CHAPTER

I.--The Landing in Calabria

II.--The Pigtail

III.--The Visconte Santugo

IV.--Double or Quit

V.--Truffi the Hunchback

VI.--The Calabrian Free Corps

VII.--The Battle of Maida

VIII.--The Cottage.--Capture of the Eagle

IX.--Lives for Ducats!--Bianca D'Alfieri

X.--A Night with the Zingari

XI.--The Hunchback Again!

XII.--The Hermitage

XIII.--The Hermit's Confession

XIV.--The Siege Of Crotona

XV.--The Abduction.--A Scrape

XVI.--The Summons of Surrender

XVII.--Marching 'Out' with the Honours of War

XVIII.--Another Dispatch

XIX.--Narrative of Castelermo

XX.--The Villa Belcastro

XXI.--Sequel to the Story of Castelermo

*PREFACE.*

The very favourable reception given by the Press and Public generally,

to "The Romance of War," and its "Sequel," has encouraged the Author to

resume his labours in another field.

Often as scenes of British valour and conquest have been described, the

brief but brilliant campaign in the Calabrias (absorbed, and almost

lost, amid the greater warlike operations in the Peninsula) has never,

he believes, been touched upon: though a more romantic land for

adventure and description cannot invite the pen of a novelist; more

especially when the singular social and political ideas of those unruly

provinces are remembered.

Indeed it is to be regretted that no narrative should have been

published of Sir John Stuart's Neapolitan campaign. It was an

expedition set on foot to drive the French from South Italy; and (but

for the indecision which sometimes characterized the ministry of those

days) that country might have become the scene of operations such as

were carried on so successfully on the broader arena of the Spanish

Peninsula.

Other campaigns and victories will succeed those of the great Duke, and

the names of Vittoria and Waterloo will sound to future generations as

those of Ramillies and Dettingen do to the present. Materials for

martial stories will never be wanting: they are a branch of literature

peculiarly British; and it is remarkable that, notwithstanding the love

of peace, security and opulence, which appears to possess us now, the

present age is one beyond all others fond of an exciting style of

literature.

Military romances and narratives are the most stirring of all. There

are no scenes so dashing, or so appalling, as those produced by a state

of warfare, with its contingent woes and horrors; which excite the

energies of both body and mind to the utmost pitch.

The author hopes, that, though containing less of war and more of love

and romantic adventure than his former volumes, these now presented to

the Reader will be found not the less acceptable on this account. They

differ essentially from the novels usually termed military; most of the

characters introduced being of another cast.

The last chapters are descriptive of the siege of Scylla; a passage of

arms which, when the disparity of numbers between the beleaguered

British and the besieging French is considered, must strike every reader

as an affair of matchless bravery.

Several of the officers mentioned have attained high rank in their

profession--others a grave on subsequent battle-fields: their names may

be recognised by the military reader. Other characters belong to

history.

The names of the famous brigand chiefs may be familiar to a few:

especially Francatripa. He cost the French, under Massena, more lives

than have been lost in the greatest pitched battle. All the attempts of

Buonaparte to seduce him to his faction, or capture him by force, were

fruitless; and at last, when his own followers revolted, and were about

to deliver him up to the iron-hearted Prince of Essling, he had the

address to escape into Sicily with all their treasure, the accumulated

plunder of years. Being favoured by the Queen, he, no doubt, spent the

close of his years in ease and opulence. Scarolla became a true

patriot, and died "Chief of the Independents of Basilicata."

It is, perhaps, needless to observe, that many scenes purely fanciful

are mingled with the real military details.

The story of the Countess of La Torre, however, is a fact: the shocking

incidents narrated actually occurred in an Italian family of rank, many

years ago. Strazzoldi's victim received no less than thirty-three

wounds from his poniard. The author has given the real titles of the

infamous parties, and only trusts he has not marred a very sad story by

his mode of relating it. In atrocity, the tale has lately found a

parallel in the Praslin tragedy: indeed, "truth is stranger than

fiction." There is nothing so horrible in a romance but may be

surpassed by the occurrences contained in the columns of a newspaper;

where we often find recorded outrages against humanity, greater by far

than any conceived by the wildest imaginings of a French novelist.

