I tore open the note. It ran thus;--

"_Messina, Tuesday morning_.

"DEAR DUNDAS,--Join your garrison at Scylla without a moment's delay:

General Sherbrooke threatens to supersede you, and order you to join the

'Wiltshire' at Syracuse; as he understands that you attend more to the

ladies than H.M.'s service. Massena and Regnier are concentrating

forces in Upper Calabria; the chiefs of the Masse are wavering; and you

may expect more broken heads by Christmas. Adieu! I start for London

to-morrow.

"I am, &c. &c.,

"J. STUART, Major-General."

"So, Gask, you are bound for Scylla?" said I, glad the note contained

only a friendly hint.

"Yes, sir."

"You will go with me, as it is unsafe for you to travel alone in such a

country as this. I set out the day after to-morrow."

"I am much obliged to you, sir, for your forethought. Do we march by

daybreak?"

"No, no," I answered, laughing; "that would scarcely suit; but retire

with the chamberlain, who will order you a luncheon and tell you news."

Though pleased with Sir John's friendly attention, I could very well

have dispensed with the presence of my countryman, the sergeant; who was

a true blue Presbyterian from the Howe of Fife, an ardent worshipper of

Eben Erskine, and one, consequently, who would look with pious horror on

the popish ceremonies of the morrow: which there was no doubt he would

witness, with the household of the castello.

Poor Gask! He was a worthy and good soldier, for whom the whole corps

had a sincere respect. Educated for our stern Scottish kirk, some

misfortunes in early life forced him into the ranks, where his superior

attainments and classical education made him a marvel among the

Wiltshire men, and gained him three stripes, although it could do

nothing more; the quiet tenor of his way being the reverse of the smart

drill-corporal or bustling sergeant-major, who looks forward to the post

of adjutant. He was the beau-ideal of a Scottish soldier, grave,

intelligent, and steady; and was seldom seen, unless, book in hand,

reading in some retired nook, when his comrades were roystering in the

canteen or sutler's tent. Poor Gask! this page is the only tribute to

your memory.

Next day the marriages were celebrated with great pomp, in the church of

St. Eufemio, at Nicastro: that of the visconte and Francesca took place

first, and was followed by that of Bianca and myself. A new uniform

coat was quite spoiled by the holy water, which the bishop sprinkled

over us very liberally; and my white "regimental breeches" were totally

ruined by the rough Mosaic of the church, when I advanced on my knees,

with a lighted candle in one hand, to present bread and wine to the

bishop, while old Adriano waved the stole over us, according to the

usage of the land.

"Ah! if any of our mess could see me just now, how the rogues would

laugh!" thought I, while scrambling along the aisle, with the hot wax

dropping on my fingers from the confounded taper, which I did not hold

so gracefully as Bianca held hers. Grand as the ceremony was, I

disliked so much of it, and dreaded to encounter the cold smile and

smirking face of Sergeant Gask; who stood, upright as a pike, among the

kneeling domestics.

We were glad when the bishop concluded the ritual, the fundamental part

of which was simple enough; but I could very well have dispensed with

all that Italian superstition had added to it: yet I behaved with such

decorum, that the bishop believed me as stanch a Catholic as ever kissed

cross, and fain would gentle Bianca have thought me so too. The moment

we left the altar a bright circle of young ladies clustered round her,

covering her with kisses, while the people shouted, "O giorno felice!

Viva il capitano! Viva la capitanessa!"

All blessed her, and muttered, "Bell' Idolo!" as she passed forth:

indeed, she appeared as enchanting as beauty of the most delicate caste,

the richest attire, and most splendid diamonds could make her; and if

always lovely, even in the plainest garb, imagine how she must have

shone in her magnificent bridal dress, when her eyes beamed with delight

and her soft cheek turned alternately deep red and deadly pale, as the

blood came and went with the varying thoughts that agitated her--awe and

modesty, love and exultation!

"Giorno felice, indeed!" thought I; and springing into the carriage

beside her, we drove off for the castello, as fast as four galloping

horses could take us. The sonorous organ, the chanting priests, the

ringing bells, the shouts and discharge of fire-arms, died away behind

us; and accompanied by a gay cavalcade of the fairest and noblest in the

province, our marriage train swept through the solitary vale of the

Angistola at full speed, towards the castle: where a lordly fete awaited

us, and from the tall windows of its hall a blaze of light was shed on

the darkening scenery and winding river as we rode up the gloomy avenue.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*THE TEMPEST--THE LAST OF THE HUNCHBACK.*

Leaving Santugo and his bride with the duchess, we set out next day for

Scylla; our calesso having an escort, without which, it was impossible

to travel in such a country. Gask occupied the rumble beside Annina,

while a chasseur with ten sbirri sent by the duchess, rode five in front

and five in the rear; their leader riding some hundred yards in advance.

All these men wore the duke's livery; they were well mounted, and armed

with carbines, sabres, and pistols. The calesso was furnished with a

loop-hole, opening under the rumble, through which I could blaze away

with my pistols, in case of having to retreat skirmishing.

The scenery was now beginning to assume the brown warm tints of autumn;

but the savage mountain gorges, the deep woods, the winding shore and

beetling cliffs, through which the road lay, were not less beautiful

than when I passed them before, with poor Castelermo. The ramparts of

Monteleone, the bosky forest of Burello, the silver windings of Metramo,

the famous vineyards of Rossarno and Gioja were all passed rapidly; and

plunging down into the wilderness, between the Apennines and the sea, we

had accomplished half our journey, when a tremendous storm overtook us.

Our hearts were so full of happiness, and each was so much absorbed in

the presence of the other, that we marked not the flight of time; and

though our carriage rolled on through the most beautiful scenery of that

wild province, we bestowed scarce a glance or a thought upon it. Yet we

conversed very little; for an overwhelming sense of happiness had quite

subdued Bianca's vivacity.

I deemed myself the luckiest member of our Calabrian army. Hundreds had

come only to find a tomb on the plains of Maida, before the ramparts of

Crotona, or in the trenches of Scylla. A few had gained a step of

promotion and a little honour; the general a great deal--the title of

count, and from the city of London a substantial dinner at the

Mansion-house, with the present of a splendid sword: but I had gained

Bianca d'Alfieri, who had last season turned half the heads in Palermo.

"Bravo Claude!" thought I; "it is quite a regimental triumph, and

deserves to be borne on our colours. At Syracuse, the mess will drink

deep when they hear of it!"

The darkening of the sky, across the azure surface of which dense

columns of cloud were moving in rapid succession, and the exhalation of

a chilly vapour and malaria from the stagnant pools of a dismal swamp in

which we suddenly became entangled, all foreboded a coming storm. The

sea, when seen at intervals between the opening hills, was black as ink,

and fleckered with masses of foam. Vessels were making all snug aloft

and getting close under the lee of the shore to avoid the threatened

tempest, which was soon to sweep over the bosom of the trackless ocean.

The rumbling of the carriage, and the hoofs of our galloping escort

sounded deep and hollow between the echoing hills.

"Signor," said their decurione or chasseur, riding up to the window

which I had let down for the admission of air, "in three minutes we

shall have a tremendous storm: perhaps la capitanessa would wish to seek

a place of safety."

"But where?"

"Madonna only knows, excellency. The earth shakes, the air is thick. I

am an old man, and remember with dread when last I saw such signs. Fly

to the shore--the sea may ingulph you; to the hills--they may fall down

and overwhelm you; to the plains--and the solid earth may yawn beneath

your feet."

"Pleasant!" I said, considerably startled; "what do you advise? to seek

Seminara? The spire of the Greek cathedral rises yonder above the pine

woods and vapour of the marshes."

"No, signor, we are safer on the mountains or in the marshes: here let

us remain and trust to Madonna for protection."

"In God alone is all my trust!" said the Scottish sergeant, whose

knowledge of Latin enabled him to understand the sbirro; "but as for

your Madonna----" he snapped his fingers without concluding.

The blackness was increasing fast, and we sought the shelter offered by

a thick pine wood to escape the pelting rain; which rushed down in a

torrent, every drop larger than a pistol bullet. As it would have been

unsoldier-like to remain in the calesso while our escort were exposed to

the storm, I passed the time under the trees rolled up in my military

cloak, after securing the carriage doors to protect Bianca and her

attendant; who drew their veils close to shut out the flashes of vivid

lightning which every instant illumined the darkest dingles of the

forest. A terrible noise, such as I had never heard before, rumbled in

the earth and air. I looked to the sbirro; he was crossing himself and

muttering an ave, while a sour presbyterian smile curled the lips of

Gask, who leaned on his pike beside him. The chasseur, or decurione,

ordered the horses to be unharnessed from the carriage; and I had soon

reason to thank him sincerely for his forethought.

We saw the flames of distant Etna casting a light across the western

sky; but in every other direction the heavens were involved in gloom or

dark grey twilight. The whole atmosphere, however, soon began to assume

an aspect so fiery, that over Seminara the dense clouds seemed as if

rolling in flames; and we beheld the tall _facade_ of the Greek abbey,

the dark mountains and the arches of a ruined aqueduct between them,

standing in bold outline and strong relief on the red and luminous

background. The scene was wild and magnificent; but the drenching rain,

and the roaring wind, which shook the strongest pines like ostrich

feathers, and almost blew us away with the branches, leaves, and stones

which it swept over the waste, the sulphureous state of the atmosphere,

and the ground trembling beneath our feet, made us feel, altogether, too

uncomfortable to enjoy the splendid aspect of the heavens and earth

agitated by such a storm.

