I gave him a scornful glance in reply.

"Ouf!" said he, "you came to see our arrangements for capturing your

crow's nest at Scylla. Behold, then, our pontoons, our battering train,

our brigades of infantry and sappers: I trust you will report to

monseigneur the Prince of Essling, that they are all ready for instant

service."

"Monsieur, I demand my parole."

"If Massena grants a parole he may, but not so Regnier: you must be sent

to the marshal; and I believe he is most likely to give you a yard or

two of stout cord, and a leap from the nearest tree."

"Such conduct would not surprise me in the least!" I answered, bitterly;

"the savage military government, which dragged the Duc d'Enghien from a

neutral territory, and after a mockery of judicial form shot him by

torchlight at midnight; and which so barbarously tortured to death a

British officer, in the Temple, at Paris, must be capable of any

inhumanity. After the ten thousand nameless atrocities by which France,

since the days of the Revolution, has disgraced herself among the

nations of Europe; no new violation of military honour, of humanity, or

the laws of civilized nations, can be a subject of wonder."

"Ah, faquin! I could order you to be hanged in ten minutes."

"A day may yet come when this ruffianly treatment shall be repaid."

"Ouf! monsieur mouchard, Massena will look to that. At Castello di

Bivona, you will be embarked on board La Vigilante courier gunboat,

commanded by Antonio Balotte. He is a rough Lucchese, that same

Antonio, who will string you to the yard-arm if you prove troublesome.

Ouf! if the emperor was of my opinion, his soldiers would not take any

prisoners." He grinned savagely, and summoned his orderly.

"Order a corporal and file of soldiers. To them," he continued,

addressing the Lancer, "you will hand over the prisoner with this brief

despatch for Marshal Massena at Cosenza; it states who he is, and the

suspicions against him."

Massena! O, how little I had to hope for, if once in the clutches of

that savage and apostate Italian: particularly when blackened by all

that Regnier's malicious nature might dictate. In half an hour I was on

the march for Castello di Bivona, escorted by a corporal and file of the

101st, with fixed bayonets. As a deeper degradation, Regnier had

ordered me to be hand-cuffed. Heavens! my blood boils yet at the

recollection of that! I would have resisted; but a musket levelled at

my head silenced all remonstrance, and I bottled up my wrath while

Corporal Crapaud locked the fetters on me. We marched off, my

exasperation increasing as we proceeded; for the escort seemed

determined to consider me in the character of a spy, and consequently

treated me with insult and neglect: in vain I told them I was a British

officer, and deserved other treatment.

"True, monsieur," replied the corporal, who was a dapper little Gaul,

four feet six inches high, "but I am obeying only the orders of the

general; and a British officer, or any other officer, who is caught

among an enemy's cantonments in disguise, must be considered as a spy,

and expect degradation as such. Monsieur will excuse us--we have orders

not to converse with prisoners; and the general--ah! ventre bleu!--he is

a man of iron!"

This coolness, or affectation of contempt or superiority, only increased

my annoyance. Although the soldiers conversed with all the loquacity and

sung with all the gaiety of Frenchmen, they addressed me no more during

the march of more than twenty-five miles. This lasted seven hours,

exclusive of halts at Gioja, Rossarno, and several half-deserted

villages and shepherds' huts; where they extorted whatever they wanted,

at point of the bayonet, and made good their quarters whenever they

chose; browbeating the men and caressing the women (if pretty). I often

expected a brawl, and perhaps a release; but all hope died away, when,

about sunset, we entered Castello di Bivona: my spirit fell in

proportion as the plains and snow-capped Apennines grew dark, when the

red sun dipped into the Tyrhene sea.

There were no French troops in the town; but anchored close to the shore

lay the French gun-boat _La Vigilante_, mounting a six and a fourteen

pounder, and having thirty-six men--quite sufficient to hold in terror

the inhabitants of the little town, who had not forgotten the visit paid

them by Regnier's rear-guard. My heart sickened when, from an eminence,

I beheld _La Vigilante_, which was to bear me further from liberty and

hope; and the most acute anguish took possession of me, when confined

for the night and left to my own sad meditations. I understood that I

was to be transmitted to the Upper Province with some other prisoners,

who were to arrive from Monteleone in the morning, and be conveyed

across the gulf of St. Eufemio by the gun-boat.

I found myself confined for the night in the upper apartment of a gloomy

tower, formed of immense blocks of stone, squared and built by the hands

of the Locrians. The chamber was vaulted, damp, and destitute of

furniture; but a bundle of straw was thrown in for my couch by Corporal

Crapaud: he, with the escort, occupied a chamber below, where they

caroused and played with dominoes. A turf battery of four 24-pounders,

facing the seaward, showed that the French had converted this remnant of

the ancient Hipponium into a temporary fort: a trench and palisade

surrounded it.

A single aperture a foot square, four feet from the floor, and crossed

by an iron bar, admitted the night breeze and the rays of the moon;

showing the dark mountains, the blue sky, and the sparkling stars.

Left to solitude, my own thoughts soon became insupportable. "At this

time yesternight I was with Bianca!" To be separated from her for an

uncertain time--perhaps for ever, if Regnier's threats were fulfilled by

the relentless Massena; to be taken from my important command at a time

so critical--when the last stronghold of the British in Calabria was

threatened by a desperate siege, on the issue of which the eyes of all

Italy and Sicily were turned; the imminent danger and degrading

suspicions under which I lay, manacled and imprisoned like a common

felon; threatened on the one hand with captivity, on the other with

death; and, worst of all, the image of Bianca, overwhelmed with sorrow

and horror by the obscurity which enveloped my fate: all combined,

tortured me to madness. I was in a state bordering on distraction.

Stone walls, iron bars, and steel bayonets: alas! these are formidable

barriers to liberty.

Midnight tolled from a distant bell, then all became still: so still

that I heard my heart beating. Deeming me secure, my escort were

probably sleeping over their cups and dominoes. I was encouraged to

attempt escaping, and endeavoured to rally my thoughts. Though half

worn out by our long march over detestable roads--a journey rendered

more toilsome by the constrained position of my fettered hands--I became

fresh and strong, and gathered courage from the idea. Yonder lay the

_Vigilante_, with her latteen sail hanging; loose: and the sight of her

was an additional spur to exertion: once on board of her, every hope was

cut off for ever.

The detested fetters, two oval iron rings secured by a padlock and bar,

were first to be disposed of: but how? The manner in which they secured

the wrists crippled my strength: the iron bar was a foot long, and

though defying my utmost strength to break or bend it, yet ultimately it

proved the means of setting me free. The padlock was strong and new:

but a happy thought struck me; I forced it between the wide and

time-worn joints of the wall until it was wedged fast as in a vice,

then, clasping my hands together, I wrenched round the bar, using it as

a lever on the lock which passed through it; and in an instant the bolt,

the wards, the plates which confined them, and all the iron-work of the

once formidable little engine, fell at my feet.

"God be thanked! oh, triumph!" burst in a whisper from my lips: my heart

expanded, and I could have laughed aloud, while stretching my stiffened

hands. But there was no time to be lost: the fall of the broken padlock

might have alarmed the escort, and I prepared for instant flight.

Thrusting some of the iron pieces under the door bolts, to prevent it

being readily opened, I turned to the window, and found, with joy, that

there was space enough between the cross-bar and the wall for egress:

but the ground was fifteen feet below. With great pain and exertion I

pressed through, and, half suffocated, nearly stuck midway between the

rusty bar and stone rybate. At that moment of misery and hope, the

corporal thundered at the door; I burst through, fell heavily to the

ground, and for a moment was stunned by the fall: but the danger of

delay, and the risk of being instantly shot if retaken, compelled me to

be off double-quick. I rushed up the banquette of the gun-battery,

cleared the parapet at a bound, and scrambled over the stockade like a

squirrel.

"Villan, hola! halte!" cried Crapaud, firing his musket: the ball

whistled through my hair, and next moment I was flying like a deer with

the hounds in full chase. I was closely pursued: but, after three

narrow escapes from the bullets of my escort, I baffled them, and gained

in safety the cork wood of Bivona.

*CHAPTER XIX.*

*THE ALBERGO.--THE BANDIT'S REVENGE.*

Seeking a thick and gloomy dingle, I flung myself under its shadow to

rest; breathless with my recent exertion, the long day's march, and the

excitement of the last hour. My plan was soon decided: to approach

Scylla, from which I was then nearly thirty miles distant, was my

principal object; but many dangerous obstacles were to be encountered

and overcome, before I stood in the hall of Ruffo Sciglio. The snow

melting among the Apennines had swollen the Metramo and other rivers

which I had to pass; the towns, villages, and all the level country

swarmed with French troops and Buonapartist sbirri or gendarmes, all

closing up towards the point of attack; while the woods and mountains

were infested by banditti, the most ferocious and lawless in Europe. To

lie concealed in thickets by day and to travel by night, was the plan I

proposed adopting; and anxious to find myself as far as possible from

the place of my imprisonment, after a brief rest I set forward on my

dubious and difficult journey; thinking more of the joy of embracing

Bianca, than the triumph of meeting Regnier in the breach.