Those feudal militia, or gens-d'armes, the _sbirri_, so often mentioned

in these pages, were a force maintained by the landholders. The sbirri

received a certain sum daily to support themselves, and provide their

arms, clothing, and horses: they lived among the paesani in the

villages, but were completely under the orders and at the disposal of

their lord. The sbirri were the last relics of the feudal system.

Since these volumes were written, the flames of civil war have passed

over the romantic Calabrias: the government of Naples has received a

severe, though perhaps wholesome, shock; and the brave Sicilians are

wresting from their obstinate sovereign those beneficial concessions

which he cannot safely withhold. A still greater crisis for Italy is,

perhaps, impending: Lombardy is filled with the troops of Austria; and

if the _absolute_ policy of the veteran Metternich prevails, ere long

those "millions of cannon-balls" (which were so lately ordered by his

government) will be dealing death among the ranks of Italian patriots.

Should that day ever arrive, surely the Hungarian, the Bohemian, and the

brave Pole, will know the time has come to draw and to strike! The eyes

of all Europe are at present turned upon the policy of Austria, and the

fate of Italy; and should matters ever take the turn anticipated, the

landing again of a British army on the Italian shores will prove a

death-blow to the ambitious projects of the House of Hapsburg.

A long preface may be likened to a hard shell, which must be cracked ere

one can arrive at the kernel. The Author has to ask pardon of his

readers for trespassing so long on their patience; but he considered the

foregoing explanations in some degree necessary, to illustrate the

fortunes, mishaps, and adventures of the hero.

EDINBURGH, _February_ 1848.

*ADVENTURES*

*OF AN*

*AIDE-DE-CAMP.*

*CHAPTER I.*

*THE LANDING IN CALABRIA.*

On the evening of the last day of June 1806, the transports which had

brought our troops from Sicily anchored off the Italian coast, in the

Bay of St. Eufemio, a little to the southward of a town of that name.

The British forces consisted of H. M. 27th, 58th, 78th, and 81st

Regiments of the Line, the Provisional Light Infantry and Grenadier

Battalions, the Corsican Rangers, Royal Sicilian Volunteers, and the

Regiment of Sir Louis de Watteville, &c., the whole being commanded by

Major-General Sir John Stuart, to whose personal staff I had the honour

to be attached.

This small body of troops, which mustered in all only 4,795 rank and

file, was destined by our ministry to support the Neapolitans, who in

many places had taken up arms against the usurper, Joseph Buonaparte,

and to assist in expelling from Italy the soldiers of his brother.

Ferdinand, King of Naples, after being an abject vassal of Napoleon, had

allowed a body of British and Russian soldiers to land on his

territories without resistance. This expedition failed; he was deserted

by the celebrated Cardinal Ruffo, who became a Buonapartist; and as the

French emperor wanted a crown for his brother Joseph, he proclaimed that

"the Neapolitan dynasty had ceased to reign"--that the race of Parma

were no longer kings in Lower Italy--and in January 1806 his legions

crossed the frontiers. The "lazzaroni king" fled instantly to Palermo;

his spirited queen, Carolina (sister of the unfortunate Marie

Antoinette), soon followed him; and the usurper, Joseph, after meeting

with little or no resistance, was, in February, crowned king of Naples

and Sicily, in the church of Sancto Januario, where Cardinal Ruffo of

Scylla, performed solemn mass on the occasion. All Naples and its

territories submitted to him, save the brave mountaineers of the

Calabrias, who remained continually in arms, and with whom we were

destined to co-operate.

When our anchors plunged into the shining sea, it was about the close of

a beautiful evening--the hour of Ave Maria--and the lingering light of

the Ausonian sun, setting in all his cloudless splendour, shed a crimson

glow over the long line of rocky coast, burnishing the bright waves

rolling on the sandy beach, and the wooded mountains of Calabria, the

abode of the fiercest banditti in the world.

The tricolor flaunted over the towers of St. Amanthea, a little town to

the northward of the bay, commanded by a castle on a steep rock, well

garrisoned by the enemy; and the smoke of their evening gun curled away

from the dark and distant bastions, as the last vessel of our armament

came to anchor. The whole fleet, swinging round with the strong current

which runs through the Strait of Messina, lay one moment with their

sterns to the land and the next to the sparkling sea, which pours

through between these rock-bound coasts with the speed of a mill-race.

