The Casa Bianca
On the following morning the passengers of the _Clytie_ woke to find
themselves steaming into the port of Tangiers. They scrambled through
their toilets and hurried on deck, in raptures over the view of the old
Moorish town against a background of green trees, and the blue waters of
the bay in front. As some cargo was to be shipped, there would be time
to go on shore, and a party was made up under the escort of Captain
Porter and of the Greek agent who had arrived on board with the pilot.
Donkeys were hired for the ladies, and a cavalcade set forth to view the
Kasbah, or native market, and some beautiful gardens outside the city
walls. It was strange to the girls to be in Morocco, with black faces
all round them, and to catch glimpses through open doorways of Moorish
courtyards, of marble fountains, or of little Arab children chanting the
Koran. They were glad indeed of a masculine escort, for their
donkey-boys looked such a wild crew that would have been frightened to
be left alone with them, and the eastern aspect and general dirt of the
place, though picturesque, made them thankful when they were safely back
again on board ship.
To their intense interest, part of the cargo consisted of Mohammedan
pilgrims for Mecca. The rank and file of these encamped on the lower
deck, where they sat, ate, slept, and cooked their food over charcoal
braziers, filling up their time by reciting the Koran in a monotonous
chant. A wealthy merchant from Morocco was also traveling to Alexandria
with his wife and family, and had engaged all the second-class quarters
of the _Clytie_ for his exclusive occupation. His lady was brought on
board closely veiled, and made no further appearance, but Dulcie and
Carmel, standing one day on the upper deck, could see down to the
second-class deck, and noticed three small children run out to play. The
boys were each clothed in a white garment with a gaily colored striped
sash, but the beautiful little girl wore a dress of palest blue velvet,
exquisitely embroidered with roses. Carmel, who adored children, could
not resist the temptation to call to them and throw them each an orange,
whereupon some warning voice summoned them inside the cabin, and after
that, though the boys occasionally played on the deck, the girl was
never again allowed to expose her face to the gaze of strangers.
Another brief halt was made at Algiers, a less barbaric place than
Tangiers, and quite up to date and modern in its handsome French
quarter, though picturesque in the Arab part of the city. It was
possible to get carriages here, instead of donkeys, and the passengers
went on shore for a delightful drive to the Caliph Mustapha palace,
through woods of eucalyptus, and pine, and palm, and gardens of
flowering shrubs. They would have been glad to stay longer in such a
beautiful spot, but the _Clytie_ was getting up steam, and unless they
wished to be left behind they must go on board again.
The Ingleton party agreed afterwards that their voyage down the
Mediterranean was an experience never to be forgotten. In the bright
February sunshine the blue waters deserved their reputation. It was warm
as summer, and all day the passengers lived on deck, watching the smooth
sea and distant coastline, or amusing themselves with games. Mr. Stacey,
with his jolly, hearty ways and talent for entertaining, was, of course,
the life and soul of everything. He organized various sports during the
day, and concerts and theatricals during the evening. He was great at
deck cricket, which, owing to the limitations of the vessel, is a very
different game from that on land. The balls are made of odds and ends of
rope, twisted together by the sailors, and must be hit with caution so
as not to be sent overboard. Any luckless cricketer whose ball goes
flying into the deep is immediately required, by the rules of ship's
etiquette, to buy another from the sailors who make them, so an
unaccustomed batsman may be landed in much expense. Everybody found it
great fun, however, and when they had lost the day's supply of balls,
would take to ring quoits and deck billiards instead.
But perhaps the most popular game of all was "bean-bags." For this the
passengers were divided into two teams. Each team stood in couples
facing each other at a distance of about a yard. At the top and bottom
of each column was placed a chair, and on the top chair were piled
twelve small canvas bags filled with beans. The teams waited at
attention till the umpire blew a whistle, at which signal they started
simultaneously. The player nearest the chair on the right-hand side
seized a bean-bag and flung it to his opposite neighbor, who in his turn
flung it to No. 2 on the right-hand side, who threw it back to No. 2 on
the left, and so on down the line. Meantime player No. 1 had caught up a
second, and a third bean-bag, and continued passing on others till all
the twelve were in process of motion. They were tossed backwards and
forwards till they reached the chair at the bottom of the line, and were
then returned in the same way that they had come. Whichever team
succeeded first in getting all its bean-bags back to its starting chair
was considered to have won the game. It was really a much more difficult
business than it sounds, for some of the passengers were
"butter-fingers" and would fail to catch the bags, and much valuable
time was wasted in picking them up, while others were apt to cheat, and
in order to get on quicker would throw to No. 9 instead of to No. 8, an
error which the umpire's sharp eyes would immediately detect, and he
would cause the bag to go back to the starting-point.
Among all these amusements the time on the Mediterranean passed rapidly
and pleasantly. Lilias was already wonderfully better, the mild sea
breezes had almost banished her cough, and her appetite was a source of
satisfaction to Cousin Clare.
"Casa Bianca will finish the cure!" declared Carmel. "I know what care
Mother will take of you! Only a few days more now, and we shall be
there!"