Many of the mountains being yet capped with snow rendered the air cold

and chilly; my head was without covering, and I was destitute of every

means of defence against either robbers or wolves: the last were

numerous in these wilds, and I often heard their cries rising up from

the depths of the moonlit forest, through which I toiled southward. So

wearying, difficult and uncertain was the path, that I had only

proceeded seven or eight miles when day broke, and found me in an open

and desert place near Nicotera. The appearance of a body of the enemy

marching down the hills was sufficient to scare me, and seeking shelter

in an orange wood, I lay concealed in it for hours; not daring to

venture forth, although I felt the effects of an appetite sharpened by

the keen mountain air. I had heard much of the manna said to be found in

the morning on the leaves of the mulberry and other trees in Calabria;

but not a drop was to be seen, although I searched anxiously enough.

The day seemed interminably long, and joyfully I hailed eve closing as

the sun sank once more behind Sicily, and the long shadows of Nicotera

fell across the plain.

Armed with a stout club, torn from a tree, I once more set forward,

favoured by the dusk and refreshed by my long halt, though hungry as a

hawk.

At the hut of a poor charcoal-burner I received some refreshments and

ascertained the right (or rather safest) path; the honest peasant, on

partly learning the circumstances of my escape, shouldered his rifle,

stuck a poniard in his girdle, and accompanied me as far as Gioja;

where, after shewing me from the heights the French watch-fires at

Seminara, he left me. I was pleased when he did so, for then only I

became convinced that his intentions were honest. While travelling with

him unarmed I was somewhat suspicious of his kindness: but I did him

wrong; he was a hardy and loyal Calabrian, and my fears were groundless.

Regretting having brought him so far from his hut, I gave him three

crowns, nearly all the money in my possession: at first he refused it;

but the temptation was too great for the poor peasant, whose only attire

was a jacket of rough skin, a pair of tattered breeches, the net which

confined his ample masses of hair, and the buff belt sustaining his

dagger and powder-horn. Muttering something about his little ones at

home, he took the reward, with many bows and protestations, and we

parted.

Rejoicing in my progress, I struck into a path up the hills towards

Oppido. The utmost circumspection was now necessary: every avenue to

Scylla being closely guarded by Regnier's picquets and chain of advanced

sentries. About midnight I lost my way among the woods and defiles. I

was drenched by falling into a swampy rice plantation, and severely cut

and bruised by the rocks and roots of trees: the night being so dark

that I could scarcely see my hand outstretched before me. A sudden

storm of rain and wind, which swept down from the hills, completed my

discomfiture; and I hailed with joy a light which twinkled at the bottom

of a deep and savage dell: seeming, from the eminence on which I stood,

like a lantern at the bottom of a pit.

It proved to be an albergo, or lonely mountain inn; but of the most

wretched description. Exhausted and weather-beaten as I was, the many

unpleasant stories I had heard of those suspicious places, and the close

connection of their owners with the banditti occurred to me; but this

did not discourage me from knocking at the door. Close to it stood a

lumbering old-fashioned Sicilian carriage; which announced a visitor of

some importance; and the moment I knocked, a violent altercation ensued

as to whether or not the door should be opened.

"Signor Albergatore," cried a squeaking voice, "open the door at your

peril! Open it--and I shall lay the whole affair before his excellency,

the president of the Grand Civil Court."

The innkeeper uttered a tremendous oath and opened the door. A blazing

fire of billets and sticks roared up the opening which served for a

chimney, and filled the whole albergo with a ruddy light. The host, a

most forbidding-looking dog, with only one eye, a lip and nose slashed

by what appeared to have been a sword-cut, and which revealed all his

upper teeth, growled a sullen welcome: evidently nowise pleased with my

splashed and miserable appearance. But I was resolved to make good my

billet, and drawing close to the fire took a survey of the company: it

consisted of an important little personage, whose face seemed the

production of a cross between the rat and weasel; a jovial young fellow,

whose jaunty hat and feather, green velvet jacket and breeches of

striped cotton, rosy and impudent face, together with his little

mandolin, declared him to be a wandering improvisatore; and an old monk

of St. Christiana (the neighbouring town) who lay fast asleep in a

corner, with his hands crossed on his ample paunch: his shaven scalp

shining like a polished ball in the light of the fire, which made his

white hair and beard glisten like silver as they flowed over his coarse

brown cassock.

The little personage before mentioned was Ser Villani, the great notary

of St. Eufemio; a more apt plunderer of King Ferdinand's subjects than

any robber in Calabria: he was a thorough-paced lawyer, and consequently

a knave. Armed with a pass, which for a certain consideration he had

obtained from General Regnier, he was on his way from Gierazzo, where he

had been collecting information relative to an interminable process.

The Grand Civil Court of Palermo was putting every judicial instrument

in operation to plunder the rich Prince of St. Agata, at the suit of a

neighbouring abbey of monks, whose relicario he was bound to keep in

repair: he having neglected to enclose the parings of the nails of San

Gennaro in a gilt box, these inestimable reliques were lost, and his

altezza was deprived of his cross of the saint's order, and became

liable to swinging damages. All his notes on this most interesting

case, Ser Villani carried in a legal green bag, which he grasped with

legal tenacity; and he looked at me from time to time with glances of

such distrust and dislike, that I concluded it contained more than mere

paper.

Three well-armed and wild-looking peasants were sleeping in a corner,

and the host wore a long knife in his girdle. Forbidding as he was in

aspect, his wife and daughter were still more so: their clothes

exhibited a strange mixture of finery and misery--massive silver

pendants and gold rings, chains, rags, and faded brocades; while their

feet were shoeless. My suspicions increased, and I found I had got into

a lion's den.

"Signor Albergatore," said I, "do you fear banditti, that you were so

long in undoing the door?"

"'T was the Signor Scrivano who raised so many objections," he replied,

sulkily.

"Had Master Villani known I was a cavalier of Malta escaping from the

French, he might have been a little more hospitable," I replied; to

deceive them as to my real character: for I dreaded being given up to

Regnier, perhaps for the sake of a reward. "Who occupy the mountains

hereabout?"

"Scarolla and Baptistello Varro," replied the host. "But they never

visit so poor an albergo as this."

"I hope not," faltered the notary, who turned ghastly pale at the name

of Varro; and muttering to himself, he glanced uneasily at us all, with

eyes that glittered like those of a monkey. "Ah, when will that

loitering scoundrel of a postilion return with a smith to repair the

calesso? Hound! he contrived very opportunely that the wheel should

come off close by the albergo: but let him beware; his neck shall pay

the forfeit, if worse comes of this."

A quiet laugh spread over the host's face, like sunshine over a field.

"Ser," said the improvisatore, "your postilion is probably only away to

the next hill; and when he returns, a score of riflemen will be at his

back."

The little notary quaked; and although the cunning minstrel merely spoke

in jest, his suppositions were indeed too correct. The secret

understanding which existed between the brigands, postilions, and

innkeepers of south Italy, was notorious: it has formed the machinery of

innumerable tales of fiction. But since the campaign of Manhes and the

close of the war, Italy has been quite regenerated.

The improvisatore received a furious glance from the host, that

confirmed my suspicions: but to retire now was almost impossible.

After a miserable supper had been washed down by a caraffa of tart

country wine, we drew closer to the smoky fire, and composed ourselves

round it for the night. The wife and daughter of the host retired to a

kind of loft above; resigning the only bed in the house,--viz., a bag of

leaves and a blanket or two, to the priest. The notary nodded over his

green bag, and, though he started at every sound, pretended to be fast

asleep.

Notwithstanding my fatigue, thoughts stole over me and kept me awake;

and more than once I saw the dark glassy eye of the host observing me

intently, from the gloomy corner where he lay on the tiled floor. In

short, not to keep the reader any longer behind the curtain, we were in

one of those infamous dens which were the resort of the brigands: to

whom the keepers conveyed information of all travellers who passed the

night with them; stating whether they were armed or escorted by soldiers

or sbirri. The suspicious improvisatore again whispered to me that he

had no doubt the notary's postilion was only away to summon his

comrades, the banditti. Reflecting that I was unarmed, I felt the

utmost anxiety; but retiring might only anticipate matters: the fellows

asleep in the corner were well armed, and I saw the hilts of their

knives and pistol butts shining in the light of the fire.

"I am glad we have a cavalier of Malta here to-night," whispered the lad

with the guitar. "You may save us all from Baptistello if he pays us a

visit--all, one excepted: but, signor, you have very much the air of an

Englishman."

"I served with the English fleet when it assisted the knights at the

siege of Valetta. But I hope the rogues will not carry me off in

expectation of a ransom."

"Madonna forbid! But Heaven help poor Villani, if he fall into the

clutches of Baptistello!"

"Why so?"