Italy lay before us: the land of the fabled Hesperia--the country of the

"eternal city;" and I thought of her as she was once: of "majestic

Rome," in all her power, her glory, and her military supremacy; when

nations bowed their heads before her banners, and her eagles spread

their wings over half a world. But, alas! we find it difficult to

recognise in the effeminate Venetian, the revengeful Neapolitan, or the

ferocious Calabrian, the descendants of those matchless soldiers, whose

pride, valour, and ambition few since have equalled, and none have yet

surpassed. We viewed with the deepest interest that classic shore,

which so many of us now beheld for the first time. To me, it was a

country teeming with classic recollections--the sunny and beautiful land

whose very history has been said to resemble a romance; but the mass of

our soldiers were of course, strangers to all these sentiments: the

grave and stern Ross-shireman, and the brave bog-trotters of the

Inniskilling, regarded it only as a land of hard marches, short rations,

and broken heads; as a hostile coast, where the first soldiers of the

continent were to be encountered and overcome--for with us these terms

are synonymous.

Barbarized by the wars and ravages which followed the French revolution

and invasion,--swarming with disorderly soldiers, savage brigands, and

starving peasantry writhing under the feudal system--the Naples of that

time was very different from the Naples of to-day, through which so many

tourists travel with luxurious safety: at least so far as the capital.

Few, I believe, penetrate into that terra incognita, the realm of the

bandit Francatripa.

Orders were despatched by the general from ship to ship, that the troops

should be held in readiness to disembark by dawn next day. The

quarter-guards and deck-watches were strengthened for the night, and

strict orders given to sentries not to permit any communication with the

shore, or with the numerous boats which paddled about among the fleet.

Our ships were surrounded by craft of all shapes and sizes, filled with

people from St. Eufemio, and other places adjacent: bright-eyed women,

their dark hair braided beneath square linen head-dresses, with here and

there a solitary "gentiluomo," muffled in his cloak, and ample hat,

beneath which glowed the red spark of a cigar; meagre and grizzled

priests; wild-looking peasantry, half naked, or half covered with rough

skins; and conspicuous above all, many fierce-looking fellows, wearing

the picturesque Calabrian garb, of whose occupation we had little doubt:

the gaiety of their attire, the long dagger gleaming in their sashes,

the powder-horn, and the well-oiled rifle slung across the back by a

broad leather sling, proclaimed them brigands; who came crowding among

their honester countrymen, to hail and bid us welcome as allies and

friends.

An hour before daylight, next morning, we were all on deck and under

arms. Our orders were, to land with the utmost silence and expedition,

in order to avoid annoyance from the light guns of the French; who

occupied the whole province from sea to sea, and whom we fully expected

to find on the alert to oppose our disembarkation.

My first care was to get my horse, Cartouche, into one of the boats of

the _Amphion_ frigate. Aware that sharp work was before us, I personally

superintended his harnessing; having previously given him a mash with a

dash of nitre in it, and had his fetlocks and hoofs well washed, and his

eyes and nostrils sponged with vinegar, to freshen him up after the

close confinement of the ship: he was then carefully slung over the

side, by a "whip" from the yard-arm. The oars dipped noiselessly into

the waves, and we glided away to the beach of St. Eufemio, the point

marked out for our landing-place. I stood by Cartouche's head, holding

the reins shortened in my hand, and stroking his neck to quiet him; for

the fiery blood horse had shown so much impatience when the oars dipped

into the water, or the boat heaved on the heavy ground-swell, that his

hoofs threatened every instant to start a plank and swamp us.

All the boats of the fleet were now in requisition; and, being crowded

to excess with soldiers accoutred with their knapsacks and arms, and

freighted with baggage, cannon, and tumbrils, miners' tools, and

military stores to arm and clothe the Calabrese, they were pulled but

slowly towards the point of rendezvous. The last boat had no sooner

landed its freight, than the ship of the admiral, Sir Sydney Smith,

fired a gun, and the fleet of frigates and gunboats weighed anchor, and

stood off northwards, to attack the Castle of St. Amanthea; against

which, operations were forthwith commenced by the whole naval armament.