It was truly Calabrian! Our horses snorted and pranced, their manes

bristled, their prominent eyes shot fire; and it required all our

efforts to calm them, and keep them from breaking the bridle-reins which

we had buckled to trees. Suddenly a most appalling clap of thunder

burst over our heads, like the broadside of a fleet. A lofty and

precipitous cliff of volcanic rock, which reared up its rugged front not

far from us, heaved and reeled like some mighty animal convulsed with

agony: shaken to the base by some tremendous subterranean throe, it

rocked visibly, and the foliage on its summit was tossed like raven

plumage on a hearse by the motion.

Anon a cry of dismay burst from the sbirri. An enormous mass became

detached from the highest peak; rolling from its perpendicular front and

rebounding from cliff to cliff it came thundering into the plain below,

bringing with it a mighty ruin of shattered stones, dust, trees and

soil, which fell like the fragments of a mountain, and with a force that

shook the ground we stood on. The crash was deafening; a storm of

leaves, small stones, and dust flew past us, and for a minute the air

was fearfully dense, gloomy, and palpable. I reeled, and clung to the

carriage-wheels for support; Bianca swooned; Gask was praying devoutly

with his grenadier cap off, and the sbirri muttered their aves aloud:

above us the thunder rolled on from peak to peak, and the lightning shot

between them, while the air grew darker and more sulphureous.

Terrified by the shaken rock and the bursting thunderbolts, our fiery

horses became mad: they foamed, snorted, plunged, and kicked fire from

the stones; the four that were unharnessed from the calesso broke loose

and fled, at full speed, towards Seminara, pursued by the decurione and

his sbirri, who were eager to save them: they were noble bays, and

favourites of the duchess. Thus the sergeant and I were left alone

standing by the calesso.

"Ghieu, ho! ho!" cried a croaking voice in the thicket; I heard a

chuckling laugh, and a figure rolled up like a ball, making a summerset

over the rocks and stones, lighted close by my feet. "Buon giorno,

signor capitano! he, he! ho, ho! fine evening, eh?"

Like a gigantic toad, Gaspare Truffi stood before me, with his long

matted hair waving over his frightful visage; his torn cassock revealing

a leathern baldrick furnished with pistols, poniard, and horn. Like the

very demon of the storm, he whooped and yelled. A broad-leaved hat of

the largest size overshadowing his figure like an umbrella, gave a

peculiarly droll effect to his aspect.

"A delightful evening!" he croaked; "how does our Calabrian weather

agree with your stomach, Signor Inglese? Ill, I think, to judge from

that lugubrious visage of thine. Ola, Lancelloti! come hither and behold

the good padre confessor who came so devoutly to worm a story out of you

in the bishop's vaults: he, he! ho, ho! Feel you how the ground

shakes?" he added, stamping his shapeless feet on the quaking turf;

"feel you how earth and air tremble? Ammirando! there is a rebellion in

hell, for our good friend the devil is gone to the witch-tree at

Benevento to-night: ha, ha!"

"Beard of Mahomet!" cried a distant voice, "where are you, cursed

crookback?" and at that moment I saw my friend of the vaults advancing

towards us, clad in the usual brigand costume, with malice in his eye

and a cocked rifle in his hand. Other figures, like dim ghosts appeared

through the dark misty vapour that floated round us, and I knew that we

had fallen in with a party of banditti.

"Come on, comrades," cried Truffi; "here is a calesso containing, I

doubt not, the Signora Bianca, whom we all know of. Viva! a prize worth

a thousand scudi!" He advanced to the door of the carriage, but with

the butt of his pike Gask dealt him a blow which levelled him on the

turf. Uttering a yell he rushed like a lion upon his assailant; who,

not expecting so vigorous an onset from a figure so decrepit, was taken

completely by surprise and deprived of his weapon, which Truffi snapped

like a reed; rending the tough ash pole to threads with his sharp teeth

and long bony fingers.

He drew his stiletto; and I, narrowly escaping a rifle-shot from

Lancelloti, closed with the hideous dwarf, whose insulting demeanor had

roused both my hatred and anxiety. Though once before, in a personal

struggle I had obtained convincing proof of his wondrous strength, I

disdained to use my sabre against him; but striking the poniard from his

hand, endeavoured to hurl him to the earth by grasping his leather

girdle. In vain! his short bandy legs upheld his shapeless body, like

pillars of steel, while his strong and ample hands grasped me like

grappling irons.

Lancelloti advanced with his clubbed rifle; but Gask assailed him with

his sword, and I was left to deal with Truffi alone. I heard the cries

of Bianca during the lulls of the storm, and my anxiety was great: the

sbirri had all disappeared, the misty figures were rapidly increasing in

form and number, and shouts rang through the echoing wood. At this most

critical moment, when engaged in a desperate struggle, the earth shook

under our feet and a sensation like an electric shock shot over every

nerve. We paused and glared fiercely at each other.

Again, there was a rumbling in the lurid air above, and the quivering

earth beneath: yet we relaxed not our vice-like grasp. What a moment it

was! The shaking rocks, the waving trees and the whole country around

us were torn by one of those mighty convulsions so common to the

Calabrias.

Never shall I forget my sensations when, within a yard of where we

struggled, the earth gaped and rent; showing an awful chasm about twenty

feet wide: my heart forgot to beat; my blood curdled! From the gap

there arose a thin sulphury light, illuminating the trees above and the

distant dingles of the wood, shining on the wet trunks and glistening

leaves; showers of sparks and columns of smoke arose from it, with balls

of ignited matter, which hissed in succession as they rose and fell, or

exploded among the wet foliage of the forest. Beautiful was its aspect

when illuminated by the mysterious yellow glare of that smoky chasm; and

I saw the distorted form of Truffi, in strong outline between it and me.

I felt his grasp tightening: we were near the gulf, and I read his

hellish purpose in the twinkling of his red hollow eyes. Gathering all

my strength for one tremendous effort, great beyond my hopes, I flung

him from me into the flaming chasm: but the shock threw me prostrate on

the turf. I leaped up: Truffi had vanished in that appalling grave,

which was now closing rapidly, and soon shut altogether; the sparks and

ignited matter arose no more, and the wood became involved in double

gloom.

Dismayed at the horrible living tomb which had so suddenly engulphed the

hunchback, Lancelloti shrank back; and I leaned against the carriage

overcome with my own emotions. The wind was dying away: the heavy pine

branches hung down motionless. One voice alone broke the stillness; it

was that of the Scottish serjeant who prayed devoutly. Though as brave

a fellow as ever drew sword, he was terrified at that moment.

We soon heard the galloping of hoofs, and the decurione, with the ten

sbirri, came back; upon which Lancelloti and his company disappeared and

we saw them no more that night.

"The carriage horses?" I inquired.

"O, signor! they have all rushed over the cliffs of Palmi and perished

in the sea!" replied the breathless sbirro.

"Bianca," I exclaimed, "O God, what a fate you have escaped! Signor

decurione, never can I sufficiently reward you for desiring the horses

to be unharnessed so soon!" I shook the hand of the sbirro, while my

heart sank at the contemplation of what might have happened.

It was long ere Bianca recovered from the horrors of that night; which,

indeed, were such as might have shaken a stouter heart than that of the

gentle Italian girl.

We reached Seminara with great difficulty, dragging the calesso by the

saddle horses; but on obtaining mules at the Greek abbey, we again set

out for Scylla, _via_ Bagnara: where soon afterwards I had a sharp

encounter with the voltigeurs of the 23d regiment (French).

*CHAPTER IX.*

*A MILITARY HONEYMOON.*

On the day after assuming my command at Scylla, I ordered out the little

garrison in heavy marching order, and found it to consist of picked

young fellows of my own regiment, 250 file, with five officers. This

small party, with the garrisons at Reggio and Crotona, Amanthea and

Monteleone, formed the whole force left in Calabria, with orders to

defend their several posts to the last extremity. The last four places

were held by Italians alone.

I found that every means had been taken to render the famous rock, and

the stronghold of the race of Ruffo, yet more impregnable. In place of

the princely cardinal's banner, our gaudy union spread its scarlet folds

to the wind, the mighty breach--to me the scene of an adventure never,

never to be forgotten--was now closed up, and a strong stone bastion,

surmounted by six iron twenty-four-pounders, frowned grimly in its

stead.

We were often visited by Santugo and his bride: he belonged to the

Reggio garrison, which was commanded by the Prince of St. Agata. My

brother officers were all agreeable men, and the time passed very

pleasantly. Bianca's residence shed quite a halo over the formal barrack

and rugged castello, which was enlivened by a continual round of fair

visitors from Fiumara, Reggio, and the neighbouring villas. Those gay

subs who had looked forward with repugnance to detachment duty in the

gloomy castle of Cardinal Ruffo, became delighted with the station and

the gaiety of the entertainments. The towers rang perpetually with the

dulcet voices of Italian girls, the twangling of mandolins, or the notes

of the piano. Every evening, the hall--where the ambitious cardinal had

formed his deep laid schemes of political intrigue, where his mailed

ancestors had drunk "the red wine through the helmet barred," and where

the Norman knight and Saracen emir had met hand-to-hand in deadly

strife--was the scene of a waltz or quadrille party; or rang to the mad

and merry tarantella, the modern remnant of the ancient bacchanalian

dance. Never since the days of Faunus, Saturn's fabled son, Ausonia's

oldest king, had the rock of Scylla witnessed such a continuance of

festivity.

Amid this joyous career, we had all a narrow escape from malice and

treason.

One evening Gask appeared with a very long face, and informed me that

the castle well had been poisoned, for the purpose of destroying us all.

Twenty men lay sick in hospital, and a cry of rage went through the

whole castle.

