outskirts it had all the character of a natural wood; the trees were
irregularly massed, and many of them of great age and vast dimensions.
Further on they stood in rows, this tree being extensively planted in
Corsica for the sake of the fruit. We were just in the right season for
this important harvest, it being now ripe, and the ground under the
trees was thickly strewed with the brown nuts bursting from their husky
shells.
It being about noon, we halted in the shade by the side of a little
rill, trickling among the trees into the river beneath, to rest and
lunch. Nothing could be more delightful, after a long walk in the sun;
for the temperature of the valleys is high even at this season. Antoine
had charge of a basket of grapes, with a loaf of bread and a bottle of
the excellent Frontigniac of Capo Corso; to these were added handfuls of
chestnuts, so sweet and tender when perfectly fresh; so that, tempering
our wine in the cool stream, we fared luxuriously.
While we sip our wine and munch our chestnuts, seasoned by talk with
Antoine, the reader may like to hear something of a crop which is of
more importance than might be supposed in the agricultural statistics of
Corsica.
There are several cantons, Murato being one of the principal, in which
the chestnut woods, either natural or planted, are so extensive that the
districts have acquired the name of _Paése di Castagniccia_. The
Corsican peasant seldom sets forth on a journey without providing
himself with a bag of chestnuts, and with these and a gourd of wine or
of water slung by his side, he is never at a loss. Eaten raw or roasted
on the embers, chestnuts form, during half the year, the principal diet
of the herdsmen and shepherds on the hills, and of great numbers of the
poorer population in the districts where the tree flourishes. They are
also made into puddings, and served up in various other ways. It is said
that in the canton of Alesanni, one of the Castagniccia districts just
referred to, on the occasion of a peasant making a feast at his
daughter's marriage, no less than twenty-two dishes have been prepared
from the meal of the chestnut.
I recollect that the innkeeper at Bonifaccio, boasting his culinary
skill, said that he could dress a potato sixteen different ways, and
though we earnestly entreated him not to give himself the trouble of
making experiments not suited to our taste, it was with great
difficulty, and after several failures, we made him comprehend that an
Englishman preferred but one way—and that was “_au naturel_.”
The cultivation of the potato has made considerable advance in Corsica,
and there are now seventeen or eighteen hundred acres annually planted
with it. But in many parts of the island the chestnut fills the same
place which the potato once occupied in the dietary of the Irish
peasant. A political economist would find no difficulty in deciding that
in both cases the results have been similar, and much to be lamented.
Indeed, the Corsican fruit is still more adapted to cherish habits of
indolence than the Irish root, as the chestnut does not even require the
brief exertion, either in cultivation or cookery, which the potato does.
It drops, I may say, into the Corsican's mouth, and living like the
“Prisca gens mortalium.”
“the primitive race of mortals,” of whom the poet sings, who ran about
in the woods, eating acorns and drinking water, the Corsicans are, for
the most part, satisfied with their chestnuts literally “_au naturel_.”
Most French writers on Corsica declare war against the chestnut-trees
for the encouragement they afford to a life of idleness, and M. de
Beaumont does not scruple to assert, that a tempest which levelled them
all with the ground would, in the end, prove a great blessing. There is
some truth in these opinions, but humanity shudders at the misery such a
catastrophe—like the potato blight, which truly struck at the root of
the evil in Ireland—would entail on tens of thousands of the poor
Corsicans, to whom the chestnut is the staff of life. In the interests
of that humanity, as well as from our deep love and veneration for these
noble woods, we say, God forbid!
Many years ago, an attempt was made to discountenance the growth of
chestnuts, by prohibiting their plantation in soils capable of other
kinds of cultivation; but shortly afterwards the decree was revoked on
the report of no less a political economist than the celebrated
Turgot.[18] _Vivent donc ces châtaigniers magnifiques, quand même!_ And
may the Corsicans learn not to abuse the gifts which Providence
gratuitously showers from their spreading boughs!