"Signor, it is quite a story!" said he, drawing closer and lowering his

voice. "Baptistello was a soldier of the Cardinal Ruffo, and served in

his army when it defeated the French in the battle of Naples, on the

happy 5th of June. His father, Baptiste, was a famous bravo and

capo-bandito, who infested the mountains above St. Agata, and was the

terror of the province from Scylla to La Bianca. He boasted that he had

slain a hundred men; and it is said that in order to rival the frightful

Mammone, he once quaffed human blood. He was deemed bullet-proof: a

charm worn round his left wrist made him invulnerable; and he escaped so

often and so narrowly that he soon thought so himself. His presence

inspired terror, and no man dared to travel within twenty miles of his

district without a numerous escort. The Prince of St. Agata, lord of

that territory, alone treated his name with contempt, and daily drove

his carriage through the wildest haunt of Baptiste, without attendants.

"One day they met: it was in a lonely valley near the Alece.

"'Stand!' cried the gigantic robber, kneeling behind a rock, over which

he levelled his rifle. The reins fell from the hands of the driver.

"'Villain! fire, if you dare!' cried the prince.

"The robber fired, and his bullet passed through the hat of the prince;

who, levelling a double-barrelled pistol, shot four balls through the

heart of his assailant. Before the arrival of the banditti, who with

shouts were rushing down from the mountains, the Prince was driving at

full gallop through the valley, with the body of Varro lashed to the

hind axle-bar and trailing along the dusty road. Thus he entered Reggio

in triumph, like Achilles dragging Hector round the walls of Troy. The

body was gibbeted, and the head placed in an iron cage and sent over to

Messina; when it was stuck on the summit of the Zizi palace, where it

yet remains, bleached by the dew by night and the sun by day: I saw it

three days ago.

"One night soon after this, a ragged little urchin presented himself in

an apartment of the palace, just before the prince retired to rest.

"'Who are you, Messerino?' he asked.

"'Baptistello, the son of old Baptiste Varro.'

"'Ah! and what do you want?' said the prince, looking round him for a

whip or cane.

"'My father's head.'

"'Away, you little villain, ere you are tossed over the window! I would

not give it for a thousand scudi.'

"'For two thousand, serenissimo?'

"'Yes, rogue, for so many I might.'

"'On your word of honour?'

"'An impudent little dog! Yes. Away!--when _you_ fetch me such a sum,

per Baccho! you shall have your father's head: but not till then.'

"'Enough, excellency: I will redeem it, and keep my word. San Gennaro

judge between us, and curse the wretch who fails!'

"'A bold little rogue, and deserves the old villain's head for nothing,'

muttered the prince. 'Two thousand scudi! Ah, poor boy! where will he

ever get such a sum?'

"The prince soon forgot all about it; but Baptistello, inspired by that

intense filial veneration for which our Calabrian youth are so famous,

worked incessantly to raise the two thousand scudi--a mighty sum for

him: but he did not despair. He dug in the vineyards and rice-fields by

day, in the iron mines of Stilo by night, and begged in cities when he

had nothing else to do; and slowly the required sum began to accumulate.

When old enough to level the rifle, by his mother's advice he took to

his father's haunts, and turned bandit. Then the gold increased rapidly;

and, regularly as he acquired it, he transmitted the ill-gotten ransom

to Ser Villani, of St. Eufemio: leaving the gold in the hollow of a

certain tree, where the notary found it and left a full receipt for each

amount.

"When the two thousand pieces were numbered, Baptistello presented

himself before Villani in the disguise of a Basilian, requesting him to

pay Prince St. Agata the money and redeem the bare-bleached skull, which

grins so horribly from the battlements of the Palazzo Zizi. They met at

the porch of the great church, where the notary had just been hearing

mass. He denied ever having received a quattrino of the money: not a

single piece had he ever seen--'No, by the miraculous blood of Gennaro!'

"'Behold your signed receipts, Master Scrivano.'

"'Via! they are forgeries. Away, or I will summon the officers of

justice.'

"'My two thousand scudi!--my hard-won money, earned at peril of my soul!

Return it, thou most infamous of robbers!' cried the infuriated Varro,

grasping the notary's throat and unsheathing his poniard.

"'Help, in the name of the Grand Court!' shrieked Villani. Baptistello

was arrested, imprisoned in the fearful _Damusi_, and kept there for

months; he was then scourged with rods, and thrust forth, naked and

bleeding, to perish in the streets; while the money, earned with so much

toil and danger, went to enrich the dishonest notary. Baptistello is on

the mountains above us; and if Villani falls into his hands this night,

Signor Cavaliere, thou mayest imagine the sequel."

The improvisatore ceased, and I saw the keen twinkling eyes of the

notary watching me: he must have heard the whole story, while affecting

to sleep; and, trembling violently, he clutched his legal green bag.

Suddenly some one tapped at the casement; and I saw a large, fierce and

grim face peering in.

"Ha!" cried the notary, springing up; "'t is the calessiero returned at

last. Thou loitering villain! I will teach you how to respect a member

of the Grand Civil court of Sicily."

He opened the door, and--horror!--instead of the humble and apologizing

postilion, there stood the tall athletic form of Baptistello Varro, clad

in his glittering bandit costume. Had the notary encountered thus the

great head of his profession, face to face, he could not have been more

overwhelmed with dismay: he seemed absolutely to shrink in size before

the stern gaze of the formidable robber; whose entrance scarcely less

alarmed the old priest, the poor improvisatore, and myself. But,

remembering my former adventures with Varro, I was not without hope of

escape. The albergo was crowded with his savage followers, and we were

all dragged roughly forth as prisoners. The notary's hired calesso was

undergoing a thorough search: the lining was all torn out, and every

pannel and cushion were pierced and slashed; while the contents of his

trunks and mails were scattered in every direction, and flying on the

breeze. In his green bag were found a thousand ducats.

"Villain!" exclaimed Baptistello, as he threw the gold pieces on the

sward, "there is more than we would deem sufficient to ransom ten such

earth-worms as thee: yet this is but a half of the sum I deposited in

the hollow tree at St. Eufemio. I am a robber--true: but I gain my

desperate living bravely in the wilderness, by perilling my life hourly;

while _thou_, too, art a thief, but of the most despicable and cowardly

description--a legalized plunderer of widows and orphans--a vampire who

preys on the very vitals of the community--a smooth-faced masterpiece of

villany: in short, wretch, thou art a notary. Remember the ransom of my

father's head--the dungeons--the chains and the scourge. Ha! remember,

too, that thou art alone with me on the wild mountains of Calabria: so,

kneel to the God above us; for the last sands of thy life are ebbing

fast." And he dashed him to the earth.

"O, signor--O, excellency--mercy!" craved the notary, grovelling in the

dust; but the fierce robber only grinned, showing his pearl-white teeth;

as leaning on his rifle he surveyed him with an air of triumphant malice

and supreme contempt. "Mercy! I implore you, by the blood of Gennaro

the blessed! Mercy, as you hope for it at your dying day! I will repay

the money. I will no longer be a notary, but an honest man."

"Wretch! such mercy will be given as tigers give," cried the ferocious

Baptistello, spurning the poor man with his foot, and holding aloft his

crucifix. "By this holy symbol of our salvation, I have sworn that thy

head shall pay the forfeit for my father's!" The brigand kissed it.

Though all hope died away in the heart of the notary, he still poured

forth a jargon of alternate prayers, threats, and entreaties: his agony

was terrible; for at that moment forty of the "sharpest practice" were

about to be accounted for.

"God! I dare not address myself to thee. O, holy father pray for me in

this great peril!" he cried to the old monk of St. Christiana.

"Supplicate him for a sinner that has forgotten how to pray for

himself."

"Buono!" said Baptistello; "let the priest pray while the notary

swings."

Lancelotti approached and surveyed me with an insolent leer: he held a

rope--the reins of the lawyer's mules; in a moment it was looped round

the notary's neck, and the other end thrown over the arm of a

beech-tree. The monk, kneeling on the sod, prayed with fervour:

increased probably by anxiety for himself. The struggles of the poor

wretch were horrible to behold: overcome with the terror of death, he

fought like a wild beast; scratching, biting, and howling: but in the

strong grasp of his powerful destroyers his efforts were like those of

an infant. In a minute he swung from the branch of the beech, while,

with a stern smile of grim satisfaction, the robber watched the plunges

of his victim writhing in the death agony: the sharp withered features

growing ghastly, as the pale light of the dawning day fell on their

distorted lines. But enough.

"Signor Canonico," said Varro, "you may go; the mountains are before

you--we meddle not with monks." The priest retired instantly, without

bestowing a thought on his companions in trouble. "And who are you,

signor, with the mandolin?" continued Baptistello.