Captain Porter's laughing prophecy that Lilias would be so much in love
with voyaging that she would want to go on to Alexandria was partly
justified, for she was genuinely sorry to leave the vessel when they
arrived at Valetta, the port of Malta.
"I shall come on the _Clytie_ again some day," she assured him. "Only I
bargain that you take me all the way up the Nile to look at the pyramids
and the ruined temples!"
"Very well, if you'll undertake to dig out the Nile's basin so as to
accommodate a vessel of six thousands tons!" laughed the captain.
"Otherwise I shall have to arrange to take you in a sea-plane!"
"And we'd fly over the desert? Oh, that would be thrillsome! Please book
me a seat for next year, and I'll go!"
The _Clytie_ arrived at Malta in the morning, and, as the local steamer
did not start for Syracuse until midnight, the Ingleton party had the
whole day at Valetta on their hands. They very sensibly established
themselves at an hotel, ordered lunch and dinner there, then went out
into the town to take a walk along the ramparts and see what sights they
could. Valetta, with its streets of steps, its wonderfully fortified
harbors, its gay public gardens, its cathedral, and its armory of the
Knights of St. John, where are preserved hundreds of priceless suits of
armor belonging to the Crusaders, the famous silver bells that rang
peals from the churches, and the rare and beautiful pieces of Maltese
lace exhibited in the shop windows, had many attractions for strangers,
particularly those of British nationality. In the midst of such foreign
surroundings it was delightful to hear English spoken in the streets,
to see the familiar figure of a policeman, and to know that the great
warships in the harbor were part of the British Fleet, and were ready at
any time to protect our merchant vessels.
After a bewildering day's sight-seeing the girls sat in the lounge of
the hotel after dinner, trying to rest. They were very tired, and would
gladly have gone to bed, but the Syracuse mail-boat ran only once in
every twenty-four hours, and started at midnight, so their traveling
must perforce be continued without the longed for break. Cousin Clare
cheered them up with the thoughts of the coffee ordered for ten o'clock,
and of berths when they got on board the steamer.
"We might be far worse off," she assured them. "For at least we have a
comfortable hotel to rest in. I remember once having to spend most of
the night in a waiting-room at the station at Marseilles. Put your feet
up on the sofa, Lilias! Carmel, child, if you'd shut your eyes, I
believe you'd go to sleep. I vote we all try to doze for an hour, until
our coffee comes to wake us up."
It was quite a quaint experience to leave the hotel at eleven o'clock
and drive in carriages to the quay, then to get into small boats and be
rowed out to the mail-steamer. It was a glorious night, with a moon and
bright stars, the sky and the water looked a deep dark blue, and from
vessels here and there lights shone out that sent twisting, flickering
reflections into the harbor. Their steamer was some distance away, so it
was a long row out from the Customs House across the shimmering water.
The landlord of the hotel, Signor Giordano, who understood the dubious
ways of native boatmen, went with them to prevent extortionate demands,
and saw them safely on board.
"The blackguards would have charged us treble if we'd been alone!"
declared Mr. Stacey. "They are a set of brigands, the whole lot of them.
By daylight we might have managed, but it's difficult in the dark. I'm
thankful to see all our luggage here. I thought a hand-bag or two were
going to be lost!"
If the girls had counted upon a peaceful night, they were much
disappointed. They retired, indeed, to their berths, but not to sleep.
The short crossing between Malta and Sicily is one of the worst in the
world, and there was a swell which almost rivalled their experiences in
the Bay of Biscay. The little vessel pitched and tossed and rolled, and
caused them many hours of discomfort, till at length, at six o'clock, it
steamed into the harbor at Syracuse, and landed them on Sicilian soil. A
train journey of a few hours followed, to Targia Vecchia, which was the
nearest railway station to Montalesso, where Carmel's home was
situated.
Mr. Greville met them at Targia Vecchia, and after kissing Carmel, who
rushed straight into his arms, gave a most hearty welcome to the rest of
the party. He had two cars waiting, and after the usual preliminaries of
counting up luggage, and giving up checks and tickets, they found
themselves whisking along a good Sicilian road in the direction of Etna,
whose white, snow-covered peak was the commanding feature in the whole
of the surrounding landscape. The Casa Bianca or White House justified
its name, for it was a handsome building of white stone, encircled by a
veranda, and hung with beautiful flowering creepers. In its rich,
sub-tropical garden grew palms, aloes, bamboos, and the flaming Judas
trees, thickets of roses, and a wilderness of geraniums. The Ingletons
caught an impression of gay foreign blossoms as they motored up the
stately drive to the steps of the house. Their arrival had evidently
been watched, for on the veranda was assembled quite a big company ready
to greet them. First there was Carmel's mother, the Signora Greville, as
she was generally called, a beautiful, sweet-looking lady, with her
daughter's dark eyes, and the gracious stately manners of old Sicilian
traditions. Then there were the children, Bertram, Nina, Vincent, and
Luigia, the two first fair, like their English father, the younger ones
taking after the Italian side of the family. With them were a number of
other relations who had motored over to welcome Carmel home; her uncle,
Richard Greville, and Aunt Gabrielle, with their children, Douglas,
Aimée, Tito, and Claude; her mother's brother, Signor Bernardo Trapani,
with her cousins, Ernesto, Vittore, and Rosalia; and her mother's
sister, Signora Rosso, with pretty Berta and Gaspare, and little Pepino.