Our _al fresco_ repast on chestnuts and grapes being concluded, we left
Antoine to load his mule, which had been grazing in the cool shade, and
following a track through the wood, it became so steep that we soon
gained a very considerable elevation. Of this we were more sensible
when, turning round, we found that our range of sight embraced one of
the finest views imaginable. In the distance, the long chain of
mountains intersecting Capo Corso appeared grouped in one central mass,
with their rocky summits and varied outlines more or less boldly
defined, as they receded from the point of view. The western coast of
the peninsula stretched far away to the northward, broken by a
succession of mountainous ridges, branching out from the central chain,
and having their bases washed by the Mediterranean, point after point
appealing in perspective.
[Illustration: CAPO CORSO FROM THE CHESTNUT WOODS.]
Of these indentations in the coast, the nearest, as well as the most
important, is the Gulf of San Fiorenzo, one of the finest harbours in
the Mediterranean. The town stands on a hill, above the marshy delta of
the Aliso, the course of which we could trace through the most extended
of these high valleys. Close beneath our standing point, as it appeared,
lay the basin of Oletta, with its villages on the hill-tops, and its
gentle eminences, with slopes and hollows richly clothed, now grouped
together like the mountain ranges above, but in softer forms. This view,
whether as partially seen in our first position through the glades and
under the branching canopy of the chestnut wood, or shortly afterwards,
still better, from a more commanding point on the summit of the ridge,
had all the advantages which the most exquisite colouring, and the
finest atmospheric effects could lend. Indeed, I felt persuaded, that
the extraordinary richness of the warm tints on some of the mountain
sides was not merely an atmospheric effect, but aided by the natural
colour of the formation.
The whole country lying beneath, the ancient province of Nebbio, with
the Gulf of San Fiorenzo for its outlet, guarded by the mountain ridges
and embracing the districts of Oletta, Murato, and Sorio, is of such
importance in a strategical view, that the fate of Corsica has often
been decided by campaigns conducted on this ground; and it is said that
whatever power obtains possession of it, will sooner or later become
masters of the whole island.
San Fiorenzo, a fortified place, was bombarded in 1745 by an English
fleet acting in concert with the King of Sardinia for the support of the
Corsicans against the Genoese, and on the surrender of the place it was
given up to the patriots. Then first the British Government interfered
in Corsican affairs; but shortly afterwards, when some of the patriot
leaders sent emissaries to Lord Bristol, our ambassador at the court of
Turin, offering to put themselves under the protection of the English
Government, the court of St. James's, deterred probably by the
jealousies then subsisting among the supporters of the patriotic cause,
civilly declined the offer, and withdrew their fleet. Having thus lost
by their own misconduct the powerful co-operation of England, the
Corsicans, left to their own resources, after a long and determined
struggle, at length yielded to a power with which they were unable to
cope.
San Fiorenzo was again the scene of British intervention, when the
Corsicans, throwing off in 1793 the yoke of the French revolutionary
government, applied to Lord Hood, the commander-in-chief in the
Mediterranean, for assistance. In consequence, Nelson, then commanding
the “Agamemnon,” and cruising off the island with a small squadron, to
prevent the enemy from throwing in supplies, made a sudden descent on
San Fiorenzo, where he landed with 120 men. Close to the port the French
had a storehouse of flour adjoining their only mill, Nelson threw the
flour into the sea, burnt the mill, and re-embarked in the face of 1000
men and some gun-boats, which opened fire upon him. In the following
spring, five English regiments were landed in the island under General
Dundas, and Lieutenant-Colonel (afterwards Sir John) Moore having taken
possession of the heights overlooking the port of San Fiorenzo, the
French found themselves unable to hold the place, and sinking one of
their frigates, and burning another, retreated to Bastia.
Nelson's dashing enterprise was succeeded by another of far greater
moment, characteristic of the times when our old 74's had not been
superseded by costly screw three-deckers, and our naval commanders,
though not wanting in discretion, acted on the impulses of their own
brave hearts, without any very nice calculations of responsibilities and
possible consequences.