"Poisoned--O, lord!" cried Gascoigne, who was with me at the time, and

snatching up a decanter of brandy, he nearly drained it at one gulp.

Gask had seen a man in the garb of the Campagnia di Morti prowling about

the margin of the well, whom we had no doubt was the perpetrator of the

villany. While I was making inquiries and despatching parties in

pursuit of him, Oliver Lascelles entered my room with a drawing in his

hand.

Oliver was an artist, and a complete enthusiast in Italian scenery, and

still more so in Italian women; every moment stolen from duty was

devoted to the pencil, and many of his warmly tinted sketches, done in a

masterly manner, are at this moment in my portfolio. I have often

admired his coolness, when, under a heavy fire, he has seated himself to

sketch the enemy's position, a striking ruin, a fallen column, or piece

of ancient sculpture, from which his sword had scraped the moss.

"Behold a portrait of our friend of the Campagna di Morti," said he,

displaying his drawing. "I saw the rogue seated by the fountain, and

admiring his picturesque costume, and his striking countenance, with

well-knit brows, the eyes deep set in the head, and having that

determined scowl which is esteemed so classic, I gave the fellow a ducat

to sit; so here you have his features fairly done in crayon."

"The scoundrel! they are those of Navarro, the Italian engineer, who

deserted to the French after assassinating the Maltese knight in mistake

for me. He is no doubt employed by Massena as a spy upon us. By

Heaven, Lascelles, if I had the rascal here I think I could pistol him

this instant!"

"That would make a spirited sketch too: but he cannot be far off, and

Gask with his party will probably capture him."

I resolved to hold a drumhead court-martial on him the moment he fell

into our hands, and promised twenty guineas to his capturer. But we saw

him no more: for a time at least; and, to prevent such attempts in

future, I placed a sentinel at the fountain, which after a time became

purified. Macnesia's skill saved the twenty soldiers, who were brought

almost to the brink of the grave: they had all narrowly escaped death;

as a quantity of acquetta was found in the water when Macnesia analyzed

it.

To expatiate on the happiness I enjoyed at Scylla would be too

common-place; and I have a great press of other matter to relate.

Rumours of Massena's advance from Cassano, and the retreat and

dispersion of the chiefs of the Masse, spread dismay through all the

Lower Province, and roused us from our short dream of pleasure. All

families of rank again returned to Palermo; but a few spirited cavaliers

retired to the savage fastnesses of the hills, where the brave Paesani

and wild banditti made common cause against the invader. The arrival of

a detachment of the Royal Artillery, brought from Messina by the

_Delight_, and a despatch from Major-General Sherbrooke, directing me to

"defend Scylla while one stone stood upon another," caused me to make

the most strenuous preparations for a vigorous resistance; being anxious

to render myself worthy of the important trust reposed in me--the

defence of the key of the Italian Peninsula.

The presence of Bianca was the only damper to my ardour; for I

anticipated with dread the dangers to which she would be exposed when

the coming strife closed around us: but to my earnest entreaties that

she would join her aunt and the young viscontessa, who had retired to

Carolina's court at Palermo, she answered only by her tears and

entreaties that I would not send her away, but permit her to share all

the perils to which I might be exposed. Poor girl! little knew she of

war and the manifold horrors of a protracted siege, or a fortress

carried by assault: but to resist her charming entreaties was

impossible; and my anxiety increased as the distance between us and the

enemy lessened. How marriage spoils the _esprit du corps_! Every

officer and private of the 62nd looked forward with ardour and hope; and

I felt the old reckless spirit rising, notwithstanding the fears that

oppressed me.

The daily arrival of couriers from the Masse, and from the armed

cavalieri on the mountains, the telegraphing of despatches to and fro

with Messina, the hourly training of soldiers at the batteries, the

visiting of guards, which were doubled at night, and all the eternal

hubbub created by the near approach of the foe, kept me fully occupied;

and never, even when tenanted by the martial cardinal, had Scylla

witnessed such military bustle and excitement.

Advices soon reached us that General Regnier had invested the castle of

Crotona; which, after a bold defence by the Free Calabri, had been

compelled to capitulate when the heavy battering train of the French

opened on its decayed fortifications. All Naples was exasperated by the

intelligence that the gallant Cavaliere del Castagno had been hanged as

a traitor by orders of Regnier; whose forces, eager to revenge the

triumph of Maida, marched rapidly by the shores of the Adriatic: they

crossed the mountains at Francavilla, fighting every inch of the way

with the Masse and the bold comrades of Francatripa, Fra Diavolo,

Benincasa, and Mamone, and reached Monteleone, which the Italians

abandoned; and once more the tricolor of the Buonapartists was

triumphantly hoisted on its ramparts.

*CHAPTER X.*

*WRECK OF THE *_*DELIGHT*_*.*

Towards the end of December, the French had pushed forward as far as

Seminara; and, by the concentration of troops and a train of heavy

ordnance at that place, I had no doubt that preparations were making to

besiege the castle of Scylla. Every exertion was made by the loyalists

to prevent the carriage of cannon into that corner of Calabria: working

parties of soldiers and armed peasants were continually employed in

trenching and barricading the roads, and rendering the passes of the

Solano impracticable; thus making every approach down from the hills of

Milia as difficult as possible.

Along these heights and passes, I stationed strong bodies of armed

Calabrese, entrusting the defence of the Solano to the Cavaliere di

Casteluccio; who, since his escape, had distinguished himself on a

thousand occasions: so miraculous were his adventures, that the

superstitious provincials believed he had been rendered bullet-proof by

the witches of Amato. But so overwhelming was the force of Regnier, that

all attempts to bar the passage of his train proved, ultimately,

unavailing.

On the last day of that eventful year, the glitter of arms and the pale

white smoke of musketry were seen spreading over the Milia Hills;

between the peaks of which the morning sun poured down his strong and

ruddy light on the scene of contest. The drums beat, and we got under

arms. Our Calabrian out-picquets and fatigue-parties were driven down

from the mountains by three battalions of French infantry, led by

General Milette, and were pursued by four squadrons of hussars until

close under cover of our twenty-four-pounders.

Regnier was now in complete possession of those important heights; and

his working parties were daily and nightly employed in repairing or

forming roads for the conveyance of their battering train from Seminara.

Their operations were retarded and rendered perilous by the incessant

attacks of the followers of Casteluccio and Francatripa; but a damper

was given to our zeal by the surrender of a numerous garrison at Reggio,

where an Italian force, under the Prince of St. Agata, capitulated after

a brief resistance. The castle of St. Amanthea, a property of the

Prince di Bisignano, was captured by assault, after a desperate defence

by the gay Captain Piozzi: he was slain by a cannon-ball, and thus the

fair and fickle Despina was once more left a widow. On--on pressed the

foe. The banner of Ferdinand IV. had sunk from every rampart in

Calabria, save the solitary stronghold of Scylla. We found ourselves

alone, and could hope for little from resistance; as all the forces of

Massena were pouring southward, with orders to capture it at every risk

of life and expense of blood.

Every night the sky was streaked with fire, showing where Favazina,

Fiumara, San Batello, and many a hamlet were given to the flames, after

being ravaged by the foragers of the enemy; and every breeze bore past

us the cries of slaughtered men and the shrieks of miserable women.

The fall of Reggio was first announced to us by seeing Santugo's

battalion of the Calabri retreating upon Scylla in solid square, pursued

by cavalry, and galled by three curricle guns; which followed them at a

gallop and were discharged from every eminence that afforded an

opportunity of sending a shot into the retiring column: on its arrival,

it occupied the half-ruined town below us.

Shortly afterwards, four Sicilian gun-boats, each carrying a twenty-four

pounder in its bow, were captured by the enemy close by Scylla; and

these cannon were landed and added to the train against the fortress.

The moment it was known they had fallen into Regnier's hands, the

_Delight_ sloop-of-war, commanded by Captain Hanfield, stood close in

shore to recapture them; and we watched her operations, from the

ramparts, with the greatest interest.

Although the last day of December, it was a beautiful evening, and the

golden Straits were gleaming in the light of the setting sun, then

verging, through a sky of the purest azure, towards the green and lofty

mountains which rise behind the spires and towers of Messina. The French

beached the gun-boats in succession; and, covered by field-pieces and

surrounded by squadrons of cavalry, we feared the sailors of the

_Delight_ would never cut them out or destroy them. Protected by the

ship's broadside, three well-armed boats put off from her, and pulled

shoreward, with the gallant intention of spiking the gun-boats'

artillery at all risks.

Fire flashed incessantly from the red portholes of the _Delight_; and

the white smoke of her cannon, rising through her taut rigging in

fantastic curls, rolled away over the still bosom of the glassy Straits.

The shot of the French field-pieces fell in a shower round her advancing

boats; and wherever a ball plunged into the bright ocean, a pillar of

liquid, like a water-spout, reared into the air with a hollow roar: a

dozen of those crystal columns shot up their foamy heads at every

moment, as the sailors pulled steadily towards the beach. In the

headmost boat waved a large union-jack; and beside it, in the

stern-sheets, sat Hanfield, waving his sword and cheering on his men.

Close in his wake came the other boats, crowded with red and blue

jackets, and glittering with boarding-pikes, bayonets, and cutlasses;

while the glistening blades of the feathered oars flashed like silver in

the sunlight, as they rose and fell in measured time, shooting the swift

boats onward.

Crowding on the ramparts, the 62nd cheered, and threw their caps into

the air; a response arose from the deck of the distant sloop, when lo! a

most unlooked-for misfortune took place. Scylla, that place of horror

and mystery to the ancient mariner, and before whose "yawning dungeon"

AEneas and Ulysses quailed with terror, was still fraught with danger.