The lofty coast loomed darkly through a veil of haze; the morning air

was chill, and a cold sea-breeze swept over the black billows of the

Straits; against the effects of which, I fortified myself with my

comfortable, double-caped cloak, a cigar, and a mouthful from a certain

convenient flask, which experience had taught me to carry always in my

sabretache. The time was one of keen excitement; even to me, who had

served at the siege of Valetta, and in other parts of the Mediterranean,

and shared in many a memorable enterprise which has added to our empire

the valuable posts and possessions we hold in that part of Europe. As

the daylight increased, and the sun rose above the mountains, pouring a

flood of lustre over the straits of the Faro, the scene appeared of

surpassing beauty. Afar off, in the direction of the Lipari, the sea

assumed its deepest tint of blue; while the whole Bay of St. Eufemio

seemed filled with liquid gold, and the white waves, weltering round the

base of each distant promontory, were dashed from the volcanic rocks in

showers of sparkling silver: all the varied hues which ocean assumes

under an Italian sky were seen in their gayest splendour. The

picturesque aspect of this romantic shore was heightened by the

appearance of our armament: as the debarking corps formed open column of

companies on the bright yellow beach, their lively uniforms of scarlet,

green, and white, the standards waving, and lines of burnished bayonets

glistening in the sun--which seemed to impart a peculiarly joyous lustre

to all it shone upon--the scene was spirit-stirring.

The white walls and church tower of the little town, the foliage of the

surrounding forest, backed by the lofty peaks of the Calabrian

Apennines--the winding strip of golden sand fringing the fertile coast,

and encircling the wave-beaten rocks, where a fisherman sat mending his

nets and singing, perhaps, of Thomas Aniello--the remote Sicilian shore,

and the wide expanse of sea and sky were all glowing in one glorious

blaze of light--the light of an Italian sunrise, beneath whose

effulgence the face of nature beams bright with sparkling freshness and

roseate beauty.

Our nine battalions of infantry now formed close column; while the Royal

Artillery, under Major Lemoine, got their eleven field-pieces and two

howitzers into service order, the tumbrils hooked to the guns, and the

horses traced to the carriages. During these preparations the general

kept me galloping about between the different commanding officers with

additional instructions and orders; for we expected to be attacked every

moment by the enemy, of whose arrangements we had received a very

confused account from the peasantry.

As the sun was now up, the rare beauty of the country was displayed to

the utmost advantage: but we scanned the lofty mountains, the romantic

gorges, the grim volcanic cliffs and bosky thickets, only to watch for

the glitter of French steel; for the flutter of those standards unfurled

so victoriously at Arcole, Lodi, and Rivoli; or for the puff of white

smoke which announces the discharge of a distant field-piece. Strange to

say, not the slightest opposition was made to our landing; although

there were many commanding points from which a few light guns would have

mauled our boats and battalions severely.

The troops remained quietly in close column at quarter distance, with

their arms ordered, until command was given to unfurl all colours, and

examine flints and priming. A reconnoitring party was then pushed

forward to "feel the ground," and our little army got into marching

order, and advanced to discover what the distance of a few miles would

bring forth. The Corsican Rangers were the skirmishers.

"Sir John," said I, cantering up to the general, "permit me to join the

light troops that I may see what goes on in front?"

"You may go, Dundas," he replied; "but remember, they are under the

command of Major Krauenz, who, I believe, is no friend of yours."

"No, truly; there is no man I would like better to see knocked on the

head; and so, _allons!_ Sir John."

"Be attentive to his orders, however," said he, with a grave nod, as I

bowed and dashed off.

Krauenz! yes, I had good reason to hate the name, and curse its owner.

I had a brother who belonged to a battalion of these Rangers. He was a

brave fellow, Frank; and had served with distinction at Malta, and under

Charles Stewart at the siege of Calvi; and, after Sir John Moore, was

the first man over the wall at the storming of the Mozello fort. But

his career was a short one. Between Frank and Krauenz there arose a

dispute, a petty jealousy about some pretty girl at Palermo; a challenge

ensued, and Frank was put under arrest for insubordination. From that

moment, he was a marked man by the brutal German, who was resolutely

bent upon his ruin--and a military man alone can know what the unhappy

officer endures, who is at strife with an uncompromising, vindictive,

and perhaps vulgar, commanding-officer. Thank God! there are few such in

our service. Frank's proud spirit could ill brook the slights and

insults to which Krauenz subjected him; and being one day "rowed"

publicly for coming five minutes late to parade, in the height of his

exasperation he struck down the German with the sword he was lowering in

salute, and was, in consequence, placed instantly under close arrest. A

court-martial dismissed him from that service in which he had gained so

many scars. His heart was broken: the disgrace stung him to the soul.