On a _reconnaissance_ made by Nelson on the 19th of February, when he
drove the French under shelter of their works, it appeared that the
defences of Bastia were strong. Besides the citadel, mounting thirty
pieces of cannon and eight mortars, with seventy embrasures counted in
the town-wall near the sea, there were four stone redoubts on the
heights south of the town, and two or three others further in advance;
one a new work, with guns mounted _en barbette_. A frigate, “La Flèche,”
lay in the harbour, but dismasted; her guns were removed to the works.
These works were held by 1000 regular troops, 1500 national guards, and
a large body of Corsicans, making a total of 4000 men under arms.[19]
To attack this formidable force, manning such defences, Nelson could
only muster 218 marines, 787 troops of the line under orders to serve as
such, the admiral insisting on having them restored to this service, 66
men of the Royal Artillery, and 112 Corsican chasseurs, making a total
of 1183 troops. To these were added 250 sailors. Meanwhile, the English
general made a _reconnaissance_ in force from San Fiorenzo, and retired
without attempting to strike a blow, though he had 2000 of the finest
troops in the world lying idle; declaring that the enterprise was so
rash that no officer would be justified in undertaking it. He even
refused to furnish Lord Hood with a single soldier, cannon, or store.
The Admiral replied, that he was most willing to take upon himself the
whole responsibility, and Nelson, nothing daunted, landed his small
force on the 9th of April, three miles from the town, and the siege
operations commenced. Encamping near a high rock, 2500 yards from the
citadel, and the seamen working hard for several days in throwing up
works, making roads, and carrying up ammunition, the fire was opened on
the 12th of the same month. The works of the besiegers were mounted with
four 13-inch and 10-inch mortars, an 18-inch howitzer, five 24-pounder
guns, and two 18-pounder carronades. I give these details in order to
show with what small means the daring enterprise was accomplished.
Lord Hood had sent in a flag of truce, summoning the city to surrender;
to which M. La Combe St. Michel, the Commissioner of the National
Convention, replied, “that he had red-hot shot for our ships and
bayonets for our troops, and when two-thirds of his men were killed, he
would trust to the generosity of the English.”
The place being now regularly invested, there was heavy firing on both
sides, “the seamen minding shot,” as Nelson characteristically wrote to
his wife, “no more than peas.” The besiegers' works were advanced, first
to 1600 yards, and afterwards to a ridge 900 yards from the citadel; and
on the 19th of May, thirty-five days after the fire was opened, the
enemy offered to capitulate. The same evening, while the terms were
negotiating, the advanced guard of the troops from San Fiorenzo made
their appearance on the hills above the place, and on the following
morning the whole army, under the command of General D'Aubant, who had
succeeded Dundas, arrived just in time to take possession of Bastia.
Nelson had anticipated this, for in a letter to his wife, written
during the siege, he says, “My only fear is, that the soldiers will
advance when Bastia is about to surrender, and deprive our handful of
brave men of part of their glory.”
But the work was already done, and Nelson writes after the surrender of
the place, “I am all astonishment when I reflect on what we have
achieved.” A force of 4000 men in strong defences had laid down their
arms to 1200 soldiers, marines, and British seamen.
The political results of these operations, which for the time numbered
the Corsicans among the willing subjects of the British crown, will
claim a short notice on a fitting opportunity. History is not our
province, but a traveller may be allowed to trace the footsteps of his
countrymen during their brief occupation of a soil fiercely trodden by
all the European nations; and, on a standing point between Fiorenzo and
Bastia, naturally lingers for a moment on a feat of arms memorable among
our naval exploits in the Mediterranean.