Under a press of canvass, the _Delight_ sailed obliquely, to keep

company with her boats: there was a stiff breeze blowing straight from

Sicily, and she stood close along shore, with every inch of her snowy

canvass filled, when we beheld her shaken by a tremendous shock: her

stately masts shook like willow wands, her long pendant fluttered, her

broad sails shivered in the breeze, and she careened suddenly over. An

exclamation burst from every lip.

"Ashore!" cried the soldiers, with sorrow and dismay, as her tall

fore-topmast fell overboard; the main and the mizen followed it with a

hideous crash: the beautiful vessel, which a moment before had been

sailing so smoothly and swan-like, so trimly and saucily, lay a

dismasted wreck, bulged on a sunken rock within a few furlongs of the

beach, with her lee guns buried in the water, and all her seamen and

marines who were not floundering in the wreck around her, clinging to

her windward bulwarks.

A triumphant _vivat!_ burst from the enemy, who plied their field-pieces

with redoubled ardour; and a cry, loud, fierce and hoarse, answered from

the English boats. The oarsmen paused, and the utmost confusion took

place: there seemed a doubt whether to advance to the attack, or return

to the assistance of their drowning messmates. Exasperated by the wreck

of his dashing vessel, and filled with a desire for vengeance, the

gallant Hanfield (an officer of great professional knowledge, and high

individual worth) ordered the boats to advance: but his efforts were

fruitless. His craft were soon crippled by the French cannon-shot and

grape, which killed or wounded the majority of his force before it came

near the Sicilian prizes. Hanfield, with many of his sailors, was

killed, and Captain Seccombe, of the _Glatton_ frigate, who happened to

be on board the _Delight_, received a severe wound, of which he died a

few days after. The boats' crews were all captured; and those men on the

wreck went off in two remaining boats to save themselves from the same

fate. To prevent Regnier from using the cannon remaining in the

_Delight_, in prosecution of the siege, the moment it was dark enough I

left the sea-staircase, in a boat, with ten soldiers, and setting fire

to the vessel, burned her to the water's edge: so ended this

catastrophe, which shed a gloom over us all for some time.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*THE VOLTIGEURS.--THE MASSACRE OF BAGNARA.*

Il Cavaliere di Casteluccio, some of whose followers still hovered about

the Solano, having sent me accurate information of the position and

arrangement of Regnier's outpost at Bagnara--the point nearest to us in

his possession, and held by the voltigeurs of the 23rd (French) Light

Infantry--I concerted a plan to form a junction with the Cavaliere's

Free Company, and cut off that detachment; as the castle had been quite

blocked up on every side since Regnier had pushed his advanced parties

as far south as Bagnara and Favazina.

On a misty night in the month of February, an hour after tattoo-beat, I

marched out one hundred rank and file (more indeed than could be spared

from my small garrison), and was joined by three times that number of

the Free Calabri, led by Santugo. Guided by the distant watchfires of

General Milette's picquets, which formed a fiery chain along the Milia

heights, we moved by the most unfrequented paths and gorges: the last

were numerous enough, as the whole country bore traces of that terrible

convulsion of nature, which twenty-four years before engulphed Bagnara

and three thousand of its inhabitants. Hideous scaurs and chasms rent

in the sandstone rocks and salt-hills, together with the banks of vapour

exhaled from the marshes, completely screened our movements from the

enemy; scattered parties of whom watched the operations of the banditti

and the Masse (a force now rapidly melting away), who were apt at all

times to beat up their quarters. The system of perpetual harassing was

vigorously maintained, to prevent the formation of roads for the

conveyance of their battering train towards the scene of the intended

siege.

After a time, the night became so dark that the visconte was doubtful

which was the way; as the dense vapour rolling down from the mountains

cast a double gloom over everything. Opening the door of a wretched hut,

I found an old crone, who dealt in spells and love potions, spreading

her shrivelled hands over the expiring embers of a few dried sticks.

"Beware, excellency, the hag is a sorceress!" said Giacomo, as I

entered.

"Signora," said I, unheeding his caution, "we are in want of a guide to

the olive wood of Bagnara: can you procure us one for the service of

Ferdinand and la Santa Fede?"

I glanced at her son, or grandson, a boy about fifteen, a model of that

bloom and symmetry so common in the youth of Spain and Italy; he was

almost naked, or clad only in skins. "Go thou, Pablo," said the crone.

"Ahi! madre," said he, shrinking back, "like my father, I may be shot by

the French."

"Via--away!" she replied, sternly. The strict filial obedience exacted

by the ancients yet existed in these remote provinces; so taking his

knife and pole, the youth at once prepared to accompany us.

Guided by him, we reached the neighbourhood of Bagnara about midnight,

and halted in an olive wood, situated on an eminence above the town: it

was then reduced to a few cottages, occupied by the voltigeurs; who had

taken all the usual means to render their post as strong as possible, by

loop-holing the walls to enfilade the approaches, and barricading the

ends of the little street with trees, furniture, brushwood, and banks of

earth.

"Chi e la?" cried a sonorous voice from the wood as we entered it.

"_Italia_," answered the first file of our advanced guard, and the

Cavaliere di Casteluccio rode up at the head of his company of

volunteers; all bold athletic fellows, armed with rifles and poniards,

and carrying their ammunition in leather pouches or large buffalo horns.

Below us, in Bagnara, all was still; the poor doomed soldiers slept

soundly: not a light twinkled, not a sound broke the silence, save the

rustle of the leafless trees, or the dash of the lonely sea as it rolled

on the shingly beach. At times a red light shot across the sky to the

westward; it rose from the peak of Stromboli in the distant isles of

AEolus. We held a council in the olive grove before advancing.

"Signor Casteluccio, be so good," said I, "as to describe the enemy's

post."

"The voltigeurs are 600 strong, and commanded by a Colonel Pepe----"

"Any relation of Don Pepe?" asked the visconte, laughing.

"A tall lanthorn-jawed fellow, with a scar over the left eye," said the

cavaliere.

"The same," said I: "we have met before."

"He occupies the house of the podesta, a stone building, well loop-holed

and barricaded; the approach to it is defended by three twelve-pounders,

which sweep the principal street, and are always loaded with round and

tin-case shot. A hundred voltigeurs garrison the house; the others are

quartered in those adjoining; and the defensive arrangements are such,

that they can all act in concert, and, like a star-fort, the post gives

a cross fire at every angle."

"The safest approach?"

"Is from the seaward. There a deep rut leads directly from the shore to

the town; thick foliage overhangs it, under which we can advance unseen.

A single sentinel guards the point--the night is dark--you comprehend

me?" added the cavaliere, smiling grimly, as he touched one of those

villainous stilettos, which his countrymen were never without.

"Ay, Signor Paolo," I replied; "once in we will do very well; but as the

voltigeurs sleep with their muskets loaded and their belts on, they will

start to arms the moment the sentinel fires his piece."

"But he must be disposed of," said Santugo, coolly. "Giacomo!"

His fac-totum appeared immediately.

"A French sentinel occupies the ravine through which we must advance

undiscovered. He must not fire: you will see to this as you value life."

Giacomo bowed intelligently, and was withdrawing, when the voice of

Gascoigne arrested him.

"You murdering: villain, come here! what the devil--will you permit this

piece of rascality, Dundas?"

"Assuredly not!" said I, dismounting from Cartouche.

"I am an English officer, and not an assassin!" said Lascelles, in great

wrath.

"You have both only anticipated me," I replied. "Santugo, we cannot

permit the poor soldier to be slain in a manner so dastardly. No! I

would rather advance under the hottest fire of musketry, than consent to

it: my own soldiers at least will follow me." A murmur of assent rose

from the 62nd.

"Cospetto!" exclaimed Santugo, impatiently; "and to save the life of

this paltry voltigeur, who will perhaps be shot afterwards, you may

sacrifice all our lives and the success of the expedition?"

"I understand the scruples of our friends," replied Casteluccio; "and

will undertake that in ten minutes Signor Dundas will have the voltigeur

beside him, safe and sound: unless, indeed, he makes a great resistance;

in which case I cannot assure you of my being very patient."

In three columns we moved to the attack. Santugo with his corps marched

on one flank of the post; the cavaliere, with his Free Company, on the

other; with my hundred men, I chose the central point of assault by the

gorge; and the report of the first volley was to be the signal for the

onset. Luckily for us, a thick white vapour, rolling from the sea,

enveloped all Bagnara, veiling our movements completely: the enemy had

not the remotest suspicion of our vicinity. My soldiers were in light

marching order, with sixty rounds of ammunition; we went down the hill

double quick, and entered the gorge softly in sections of threes.

Casteluccio accompanied us to seize the sentinel; but I had little

reliance to place on the successful fulfilment of his promise.

"The sentinel once captured, we will rush upon them like a herd of

wolves; and the massacre of Bagnara shall live in Calabrian story, like

the Sicilian vespers of old!" said the cavaliere, in a low, hoarse tone.

His eyes sparkled; he drew his poniard, and stole from my side towards

the unsuspecting voltigeur, whom we discerned about fifty yards from

where my party halted. Under the shade of a foliaged cliff he stood

motionless, with his musket ordered, and his eyes bent on the ground.

His voice alone broke the intense stillness of his post, and had he been

less occupied with his own thoughts, he must undoubtedly have seen us;

but the mind of the poor Swiss conscript was perhaps far away, where his

mother's vine-clad chalet looked down on the vales and cataracts of his

native canton: sadly and slowly he hummed the pastoral "_Ranz des

vetches_," and saw not the foe who, crouching like a lynx, with one hand

on his lip and the other on his weapon, stole softly towards him. I

waited the issue with anxiety.