"An improvisatore, from Sicily last, excellency," replied the lad,

doffing his hat with all humility; "I have come to rouse my countrymen,

by the song and guitar, to battle against the legions of Massena, as

they did of old against the Saracen and Goth. I am but a poor lad, and

have no ransom to offer save a song of the glorious Marco Sciarra; not a

paola can I give your excellencies: my sole inheritance is this guitar,

which my father gave me with his dying hand (for he, too, was an

improvisatore), when he fell in battle under the banner of Cardinal

Ruffo."

"Where, boy?"

"On the plains of Apulia--I was a little child then," said the lad,

shedding tears. "See, the mandolin is stained with his blood."

"Benissimo!" exclaimed the band, who crowded round us.

"Thou, too, art free; for we war not with the poor. Away! follow the

monk, and the virgin speed thee." But the minstrel bestowed an anxious

glance on me, and drew near; scorning to imitate the selfish priest, who

had now disappeared from the path which wound over the brightening

mountains.

"Your name, signor?" asked Varro, surveying me with a glance of

surprise, and seeming puzzled what to think of me.

"Dundas, captain in the British service, and commandant of Scylla," I

replied, with haughty brevity.

"The friend of Castelermo, and who so bravely avenged his death on the

renegade Navarro--is it not so?"

"The same, Signor Capo: for two days past I have undergone great misery,

and last night made a most miraculous escape from the troops of General

Regnier."

"Who has offered a hundred gold Napoleons for you dead or alive: a sum

quite sufficient to excite the avarice and cupidity of a Calabrian

outlaw."

My spirit sank--I made no reply, but cursed the French general in my

heart.

"Courage, signor," said Baptistello, laying his hand familiarly on my

shoulder; "think not so hardly of us: we all love the British soldiers,

and would not yield you to Regnier for all the gold in France. We have

not forgotten Maida--eh, comrades?"

"Viva il Re d'Inghilterra!" answered the band with one voice. (It was

the cry of the loyalists as often as "Viva Ferdinando IV.")

"You hear the sentiments of my followers," said Varro; "truly, signor,

as the Husband of the Signora d'Alfieri, your name is dear to the whole

Calabrians; and I believe the wildest rogue in these provinces would not

touch a hair of your head. Corpo di Baccho! you must breakfast with us

among the mountains: we trust to your honour for not revealing our

fastness to our disadvantage--to our own hands for avenging it, if you

do. Enough, signor: we know each other."

I was in the hands of men with whom it would have been rash to trifle;

and, accepting the rough invitation, I accompanied them across the

hills. The sun rose above the highest peak of Bova, and poured its

fiery lustre into the dark green valleys; gilding the convent vanes and

little spires of St. Christiana and Oppido, and exhaling the mist from

the black glittering rocks, the sable pines, and verdant slopes of the

Apennines.

*CHAPTER XX.*

*THE BANDIT'S CAVERN.--RECAPTURE AND DELIVERANCE.*

Through a long deep gorge, winding between basaltic cliffs, the

production of volcanic fire, or formed by some great convulsion which

had rent the massive hills, we scrambled along for nearly half a mile;

at the end rose a wall of rock, on ascending which, by means of a

ladder, I found myself in the den of the banditti. The ladder being

drawn up when the last man ascended, all communication with the chasm

below was thus cut off.

A fire burned brightly in a recess of the cavern, revealing its ghastly

rocks and hollow depths, the long stalactites, the crystals, and various

sparkling stones which glimmered in the flames as they shot upward

through the cranny that served for a chimney. Several females, grouped

round it, were engaged in chatting, quarrelling, and cooking; and their

picturesque costumes, olive complexions, and graceful figures, were

brought forward in strong warm light by the flickering flames: some had

still the sad remains of beauty, and their Greco-Italian features still

wore the soft Madonna-like expression of the southern provinces: though,

alas! their innocence had fled; others were sullen, forbidding, or

melancholy, and all were laden with tawdry finery and massive jewels.

The aspect of the cavern; one part glaring with lurid light, the other

half involved in gloom, where its mysterious recesses pierced into the

bowels of the mountain; the women, with their full bosoms, large black

eyes, and sandalled feet, their glossy hair braided into tails, or

flowing in dishevelled ringlets; the bearded banditti, some in their

well-known costume, others in a garb of rough skins, showing their bare

legs and arms--their rifles, knives, pistols, and horns, sparkling when

they moved; formed a striking scene. Looking outward, also, a view of

the distant sea, the smoke of Stromboli piercing the infinity of space

above it, the spire of Fiumara, the vine-clad ruins of a Grecian temple,

and the long bright river that wound between the hills towards it,

formed a subject for the pencil, such as would have raised the

enthusiasm of Salvator Rosa; who, in pursuit of the savagely romantic,

sojourned for a time among the wilds, the beauties, the terrors, and the

banditti of Calabria.

Chocolate, kid's flesh stewed, eggs, milk, dried grapes, and wine,

composed the repast: when it was finished, the poor improvisatore,

though not quite at ease, found himself compelled to sing; and chose for

his theme MARCO SCIARRA, the glory of the Abruzzesi, whose fame and

memory the honest man and the bandit alike extol. He sang in ottiva

rima and tinkled an accompaniment with his guitar, while every ear

listened intently.

The scene opened in the wilds of Abruzzi; Marco was at the head of his

thousand followers, and in all the plenitude of his power and

terror--that chivalric brigandism which gained him the title of Re della

Campagna; then we were told how, kneeling by the wayside, he kissed the

hand of Tasso, and did homage to the muse; how successfully he warred

with Clement VII. and the Count of Conversano, and then fought the

battles of the Venetians against their Tuscan enemies: of his bravery,

his loves, his compassion, and countless escapes, we all heard in

succession, down to that hour when, in the marches of Ancona, he met

Battimello, his former friend; who while embracing him, in the true

spirit of Italian treachery, struck a dagger in his heart, and sold his

head to a papal commissary.

Every eye flashed as the minstrel concluded; a groan of rage, mingled

with a burst of applause, shook the vaulted cavern: for the theme was

one well calculated to interest his hearers deeply; and one very pretty

young woman threw her arms around the improvisatore, and kissed him on

both cheeks. While all were thus well pleased, we took our departure;

and were very glad when the cavern and its inmates were some miles

behind us. On bidding adieu to Baptistello, I promised to have his

father's head sent from Messina, if I lived to reach that city in

safety. He kissed my hand, and a dark smile lit up the features of

Lancelloti: I was too soon to learn the ideas passing in the mind of

that abominable traitor.

There is, generally, a romance about the Italian outlaw, which raises

his character far above that of the mere pickpocket or house-breaker.

The danger encountered in the course of his desperate profession, and

the wild scenery around him, were all calculated to inspire him with a

tinge of heroism: were, I say; for the real Italian brigand may now,

happily, be classed with the things which are past. Without being

guilty of any premeditated crime, many were forced upon that terrible

career by the French invasion, or by too freely using their knives in

those outbursts of anger and revenge to which the hot blood of the

southern climes is so prone: but to some good feelings lingering in

those hearts which danger and despair had not completely hardened, I

owed my safety in these various encounters with the wild bravos of

Calabria.

But the most dangerous was yet to come. The reward offered by Regnier

for my recapture had excited the avarice of Lancelloti; who was then

tracking me over the hills, intent on my destruction. On parting with

the improvisatore, close by where the poor notary yet hung with the wild

birds screaming round him, I continued my way, as warily as possible, to

avoid the enemy; for a continual pop--pop--popping in the distance, and

the appearance of white smoke curling on the mountain sides and from the

leafless though budding forests, announced that the French advanced

parties were skirmishing with the brigands and armed paesani, and kept

me continually on the alert. Dread of the effect of Regnier's reward,

compelled me to avoid every man I met; so my route soon became equally

toilsome and devious. Yet though exhausted by travelling and loss of

sleep, I was animated by a view of Scylla's distant towers and terraces,

which rose above the woodlands gleaming in the rays of the joyous sun,

and continued to press forward; until completely overcome with fatigue,

I threw myself on the green sward, under the cool shade of a pine

thicket, and fell into a deep sleep.

This happy slumber, (which after a long march under the scorching heat

of noon, the cool shade rendered so refreshing) had lasted, perhaps, an

hour, when I was roughly roused by the smart application of a rifle butt

to the side of my head. Starting up, I found myself in the grasp of

Lancelloti, and two others of Varro's band: alas! weary and unarmed,

what resistance could I offer? They were strong, fresh, and armed to

the teeth: solitude was around us, and no aid near; every hope of escape

vanished.

"Via, Signor Inglese!" said one; "did you mean to sleep there all day?"

"Beard of Mahomet!" said Lancelloti, with a scowl; "you had better make

use of your legs."

"Your purpose, scoundrels?"

"To deliver you to the French commandant at Fiumara," replied the

ci-devant priest and pirate. "Madonna! a hundred pieces of gold are not

to be despised. Look you, signor, I swear by the light of Heaven, to

blow your brains out on the first attempt to escape!--so fill the

foreyard--maladetto! Remember I am Osman Carora--ha, ha!"

"Wretch! would you murder me in cold blood, and thus add to the guilt

accumulated on your unhappy head?"

