THE ROAD TO AMALFI
The Hotel Victoria faces the bay of Naples. Back of it are the famous
gardens, and as you emerge from these you find yourself upon the narrow
main street of Sorrento, not far from the Square of Tasso.
As our little party entered this street they were immediately espied by
the vetturini, or cabmen, who rushed toward them with loud cries while
they waved their whips frantically to attract attention. One tall fellow
was dressed in a most imposing uniform of blue and gold, with a high hat
bearing a cockade _a la Inglese_ and shiny top boots. His long legs
enabled him to outstrip the others, and in an almost breathless voice he
begged Uncle John to choose his carriage: "the besta carrozza ina town!"
"We don't want to ride," was the answer.
The cabman implored. Certainly they must make the Amalfi drive, or to
Massa Lubrense or Saint' Agata or at least Il Deserto! The others stood
by to listen silently to the discussion, yielding first place to the
victor in the race.
Uncle John was obdurate.
"All we want to-day is to see the town," he declared, "We're not going
to ride, but walk."
"Ah, but the Amalfi road, signore! Surely you will see that."
"To-morrow, perhaps; not now."
"To-morrow, signore! It is good. At what hour, to-morrow,
illustrissimo?"
"Oh, don't bother me."
"We may as well drive to Amalfi to-morrow," suggested Beth. "It is the
proper thing to do, Uncle."
"All right; we'll go, then."
"You take my carrozza, signore?" begged the cabman. "It is besta ina
town."
"Let us see it."
Instantly the crowd scampered back to the square, followed more
leisurely by Uncle John and the girls. There the uniformed vetturio
stood beside the one modern carriage in the group. It was new; it was
glossy; it had beautiful, carefully brushed cushions; it was drawn by a
pair of splendid looking horses.
"Is not bellissima, signore?" asked the man, proudly.
"All right," announced Uncle John, nodding approval. "Be ready to start
at nine o'clock to-morrow morning."
The man promised, whereat his confreres lost all interest in the matter
and the strangers were allowed to proceed without further interruption.
They found out all about the Amalfi drive that evening, and were glad
indeed they had decided to go. Even Louise was pleased at the
arrangement and as eager as the others to make the trip. It is one of
the most famous drives in the world, along a road built upon the rocky
cliff that overhangs the sea and continually winds in and out as it
follows the outlines of the crags.
They had an early breakfast and were ready at nine o'clock; but when
they came to the gate of the garden they found only a dilapidated
carriage standing before it.
"Do you know where my rig is?" Uncle John asked the driver, at the same
time peering up and down the road.
"It is me, sir signore. I am engage by you. Is it not so?"
Mr. Merrick looked at the driver carefully. It was long-legs, sure
enough, but shorn of his beautiful regalia.
"Where's your uniform?" he asked.
"Ah, I have leave it home. The road is dusty, very; I must not ruin a
nice dress when I work," answered the man, smiling unabashed.
"But the carriage. What has become of the fine carriage and the good
horses, sir?"
"Ah, it is dreadful; it is horrible, signore. I find me the carrozza is
not easy; it is not perfect; it do not remain good for a long ride. So I
leave him home, for I am kind. I do not wish the signorini bella to tire
and weep. But see the fine vetture you now have! Is he not easy like
feathers, an' strong, an' molto buena?"
"It may be a bird, but it don't look it," said Uncle John, doubtfully.
"I rented the best looking rig in town, and you bring me the worst."
"Only try, signore! Others may look; it is only you who must ride. You
will be much please when we return."
"Well, I suppose we may as well take it," said the little man, in a
resigned tone. "Hop in, my dears."
They entered the crazy looking vehicle and found the seats ample and
comfortable despite the appearance of dilapidation everywhere prevalent.
The driver mounted the box, cracked his whip, and the lean nags ambled
away at a fair pace.
They passed near to the square, where the first thing that attracted
Uncle John's attention was the beautiful turnout he had hired yesterday.
It was standing just as it had before, and beside it was another man
dressed in the splendid uniform his driver had claimed that he had left
at home.
"Here--stop! Stop, I say!" he yelled at the man, angrily. But the fellow
seemed suddenly deaf, and paid no heed. He cracked his whip and rattled
away through the streets without a glance behind him. The girls laughed
and Uncle John stopped waving his arms and settled into his seat with a
groan.
"We've been swindled, my dears," he said; "swindled most beautifully.
But I suppose we may as well make the best of it."
