and we have still a long and rugged road to Tempio. We shall be in the
saddle for hours after sunset. Let us devote another chapter to the
continuation of our journey.
CHAP. XXVII.
_The Valley narrows.—Romantic Glen.—Al fresco Meal.—Forest of
Cork Trees.—Salvator Rosa Scenery.—Haunts of Outlaws.—Their
Atrocities.—Anecdotes of them in a better Spirit.—The Defile in
the Mountains—Elevated Plateau.—A Night March.—Arrival at
Tempio, the Capital of Gallura.—Our Reception._
After following the course of the Liscia for about an hour, we struck up
a lateral valley, the water of which stood in pools, separated by pebbly
shallows, but overhung by drooping willows, and fringed with a luxuriant
growth of ferns and rank weeds. The hills were covered with dense woods,
intersected by rare clearings and inclosures on their slopes. Here and
there stood a solitary _stazza_, as the stations or homesteads of the
few resident farmers are here called. We observed that they were
generally fixed on rising ground. At some of these the courier stopped,
his errands consisting not in the delivery of letters, that office
appearing to be a sinecure in this wild track, but in leaving packets of
coffee, sugar, &c., and, in one instance, a cotton dress,—commodities
none of which had probably been taxed to the Customs at La Madelena.
The valley narrowed, and its water quickened into a lively trout stream,
gurgling over a rocky bed, bordered on one side by thick underwood,
feathering down to its edge. The myrtles here were thirty feet high,
and, blended with the tall heath (Erica arborea), the branching arbutus,
the cistus, lentiscus, with scores of other shrubs, formed thickets of
as exquisite beauty as any we had seen in Corsica. The stream on its
hither bank washed a narrow margin of grass beneath the woods. Here we
rested our horses and dined. Wayfarers in such countries generally
select the right spot for their halt. This was a delightful one, and we
fared well enough on the contents of a basket provided at La Madelena.
Such rough _al fresco_ meals, the uncertainty when you will get another,
even when and where your ride will end, the living in the present, with
fresh air and sunshine, and perpetual though gradual change of scene,
with the absence of all care about the future—these form the charms of
such travelling as ours.
Again in the saddle, we soon afterwards entered a forest of magnificent
cork trees, festooned with wild vines, relieving the sombre tints of the
forest by the bright colours of their fading leaves. It hung on a
mountain's side, and the gloomy depth of shade became deeper and deeper,
as, after a while, the dusk of evening came on, and we began to thread
the gorges which led to the summit of the pass.
Salvator Rosa himself might have studied the wild scenery of Sardinia to
advantage. If I recollect right, we are informed that he did. Nor would
it require much effort of the imagination to add life to the picture in
forms suited to its savage aspect,—to conjure up the grim bandit
bursting from the thickets on his prey, or lurking behind the rock for
the hour of vengeance on his enemy. Such scenes are by no means
imaginary.
[Illustration: A SALVATOR ROSA SCENE.]
Even now, numbers of the _fuorusciti_ find shelter in the fastnesses of
the Gallura; the remnant of bands once so formidable that they spread
terror through the whole province, bidding defiance alike to the law and
the sword. Only within the present century the government has succeeded
in quelling their ferocity, but not without desperate resistance to the
troops employed, eighty of whom were destroyed by a party of the bandits
in a single attack.
Still, though a better spirit begins to prevail, and outrages have
become less common and flagrant, we found, in travelling through the
island, a prevailing sense of insecurity quite incompatible with our
ideas of the supremacy of law under a well-ordered government. Some of
the mountainous districts were in so disturbed a state that we were
cautioned not to approach them; and every one we met throughout our
journey was armed to the teeth.