"Silenzio!" exclaimed the strong cavalier, in a fierce whisper, as he

grasped the sentry by the throat. The poor Swiss boy (for he was but a

boy after all) understood not the word; but the sudden stifling grasp,

and the sight of the glittering bastia poniard, almost deprived him of

his faculties: taken completely by surprise, he dropped his musket, and

was dragged among us a prisoner.

"Signor, I have redeemed my promise," said the breathless Paolo. "May

this be an omen of what is to follow!" He sprang up the rugged face of

the gorge to rejoin his party, while mine moved forward double quick.

Leading the way, sabre in hand, I scrambled over a bank of earth; a

strong wicket in which led to the guard-house. We were provided with

sledge-hammers; and the noise of breaking it down brought out the guard:

they fired, and two soldiers fell dead beside me; we answered by a

volley, and the whole cantonment was alarmed in a moment. With the

charged bayonet and clubbed musket we rushed upon the guard, which we

overwhelmed and captured in a moment.

"Lascelles, take twenty men, and beat down the Seminara gate: Santugo

will enter that way. Off, double quick!"

The surprise was so complete, that the resistance we encountered on

every hand was faint: the guards were overpowered, the avenues beaten

open, and the fierce followers of the visconte and Cavaliere Paolo

spread like a pack of famished hounds over the little town; slaying all

they met, without mercy or remorse.

The party occupying the podesteria gave us more trouble than we had

expected. I saw Colonel Pepe, in his shirt and trousers, rush from the

door to the three field-pieces, which he discharged in rapid succession;

and their canister shot did terrible execution among the dense column of

Calabrians rushing up the street. Ere he regained the door, a shot from

a rifle arrested him; he tossed his arms wildly above his head, and then

fell backwards a corpse. The entrance was closed and barricaded; and a

close and destructive fire was opened from every window, and those

countless loop-holes with which the walls had been hastily perforated:

flashes, smoke, and half naked men were seen at every aperture; and the

gleams of the musketry illuminated the whole place.

Aware that not a moment was to be lost, as the cavalry at Seminara or

the picquets of Milette would be all under arms at the sound of the

first shot, I resolved that a vigorous attempt should be made to storm

the podesta's house; which, from its size and strength, had become the

principal keep or stronghold of the enemy. Desiring Gascoigne, with a

suitable party, to collect as many prisoners as possible, I led forward

my own immediate command. Our approach was completely enfiladed by the

adjoining houses, from which the French poured forth a fire with such

destructive precision and rapidity, that in a few minutes the street

presented a horrible spectacle; being heaped with killed and wounded,

whose blood crimsoned the gutters on both sides of the way. Directing

Santugo to assail the house in rear, Casteluccio and I led on a mixed

force of British and Calabri; but so terrible was the leaden hail the

French showered on three sides of us, that we were repulsed with immense

slaughter: the cavaliere received a severe wound in the sword-arm; yet

he quitted not the ground, but brandishing his sabre with his left hand,

continued to animate his followers by his presence and cries of "Viva

Ferdinand IV!"

Again I led forward the remnant of my party, and again we were forced to

recoil, but succeeded in bringing off one of the curricle guns; with a

wild shout of triumph it was wheeled round, double shotted, and

discharged against the house.

"Hurrah!" cried I, almost frantic with excitement, ramming home another

ball with my own hand; "Bravo! Gask, keep your hand tight on the

vent--ready the match--stand clear of the recoil--fire!" and again it

belched forth destruction. Thrice it was fired, and thrice the shot

struck the same place; an enormous rent yawned in the wall, and a mass

of masonry fell to the earth: yet the French fought with undiminished

courage. The side of a room had been completely breached.

"Forward the 62nd! Advance the Calabri! On them with the

bayonet--charge--hurrah!" Animated by my example, and notwithstanding

the deadly fire poured on them from every part, onward they went, with

that heroic ardour which soon after swept the armies of Napoleon from

the fields of Spain and Flanders. We burst in amongst the voltigeurs;

whose diminutive stature placed them at the utmost disadvantage, when

opposed to English soldiers and the tall athletic Calabri in the fierce

hand-to-hand combat which ensued. A desperate struggle followed; for a

time the podesteria seemed shaken to its base, and in the close melee I

received a severe blow from a clubbed musket: but the voltigeurs yielded

themselves prisoners of war in five minutes; and my soldiers immediately

encircled them, to protect them from the knives and bayonets of the

infuriated Italians.

In the despatch of General Sherbrooke it is mentioned, that "in the

night attack on Bagnara, the voltigeurs of the 23rd Light Infantry were

cut to pieces." This was literally the case: so merciless were the

Calabrese, that a great number of the poor Frenchmen were slaughtered in

their beds (a blanket, a greatcoat, or a bundle of fern), and no wounded

man escaped them. Of Colonel Pepe's 600 voltigeurs, 450 lay, like

himself, weltering in blood, in the streets and houses of Bagnara. I did

all that man could do, short of assaulting the Calabrians, to stop the

horrid slaughter; but my efforts were unavailing, and the blood of these

brave men was poured forth like water: the soldiers of the 62nd revolted

at such cold-blooded cruelty, and expressed their indignation aloud.

The poor remnant of the 23rd were moody and silent, cast down in spirit

and pale in visage, ragged and half naked, when I paraded them outside

the town; just as the grey day-light brightened the Milia peaks, and the

sea began to change its hue from inky grey to sparkling blue, as it

rolled on the rocky promontories of Scylla and Palmi. Our casualties

were numerous: but one officer, a hundred and fifty rank and file, and

three pieces of cannon were the prizes of the night. To gain these,

four hundred and fifty of their comrades had been destroyed; and almost

in cold blood too!

*CHAPTER XII.*

*RETREAT IN SQUARE.--THE PRISONER OF WAR.*

Borne on the morning breeze from Seminara, the distant sound of a

cavalry trumpet warned us to retire with precipitation. We spiked the

guns, blew up the tumbrils, and, setting the town on fire, soon

destroyed all of Bagnara that the last earthquake had left unengulfed.

Lighted by the red blaze which the burning houses cast on the green

hills, the dark pine woods, and the impending masses of basaltic rock

frowning over mountain-streams and deep defiles, we continued our

retreat double-quick, without the aid of our little guide, Pablo; who,

at sound of the first shot, had vanished, without waiting for his

promised reward.

"Hark to the tantara of the trumpets! Milette's cavalry brigade is

coming on," said Santugo, checking his black Barbary horse and listening

to the distant sound.

As he spoke, French cavalry appeared on the Seminara road, galloping in

file along the narrow way by which we were hurrying towards Scylla;

whose ramparts we discerned above the morning mist, about three miles

off. The rising sun gleamed gaily on the long lines of shining helmets

and glancing sabres, as the horsemen swept through the deep dell in

close pursuit. The fire of Casteluccio's volunteers, who formed our

rear-guard, served to keep them in check for a time, and impede their

advance by the fall of steeds and their riders; but on our debouchement

into more open ground, I formed the whole into a compact square, with

the prisoners in the centre. The cavalry now pushed on at a furious

gallop, and, as they cleared the gorge, the trumpeters sounded in

succession "form squadron;" the right files trotted, while the left

swept round at full speed; and, the moment each troop formed, it rushed

upon us with a force and impetuosity which must have stricken terror

into the Calabrese: but the proud troopers recoiled before the levelled

bayonets and steady fire of a few brave men of my own corps, who formed

the rearward face of the square.

Successively the six squadrons of a whole corps of light cavalry swept

after us, and successively they were compelled to break into

subdivisions, and retire to the right and left round the flanks of their

column, while the next in order advanced to the charge. They suffered

severely: both horses and riders lay rolling in heaps, while we lost not

a man, as the troopers never fired their pistols: probably to spare

their countrymen who were our prisoners. Just as a brigade of horse

artillery came at a gallop from the dell, and were wheeled round on an

eminence to open upon us, we gained the shelter of a pine thicket, and

in perfect safety retired leisurely upon Scylla.

Casteluccio's band--whose retreat to their fastnesses in the Solano the

advance of Milette's cavalry had completely cut off--I added to the

garrison of the town. The wound of the brave cavaliere was severe, and

a musket-ball had broken his left arm. Our surgeon, Macnesia, reduced

the fracture; but the patient was quite unserviceable, and therefore

retired for a time to Messina.

After the transmission of our prisoners and wounded to the same place,

in the boats of the _Electra_ frigate, I gladly retired to my quarters;

where the joy and tenderness of Bianca soon made me forget the

excitement and weariness of the past night. That evening the mist,

which had all day hovered over land and sea, cleared away; when we

plainly saw the French working parties on the mountains, forming the

road from Seminara, under the protection of strong escorts of cavalry

and infantry.

Occasionally a puff of white smoke, curling from the brow of a cliff or

from a neighbouring thicket, and an immediate commotion among the enemy,

announced a sudden shot from a concealed Calabrian rifle, which had

struck one from the roll of the soldiers of the empire. Banditti, and

broken parties of the Masse, stuck like burrs in the skirts of the

French; and the loss of life occasioned by such desultory warfare was

immense.