He disappeared from Sicily, and from the hour he left his regiment could

never be discovered by our family. Therefore, it cannot be wondered at

that I cared but little about the safety of his German enemy.

The advanced party, under the command of Krauenz, consisted of three

companies of Corsican Rangers; these moved in double quick time along

the narrow highway towards the mountains, from which the hardy peasantry

soon came pouring down, greeting us with cries of "Long live Ferdinand

of Bourbon! long live our holy faith!" I galloped after the Corsicans,

in high spirits at the prospect of seeing something more exciting than

was usually afforded by the lounging life I had spent in the garrisons

of Sicily--dangling about the royal palace, or the quarter-general,

drinking deep and late in our mess-room at Syracuse, or smoking cigars

among the promenaders on the Marina of "Palermo the Happy." My brave

Cartouche appeared to rejoice that he trod once more on firm earth;

curveting, neighing, and tossing his proud head and flowing mane, while

he snuffed the pure breeze from the green hills with dilated and

quivering nostrils.

It was a soft and balmy morning: the vast blue vault above was free from

the faintest fleece of cloud, and pervaded by the deep cerulean hue so

peculiar to this enchanting climate. At that early hour, not a sound

stirred the stillness of the pure atmosphere, save the twittering of the

merry birds as they fluttered from spray to spray, or the measured tramp

of feet and clanking of accoutrements, as the smart light troops in

their green uniform moved rapidly forward--the glazed tops of their

caps, their tin canteens and bright muskets barrels, flashing in the

light of the morning sun.

As we advanced into the open country, the scenery rapidly changed: the

sandy beach, the bold promontory, and sea-beaten rock, gave place to the

vine-clad cottage and the wooded hill. Some antique tomb, a rustic

fountain, or a time-worn cross, half sunk in earth, often adorned the

way-side; the white walls of a convent, embosomed among luxuriant orange

trees, or an ancient oratory, with its carved pilasters and gray arches,

occasionally met the eye; while the dark arcades of a vast and ruined

aqueduct stretched across the valley, and the ramparts of a feudal

castello frowned from the mountains above--the ruddy hue of its

time-worn brick, or ferruginous rock, harmoniously contrasting with the

bronzed foliage of dense forests, forming the background of the view.

The air was redolent with the perfume of roses, and myriads of other

flowers, which flourished in the wildest luxuriance on every side; while

the gigantic laurel, the vine, with its purple fruitage, the graceful

acacia, and the glossy ilex, alternately cast their shadows across our

line of march.

All this was delightful enough, no doubt: but a rattling volley of

musketry, which flashed upon us from amid the dark masses of a wood we

were approaching, brought a dozen of our party to the ground, and the

whole to a sudden halt.

"Live Joseph, King of Naples!" cried the French commanding officer,

brandishing his sabre. "Another volley, my braves!"

But before his last order could be obeyed, our own fire was poured upon

his light troops, whose pale green uniform could scarcely be

distinguished from the foliage, among which they had concealed

themselves in such a manner as completely to enfilade the highway. Shot

dead by the first fire, Krauenz rolled from his saddle beneath the hoofs

of my horse, and his glazing eyes glared upwards on me for a second.

Perhaps I answered by a scowl: for I thought of my brother Frank.

Disconcerted by his sudden fall, and staggered by the unexpected fire in

front and flank, the Corsicans would have shown the white feather--in

other words, fled--had I not set a proper example to their officers, by

leaping from Cartouche and putting myself at their head.

"Forward, Corsicans! Remember Paolo! Follow me! Charge!" And with

levelled bayonets they plunged through the thicket, regardless of what

the enemy's strength might be.