"Cospetto! it is indeed mighty," said he, gloomily; "yea, enough to

darken the stone of Caaba, which was once white as milk, but now,

blackened by the sins of men, is like a piece of charcoal in those walls

where Abraham built it. When a devout Turk, I--via! on--or a brace of

balls will whistle through the head you may wish should reach Fiumara on

your shoulders--ha, ha!"

To resist was to die; so, relying on the humanity of the French officer

commanding the outposts, I accompanied them, in indescribable agony of

mind. The fading rays of the setting sun, as it sank behind the hills,

were reddening the massive towers and crenelated battlements, the

terraced streets and shining casements of Scylla. It vanished behind

the green ridges; the standard descended from the keep, and my heart

sank as we neared Fiumara. My escort kept close by me, with their rifles

loaded. A river, the name of which I do not remember, winds from these

hills towards Fiumara; and we moved along its northern bank. Its deep,

smooth current lay on the left side of the narrow path, and precipitous

rocks, like a wall, rose up on the right; so that I was without the

slightest hope of effecting an escape. I spoke of the greater reward

they would receive on conducting me to Scylla: but they laughed my words

to scorn. The French out-picquets were now in sight; and far down the

valley we saw their chain of advanced sentinels, motionless on their

posts, standing with ordered arms, watching the still current of the

glassy river, as it swept onwards to the sea: its bright surface

reflected the steep rocks, the green woods, and a ruined bridge, so

vividly, that the eye could not distinguish where land and water met.

The last flush of day, as it died away over the Apennines, cast a yellow

blaze on its windings; which at intervals were dotted by the fitful

watch-fires of the out-lying piquets.

A party of armed men had been seen by Lancelloti pursuing the turnings

of the path we trod: they came towards us: their conical hats and long

rifles announced them Calabrians, and a consultation was held by my

capturers whether to advance or retire; as it was quite impossible to

leave the path on either hand.

"Go to the front, Gaetano, and reconnoitre," said Lancelloti; "they may

be some of the Free Corps." My heart leaped at the idea.

"Cospetto! and if they are?"

"We shoot him through the head, plunge into the river, and swim for it!"

said the other ruffian.

"Blockhead!" exclaimed Lancelloti; "they are but four, and the first

lucky fire may make us more than equal. To _you_," addressing me with

cruel ferocity, "I swear, by all the devils, you shall be shot the

instant we are attacked--shot, I say, and flung into the river, that no

one else may win those bright Napoleons which I hoped should clink in my

own pouch."

At that moment, Gaetano came running back to say, that, although armed

like the Free Calabri with white cross-belts and heavy muskets, they

wore no uniform or scarlet cockade.

"They must be free cavalieri of our own order, then," exclaimed

Lancelloti. "Some of Scarolla's band, perhaps."

"They have been plundering of late, as far as Capo Pillari."

"Forward, then!"

Life and liberty were hanging by a hair: my heart beat tumultuously, and

mechanically I moved forward, cursing the unsoldier-like malice of the

French leader, who had placed me in such a position, by exciting the

avarice of such wretches. After losing sight of the advancing party for

a time, we suddenly met them, front to front, at an abrupt angle where

the road turned round a point of rock.

"Advance first, Signor Inglese," said Lancelloti; "and, should you

attempt to escape, remember!" and, tapping the butt of his rifle, he

grinned savagely as I stepped forward, expecting every instant to be

shot through the head. My brain was whirling--I was giddy with rage and

despair. The path diminished to a narrow shelf of rock, about a foot

broad: on one side it descended sheer to the dark waters of the deep and

placid river; on the other frowned the wall of basalt; and I was

compelled to grasp the tufts of weeds and grass on its surface, as I

passed the perilous turn.

Scarcely had I cleared the angle, when I was confronted

by--whom!--Giacomo, Luca _labbruta_, and two other soldiers of Santugo,

in disguise. Their shout of joy was answered by a volley from three

rifles behind me; and the report rang like thunder among the cliffs.

I heard the balls whistle past; a shriek and a plunge followed, as one

of the Free Corps fell, wounded, into the stream: his comrades rushed

on, to avenge him, and I drew aside behind an angle of the rocks, to

avoid the cross fire of both parties. Enraged to behold the husband of

their famous "Signora Capitanessa" in such a plight, Giacomo and his

comrades pressed furiously forward with fixed bayonets. To this

formidable weapon, the foe could only oppose the clubbed rifle, and a

desperate conflict ensued: but on such ground it could not be of long

duration. Blubber-lipped Luca shot Lancelloti through the breast: he

rolled down the steep rocks into the sluggish stream, above which his

ferocious face rose once or twice amid the crimson eddies of his blood;

then sank to rise no more. Immediately after, his companions were

bayoneted, and flung over the precipice after him.

Full of triumph at his victory and discovery, honest Giacomo skipped

about on the very edge of the cliff, dancing the tarantella like a

madman.

"Thrice blessed be our holy Lady of Oppido, who led us this way

to-night. O, happiness! O, joy to the capitanessa!" he exclaimed. "Ah,

signor! you know not what she has endured. The whole garrison has been

turned upside down: the Signora Bianca is distracted; the visconte, the

Conte di Palmi, and Signor Olivero Lascelles have been incessantly

beating the woods in search of you, so far as they dared venture. And

Giacomo--O, triumph!--is the finder! It is an era in my life: Annina

herself dare not be coy after this!"

Giacomo's Italian enthusiasm displayed itself in a thousand antics; and

it was not until we saw a party of the French tirailleurs (whom the

firing had alarmed) advancing up the opposite bank to reconnoitre, that

we prepared to retire. It was now night: favoured by the moon, we forded

the river at a convenient place, and taking our way through the woods

between Fiumara and Scylla, we eluded the vigilance of the French

picquets. In an hour I found myself safe within the walls, gates, and

gun-batteries of my garrison; where my sudden return caused a burst of

universal joy.

Breaking away from Luigi, my brother-officers and soldiers, who crowded

clamorously round me, I hurried to the apartments of Bianca. All was

silent when I entered, and the flickering rays of a night-lamp revealed

to me the confusion my absence had created. Bianca's music, her guitar,

her daily work, the embroidery, her books and drawings, lay all

forgotten, and huddled in a corner, poor papagallo croaked desolately in

his cage: for he, too, had been deserted, and his seed-box was empty. A

row of vases, which Bianca used to tend everyday, had been forgotten;

and the flowers had drooped and withered. The whole sleeping-chamber

wore an air of disorder and neglect; her bed appeared not to have been

slept in since I had left; for my scarlet sash lay on it, just where I

had thrown it the night I left Scylla.

Above all, I was shocked with the appearance of the poor girl: reclining

on a sofa, she lay sleeping on the bosom of Annina; who also was buried

in a heavy slumber: both were evidently wearied with watching and

sorrow. Bianca was pale as death: her beautiful hair streamed in

disorder over her white neck and polished shoulder; and shining tears

were oozing from her long dark lashes. She was weeping in her sleep,

and the palor of her angelic beauty was rendered yet stronger by

comparison with the olive brow and rosy cheeks of the waiting-maid.

I was deeply moved on beholding her thus: but I never felt so supremely

happy as at the moment, when, gently putting my arm round her, I awoke

her to joy, and dispelled those visions of sorrow which floated through

her dreams.

*CHAPTER XXI.*

*JOYS OF A MILITARY HONEYMOON.*

Early next morning I was roused by the sharp blast of a French trumpet,

stirring all the echoes of Scylla. I was dressing hastily, when

Lascelles, who commanded the barrier-guard, entered, saying that a flag

of truce and a trumpet, sent by General Regnier, required a conference

with the commandant.

"Curse Regnier," said I, testily, while dragging on my boots; "I will

not hold any communication with him, after the scandalous manner in

which he has treated me."

"But you may receive the officer, and hear that which he is ordered to

communicate: at least answer this letter, of which he is the bearer."

By the grey twilight of a February morning I opened the Frenchman's

despatch and read:

"SUMMONS

Of unconditional capitulation, and the articles thereof, agreed to

between the commandant of Scylla, and Monsieur le General de Division,

Regnier, Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour, Knight-Commander of the

Iron Crown of Lombardy, Grand Cross of the Lion of Bavaria, Knight of

St. Louis of France, Chef de Bataillon of the Grenadiers of the Imperial

Guard," &c. &c. &c.

"Bah!" cried Oliver, with a laugh; "throw it over the window."

"Give Monsieur le General, Knight of St. Louis, and all that, my

compliments, and say, I will return these articles with the first cannon

ball fired on his trenches."

"The enemy are close at hand this morning, and appear to have made great

progress during the night."

"Desire the officer commanding the artillery to have all the heavy guns

loaded with tin-case-shot, in addition to iron balls; and to have the

primings well looked to."

"But the Frenchman--he is still waiting at the barriers--shall I show

him up?"

"You may--I have a particular message to his general."