For ourselves, we felt no apprehensions, and took no precautions. In the
first place, we were not to be easily frightened by possible dangers;
and, in the second, we knew that a peaceable guise, in the character of
foreign travellers, was our best protection. The violences of the
_fuorusciti_ are, it is well understood, mingled and tempered with a
strong sense of honour. I imagine, indeed, that they originate for the
most part in that principle, developed in _vendetta_, though
degenerating into rapine and robbery. Outlaws must find means of
subsistence as well as honest men, and are not likely to be very
scrupulous as to the mode of obtaining them. Among such characters there
will be miscreants capable of any crime, and therefore there is always
danger. But, still, the virtue of hospitality to strangers, so inherent
amongst the Sardes, as in most semi-barbarous races, is not extinguished
in hearts which are hardened against every other feeling of humanity. As
the stranger is secure when he has “eaten salt” in the tent of the
Bedouin, the Caffre's kraal, or the wigwam of the Red Indian, so there
are numerous instances of the Sarde outlaws having afforded shelter and
assistance to strangers throwing themselves on their honour and
hospitality. Mr. Warre Tyndale relates such an adventure by a friend of
his. We will venture to give the details.
“In passing over the mountains from Tempio to Longone he fell in with
five or six _fuorusciti_, who, after the usual questions, finding that
he was a stranger in the country, offered to escort him a few miles on
his road, for ‘security.’ According to his story of the occurrence, he
could not at all comprehend the meaning of their expression; for the
fact of finding himself completely at the mercy of six men, any one of
whom might, could, or would in an instant have deprived him of life,
gave him very different ideas as to the meaning of the word. In thanking
them for their offer he elicited their interpretation of the phrase, and
was not a little amused and comforted by their assurance that the
proffered security consisted in delivering him safely into the hands of
the very party with whom they were waging deadly warfare. ‘_Incidit in
Scyllam qui vult vitare Charybdim_,’ thought my friend; but having no
alternative he accepted their offer, and, after partaking of an
excellent breakfast with them, they all proceeded onwards. For three
hours they continued their slow and cautious march through defiles to
which he was a perfect stranger; and while in conversation with them on
matters totally unconnected with the dangers of the place, they made a
sudden and simultaneous halt. Closing in together, a whispering
conference ensued among them, and as my friend was excluded from it, he
began to suspect he had been ensnared by the offer of escort, and that
the fatal moment had arrived when he was to fall their dupe and victim.
His suspicions were increased by seeing one of the party ride forward,
and leave his companions in still closer confabulation; but the
suspense, though painful, was short, for in a few minutes the envoy
returned, and an explanation of their mysterious halt and secrecy took
place. It appeared that the keen eyes and ears of his friends had
perceived their foes, who were concealed in the adjoining wood, and
that, having halted, one of them had gone as ambassador with a flag of
truce and negotiated an armistice for his safe escort. My friend parted
from his first guard of banditti with all their blessings on his head,
and having traversed a space of neutral ground, was received by the
second with no less kindness, and treated with no less honourable
protection. They accompanied him till he was safely out of their
district, assuring him that his accidental arrival and demand on their
mutual honour and hospitality did not at all interfere with their
dispute and revenge; and that if they were to meet each other the day
after they had discharged the duty of safely escorting him, they would
not be deterred by what had happened from instantaneously shedding each
others' blood.
“This scene,” adds Mr. Warre Tyndale[46], “took place in the forest of
Cinque-Denti, or ‘five-teeth,’ a tract of several miles in extent, said
to contain upwards of 100,000,000 trees and shrubs, principally oak,
ilex, and cork, with an underwood of arbutus and lentiscus; and such is
the thickness of the foliage, that the sunbeams and the foot of man are
said never to have entered many parts of it.”
Another instance of the honourable feeling and forbearance hospitably
shown by the Sarde mountaineer outlaws, under circumstances of great
temptation to plunder, was related to me by a friend long resident in
the island, as having occurred in his own experience.
Not many years ago, he was passing through the wild district in the
defiles of which we have just described ourselves as being engaged. My
friend had a considerable sum of money in his possession, more, he
remarked, than he should have liked to lose. “_Cantabit vacuus coram
latrone viator_”—“A traveller who meets robbers with his purse empty may
hope to escape scot free.” That was not my friend's case when he fell in
with a party of outlaws armed to the teeth. The rencontre was not very
pleasant, but putting the best face on it, he replied to their inquiries
“whither he was bent,” that he was in search of _them_; knowing that
they were in the neighbourhood, and would give him shelter, as night was
approaching, and on the morrow put him on his way, which he had lost.