After leaving the chestnut woods, the wildness of the scene increased at
every step. Our track skirted a forest of ilex spreading far up the base
of the mountains, and filling the glens below, round the gorges of which
the path led. The trees were of all ages, from the young growth, with a
shapely _contour_ of silvery grey foliage, to the gigantic patriarchs of
the forest, spreading their huge limbs, hoar with lichens, in most
fantastic and often angular forms, and their boles black and rugged with
the growth of centuries. Some were rifted by the tempests, and bared
their scathed and bleached tops to the winds of heaven. Others had
yielded to the storms or age, and lay prostrate on the ground, charred
and blackened by the fires which the shepherds in these wilds leave
recklessly burning. The destruction thus caused to valuable timber
throughout the island is enormous. Among the ilex were scattered a few
deciduous oaks, contrasting well in their autumnal tints with their
evergreen congeners. We thought the colouring was not so rich as that of
our English oak woods at this season, being of a paler or more tawny
hue, resembling the maple and sycamore. Precipitous cliffs and insulated
masses of grey rock broke the outline of the forest, and the charming
cyclamen still tufted the edge of the path with its delicate flowers,
nestling among the roots of the gigantic oaks; between the tall trunks
of which glimpses were occasionally caught of the distant mountain
peaks.
We had been ascending, generally at a pretty sharp angle, from the time
we crossed the Bevinco, and had walked about three hours, when, emerging
from the skirts of the ilex forest, we found ourselves on an elevated
ridge connected with the vast wastes of which the greater part of the
east and north-east of the province of Nebbio is composed. The surface
is bare and stony, with a very scanty herbage among aromatic plants and
bushes of low growth, consisting principally of the branching cistuses,
which, however they may enliven these barren heaths by their flowers in
the earlier part of the year, increased its parched and arid appearance
now that the leaves hung withered on their stems.
Yet on these barren solitudes the Corsican shepherd spends his listless
days and watchful nights. He has no fixed habitation, and never sleeps
under a roof, but when he piles some loose stones against a rock to form
a hut. Roaming over the boundless waste as the necessity of changing
the pasturage of his flock requires, he finds his best shelter in the
skirts of the forest, and his food in the chestnuts, which he
luxuriously roasts in the embers of his watchfire when he is tired of
eating them raw. The ground was so undulating that at one view we could
see a number of these flocks on the distant hill sides; the little black
sheep in countless numbers dotting the heaths, and the shepherds, in
their brown _pelone_, either following them as they browsed in scattered
groups, or perched on strong outline on some rocky pinnacle commanding a
wide area over which their charge was scattered. Their bleating and the
tinkling of the sheep-bells were wafted on the breeze, and more than
once a flock crossed our path, and we had a nearer view of the wild and
uncouth conductor.
My companion sat down to sketch, while I walked on. This often happened.
Indeed, his rambles were often discursive, so that I lost sight of him
for hours together; once in Sardinia, when there was reason to fear his
having been carried off to the mountains by banditti. Thus, each had his
separate adventures; on the present occasion I had opened out a new and
splendid view, and, having retraced my steps to lead him to the spot, he
related his.
Intent on his sketch, my friend was startled, on raising his head, at
seeing a wild figure standing at his elbow. Leaning on a staff, its keen
eyes were intently fixed on him. My friend at once perceived that one of
the shepherds had crept upon him unawares. A year before, when they all
carried arms, there would have been nothing in his exterior to
distinguish him from a bandit, but an ingenuous countenance and a gentle
demeanour.
The young shepherd seemed much interested in my friend's occupation, the
object of which, however, he could not comprehend. His face brightened
with pleasure and surprise on learning that the visitor to his wilds was
an Englishman. The memory of the red-coats, who came to espouse the
cause of Corsican liberty, lingers in Corsican traditions, and the
English are esteemed as their truest friends. It was something new in
the monotonous existence of the young shepherd to fall in with one of
that race, though he had not the slightest idea where on the face of the
earth they lived; still he was intelligent, inquisitive, and hospitable.
“Would the stranger accompany him to his hut?”
“It would give me pleasure, but it is growing late.”
“We are poor, but we could give you milk and cheese. You would be
welcome.”
“I know it. Like you, I love the forest and the mountain, the shade and
the sunshine; but yours must be a rough life.”
“It is our lot, and we are content. We toil not, and we love our
freedom.”
“It is well.”
“I should like some memorial of having met you, anything to show that I
have talked with an Englishman.”
My friend rapidly dashed off a slight sketch, a rough portrait, I think,
of his gaunt visitor—no bad subject for the pencil.