Hand to hand with the musket and sabre, we dashed headlong into the

wood, and engaged the tirailleurs, with whom the contest was sharp. We

lost several men, and I received a slight wound on the left arm from a

young sub, whom we afterwards discovered to be the son of General

Regnier; but a party of our own troops, led by Colonel Oswald, rushing

with impetuosity on the flanks of the French, decided the issue of this

our first encounter with them in Italy. We dislodged the little band

from ambush, taking two hundred prisoners, and killing, or putting to

flight, as many more. Captain De Viontessancourt, who commanded them,

escaped with the survivors. These French troops proved to be a

detachment of the 23rd Light Infantry.

Leaving a party to guard our prisoners, we followed cautiously the

retreating tirailleurs through the great forest of St. Eufemio, and

along the highway towards Maida, exchanging a skirmishing fire the whole

way: many men were killed, or severely wounded, and left to become a

prey to lynxes and wolves. As little honour and no advantage seemed

likely to accrue from this unpleasant work, Oswald ordered a halt to be

sounded, and drew the skirmishers together, until our main body

appeared; when, by command of the general, a position was taken up on

advantageous ground, supplied with wood and water, while the necessary

advanced picquets were despatched to the different points and roads

around it.

Here we formed an entrenched camp, expecting to be joined by some of the

Calabrian noblesse and people, and to hear certain intelligence of the

movements of the enemy whose strongest force lay at Reggio, under the

command of Regnier, a general of division.

*CHAPTER II.*

*THE PIGTAIL.*

Soon after halting, we received intelligence of the successful issue of

Sir Sydney Smith's attack on the Castle of St. Amanthea; a strong fort,

which, being quite inaccessible on the land side, he carried by assault

on the seaward, capturing four hundred prisoners, and a quantity of arms

and military stores.

In the evening, I was despatched by Sir John to a young Neapolitan

noble; who, in anticipation of our expedition had some time before

secretly quitted Palermo, and had been residing among his countrymen,

for the purpose of ascertaining their sentiments towards the British as

allies, and the probable number that would rise in arms, on our

displaying the Union-Jack in Italy.

This personage, to whom I took a letter from the general, bore the

titles of Visconte di Santugo, and Grand Bailiff of Lower Calabria, and

was the most powerful Feudatory in the provinces. Our leader requested

that he would use all his influence to arouse the peasantry to arms, for

the service of his Majesty the King of Naples, in support of whose cause

our expedition had now landed on the Italian shore. We soon found,

however, that the hardy Calabrese required no other incentive than their

own intense hatred and deep-rooted detestation of the French. I had

been ordered to return next morning with any volunteers the Visconte

could collect; and was not averse from the prospect of remaining a night

at his villa, as my undressed wound was becoming a little troublesome.

At that time, the two Calabrias, the Abruzzi, and all the Italian

mountains and fastnesses, were swarming with hordes of armed

peasantry--half patriots and half bandits. This system of

disorganization and immorality was promoted by a mortal hatred--the

rancorous enmity of Italian hearts--against the usurper Buonaparte, and

his slavish law of conscription; which aimed at the military enrolment

of all classes, without distinction or permitting substitution. The

proud noble who could trace his name and blood to the warriors and

senators of ancient Rome, and the humble peasant were to be alike torn

from their homes, turned into the ranks as private soldiers, and sent

forth, at the pleasure of this foreign tyrant, to fight and to perish

among the wild sierras of Spain, or the frozen deserts of Russia. In

consequence of this invasion of the rights of the Italian people, many

young men of high birth, and others whose condition in life had,

previous to the French aggression, been respectable, now fled to the

mountains and wilderness, and became outlaws, rather than yield

submission to the yoke of a Corsican conqueror. Ranged under various

leaders, these spirited desperadoes, in conjunction with the banditti

and the Loyal Masse, harassed the French incessantly, by a guerilla

warfare of attacks, skirmishes, and assassinations; and with such

effect, that Buonaparte computed his loss by the stiletto and rifle at

not less than twenty thousand soldiers, during his attempts to subdue

the brave outlaws of the Calabrian mountains.