This appeal to their best feelings had the desired effect. Pleased with
my friend's assurance of the confidence he placed in them, the outlaws
conducted him to their place of refuge, treated him with the best they
had, and, next morning, escorted him to the high-road, where they parted
from him with good wishes for the prosecution of his journey. “These men
must have known,” said my friend, “from the weight of my valise, which
they handled, that I had a large sum of money with me. It was no less
than 600_l._” The weight of such an amount of _scudi_ could not have
escaped their notice.
Pages might be filled with tales of the secret assassinations and
wholesale butcheries perpetrated, at no very distant period, by the
_malviventi_ who swarmed in the woods and mountains of Sardinia; of
deadly feuds in which families, and sometimes whole villages, were
involved with an implacable thirst for revenge; of places sacked, and of
travellers murdered and plundered in lone defiles. Some instances of a
generous sympathy for adversaries in distress, and more of a gallantry
displayed by some of the bandits which would have graced a better cause,
might serve to relieve the dark shades of these pictures. But enough of
this kind has found a place in our chapters on Corsica. I prefer
relating a story which may leave on the mind pleasing recollections of
the Robin Hoods of the Sardinian wilds. My friend, lately mentioned, who
is universally esteemed and respected by all classes of the Sardes
throughout the island, has been thrown by circumstances into
communication with the better sort of outlaws, and occasionally been the
medium of communication between them and the Sardinian authorities, to
their mutual advantage. He has thus acquired considerable influence over
those unhappy men, enjoying their full confidence, without which the
circumstances I am about to relate could not have occurred.
It appeared that, not very long since, my friend had kindly undertaken
to conduct an English party from La Madelena to Tempio, the same route
on which we are now engaged. The party consisted of an officer and his
lady, and I believe some others. The lady was fond of sketching;
attractive subjects, we know, are not wanting, and the indulgence of her
taste caused frequent delays on the road, notwithstanding my friend's
repeated warnings of the ill repute in which that district was held in
consequence of its proximity to the haunts of the banditti. Of all
things the tourists would have rejoiced to have seen a real bandit, but,
probably, under any other circumstances than in a wild pass of the
Gallura mountains. So when the shades of night were closing in, as they
do very soon after sunset in southern latitudes, and the party became
apprehensive that they should be benighted in those dreary solitudes,
there was considerable alarm:—what was to be done?
My friend, having politely suggested that he had not been remiss in
pointing out the consequences of delay, replied that they must make for
shelter in some _stazza_, which they might possibly reach. Accordingly
he led the way by a rough track through dusky thickets, and after
pursuing it for some time, great was the joy of his companions at
discovering a house, where they were received with great hospitality,
and the promise of all the comforts a mountain farm could offer.
The ladies had thrown aside their travelling equipments, the table was
spread, and, congratulating themselves on having found such an asylum,
the party sat down to supper, in all the hilarity which their escape
from the perils and inconveniences of a night spent in the forest was
calculated to promote. The occurrence was regarded as one of those
unexpected adventures which give a zest to rough travelling.
While, however, their gaiety was at the highest, it was interrupted by
loud knocking at the house door, and hoarse voices were heard without,
demanding immediate admittance. A short consultation took place between
my friend and their host, who agreed that no resistance could be
offered, that the door should be opened, and they must all submit to
their fate. Then the banditti rushed in with fierce gestures; truculent
men, with shaggy hair and beards, wrapped in dark _capotes_, with long
guns in their hands, and daggers in their belts and bosoms. “Spare our
lives, and take our money, and all that we have,” was the cry of some of
the travellers. Nor were the bandits slow in falling upon the _sacs_ and
_malles_, and beginning to rummage their contents, without, however,
offering the slightest molestation to any of the party, who stood aghast
witnessing their movements.