"He is a punchy, ungentlemanly kind of man, and appears to keep a sharp

eye about him, evidently observing all our defences."

"Lodge the trumpeter in the main-guard, and bind up the eyes of the

officer: they served me so once; I will meet him in the old hall."

That I might not be deficient in courtesy, I directed wine, decanters,

&c., to be conveyed to the vaulted hall, where princely banners and

Italian trophies had given place to racks of arms, iron-bound chests,

and military stores. Oliver led in the officer, with his eyes covered by

a handkerchief, which gave him rather a droll aspect. He was a short

thick-set man, with wiry, grey moustachios, and wore the uniform of the

ill-fated voltigeurs of the 23rd regiment.

"Monsieur, you will no doubt pardon this necessary muffling," said I,

advancing; "but as you wished to see me--ha!"--at that moment Oliver

withdrew the bandage, when lo! imagine my astonishment on seeing the

features of General Regnier! I knew him in an instant; although,

instead of the blue coat and gold oak-leaves, the stars and medals of

the general of the empire, he wore the plain light green and silver

braid of the 23rd. His wonder was not less on recognising me.

"Ouf! you have outflanked me--quite!" said he, bowing with a ludicrous

air of confusion and assurance.

"Shame! shame, general!" I replied, with an air of scorn: "who is now

the spy and deserves to be hanged or shot?"

"Not I," said he, with _sang froid_; "I am the bearer of a flag of

truce."

"In your _own_ name? Good!"

"No; in that of Joseph I., King of Naples, and the Marshal Prince of

Essling."

"A paltry pretence, under which you came hither to reconnoitre our

works, our cannon, and means of resistance. Away, sir! Back to your

position, and remember that one consideration alone prevents me from

horse-whipping you as you deserve, for the manner in which you treated

me at Seminara."

"Horsewhip--mille baionettes!" replied he, with eyes flashing fire; "I

must have reparation for that: monsieur, be so good as to recall those

words?"

"Sir, remember your threats and the fetters."

"Ouf!" he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "I am in the lion's den.

You must meet me, monsieur."

"Yes, in the breach--sword in hand--be gone, sir!"

"I go: but hear me. Remember the fate of the Italian commandant of

Crotona. I swear, by God and the glory of France, that like him you

shall die, and hang from these ramparts when the place surrenders. Our

heavy gun-batteries will open at noon; you have but two hundred rank and

file: for every one of these I can bring one piece of cannon and a

hundred soldiers--ouf! we shall eat you up. Before the sun sets

to-night my triumph shall be complete, and Calabria once more the

emperor's."

And thus we parted with the bitterest personal animosity. He retired

with the bewildered Lascelles; who led him, blindfold, to the outer

barrier, and, with his trumpeter, there dismissed him.

"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, when he hurried back to me, "what a triumph

it would have been to have sent the old fox over to Messina! Only think

of Sherbrooke's flaming general order and address of thanks on the

occasion. What on earth tempted you to let him go?"

"Flags of truce must be respected: but I had a hard struggle between

etiquette and inclination. Desire the gunners of the guard to telegraph

to the _Electra_ and gun-boats to keep close in shore; and send my

orderly to the Visconte di Santugo, saying I will visit him shortly."

The continual skirmishing of the peasantry and banditti with the French

had greatly retarded the operations of the latter: but on the 10th of

February--the infantry brigade of Milette's corps having descended from

the Milia heights and come within range of our cannon--it became

imperative to order off to Sicily the whole of the armed paesani who

occupied the town of Scylla; as the bombarding operations of the

besieging army would only subject them to destruction. While our

batteries kept in check the soldiers of Milette, I superintended the

embarkation of these brave fellows and the remnant of Santugo's Free

Corps; who were all received on board the Sicilian gun-boats at the sea

staircase. The visconte remained with me; but his volunteers, who

afterwards distinguished themselves so much in our service, were

quartered in Messina. Poor Giacomo was afterwards slain in the

brilliant attack made by General Macfarlane on the coast of Naples, in

the July following. The Cavaliere Paolo for his bravery on the same

day, at the capture of the Castello d'Ischia, received the thanks of

Ferdinand IV. and Sir J. Stuart, at the head of the army. He was

afterwards created Conte Casteluccio, and shared his coronet with the

fair widow of Castagno. He is now senior commandant of the Yager Guards

in the Neapolitan army.

I transmitted with the gun-boats the whole of the sick and wounded, and

everything of value. I sent away my groom with my gallant grey; which

was indeed far too good a nag to be captured and ridden by Frenchmen.

It was in vain that I intreated Bianca to go in safety with the boats,

and described to her all the horrors of a siege: the noise of our guns

playing on Milette's advancing column only confirmed the fond girl's

determination to remain with us; and she seemed happy when the last

gun-boat, laden to the water's edge with her countrymen, moved slowly

away from the shore, and the only chance by which she could leave me was

cut off for ever.

A safe place was fitted up for her by the soldiers in a bomb-proof

chamber, where the thick walls and arches of solid masonry shut out the

storm of war, which was soon to shake the towers of Scylla to their

deepest foundations. The barriers of palisade were secured, the bridges

drawn up, the standard hoisted, the guns double shotted with balls,

canister, and grape, the breastworks and ramparts lined, the locks and

flints examined; and thus we awaited the enemy on the forenoon of the

10th: the roll of their brass drums rang among the hills, as the

successive columns descended from the heights of Milia, taking the most

circuitous routes to avoid the fire of our cannon, which played upon

their line of march at every opportunity afforded by the inequality of

the ground.

*CHAPTER XXII.*

*THE SIEGE OF SCYLLA.*

My mind was a prey to the utmost anxiety, when I beheld the overwhelming

masses which Regnier was pouring forward on the last solitary hold of

Ferdinand, cut off by the stormy Strait of Messina from all Sicilian

succour. A strong brigade of cavalry, the 23rd Light Infantry, the 1st,

62nd, and 101st Regiments of the French line, together with a powerful

battering train, formed his force; but as each corps consisted of three

battalions, he mustered more than 6,000 foot alone. The "handful" of

the British 62nd, amounting now to only 200 file, were to encounter

them: but proud of my corps, and feeling all the glorious ardour of my

profession glowing within me--relying on the indomitable English spirit

of my soldiers, and the great natural strength of the position we

occupied--I did not despair of at least protracting a siege; which, when

the great disparity of numbers is remembered, must be deemed as glorious

a deed of arms as our military annals exhibit.

On the morning of the 11th February, five 24-pounders, five 18-pounders,

four mortars, and innumerable field-pieces, opened a tremendous

cannonade on the keep and upper works of Scylla, to demolish our cover

and bury us with our guns under the ruins. This battering continued

daily, without a moment's cessation, until the 14th; when, covered by

it, the French sappeurs and artillerists formed two other breaching

batteries, at two hundred yards distance from our bastions:

notwithstanding the appalling slaughter made among them by our shells

bursting, and grape-shot and musketry showering around, with deadly

effect. Though the whole of Regnier's infantry remained under cover

during these operations, the execution done on those who worked at the

breaching batteries must have been fearful: they were so close and so

numerous. My own brave little band was becoming thin from the fire from

the heights: every cannon-shot which struck the stone walls was

rendered, in effect, as dangerous as a shell, by the heavy splinters it

cast on every side; and I foresaw that the castle of Ruffo--mouldering

with the lapse of years, and shaken by the storms and earthquakes of

centuries--would soon sink before the overwhelming tempest of iron balls

which Regnier hurled against it from every point: his gunners stopping

only until their cannon became cool enough to renew the attack. We had

expected great assistance from our flotilla of gun-boats; which, by

keeping close in shore, might have cannonaded the enemy's position, and

shelled their approaches; but a storm of wind and rain, which continued

without cessation or lull from the time the attack began until it was

ended, rendered an approach to Scylla impossible: the sea was dashing

against it in mountains of misty foam, and on its walls of rock would

have cast a line-of-battle ship like a cork.

The roar of the musketry and the perpetual booming of the adverse

battery guns, produced a tremendous effect; awakening all the echoes of

the fathomless caves of Scylla in the splintered cliffs and Mont Jaci;

and after being tossed from peak to peak of the Milia Hills, with ten

thousand reverberations all varying, the reports died away in the

distant sky--only to be succeeded by others. The dense volumes of smoke

that rose from the French batteries, were forced upwards and downwards

by the stormy wind, and rolled away over land and sea, twisted into a

thousand fantastic shapes; mingling on one side with the mist of the

valleys, on the other with the foam of the ocean. The continual rolling

of the French brass drums, the clamour of their artillerymen, and the

wild hallooing of their infantry, added to the roar of the conflict

above and that of the surge below, increased the effect of a scene which

had as many beauties as terrors.