“I would rather it had been your own portrait; but I shall keep it in
remembrance of you.”
And so they parted; the civilised man to tell his little story of human
feeling and native intelligence, “spending their sweetness in the
desert air,”—the shepherd to relate his adventure over the watchfire,
and perhaps draw forth from some sexagenarian herdsman his boyish
recollections of the fall of San Fiorenzo and Bastia, and the march of
the English red-coats over the mountains.
CHAP. XII.
_Chain of the Serra di Tenda.—A Night at Bigorno.—A Hospitable
Priest.—Descent to the Golo._
After crossing for some distance an elevated plateau of this wild
country, we came to a boundary wall of rough boulders, and turned to
take a last view of the gulf of San Fiorenzo and the blue Mediterranean.
A heavy gate was swung open, and, on advancing a few hundred yards, the
scene suddenly changed. We found ourselves on the brink of a steep
descent, with a sea of mountains before us, branching from the great
central chain, and having innumerable ramifications. This part of the
chain is called the Serra di Tenda; and its highest peak the Monte Asto,
upwards of 5000 feet above the level of the sea, rose directly in front
of our point of view. A single altar-shaped rock crowned the summit,
from which the continuation of the ridge, right and left, fell away in a
singularly graceful outline, the face of the mountain being precipitous
with escarped cliffs. In other parts of the line, the summits were
sharply serrated. Northward it was lost in the far distance among clouds
and mist, but to the south-west of Monte Asto a similar, but more
blunted peak towered above all the others. I observed on our maps that
several of the summits in this range have the name of _Monte Rosso_; and
the centre of the group was indented by a deep gorge richly wooded, as
were other ravines, and forests hung on some of the mountain sides.
We were struck with the extraordinary warmth of colouring which pervaded
the surface of the vast panorama, the slopes as well as the precipitous
cliffs. They had the ruddy hue of the inner coating of the ilex bark,
with a piece of which we compared it on the spot. Again, I felt
convinced that this colouring was not merely an atmospheric
effect,—though doubtless heightened by the bright sunshine through so
pure a medium as the mountain air—but that the brilliance indicated the
nature of the formation. Whether it was granitic or porphyritic, I had
no opportunity of examining, but incline to think it belonged to the
latter.
Of the general features of the geological system of Corsica, an
opportunity may occur for taking a short review. Our present position,
embracing so vast an amphitheatre, was excellent for forming an idea of
the physical structure of this lateral branch from the central range.
Various as were its ramifications, appearing sometimes grouped in wild
confusion, the general unity of the whole formation, both in colour and
form, was very observable, from the loftiest peak to the offsets of the
ridge which gradually descended to the level of the valleys, just as the
peculiar character of a tree runs through its trunk and boughs to the
minutest twig. Through a gorge to the northward we traced the pass, the
Col di Tenda, the summit being 4500 feet, through which a road is
conducted to Calvi and l'Isle Rousse, on the western coast; while
immediately under us lay the valley through which the Golo, rising in
the central chain, makes its long and winding course to the _littorale_,
eastward.
The bason, on which we now looked down, was distinguished by the same
features as that of Oletta,—gentle hills, wooded slopes and glens, and
olive groves, vineyards, and orchards, in almost equally exuberant
richness. A dozen villages were within view, crowning, as usual, the
tops of the hills, or perched far up the mountain sides. Of these, Lento
and Bigorno are the most considerable, although Campittello gives its
name to the canton. The strong position of Lento caused it to be often
contested during the wars for Corsican independence, and it was General
Paoli's head-quarters before his last and fatal battle.
We selected Bigorno, a small village, as our quarters for the night. The
descent to it, about 1000 feet from the level of the sheep-walks, is
extremely rapid; the village itself being still many hundred feet above
the banks of the Golo, which is seen pouring its white torrent several
miles distant. The approach was interesting, winding through the
evergreen copse and scattered ilex, with the sound of the church-bell at
the _Ave-Maria_ rising from below in the still air as we descended the
mountain side.