So far from it, suddenly, as if by a concerted signal, the outlaws,
relinquishing their booty, throw off their dark mantles, disclosing all
the bravery of the picturesque costume of Gallurese mountaineers, and
grouping themselves round the table, leaned on the slender barrels of
their fusils with a proud expression of countenance which seemed to
say:—“We are outlaws, indeed; but we hold sacred the laws of hospitality
and honour.”
The travellers found that they were safe, and, recovering from their
panic, finished their supper with renewed gaiety. The outlaws withdrew,
but shortly returning, some of them accompanied by their wives and
children _en habits de fête_, the evening was spent in the exhibition of
national dances, with songs and merriment.
This formed the concluding scene in the little drama which my informant
had got up for the gratification of his friends. Travellers might
naturally wish to see specimens of a race so unique and so celebrated as
the Corsican and Sardinian bandits, if they could do so with impunity,
just as they would a lion or a tiger uncaged and in his native woods,
from a safe point of view. My informant was able to gratify his friends
at the expense of a temporary fright. Perhaps they might have been
better pleased if the “_Deus ex machinâ_” had not appeared to disclose
the plot, and they had been suffered to consider the happy _dénouement_
as the natural result of the outlaws' magnanimity. Such, by all
accounts, it might have been.
But I can assure my readers that it requires a stout heart, and a strong
faith in what one has heard of the redeeming qualities in the outlaws'
character, to meet them in the open field without shuddering. It was in
the dusk of early morning, that, soon after leaving a village on the
borders of the Campidano, where we had passed the night, we suddenly
fell in with a party of ten or twelve of these men, who crossed our
track making for the hills. They were mounted on small-sized horses,
stepping lightly under the great weight they carried; for the bandits
were stalwart men, and heavily accoutred. Their guns were, variously,
slung behind them, held upright on the thigh, or carried across the
saddle-bows; short daggers were stuck in each belt, and a longer one
hung by the side; a large powder-horn was suspended under the arm.
Saddles _en pique_, with sheepskin housings, and leathern pouches
attached on both sides, supplying the place of knapsack and haversack,
completed the equipment. The “cabbanu,” a cloak of coarse brown cloth,
hung negligently from the shoulders, and underneath appeared the
tight-fitting pelisse or vest of leather; and the loose white linen
drawers, which give the Sardes a Moorish appearance, were gathered below
the knee underneath a long black gaiter tightly buckled.
Already familiar with the garb and equipments of a Sarde mountaineer,
these details were caught at a glance. The gaze was riveted on the
features of these desperate men,—the keen black eyes flashing from their
swarthy countenances, to which a profusion of hair, falling on the
shoulders from beneath the dark _berette_, gave, with their bushy
beards, a ferocious aspect;—and, above all, the resolute but melancholy
cast of features which expressed so well their lot of daring—and
despair.
Whether the party was bent on a plundering raid, or returning from some
terrible act of midnight murder, there was nothing to indicate; but the
impression was that they were the men “to do or die” in whatever
enterprise they were engaged. The party kept well together, riding in
single file with almost military precision. Their pace was steady, with
no appearance of haste, though they must probably have been aware that
some carabineers were stationed in the place hard by, which we had just
left. It was a startling apparition,—these “children of the
mist”—sweeping by us in grim cavalcade over a wild heath, in the cold
grey dawn of a November day, every hand stained with blood, every bosom
steeled to vengeance. They took no notice of us, though we passed them
closely, not even exchanging salutations with our _cavallante_. We gazed
on them till they were out of sight.
No such thoughts as those suggested by the occurrences just related
occupied our minds while we ascended the defile which penetrates the
mountain chain intervening between Tempio and the valleys terminating on
the coast. The savage character and the traditions of the locality might
have inspired them, but we were under the protection of the courier, a
privileged person—probably for good reasons,—and, besides this, as I
have already said, under no sort of personal apprehension. Our attention
was divided between the stern magnificence of the gorge, the more
striking from its being now half veiled in darkness, and the
difficulties of the ascent which, as usual, increased step by step,
until, at last, winding stairs cut in the rock surmounted the highest
cliffs and landed us at the summit of the pass.