The night of the 14th was unusually dark and stormy; and on visiting

Bianca in her dreary vault (which, by being below the basement of the

keep, was the only safe place in the castle) she told me, with a pale

cheek and faltering tongue, that often, of late, she had been disturbed

by sounds rising from the earth below her. I endeavoured to laugh away

her fears: but, on listening, I heard distinctly the peculiar noise of

hammers and shovels; which convinced me that the French sappers were at

work somewhere, and that the hollows of the rock had enabled them to

penetrate far under the foundations of the castle. On examination, we

found that for three nights they had been lodging a mine, during the

noise and gloom of the storm, and had excavated two chambers; one under

our principal bastion, the other under the keep, connecting them by a

saucisson led through a gallery cut in the solid rock: the effect of

such an explosion would have ended the siege at once, and blown to atoms

the vault appropriated to Bianca and her servant. My mind shrank, with

horror, from contemplating the frightful death she had so narrowly

escaped. Next night the train would, undoubtedly, have been fired; and

the inner chamber was pierced within three feet of her bed! * * * * * *

Desiring Lascelles to prepare a counter-mine in case of our failure, I

slipped out by the barriers, accompanied by Santugo and twelve

volunteers. Favoured by the darkness of the night, the howling of the

stormy wind, and dashing of the "angry surge," we stole safely to the

scene of operations, and with charged bayonets fell upon a brigade of

sappeurs--as the French style a party of eight private-artificers, under

the command of a non-commissioned officer. They were all as merry as

crickets, talking and laughing whilst working in their shirt sleeves.

They defended themselves bravely with their swords; but, as we possessed

the mouth of the excavation, all retreat was cut off. The corporal, a

strong athletic fellow, beat down Santugo's guard with a shovel, and

striking him to the earth with the same homely weapon, broke through us,

plunged down the rocks and escaped; but the whole of his party were

bayoneted, and after utterly ruining and destroying the mine, we

retreated within our gates without losing a man, or firing a shot. The

exasperation of the proud Santugo at the rough knock down he received

from the corporal is quite indescribable.

Next day the enemy pushed forward still closer to the walls: led by my

old acquaintance De Bourmont, the 101st regiment had the temerity to

advance round an angle of the rocks to the water's edge, for the purpose

of destroying the sea staircase--our last, our only means of retreat. A

cry burst from my soldiers: we brought every musket to bear upon that

point, and depressed our cannon by wedges and hand-spikes: section after

section of the enemy were swept into the sea, and they were therefore

compelled to abandon the attempt; leaving half their number piled up on

the rocky shore, killed or wounded, or drowned by falling from the

narrow path, where many of the dead and dying were drenched and swept

away every instant by the sea.

As the mist rolled up from the mountains, we saw the shattered remains

of the regiment--a dark mass in grey great-coats, with the tops of their

glazed caps and bayonet-blades glancing in the sun--retiring, double

quick, beyond the eminence, which, to a certain extent, sheltered

Regnier's infantry from our missiles: but their retreat was galled by

them, and a line of prostrate bodies marked their route.

"Dundas, you shall see how I will unhorse that fellow," said the officer

commanding our artillery, as he coolly adjusted the quoin under the

breach of a long nine. He meant old Bourmont, who, like a brave fellow

as he was, retreated in rear of his column, and was jogging along on his

charger, whose drooping head, mulish ears, curved face, and shambling

action, shewed the thorough French horse. Before I could speak, the

match fell on the vent, the gun was fired, and the aim was true--fatally

so.

"A splendid shot, and a jewel of a gun," exclaimed my friend, exulting

in his gunnery, as both horse and rider tumbled prone to the earth.

"Will you try a shot, Dundas?"

"Thank you, no: you have killed the only man, amid all those ranks, I

would have spared."

"By Jove! he is not settled yet," said Lascelles, with an air of

disappointment, as the colonel disengaged himself from his fallen horse,

and, heavily encumbered by his jack-boots, scrambled over the hill with

as much expedition as his short legs and rotund form would permit. Both

Oliver and the artillerist were chagrined at his escape; and yet, in

their quiet moods, both were men who would not have killed a fly.

At that moment, so critical to Bourmont, I heard a splitting roar--the

rock shook beneath us, and we knew not which way to look. Shaken and

rent by the salvos of heavy shot which for four successive days had

showered from the French batteries, an immense mass of wall, the curtain

of our strongest bastion, rolled thundering to the earth; burying the

poor artillery officer, Gascoigne, Sergeant Gask, a number of soldiers,

and all our best cannon, under a mighty mountain of crumbled masonry. I

was dismayed and grieved by this terrible catastrophe, which the French

hailed with shouts of rapture and triumph: they redoubled their

battering, with such effect on the shattered walls, that every time a

ball struck, other masses gave way, burying soldiers and cannon beneath

them. By sunset every gun was entombed under the prostrate walls, and

we had only musketry to trust to, in case of an assault; which I had no

doubt would be attempted that very night, as the breach was quite

practicable, and the continual cannonade prevented us from repairing it

by fascines or any other contrivance.

Some were now despairing, and all more or less dispirited: many an

anxious glance was cast to Sicily, and to the sea which raged between

us, as the lowering yellow sun sank behind the Neptunian hills, and the

waves grew black and frothy.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*THE FALL OF SCYLLA--CONCLUSION.*

Night descended upon Scylla, upon the dark Apennines and the tempestuous

sea; and my mind became filled with anxiety: our means of defence were

greatly diminished, our shelter ruined. The stormy state of the weather

cut off, equally, all hope of succour or escape, and I anticipated with

dread a surrender to General Regnier, my personal enemy: by his orders

Santugo had little mercy to expect from Napoleon: and I knew not to what

indignities Bianca, as an Italian lady, might be subjected, if taken

prisoner. Though crippled in means of resistance and reduced in number,

my few brave fellows would have defended the ruined breach till the last

of them perished; but I saw that, ultimately, Scylla must become the

prize of the enemy, and only trusted that, during a lull of the storm,

we might effect a retreat to Messina by the flotilla of Sicilian

gun-boats.

How changed now was the aspect of the venerable Scylla, since that

morning when the French batteries first opened on it! The massive

Norman battlements and its beautiful hall had crumbled into rubbish, or

sunk in ponderous masses beneath the heavy salvos: every window and

loophole were beaten into hideous gaps, and yawning rents split the

strong towers from rampart to foundation. The well was choked up by the

falling stones; and want of water increased the miseries of sixty

wounded men: whom, ultimately, we had to abandon to the care of the

enemy. Every cannon was buried under the mighty piles of ruin beyond

recovery--all, save one thirteen-inch mortar, which I ordered to be

dragged to the summit of the breach; where it afterwards did good

service.

Many of the miserable wounded were destroyed under the falling walls, or

buried, more or less, at a time when we could not spare a hand to

extricate them: their cries were piteous, and their agonies frightful.

The dead lay heaped up behind breastwork and banquette, and from the

castle gutters the red blood was dropping on the sea-beaten rocks below;

where the sea mews and cormorants flapped their wings and screamed over

the sweltering corpses of the 101st. The artillerymen were almost

annihilated, and their platforms were drenched in gore.

Though exhausted by the toil they had endured, the brave little band of

survivors manned the breach, and remained under arms during the whole of

a most tempestuous night, with that quiet cheerfulness, mingled with

stern determination, which are the principal characteristics of our

unmatched soldiery in times of peril. Towards midnight, Santugo (whom,

with Lascelles, I had left in charge of the breach) aroused me from a

nap I was snatching, rolled up in my cloak and ensconced under the lee

side of a parapet.

"Signor, we have had an alert," said he; "a movement is taking place

amongst the enemy: they will be in the breach in five minutes."

I hurried to the mighty rent in our fortifications, and saw the long and

perilous route which an escalade had to ascend--a steep and uncertain

pathway, jagged with rocks and covered with a thousand cart-loads of

loose stones, mortar, and rubbish: it looked like a waterfall as it

vanished down the rocks into the gloom and obscurity below. The sky was

intensely dark, and though the wind howled and the sea hissed and roared

on the bluff headlands, the night seemed calm and still after the

battle-din of the past day.

A white mass, like a rolling cloud, was moving softly towards the

breach, and Santugo was puzzled to account for the strange uniform; but

I knew in a moment that it was an attack _en chemise_, and that the

stormers were clad each in a white shirt: a garb sometimes adopted by

the French when engaged in a night assault. Here our vigilance got the

better of them.

The chemise is a short shirt, either with or without sleeves, worn over

the accoutrements, reaching only to the flap of the cartridge-box; and

is a very useful and necessary precaution, to prevent the stormers from

mistaking each other in the darkness, horror, and confusion of a night

assault.

Our drum (we had only one now) beat, and a volley of musketry was poured

upon the breach from every point that commanded it. The flashes glared

forth over the ruined parapets above and the loopholes of the case-mates

below, while our artillerymen, now that they had no longer cannon to

work, stood by the howitzer to sweep the breach, and showered rockets,

hand-grenades, and red and blue lights on the advancing column. The

bursting of the former retarded and confused them, while the lurid or

ghastly glare of the latter shewed us how to direct our fire: many

fireballs alighted on the rocks, and blazed furiously, shedding over

everything floods of alternate crimson and blue light, which had a

magnificent yet horrible effect.