Bianca shuddered as she surveyed the distant foe and glanced at the

castle batteries below us; where, in regular order, stood the long lines

of iron twenty-fours and thirty-twos, with all the accompaniments of

rammers, sponges, and handspikes; pyramids of balls occupying the spaces

between. The glittering bayonets shone on every bastion and angle;

while the numerous sentinels, and the hourly rounds of the watchful

commanders of guards, denoted an alertness and excitement: a vicinity of

warfare equally appalling and novel to her. Whilst we were watching all

these preparations, a little drummer beat the warning for the "evening

retreat;" the sharp rattle of his drum agitated Bianca so much, that she

burst into tears, and, sinking on my shoulder, exclaimed, "Oh, Claude!

would to God, we were safe at Palermo! All this is indeed terrible."

"All _this_!" I reiterated. "Faith! Bianca, I see nothing terrible

here. The guards on the alert, the cannon in order, the duty carried on

strictly, all bespeak the orderly garrison. But if the mere sight of

these things and the clatter of that little boy's drum affright you,

think what will be your terrors when yonder hill bristles with brigades

of cannon, vomiting death and fire; when every point around us glitters

with steel, and even the roar of Dragara is lost in that of the

conflict; when men are falling like ripe grapes in a storm, and the shot

flying thick as hail, rending battlement and tower. Oh! think of all

these dangers, dear one; and, once more, let me entreat you--implore

you, to retire to Messina. Consent, Bianca; and I will this moment

order a gun to fire for the _Electra's_ boat."

"And you counsel me to leave you so soon?" said she, bending her soft

eyes on mine.

"Your gentle mind cannot conceive the horrors of a siege. Scylla I must

defend to the last, for such are my orders: but how long can such a

little fortress withstand the mighty army of Massena? Our separation,

Bianca, can only be for a time----"

"Caro Claude, for a time--but how long? You may be taken prisoner and

carried to Don Pepe's dungeons in Dalmatia, and I may never see you

again. When I think of poor Benedetto's fate--oh, horror! Say no more,

Claude: death only shall separate us."

The entrance of Bob Brown or Annina (they now composed our entire

household) put an end to this pathetic interview. Bianca smiled through

her tears, and looked so beautiful and happy, and love made me so

selfish, that I said no more of her retiring to Sicily.

The evening was sunny and still, the air serene, and the sea calm,

except around the rock of Scylla. The green Sicilian shore rose up,

clearly and distinctly, from the azure ocean; and the sails of the

_Amphion_, the _Electra_, the _Glatton_, the _Pompey_, and all our

numerous war-ships which studded the Straits, shone white as snow in the

sunbeams; while Sicilian gun-boats, slave-galleys, and xebecques dotted

the sea between: the cloudless sky and the range of hills which

terminates at the Faro, formed the background. Our casements were open,

and the setting sun poured his bright rays into the castle-hall; the

roof of which was covered with the dilapidated frescoes of Matteo

Prette, and the faded coats armorial of the princes of Ruffo Scylla. It

was a noble relic of other days. Massive Ionic columns of Sicilian

marble, with bases of green Corsican jasper, rising from a tessellated

floor, supported its arched roof; between these, in niches, were some

rare pieces of ancient sculpture, dug from the ruins of the neighbouring

Columna Rhegini: or, perhaps, relics of that edifice which Anaxilaus,

its prince, first raised on the rock to defend him against the warriors

of Tuscany. The early flowers of a warm Italian spring were blooming in

the balconies, and their sweet perfume was wafted around us.

Bianca was seated at work, brocading a piece of scarlet Palmi silk,

while I lounged on a sofa reading the last "Gazetta Britannica;" a

silver caraffa of the cardinal's muscadel stood close at hand, and I

thought, while knocking the ashes from my third cigar, that my situation

on the staff would be a very pleasant one, if Monsieur le General

Regnier contented himself by remaining entrenched at Cassano, instead of

beating up my quarters at the extremity of lower Italy.

A smart single knock at the door announced Sergeant Gask.

"Mr. Lascelles has sent me to say, sir, that the officer taken prisoner

at Bagnara, who wished to be sent to Dalmatia on parole, appears to be

an Italian."

"The rascal!" I exclaimed; "but perhaps he is a Roman or Venetian."

"He says the last, sir; but I could swear that he is a Calabrian born

and bred."

"Bring him here, with a file of the barrier guard, that I may examine

him myself."

Gask retired, and in five minutes returned with the prisoner--a sullen

and dogged-like fellow, wearing a plain French uniform, blue, with

scarlet facings, an aiguilette and shoulder-scales. He was swarthy, and

his lank moustaches gave him a melancholy aspect; while the rolling of

his restless eyes announced that he was very ill at ease.

On his entrance with the escort, Bianca withdrew. Imagine my surprise

on recognising Pietro Navarro, who grew deadly pale on beholding me.

"Good-evening! Signor Navarro," said I; "I did not expect to meet a

descendant of the worthy inventor of mines under circumstances so

degrading."

"I am Pepe Biada, a Venetian, bearing a commission in the artillery of

the emperor. You are making some mistake, signor, and I warn you to

beware of reprisals. A heavy brigade of guns are already _en route_ for

Scylla, which cannot hold out a day against the forces now marching on

it--no, San Martino!--not a single day."

"San Marteeno? ha! the true Neapolitan twang that," I exclaimed. "How

many men are moving on this point?"

"Six thousand, exclusive of artillery, horse, and sappers," he answered,

gruffly. "I demand, signor, as a Venetian, in the service of the King

of Italy, that I may be permitted to retire on my parole of honour." He

spoke boldly, and seemed to imagine that his information had staggered

me a little.

"You must first be examined by a military court-martial. I have not

forgotten that night when you poniarded the brave cavaliere of Malta in

mistake for me. On clearing yourself of that, and several other gross

misdemeanours, you will be transmitted to Sicily, to be treated as the

government shall deem fit. You will be good enough to hand me your

sabretache? Take him away, Gask, and guard him well--he deserves no

mercy. Give Captain Gascoigne my compliments--send him here, and desire

the orderly drum to beat for orders."

Navarro, finding that his assertions of innocence were made to one who

was too well convinced of his guilt, in silence unbuckled his belt,

threw it with the sabretache towards me, and retired with his escort.

From its bulk and weight, I thought it contained something of

importance; but found only an Italian work on engineering by Donato

Rosetta the canon of Livournia, together with a few sketches of forts

and roads. One of these was important enough: it showed the castle of

Scylla, with the positions to be occupied by the French cannon; their

proposed approaches and trenches were laid down, and our weakest points

were marked. This document was a fresh cause for exasperation: from his

knowledge of the fortress and its locality, Navarro must have been of

the utmost use to General Regnier; and I was determined to bring him to

trial without delay. My process was harsh: but let the peculiar nature

of my position, the power with which I was vested, and Navarro's crimes,

excuse it.

*CHAPTER XIII.*

*THE DRUM-HEAD COURT-MARTIAL.*

I paraded the whole of the little garrison, and ordering a drum-head

court to assemble immediately, wrote the charges on which the prisoner

was to be arraigned before it: but I was interrupted by an outcry and

combat in the guard-house. Snatching the sword from Gask's belt, he had

attempted to stab him, and break away by force; but the soldiers beat

him down with the butts of their muskets, and he was secured with

handcuffs, an iron bar, and a padlock.

Formed in close column, the whole garrison, including the free corps of

Santugo (who, although their lieutenant-colonel, was, oddly enough,

under my orders,) paraded to hear and behold the proceedings. So

exasperated were the Calabri, that the presence of British soldiers

alone prevented them from sacrificing the unhappy Navarro, and thus

destroying all that judicial form which I meant to give to our

proceedings.

In centre of the castle court was placed a drum, with a Bible, pens, ink

and paper upon it. The president stood on one side, and the members on

his right and left hand; Navarro, with his escort, stood opposite: I had

to act in the triple capacity of prosecutor, witness, and approver. The

paper found attached to the poniard in Castelermo's bosom, the likeness

of Navarro, disguised as one of the Campagnia di Morti, together with

the contents of his sabretache, I laid before the court for examination.

Brief as the proceedings of such a tribunal always are, ours were

necessarily unusually so: a forward movement was at that moment being

made by the French cavalry, and we were pressed for time. The following

is a literal transcript of the short and singular document indicted by

Lascelles on that occasion: it is still in my possession:--

"Proceedings of a drum-head court-martial, held on PIETRO NAVARRO, late

of the Sicilian Engineers, by order of Captain DUNDAS, 62d Regiment,

Commandant of the Castle of Scylla.

"The court being duly sworn, and having weighed and considered the

evidence against the prisoner and his defence, are of opinion that he,

Pietro Navarro, is guilty of the following charges:--

"_First_, Of assassinating Marco di Castelermo, a Knight Commander of

Malta, and Captain of the Free Corps.

"_Second_, Desertion to the enemy.

"_Third_, Conspiring with rebels to destroy the Villa D'Alfieri.

"_Fourth_, Poisoning the well of H. M. Castle of Scylla, and thereby

endangering the lives of the garrison.

"_Sentence_, To be shot or hanged, as the Commandant shall direct.

"MEMBERS.

"PAT. GASCOIGNE, Capt. 62d Regt. Pres.

"O. LASCELLES, Lieut. 62d Regt.

"PELHAM VILLIERS, Lieut. 62d Regt.

"CONTE D'ARENA, Lieut. Free Corps.

"CONTE DI PALMA, Lieut. Free Corps.

"Scylla, Feb. 1808."

To this I affixed my signature, with the fatal words "_confirmed--to be

shot_." Navarro grew pale as death when I laid down the pen; and as I

gave the command, forming the close column into a hollow square by

marching it to the front and wheeling the subdivisions of the central

companies outward, he seemed to receive an electric shock. He moved

mechanically to the front; when I desired Lascelles, who acted as our

adjutant, to read the brief proceedings. So flagrant were his crimes

that to have yielded him one privilege as an officer, was not even to be

thought of, and he was treated in every respect as a private soldier.