On emerging from the gloomy defile, there was a total change of scene.
We found ourselves on open downs, apparently of great extent, with a
flood of light shed over them by a bright moon, and two brilliant
planets in the south-west, pointing like beacon lights to the position
of Tempio. An easy descent of the sloping downs brought us to the level
of a vast elevated plateau, extending, with slight undulations, and
broken by only one rocky ridge, to the vicinity of the town. When at the
summit of the pass, we had still eight or ten miles to accomplish. Late
as it was, the ride would have been highly enjoyable, in that pure
atmosphere, with the vault of heaven blazing overhead, and the stillness
of the night broken only by our horses' hoofs, but for the weariness of
the poor beasts after a long day's journey and the toilsome ascent of a
mountain pass, and the ruggedness of the tracks along which we had to
pick our way.
Welcome, therefore, were the lights of Agius, Luras, and Nuches,
villages standing some little way out of the road, at from two to three
miles' distance from Tempio. These places, Agius in particular, were
formerly notorious for robbery and vendetta, notwithstanding which the
population, which is chiefly pastoral, has always maintained a high
character for kindness, hospitality, industry, and temperance.
Our path lay now through very narrow lanes, dividing vineyards and
gardens, extending all the way to Tempio. The replies of the courier to
our inquiries after a hotel had left a complete blank in our prospects
of bed, board, and lodging at the end of our journey. For travellers,
such as ourselves, there was no accommodation. Tempio was rarely visited
by strangers. This looked serious, after a mountain ride of nearly
thirty miles, and between nine and ten o'clock at night;—what was to be
done? We had letters of introduction to persons of the highest
distinction in the place, but they hardly warranted our intruding
ourselves on them, hungry, travel-stained, and houseless, at that late
hour. The case, however, being desperate we decided, at last, on
presenting ourselves to the Commandant of the garrison, as the most
likely person to give or procure us quarters.
The horses' feet clattered sharply on the _pavé_ in the stillness of the
narrow deserted streets; and the huge granito-built houses overhanging
them, gloomy at all hours, appeared doubly inhospitable now that all
lights were extinguished, the doors closed, and none ready to be opened
at the call of weary travellers. Thus we traversed the whole city, the
Commandant's mansion lying at the furthest extremity. Our tramp roused
to attention a drowsy sentry at the gate; there were lights _à la
prima_—the family then had not retired for the night. The strange
arrival is announced, and our _viandante_ makes no scruple of depositing
our baggage in the hall. The Commandant receives us with politeness,
regrets that he is so straitened in his quarters that he cannot offer us
beds, and sends an orderly who procures us a lodging, meanwhile giving
us coffee. Attended by two soldiers, carrying our baggage, we retrace
our steps to the centre of the town, and take possession of very sorry
apartments, the best portion of a gaunt filthy house. We are installed
by the mistress, a shrewish person, who, making pretensions to
gentility, receives her guests under protest that she does not keep a
hotel, but is willing to accommodate strangers,—a phrase repeated a
hundred times while we were under her roof, and emphatically when
presenting a rather unconscionable bill on our departure. And this was
the only refuge in a city of from six to eight thousand inhabitants,
many of them boasting nobility, the capital of a province, the seat of a
governor and a bishop, and head-quarters of a military district. I may
be pardoned for being circumstantial in details giving an idea of what
travelling in Sardinia is. Things are much the same throughout the
island. The tourist who sets foot on it must be steeled against
brigands, vermin, _intempérie_, and indifferent fare. “_Per aspera
tendens_” would be his suitable motto. He must be prepared to rough it.
CHAP. XXVIII.
_Tempio.—The Town and Environs.—The Limbara
Mountains.—Vineyards.—The Governor or Intendente of the
Province.—Deadly Feuds.—Sarde Girls at the Fountains.—Hunting
in Sardinia.—Singular Conference with the Tempiese
Hunters.—Society at the Casino.—Description of a Boar Hunt._