"Better," agreed Patsy. "This rig is all right, Uncle. It may not be as
pretty as the other, but I expect that one is only kept to make
engagements with. When it comes to actual use, we don't get it."
"That's true enough," he returned. "But I'll get even with this rascal
before I've done with him, never fear."
It was a cold, raw morning, but the portiere at the Victoria had told
them the sun would be out presently and the day become more genial.
Indeed, the sun did come out, but only to give a discouraged look at the
landscape and retire again. During this one day in which they rode to
Amalfi and back, Uncle John afterward declared that they experienced
seven different kinds of weather. They had sunshine, rain, hail, snow
and a tornado; and then rain again and more sunshine. "Sunny Italy"
seemed a misnomer that day, as indeed it does many days in winter and
spring, when the climate is little better than that prevailing in the
eastern and central portions of the United States. And perhaps one
suffers more in Italy than in America, owing to the general lack of
means to keep warm on cold days. The Italian, shivering and blue, will
tell you it is not cold at all, for he will permit no reproach to lie on
his beloved land; but the traveller frequently becomes discouraged, and
the American contingent, especially, blames those misleading English
writers who, finding relief from their own bleak island in Italian
climes, exaggerated the conditions by apostrophizing the country as
"Sunny Italy" and for more than a century uttered such rhapsodies in its
praise that the whole world credited them--until it acquired personal
experience of the matter.
Italy is beautiful; it is charming and delightful; but seldom is this
true in winter or early spring.
The horses went along at a spanking pace that was astonishing. They
passed through the picturesque lanes of Sorrento, climbed the further
slope, and brought the carriage to the other side of the peninsula,
where the girls obtained their first view of the Gulf of Salerno, with
the lovely Isles of the Sirens lying just beneath them.
And now they were on the great road that skirts the coast as far as
Salerno, and has no duplicate in all the known world. For it is cut from
the solid rock of precipitous cliffs rising straight from the sea, which
the highway overhangs at an average height of five hundred feet, the
traveller being protected only by a low stone parapet from the vast gulf
that yawns beneath. And on the other side of the road the cliffs
continue to ascend a like distance toward the sky, their irregular
surfaces dotted with wonderful houses that cling to the slopes, and
vineyards that look as though they might slip down at any moment upon
the heads of timorous pilgrims.
When it rained they put up the carriage top, which afforded but partial
shelter. The shower was brief, but was shortly followed by hail as big
as peas, which threatened to dash in the frail roof of their _carrozza_.
While they shrank huddled beneath the blankets, the sun came out
suddenly, and the driver shed his leathern apron, cracked his whip, and
began singing merrily as the vehicle rolled over the smooth road.
Our travellers breathed again, and prepared to enjoy once more the
wonderful vistas that were unfolded at every turn of the winding way.
Sometimes they skirted a little cove where, hundreds of feet below, the
fishermen sat before their tiny huts busily mending their nets. From
that distance the boats drawn upon the sheltered beach seemed like mere
toys. Then they would span a chasm on a narrow stone bridge, or plunge
through an arch dividing the solid mountain. But ever the road returned
in a brief space to the edge of the sea-cliff, and everywhere it was
solid as the hills themselves, and seemingly as secure.
They had just sighted the ancient town of Positano and were circling a
gigantic point of rock, when the great adventure of the day overtook
them. Without warning the wind came whistling around them in a great
gale, which speedily increased in fury until it drove the blinded horses
reeling against the low parapet and pushed upon the carriage as if
determined to dash it over the precipice.
As it collided against the stone wall the vehicle tipped dangerously,
hurling the driver from his seat to dive headforemost into the space
beneath. But the man clung to the reins desperately, and they arrested
his fall, leaving him dangling at the end of them while the maddened
horses, jerked at the bits by the weight of the man, reared and plunged
as if they would in any instant tumble themselves and the carriage over
the cliff.
At this critical moment a mounted horseman, who unobserved had been
following the party, dashed to their rescue. The rider caught the
plunging steeds by their heads and tried to restrain their terror, at
his own eminent peril, while the carriage lay wedged against the wall
and the driver screamed pitifully from his dangerous position midway
between sea and sky.
Then Beth slipped from her seat to the flat top of the parapet, stepped
boldly to where the reins were pulling upon the terrified horses, and
seized them in her strong grasp.
"Hold fast," she called calmly to the driver, and began dragging him
upward, inch by inch.
He understood instantly the task she had undertaken, and in a moment his
courage returned and he managed to get his foot in a crack of the rock
and assist her by relieving her of part of his weight. Just above was a
slight ledge; he could reach it now; and then she had him by the arm, so
that another instant found him clinging to the parapet and drawing
himself into a position of safety.