Oliver read the proceedings and sentence first in English, and then in

Italian; Navarro listened with dogged silence, knowing well that

entreaties were useless if made to the stern military tribunal before

which he found himself so suddenly arraigned. His lip quivered, and his

brow blanched, when the last words "to be shot," fell upon his ear, and

he gave me a dull inquiring stare, as I folded the paper and thrust it

into my sabretache.

Though my glance was firm and my voice never quavered, I felt for the

poor wretch, undeserving as he was. He hovered on the brink of

eternity, and my lips were to utter the command which would at once send

him into the presence of his Creator.

_Mine_--there was something terrible in the idea: I paused for a moment;

a beam of hope lightened his gloomy eyes and brow. The place was so

still that one might have heard a pin fall: but delay was cruel.

"Unhappy man!" said I, "you have heard the opinion and sentence of the

court. The latter must be carried into execution in twenty minutes, and

it would be well to employ that little time in pure repentance, and in

solemn prayer."

"O, omnipotente!" he exclaimed, raising up his eyes and fettered hands;

"in twenty minutes, can so many years of sin and enormity be repented

of? O, San Giovanni, thou whose most holy order I have outraged! O,

San Marco the glorious! Eufemio the martyred! and thou, sweetest

Madonna! intercede for me with One whom I am unworthy to address?"

Deeply touched with his tone, I turned to Santugo: but he was too much

used to hear such pious ejaculations on every frivolous occasion to care

a straw about them; and leaning on his sabre he surveyed the culprit

with a stern glance of distrust and contempt.

"Down on your knees, villain!" he exclaimed, "and pray with a will; for

I fear you are standing on the brink of eternal damnation!"

"O, horror!" cried Navarro; and losing all self-possession, he sank on

his knees, and began to repeat his paternoster with great devotion.

"I regret that we have here no priest of the Catholic church to attend

you in this terrible hour;" said I, "but yonder is a good and worthy

soldier who has once been in holy orders, and if his prayers----"

"Away!" cried Navarro, as Gask took a Bible from his havresack, and

laying his grenadier cap aside, advanced towards him. "Better a Turk

than a Jew; but in such an hour as this, better the devil than a

heretic! Away, accursed! I spit upon you! I will trust rather to my

own prayers than thy intercessions----"

"I presume not to intercede," said poor Gask, meekly, as he closed the

Bible; "I am but a humble soldier, though I have seen better days; and I

am a sinner, doubtless, though never committing sin wilfully. I entreat

your permission to accompany you in prayer, to soothe your last moments,

in such wise that through the blessed mercy of the Lord of Hosts----"

"Ghieu, setanasso!" screamed the assassin, quite beside himself; "away,

heretic! Better the most ribald monk of Pistoja than such as thee!"

"Fall back, Gask; the man is frantic," said I. "Tell off a section with

their arms loaded; desire the pioneers to dig a grave in the cardinal's

bastion, and their corporal to bind up the prisoner's eyes."

Gask saluted and retired to obey; while the prisoner, covering his face

with his fettered hands, appeared to be engaged in the deepest prayer.

The men of the 62nd evinced considerable repugnance to become his

executioners: such a duty being always reserved as a punishment for bad

or disorderly soldiers; and there was not one among them who could be

deemed to come under either of these denominations. A whisper

circulated through the ranks, and I knew that I was imposing an

unpleasant duty upon good men. The visconte divined my dilemma.

"Dundas," said he, "as Italians, let ours be the task to punish this

wretch: whom I blush to acknowledge a countryman! Giacomo, take twenty

of our corps, and shoot him through the back: but unbind his hands, that

he may tell over his beads once more before he dies."

Giacomo selected his marksmen, and drew them up opposite a high wall,

before which Navarro knelt about thirty paces from them. As the

Calabrians loaded, two pioneers with a shovel and pickaxe approached;

and on seeing them the prisoner seemed seized with a frenzy. Suddenly

he sprang up and fled towards a parapet wall with the fleetness of a

hare, and a scene of the utmost confusion ensued: shot after shot was

fired at him, but missed. It was madness to hope to escape from Scylla,

filled as it was with armed men, enclosed on three sides by the surging

sea, on the fourth by steep cliffs, and girdled by lofty towers and

bastions. Frantic with desperation and terror, the miserable Navarro

rushed up the platform of one of the gun-batteries, and swung himself

over the parapet; escaping a shower of balls aimed at him by the

half-disciplined Calabri, who had all rushed in disorder to the walls:

destruction dogged him close. Beneath, the cliff descended sheer to the

sea three hundred feet below; above, the parapet bristled with weapons,

and was lined with hostile faces. Chilled with a sudden horror, when the

dash of the foaming sea and the hollow boom of those tremendous caverns

by which the rock is pierced, rang in his ears, he became stunned; and

closing his eyes, clung to a straggling vine or some creeping plants,

with all the stern tenacity that love of life and fear of death inspire:

never shall I forget the expression of his face when I looked over the

parapet upon him. It was ghastly as that of a corpse: his short black

hair bristled and quivered on his scalp; his deep dark eyes glared with

terror, hatred, and ferocity, till they resembled those of a snake; and

every muscle of his face was contracted and distorted. He swung in

agony over the beetling cliff, on which he endeavoured in vain to obtain

a footing; but its face receded from him, and he hung like a mason's

plummet.

"Giacomo," said the visconte, "end his misery."

The Calabrian levelled his musket over the breast-work, and his aiming

eye, as it glanced along the smooth barrel, met the fixed and agonized

glance of Navarro. He fired; the ramparts round us, and the rocks and

caves beneath gave back the reverberated report like thunder: the ball

had passed through the brain of Navarro, who vanished from the cliff,

and was seen no more.

So perished this unhappy traitor.

*CHAPTER XIV.*

*DIANORA--THE FORFEITED HAND.*

The exciting affair with Navarro was scarcely over, before we became

involved in another; which, though of a different description, caused me

no little anxiety: of this, my gay friend, Oliver Lascelles, was the

hero.

Oliver was a handsome, good-humoured, light-hearted, curly-headed,

thoughtless, young fellow; heir to one of the finest estates in Essex,

with a venerable Elizabethan manor-house and deer park, a stud of horses

and a kennel of hounds. He was a good shot, and a sure stroke at

billiards; could push his horse wherever the hounds went, and, when

hunting, was never known to crane in his life: he would spur, slapdash

over everything; and he always led the field. However, these were but

the least of his good qualities: he possessed others that were of a

better order. Oliver was, every inch, an English gentleman and soldier;

possessing a refined taste, and more solid acquirements than such as are

necessary merely to enable a man to acquit himself in fashionable or

military life: for, in truth, a very "shallow fellow" may pass muster,

at times, in the ball room, on parade, or in the hunting-field.

About this time, when Regnier's advance kept us all on the alert,

Oliver, as if he had not wherewithal to occupy his thoughts, contrived

to fall in love; and, to all appearance, so earnestly, that I was not

long in discovering and rallying him about it. People are very prone to

fall in love in that land of bright eyes: the little god Cupid is still

"king of gods and men," in sunny Ausonia; where love seems to be the

principal occupation of the inhabitants.

Though the advanced posts of the enemy were now pretty close to us on

all sides, our fiery spark, Lascelles, went forth every evening, to

visit his inamorata; who dwelt in the neighbourhood of Fiumara, which

had now become a French cantonment. I have elsewhere alluded to his

artistic talent: he had now conceived a violent fancy for delineating

Italian girls in all the glory of ruddy and dimpled cheeks, dark eyes,

braided hair, and very scanty petticoats. His apartments were strewed

with such sketches; and Bianca rallied him smartly on finding that the

same pretty face was traceable in every drawing: Oliver had evidently

one vivid and particular idea ever uppermost in his mind. He had a

rival, too,--a devil of a fellow,--who contrived to infuse an unusual

quantum of mystery into this love affair: all the perils of which I will

relate to the reader, while our friends, the French, are labouring at

the Seminara road, in order to bring up their train of cannon.

"Where away so fast, Oliver?" asked I, as he was hurrying past me, one

evening, about dusk, muffled in his cloak.

"Only a little way from the castle," he responded, somewhat impatiently.

"Southward, eh?"

"Ah--yes."

"To Fiumara?"

"Why--yes."

"Take care, Oliver, my boy! The French 101st, a thousand strong, are

cantoned there; and the end of this nightly visiting may be a few years

unpleasant captivity in Verdun or Bitche."

"Tush!" said he, impatiently; "I have my sword and pistols."

"So much the worse; they may only provoke the wrath of your captors. 'T

is a pity your fair one, Signora Montecino (that's her name, I believe)

lives in so dangerous a vicinity."

"I am only going to visit the bishop of Nicastro."

"A shallow excuse, Oliver: you are not a man to relish the old bishop's

society. By-the-bye, his niece is very pretty; is she not?"

"Rather," said he, drily.

"So much so, that you think her face cannot be delineated too often?"

"Stay, Claude; no quizzing: I won't stand it."

"She has a brother, or cousin, a sad fellow--an outlawed guerilla, or

something of that sort; who has served under Francatripa, and is stained

with a thousand nameless atrocities. And do you know what people say

about the pretty signorina herself?"

"What say they?" he asked, sternly.

"That she is a nearer relation of the good padre bishop than he cares to

have generally known: priests' nieces----"

"D----n their impudence! only yourself, Claude--Capt. Dundas, I must

request----"

"O, yes; I understand all that: ha! ha!"

"No man in the service----"

"What! do you really love this girl, Oliver?"