"Vive la gloire! Avancez! avancez, mes enfants!" cried the officer who

led a wing of the French 62nd, and a wild cheer burst from his soldiers.

It was the brave young Vicomte de Chataillion who headed "the Lost

Children," and I saw with regret that he must fail.

"Forward the howitzer, to sweep the breach!" cried I to the

artillerymen, who were every second falling down, killed or wounded,

into the gap, before the fire of the French. "Forward--depress the

muzzle, and stand clear of the recoil!"

Loaded with a bag containing a thousand musket-balls, the howitzer was

run forward to the breach, over which its yawning muzzle was depressed

and pointed.

"Fire!" cried the corporal. A little flame shot upward from the vent, a

broad and vivid blaze flashed from the muzzle, and the report shook the

ground beneath our feet. The effect of such an unusual and concentrated

discharge of musket-shot on the advancing mass was awful and tremendous.

By the light of the blazing fire-balls, we saw the sudden carnage in all

its sanguinary horror: the dashing Chataillion, and more than two

hundred rank and file, were swept away--literally _blown to pieces_--by

the storm of leaden balls; and the remainder of his party retired on the

main body in undisguised confusion and dismay.

"Well done, soldiers!" I exclaimed, with stern triumph, and feeling a

wild glow of excitement only to be felt in such a place and at such a

time. "Ready the handspikes--back with the mortar--load again, and cram

her to the muzzle with grape and tin-case shot, to sweep their column

again!"

Again the brave French came headlong on, led now by jovial old De

Bourmont; who, with the tricolor in one hand and his cocked hat in the

other, scrambled up the loose stony breach in his clumsy jack-boots with

an agility astonishing in one of his years and size. The gold cross of

the Legion, the silver badges of Lodi, Arcola, of Marengo, and other

scenes of honourable service--his bald head and silver hair--shone amid

the glaring fire-balls and flashing musketry, as the desperate stormers

swept on.

"Vive l'empereur! Avancez! Avancez!" cried he.

"Tue! tue!" yelled the forlorn band; and the whole of Regnier's division

sent up the _cri des armes_ from the hills to heaven. On came the

infuriated assailants--on--on--rushing up the frightful path; but the

deadly fire we rained upon them, and the fast falling corpses (every

bullet killing double) soon kept them thoroughly in check.

Regardless of danger, I stood on the summit of the breach, that my

soldiers might not want example: I felt the wind of the flying balls as

they whistled past me; one carried away my right epaulette, a second

broke the hilt of my sabre, and I lost a spur by a third.

"Soldiers, courage!" cried Santugo, who kept close by my side, and

brandished his sabre with hot impatience; "courage, and they must again

fly before you! Viva Ferdi--O, Madonna mia!" he suddenly ejaculated, in

a gasping voice, as a ball struck him, and he sank at my feet. The

soldiers at the howitzer dragged him back from the enemy's fire; and as

they did so, a musket bullet dropped from his left shoulder: he caught

it, all dripping as it was with his blood, and giving it to the

corporal, exclaimed, like the soldier of Julian Estrado: "With _this_

will I avenge myself! Signor Bombardiere, be so good as to load me a

musket, and ram this bullet well home."

It was done in a twinkling; and while from sheer agony his frame

quivered and his teeth were clenched like a vice, he levelled the piece

over the wheel of the howitzer and shot poor De Bourmont; who fell dead

and rolled to the bottom of the rocks. The concussion threw Santugo

backwards: but he was again dragged out of the press by the gunners, and

taken to a sheltered place, where Macnesia attended to his wound.

The instant Colonel Bourmont fell, another officer snatched the tricolor

from the hand of the corpse as it rolled past, and supplied his place;

and once more the storming party rushed up the steep ascent: regardless

as before of falling men and rolling stones, of the shot showered on

them from every point, and the hedge of keen bayonets bristling at the

summit of the breach above them.

"Long live Joseph, King of Naples! Tue! Tue! Vive la France!" They

were again within a few yards of us, when the stern order, "Forward with

the howitzer!" rang above the din. The artillery put their hands and

shoulders to the wheels, and urged it to the breach; which was again

swept by an irresistible storm of bullets. Once more the carnage was

beyond conception horrible; and with a yell of rage and dismay, the

stormers retreated precipitately beyond the eminence which sheltered

their infantry.

On their flying, the incessant discharge of fire-arms, which had rung

for so many hours, died away for a time; and the rising sun revealed to

us the carnage of the last night's conflict. The breach, the rocks, and

approaches without the court, parapets and defences within, were covered

with blood, and strewed with mangled bodies: but the ascent of the

forlorn hope was terrible--no pencil could depict--no pen can describe

it! The Frenchmen lay in piles of twenty and thirty; while scattered in

every direction were seen the fragments of those who had perished by the

discharges of the howitzer.

Taking advantage of the temporary cessation of hostilities, I ordered

the breach to be repaired by piles of stones and rubbish, to form a

breastwork; while another fatigue party cleared away some of the ruins

which buried our cannon and platforms. The soldiers raised a faint

cheer--one gun was extricated. Alas! a trunnion was knocked off by the

falling stones, and our labour had been in vain--it was useless. On

seeing how we were employed, the French drums once more beat the _pas de

charge_, and the attack was renewed with greater fury, and on two

distant points at once. The 1st, 62nd, and 101st again advanced to the

breach, while a brigade of their second battalions, under General

Milette, with ten or twelve field-pieces, assailed us on a point almost

opposite; and the breaching battery, the field-brigade and mortars on

the height, poured shot and shell upon us with remorseless

determination. During the whole night and morning, the elemental war had

continued with such unabated fury, that our gun-boats had been unable to

leave the Sicilian coast; and I became convinced--but with sorrow and

chagrin--that a capitulation was _inevitable_. I was about to order the

gallant union to be hauled down, and the white flag of mercy hoisted:

but before doing so, I conveyed a notice by telegraph to General

Sherbrooke, in Sicily, acquainting him with my situation and intention.

"_Fight on--you will be rescued!_" was the answer we received. Almost

immediately after the storm lulled a little, and we saw the stately

_Electra_ standing, with her sails crowded, towards Scylla; while the

flotilla, from the Faro, spread their broad latteens to the stormy wind.

Animated by the prospect, and filled with desperate courage, once more

we manned the deadly breach. Before, we fought for honour and in the

fulfilment of our duty; now, it was for life and liberty: and most

effectually we kept the foe in check, until the gun-boats reached the

sea staircase; where Captain Trollope, of the _Electra_, with the

men-of-war launches, arrived to superintend the embarkation.

Aware of our intended escape, the enraged enemy did all in their power

to frustrate it: the batteries, the brigades of field-pieces, and the

battalions of infantry, poured their utmost fire upon the steep and

narrow staircase (which was hewn out of the solid rock), on the ruined

breach, the blood-stained ramparts, the corpse-heaped ditches, and the

heaving boats: their drums rolled and their shouts rent the air, while

their frantic gunners worked their cannon like madmen.

Now, indeed, came the moment of my greatest dread and anxiety; to which

all the rest had been child's play. Bianca--the poor drooping girl, now

half dead with terror and exhaustion--had to be brought forth, with her

attendant, and conveyed to the boats: to the boats, good God! And at

that terrible time, when the concentrated fire of such a number of

cannon, mortars, and musketry was poured upon Scylla; and especially on

that steep and slippery stair which she had to descend. The 1st Legere,

nearly a thousand strong, swept it with their fire. My heart became

quite unmanned--I trembled: but it was for her alone.

"Oliver!" I cried to Lascelles; "see Bianca--see Mrs. Dundas to the

boats: it is a duty with which I can hardly trust myself--I have the

breach to defend. Look sharp, man! yet in God's name, I implore you to

be wary!"

He wrung my hand, sheathed his sword and withdrew. A minute afterwards,

he emerged from the ruined arch of a bomb-proof; Bianca leaned on his

arm, and a party of soldiers threw themselves in a dense circle around

her for her protection.

"Claude, Claude!" she cried, in a despairing voice: but the faithful

band hurried her down to the boats.

"Sound--close to the centre!" cried I to the bugle-boy; "call off the

men from every point!"

As he obeyed me, tears fell fast from his eyes: his father, a soldier,

lay dead in the breach close by. The bugle-blast was caught, in various

cadence, by the wind; and could be barely heard above the noise of the

conflict: the assembly, and the retreat, poured in rapid succession on

the ear; and the last shrill note of the warning to retire

_double-quick_ had scarcely been given, ere the bugle flew from his

grasp, and struck by a shot, the poor boy rolled at my feet, bleeding

and beating the earth. Sixty men, the last remnant of my comrades,

assembled from every point. Lloyd spiked the mortar, and the whole

rushed helter-skelter down the steep staircase and sprang into the

boats; which were pushed off as soon as they were filled.