the moral strength of human
nature.
We have no wish to make of our hero a demigod: we allow him to be
nothing more than mortal after all!
It _was_, therefore, with no little anxiety that Markham saw the officer
approach the Captain-General of Abrantani, and discourse with him for
some moments in a low tone. The _aide-de-camp_ appeared to urge some
point which he was anxious to carry: Count Santa-Croce shook his head
ominously.
"Beloved Isabella," murmured Richard to himself: "shall I never see thee
more?"
His eyes were still fixed upon those two men who appeared to be arguing
his life or death.
At length the Captain-General took a paper from the breast of his
profusely-laced blue uniform coat, and cast his eyes over it.
Richard watched him with breathless anxiety.
This state of suspense did not last long. Count Santa-Croce folded the
paper, replaced it where he had taken it from, and then gave a brief
command to the officer.
The latter hurried back to the spot where Markham was hovering as it
were between life and death.
"You are saved, sir!" cried the Castelcicalan his countenance expressing
the most unfeigned joy.
"Generous friend!" exclaimed Richard: "by what strange influence have
you worked this miracle?"
"That must remain a secret," answered the _aide-de-camp_. "At the same
time I can take but little merit to myself in the transaction—beyond a
mere effort of memory. You have powerful friends, sir, in Castelcicala:
otherwise his lordship the Captain-General," he added in a whisper, "was
not the man to spare you."
"To you I proffer my most heart-felt thanks, generous Italian!" cried
Richard; "for to you I am clearly indebted for my life. Let me know the
name of my saviour?"
"Mario Bazzano—junior _aide-de-camp_ to Count Santa-Croce, the
Captain-General of Abrantani," was the answer. "But we have no time to
parley," he continued rapidly: "the good news which I have already
imparted to you in respect to your life, must be somewhat
counterbalanced by the commands which I have received regarding your
liberty."
"Speak, Signor Bazzano," said Markham. "You saw that I did not flinch
from death: it is scarcely probable that I shall tremble at any less
severe sentence which may have been passed upon me."
"My orders are to conduct you to Montoni, where you will be placed at
the disposal of a higher authority than even the Captain-General of
Abrantani," returned the _aide-de-camp_. "But, in the first place, my
lord's surgeon shall look to your wound."
Then once more did the generous-hearted Castelcicalan hasten away; and
in a few minutes he returned, accompanied by the Count's own medical
attendant.
Richard's arm was examined; and it was discovered that a bullet had
passed through the fleshy part between the elbow and the shoulder. The
wound was painful, though by no means dangerous; and the surgeon
bandaged it with care and skill.
"Now, Signor Markham," said Bazzano, "it is my duty to conduct you to
Montoni. I do not wish to drag you thither like a felon—because you are
a brave man: at the same time I am answerable to the Count and _to
another_ who is higher than the Count, for your person. Gallant warriors
are usually honourable men: pledge me your honour that you will not
attempt to escape; and we will proceed to Montoni alone together."
"I pledge you my honour," answered Richard, "that so long as I am in
your custody, I will not attempt to escape. But the moment you are
released from your charge of my person, my vow ceases."
"Agreed, signor," said Bazzano.
The _aide-de-camp_ then ordered his own and another horse (for Richard's
steed had been sorely wounded in the conflict) to be brought to the spot
where this conversation took place.
"Signor Bazzano," said Richard, "you have behaved to me in so noble and
generous a manner that I am emboldened to ask another favour of you. A
young man accompanied me as my attendant in this unfortunate enterprise:
he has a wife and child in his native land; his parents are also living.
Should aught happen to him, four others would thereby be plunged into
the depths of misery."
"Where is this person to whom you allude?" inquired Bazzano.
"He is a prisoner yonder. There—he is seated on the ground, with his
face buried in his hands!"
And Richard pointed in the direction where the poor gipsy was plunged
into a painful and profound reverie at a little distance.
For the third time the _aide-de-camp_,—who was a tall, active, handsome,
dark-eyed young man,—hurried away. Count Santa-Croce had mounted his
horse and repaired, with his staff, to view more closely the spot where
the conflict had taken place, and to issue orders relative to the
interment of the killed and the disposal of the prisoners. Mario Bazzano
did not therefore dread the eagle glance of his superior, as he hastened
to perform another generous deed and confer another favour on Richard
Markham.
"Young man," he said, addressing himself to Morcar, "rise and follow me.
You are to accompany your master. My good friend," he added, speaking to
the sentinel who stood near, "I will be answerable for my conduct in
this instance to his lordship the Captain-General."
The sentinel was satisfied; and Morcar followed the officer to the spot
where Richard and the Castelcicalan soldiers who had charge of him, were
standing.
A third horse was procured; and in a few minutes the _aide-de-camp_, our
hero, and Morcar rode rapidly away from the scene of carnage, towards
Ossore.
It were a vain task to attempt to describe the joy which succeeded
Morcar's grief and apprehension, when he discovered that his own and his
master's lives were beyond danger, and that Mario Bazzano was evidently
so well inclined to befriend them.
"As I do not wish to keep you in an unpleasant state of suspense,
signor," said the _aide-de-camp_ to Richard, "I must inform you that you
have little to dread at Montoni. You have powerful friends there. A
short imprisonment—or some punishment of a slight nature, will be all
the penalty you will both have to pay for your mad freak—or else I am
much mistaken. But more I dare not—cannot say."
"Whatever be our fate," exclaimed Richard, "my heart will cherish until
death the remembrance—the grateful remembrance of your noble conduct.
But tell me, my generous friend—what will become of those unfortunate
prisoners?"
"The chiefs of the enterprise have fallen in the conflict," answered
Mario; "else the fate of traitors would have been in store for them. As
for the mistaken men whom they have led to these shores, imprisonment—a
long imprisonment in the citadels of Abrantani, Pinalla, and Estella,
will doubtless be the penalty of their treason."
The severe terms in which the young _aide-de-camp_, who was evidently
devoted to the Grand Duke's cause, spoke of the Constitutionalists,
pierced like a dagger to the heart of our hero; but delicacy and
gratitude towards one from whom he had received such signal obligations,
prevented him from making any comment.
In a short time the little party reached Ossore, at which town they
proceeded to an hotel, where they obtained refreshments. There, also,
plain clothes were procured for Markham, in order that his uniform
(which was different from that of the Castelcicalan officer) might not
create unpleasant notice on his arrival at Montoni. Morcar had no
uniform to change.
When the repast was terminated, Lieutenant Bazzano ordered a post-chaise
and four; and in a short time the little party was whirling rapidly
along the high road to the capital.
During the journey Richard and the _aide-de-camp_ rose higher in each
other's esteem, the more they conversed together; and by the time they
reached their destination, a sort of friendship, which circumstances had
tended to invest with unusual interest, already existed between them.
Bazzano assured our hero that the contemplated invasion of the
Constitutionalists had been communicated some time previously to the
Captain-General of Abrantani; but whence that information had emanated
the young officer was unable to state. Preparations had, however, been
in existence for at least a fortnight to receive the invaders when they
set foot on the Castelcicalan territory. These assurances confirmed
Richard in the opinion which he had already formed, that treachery had
existed somewhere on the side of the patriots.