"Yes; on my honour, I do."

"Very possibly: but--I speak as an old friend--you do not mean

seriously?"

He started, and coloured deeply.

"I know not," he muttered, hurriedly: "and yet, Claude, I cannot be so

base as to think of her otherwise than as a man of honour ought to do.

Her relationship to the old padre is, to say the best of it, somewhat

dubious: but then, she is so good-tempered and ladylike--so gentle, so

beautiful, and winning--that I cannot, for the soul of me, help loving

her; and I pledged----"

"Pledged! Maladetto! as they say here, are you engaged to her?"

"Why, I did not make a particular--that is to say, not quite an

engagement--pshaw! what am I talking here about?"

"I see! Ah, Oliver, you are evidently very deeply dipped with her: you

cannot steal a march upon me. Let me advise you, Lascelles, to be

cautious in your affair with this young lady. Your family, your

fortune, all entitle you----"

"Thanks, Dundas! I don't require this tutor-like advice," said he,

putting his foot in the stirrup of his roan-horse, with a dash of

hauteur in his manner.

"At Fiumara, the French keep a sharp look out," I urged.

"Be it so," said he: "thither I go at all risks."

"You are not acting wisely."

"Granted--one never does so in love."

"Be cautious, Oliver! I would be loth to lose you; and I find it will

be necessary to 'come the senior over you,' as the mess say, and order

that no officer or soldier shall go beyond one mile from camp or

quarters."

"Do so to-morrow," he added, laughing; "but, meanwhile, ere the order is

issued, I shall ride so far as Fiumara to-night. What is the parole?"

"_Maida_--countersign _Italy_."

"Thank you: I do not wish to be fired on by the blundering Calabri," he

replied; little imagining he would never require the watch-word. "Adieu!

by midnight I will return."

Breaking away, he leaped on his horse, and dashing through the arched

portal of the castle, rode down the hill through Scylla at a furious

gallop.

I was under considerable apprehension for my rash friend's safety.

Midnight passed: slowly the hours of morning rolled on. Day was

breaking, and the peaks of Milia were burnished by the yet unrisen sun,

when I visited the posts to inquire for Lascelles. He had not returned;

and as he had never before been absent so long in such a dangerous

neighbourhood, I became very uneasy: deeply I regretted that, even at

the risk of unpleasant words, I had not exerted my authority as

commanding officer, and compelled him to stay within the castle. The

bugle sounded for morning parade at the usual hour; but Oliver Lascelles

was not forthcoming: his place in the ranks was vacant.

On the advance of the French, the old bishop, before mentioned, had

retired from the city of Nicastro; abandoning to them his residence--the

ancient castle, famous as the place where Henry, of Naples, expiated his

rebellion. Retiring to his little paternal villa, near Fiumara, he lived

in retirement, unmolested by the French; who almost depopulated the

surrounding country by their tyranny, extortions, and wanton outrage.

On the side of a hill, at the base of which ran a deep and rapid stream,

its banks covered with orange and citron trees, stood the bishop's

villa. It faced the straits of Messina: high rocks and a thick wood of

pines hid it from the view of the foe at Fiumara; otherwise their forage

parties would assuredly have paid it a visit.

On the evening I last saw Oliver, a young lady was visible at an open

window of this mansion. She was alone, and seated in a reclining

posture on an ottoman, upon which lay her guitar: her hair,

half-braided, half-disordered, rolled in natural ringlets of the deepest

black over a neck of the purest white--so pure, so transparent, that the

blue veins beneath were distinctly visible. She was not tall, but of a

full and beautifully rounded form; and though her features were not

regular, yet their expression was very captivating and piquant. Her eyes

were dark and brilliant, her lips full and pouting, her cheeks flushed

and dimpled.

Notwithstanding the season of the year, the air was close and still; the

sun had set, and the sky wore a warm and fiery tinge; but the hills and

wood were of a dark bronze hue.

Dianora Montecino listened impatiently. She awaited the coming of

Oliver: but he came not. She often surveyed her figure in a mirror

which hung opposite, and a calm smile lighted up her pretty face: it was

one of complacent but innocent admiration of her own attractions. Her

hair being in partial disorder, languidly, with her delicate fingers,

she endeavoured to adjust it; then pausing, she sighed, and after again

consulting the friendly mirror, with a pardonable coquetry, she allowed

the flowing tresses to remain free.

"He always prefers me in dishabille. That seems strange: and yet I

think I really look better so. But truly, Signor Oliver, you tarry long

to-night."

The last flush of sunlight vanished from the hills of Milia (or Mylae),

and now rose the bright moon, shedding its softer light over land and

sea; tinging the straits with silver lustre, and revealing the Sicilian

feluccas, with their striped latteen sails, and other picturesque

vessels, which the sombre shadows of evening had for a time obscured.

At the base of the hills the river wound between rocks and thickets, its

surface reflecting the innumerable stars that studded the serene blue

sky. A beautiful fountain beneath the terrace threw up its jet of water

like a ceaseless shower of diamonds; the air was laden with the perfume

of the earliest flowers of an Italian spring, and not a breath of wind

was abroad to stir their closed petals, then filled with fragrant dew.

Intently the young girl hearkened for the tramp of her lover's horse;

but he came not: she heard only the tumultuous beating of her own heart,

and the monotonous plash of the water falling from the bronze Triton's

mouth into the marble basin below.

A step was heard softly on the gravel walk:

"At last he comes!" she said, pouting; while joy and hope sparkled in

her dark and liquid eyes: a man leaped over the balustrade of the

terrace. "Dear Oliver, you have come at last: but stay! I owe you a

scolding, signor mio!"

"'T is not Oliver," replied the stranger, with a husky, but somewhat sad

tone of voice; and he stood before her. Dianora's first impulse was to

call for assistance; but the voice of the stranger again arrested her.

"For God's sake, signora, do not summon any one! You have nothing to

fear from me--indeed you have not."

"Giosue, is it only you?" said the young lady, with a tone of

undisguised reproach and vexation. There was a pause.

The unwelcome visitor was a young man about six-and-twenty, whose dress

announced his occupation and rank in life to be somewhat dubious; but

his air, though constrained in the presence of Dianora, had a dash of

gallant and graceful recklessness in it. He wore the brigand garb,

which had then become a kind of uniform adopted by all desperadoes; he

had a carbine in his hand, and a knife and four long iron pistols were

stuck in a yellow silk sash. A loose velvet jacket, knee breeches, and

gaiters crossed with red leather straps, displayed to advantage his fine

athletic figure; and round his open neck hung a little bag containing a

charm, which he supposed rendered him bullet-proof. A large, shapeless,

and battered Calabrian hat, with a royalist red riband flaunting from

it, shaded his face; which was fringed with a black and untrimmed beard,

and presented a kind of savage beauty: though squalid through want, and

fierce in its expression; being marked with the lines of the worst

passions. The young girl regarded him with a glance expressive equally

of timidity and pity.

"Dianora--Dianora!" said he, reproachfully, but mildly; "there was a

time when you were not wont to pronounce my name in such a tone. Alas!

sweet cousin--like myself, its very sound seems changed."

"Poor Giosue!" she began.

"Was not expected here to-night," said he, bitterly. "No; you await

another. Cattivo! I know it."

He regarded her gloomily; his fierce dark eyes sparkling in the twilight

like those of a basilisk; and she, who but a moment before had been all

eagerness for the arrival of Oliver Lascelles, now mentally implored

Heaven that he might not come that night, for something dreadful would

certainly ensue.

"Dianora," said the young man, "is it true what they tell me--that you

love this stranger?"

"As I never can love thee, Giosue," replied the girl, with timid energy.

"Malediction! Have you forgotten how you once swore your hand should be

mine?"

"True, Giosue; but you were not then what you have since become."

"Hear me, false one! I swear by God and his blessed saints, that the

hand you promised me shall never be the prize of another. No!

Maladetto! I will slay you rather!" He laughed bitterly, and spoke in

a hoarse tone. "You despise me, Dianora. I am now a penniless outlaw.

May our uncle, the hard-hearted bishop, whose miserly cruelty has driven

me to despair----"

"O most ungrateful and unkind, Giosue! say rather your own wild and

intractable spirit has occasioned your destruction----"

"And the loss of your love, Dianora?"

"Indeed, Giosue, I never could have loved you as--you would wish to be

loved: but I have pitied you, wept for you, prayed for you----"

"Bless you, dear girl," replied the young man, with intense sadness;

"you are very good and amiable; but I feel that love for you is making

me mad!"

"Now, leave me, Giosue. Should the bishop find you here----"

"Say rather he whom you expect!" he exclaimed, bitterly and jealously.

"Ha! false and fickle one! within sound of my whistle are those who in a

moment would bear you off to yonder mountains in spite of all

opposition, and leave in flames this villa of our dog of an uncle. But

no, signora; I must have your love freely, or not at all."

"A moment ago you threatened----"

"Peace! Attempt not to stir until you have heard me. This cursed

English lieutenant (ha! malediction! you see I know him), if he comes

hither to-night may get a reception such as he little expects." He

uttered a ferocious laugh, and struck with his hand the weapons which

garnished his girdle. They clattered, and the heart of Dianora trembled

between fear and indignation; for nothing rouses a young girl's spirit

so much as hearing her lover spoken of lightly.

"Cospetto! let this baby-faced teniente beware," continued Giosue; "or,

by the blessed Trinity! I will put a brace of bullets through his

brain."

"Wretch!" exclaimed the trembling Dianora, "begone, lest I spit upon

you! O Giosue! are you indeed become so ruffianly? Have brigandism and

outrage hardened you thus?"