All these nineteen relations gave the Ingletons a typical Italian
greeting. They embraced Carmel with the warm-hearted demonstrative
enthusiasm characteristic of the country, and welcomed the rest of the
party with charming friendliness. Everybody chattered at once, making
kind inquiries about the journey, and the travelers were taken indoors
to change their dusty clothes before coming down to the elaborate lunch
that was spread ready in the dining-room.
The almost patriarchal hospitality of the Casa Bianca suggested the
establishment of an Arab chief, or a mediæval baron, rather than that of
an ordinary household of the twentieth century. It was the strangest
combination of north and south that could be imagined. The Grevilles and
their relatives spoke English and Italian equally well, and conversed
sometimes in one language and sometimes in the other. They had been
settled for many years at Montalesso, and had, indeed, established
quite a colony of their own there. Mr. Frank Greville and his brother,
Richard, together with Signor Trapani and Signor Rosso, were partners in
a great fruit-shipping business. Thousands of cases of beautiful
oranges, lemons, grapes, and almonds were packed at their warehouses and
sent away to England and America. They had orange and lemon groves and
vineyards inland, and employed a small army of people tending the trees,
gathering the fruit, wrapping it, and dispatching it by sea at the port
of Targia Vecchia. Being connected by marriage as well as business, they
formed a pleasant family circle, and were constantly meeting at each
other's houses. Their children grew up in the happy Italian fashion of
counting cousins almost as close as brothers and sisters.
It took the Ingletons a little while to get accustomed to the life at
Casa Bianca, but Carmel, sitting in the creeper-covered veranda,
explained many things to them.
"You mustn't think our particular ways are the ways of the country.
We're an absolute mixture of English and Italian; Aunt Gabrielle is
French, and Aunt Giulia a real Sicilian."
"What is the difference between a Sicilian and an Italian?" asked
Dulcie.
"The difference between Welsh and English. Sicily is, of course, a part
of Italy, and under the same government, just as Wales is part of Great
Britain, but its people are of separate origin from the Italians, and
speak a dialect of their own. Italian is the polite language of Sicily,
which is spoken in law courts, and shops, and among educated people, but
most of the peasants speak Sicilian amongst themselves."
"Can you speak it?"
"A little. All the words ending in 'e' are turned into 'i.' For
instance, 'latte' (milk) becomes 'latti,' and 'pesce' (fish) 'pesci,' o
changes into u, and ll into dd. 'Freddo' (cold) becomes 'friddu,' and
'gallina' (a hen) 'gaddina.'"
"How fearfully confusing! I should never learn it! The few sentences of
Italian I've managed to pick up are quite bad enough!"
"Why, I think you're getting on very well. Sareda understood you
perfectly this morning when you asked for hot milk instead of coffee."
The best of Casa Bianca was that with its ample space and its traditions
of hospitality, it seemed to absorb the Ingletons and make them feel
more members of the family than guests. Mr. Stacey and Everard were
apportioned a small sitting-room for a study, and worked hard every
morning, giving the afternoon to recreation. Lilias, who had completely
lost her cough, and looked wonderfully well, was put to rest on the
piazza in the mornings, though she protested that she was no longer an
invalid. Dulcie, radiantly happy, and enjoying her holiday to the full,
trotted about with Carmel, and made friends with the children and their
French governess. Bertram, Nina, Vincent, and baby Luigia were dear
little people, and were only too anxious to show the guest the glories
of the garden. Hand in hand with them, Dulcie inspected the marble
fountain whose basin was full of gold and silver fish, the tank where
pink water-lilies grew, and the groves of orange trees where the ripe
fruit hung like the golden apples of the Hesperides, and Parma violets
made clumps of pale purple sweetness beneath.
Remembering that it was early in March, and that bitter winds were
probably blowing over Chilcombe and Cheverley, Dulcie was amazed at the
warmth of the Sicilian sunshine and the wealth of the flowers. Pink
ivy-leaved geraniums trailed from every wall, great white arum lilies
opened their stately sheaths; marigolds, salvias, carnations, and other
summer flowers were in bloom, and little green lizards basked on the
stones, whisking away in great alarm, however, if they were approached.
The general mental atmosphere of the place was genial and restful. Mr.
Greville was kindness itself to his young guests, and they had all
fallen in love with Carmel's mother. Her charming manners and gaiety
were very attractive, and the slight foreign accent with which she spoke
English was quite pretty. Lilias, who had before felt almost angry with
Carmel for feeling homesick at Cheverley, began at last to understand
some of the attractions which held her cousin's heart to Sicily.
"I'd rather have the Chase, of course," she said to Dulcie, "but on the
whole Montalesso is a very beautiful spot."
"So beautiful that I shouldn't mind living here all the rest of my
life!" said Dulcie, gazing through the vine-festooned window out over
the orange groves to where the white snow-capped peak of Etna reared
itself against the intense blue of the Sicilian sky.