The wind had died away as suddenly as it came upon them. The horses, as
soon as the strain upon their bits was relaxed, were easily quieted.
Before those in the carriage had quite realized what had occurred the
adventure was accomplished, the peril was past, and all was well again.
Uncle John leaped from the carriage, followed by Louise and Patsy. The
young horseman who had come to their assistance so opportunely was none
other than Count Ferralti, whom they had such good reason to distrust.
He was sitting upon his horse and staring with amazement at Beth, at
whose feet the driver was grovelling while tears flowed down his bronzed
cheeks and he protested in an absurd mixture of English and Italian, by
every saint in the calendar, that the girl had saved him from a
frightful death and he would devote his future life to her service.
"It is wonderful!" murmured Ferralti. "However could such a slip of a
girl do so great a deed?"
"Why, it's nothing at all," returned Beth, flushing; "we're trained to
do such things in the gymnasium at Cloverton, and I'm much stronger than
I appear to be."
"'Twas her head, mostly," said Patsy, giving her cousin an admiring hug;
"she kept her wits while the rest of us were scared to death."
Uncle John had been observing the Count. One of the young man's hands
hung limp and helpless.
"Are you hurt, sir?" he asked.
Ferralti smiled, and his eyes rested upon Louise.
"A little, perhaps, Mr. Merrick; but it is unimportant. The horses were
frantic at the time and wrenched my wrist viciously as I tried to hold
them. I felt something snap; a small bone, perhaps. But I am sure it is
nothing of moment."
"We'd better get back to Sorrento," said Uncle John, abruptly.
"Not on my account, I beg of you," returned Ferralti, quickly. "We are
half way to Amalfi now, and you may as well go on. For my part, if the
wrist troubles me, I will see a surgeon at Amalfi--that is, if you
permit me to accompany you."
He said this with a defferent bow and a glance of inquiry.
Uncle John could not well refuse. The young fellow might be a sham
count, but the manliness and courage he had displayed in their grave
emergency surely entitled him to their grateful consideration.
"You are quite welcome to join us," said Uncle John.
The driver had by now repaired a broken strap and found his equippage
otherwise uninjured.
The horses stood meekly quiescent, as if they had never known a moment's
fear in their lives. So the girls and their uncle climbed into the
vehicle again and the driver mounted the box and cracked his whip with
his usual vigor.
The wind had subsided as suddenly as it had arisen, and as they passed
through Positano--which is four hundred feet high, the houses all up and
down the side of a cliff like swallows' nests--big flakes of snow were
gently falling around them.
Count Ferralti rode at the side of the carriage but did not attempt much
conversation. His lips were tight set and the girls, slyly observing his
face, were sure his wrist was hurting him much more than he cared to
acknowledge.
Circling around the cliff beyond Positano the sun greeted them, shining
from out a blue sky, and they wondered what had become of the bad
weather they had so lately experienced.
From now on, past Prajano and into Amalfi, the day was brilliant and the
temperature delightful. It was full noon by the time they alighted at
the little gate-house of the ancient Cappuccini-Convento, now a hotel
much favored by the tourist. Count Ferralti promised to join them later
and rode on to the town to find a surgeon to look after his injured
hand, while the others slowly mounted the long inclines leading in a
zigzag fashion up to the old monastery, which was founded in the year
1212.
From the arbored veranda of this charming retreat is obtained one of the
finest views in Europe, and while the girls sat enjoying it Uncle John
arranged with a pleasant faced woman (who had once lived in America) for
their luncheon.
An hour later, and just as they were sitting down to the meal, Count
Ferralti rejoined them. His hand was bandaged and supported by a sling,
and in answer to Louise's gentle inquiries he said, simply:
"It was as I had feared: a small bone snapped. But my surgeon is
skillful, and says time will mend the wrist as good as new."
In spite of his courage he could eat no luncheon, but merely sipped a
glass of wine; so Uncle John, alarmed at his pallor, insisted that he
take a seat in the carriage on the return journey. Beth wanted to ride
the Count's horse home, but there was no side saddle to be had, so they
led the animal by a halter fastened behind the ricketty carriage, and
Beth mounted the box and rode beside her friend the driver.
The pleasant weather lasted until they neared Sorrento, when another
shower of rain came up. They reached their hotel damp and bedraggled,
but enthusiastic over their wonderful trip and the interesting adventure
it had incidentally developed.