In every town there was a French garrison, and every garrison had its

prison-house, which was filled with those whom the French chose to

designate rebels: these they put to death by scores; waging against the

unhappy paesani a war of extermination, and maintaining it with a

cruelty unworthy of the heroes of Arcole and Marengo, and the

representatives of the boasted "first nation in Europe." By sentence of

a drum-head court-martial, and more often without the form of a trial,

the poor peasants were shot to death in vast numbers; and their bodies,

after being suspended on gibbets for a day or two, were cast into an

immense pit dug close by, in order that the gallows might be clear for

the next detachment of victims brought in by the troops employed in

scouring and riding down the country. These outrages considered, it was

no matter of wonder to us that the country rose _en masse_ on our

landing, and that the Neapolitan cry of "Ferdinando nostro, e la Santa

Fede!" rang from the shores of the Mediterranean to the waves of the

Adriatic.

As I rode from the camp on my solitary mission towards St. Eufemio, I

thought of the lawless state of the country, and could not but feel a

little anxious about my personal safety: the gay trappings of a staff

uniform were likely to excite the cupidity of some villanous bandit, or

unscrupulous patriot. What scattered parties of the French might be

lurking in the great forest I knew not; but an encounter with them

seemed preferable to one with the Calabrian brigands: of whose atrocious

ferocity I had heard so many horrible stories circulated by the

gossiping Sicilians, in the gardens and cafes, the salons and

promenades, of Palermo. My first adventure gave me a vivid, but rather

unpleasant, illustration of the fierce manners and unsettled state of

the country we had come to free from invaders.

While crossing a rustic bridge, the parapets on each side of which were

garnished with an iron cage, containing a human head in a ghastly state

of decay, my ears were shocked, as my eyes had been, by the cries and

exclamations of a man in great agony and terror. Quickening the speed

of Cartouche from a trot to a gallop, and unbuttoning my holster flaps

in readiness for drawing my pistols, I rode towards the place whence

these outcries proceeded. In a rocky hollow by the wayside, I beheld a

Sicilian struggling desperately with about twenty armed ruffians, whom I

had no hesitation in believing to be banditti. They were all handsome

and athletic men, in whose appearance there was something at once

striking, picturesque, and sufficiently alarming. All wore high,

conical, Calabrian hats, encircled by a broad, red riband, that streamed

over the right shoulder; jackets and breeches of bright coloured stuffs,

ornamented with a profusion of tags, tassels, and knots, and girt round

the waist with a scarlet sash of Palmi silk; and leathern gaiters, laced

saltire-wise up the legs with red straps: a musket, dagger, and

powder-horn completed their equipments. Coal black hair streamed in

extravagant profusion over their shoulders; long locks being esteemed in

the Calabrias a sign of loyalty to the king and enmity to the French:

thus the extent of a man's patriotism was determined by the length of

his hair. But the unfortunate Sicilian in their hands was destitute

alike of flowing curls and twisted pig-tail; hence his captors,

supposing him unquestionably to be a traitor (or at least not a true

subject to King Ferdinand) in having conformed to the fashion of the

French, were determined to punish him in the mode which the wild spirits

of these lawless provinces adopted towards those who fell into their

hands with hair shorn short: the head having become, since the

commencement of the war, "the political index by which they judged

whether men were Jacobins, Bourbonists," or Buonapartists.

The brigands greeted my approach with a shout of welcome, and while I

was deliberating how best to interfere and save from their fury the

unhappy man, he called upon me piteously for aid; saying that he "was a

poor tanner of Palermo--a follower of our camp--and one who knew nothing

of the fashions of Calabria!" But I was too late to yield him the least

assistance, for the horrible punishment was inflicted the moment I drew

bridle: and, in truth, I did not feel very chivalric in his cause, on

learning that he was one of the villanous tanners of Palermo--that

community of assassins so terrible to all Sicily.

The right hand of the poor wretch was chopped off with a bill-hook, and

thrust bleeding into his mouth, which they compelled him to open by

pressing the hilt of a poniard behind his right ear. A sheep's tail was

then fastened to the back of his head, to supply the deficiency of hair;

and bidding him wear it in remembrance of Francatripa, the whole party,

after kicking him soundly, bade me 'good-evening,' and vanished among

the rocks. The mutilated tanner lay on the ground, writhing in agony of

body and bitterness of spirit, calling on San Marco the glorious, Santa

Rosalia of Sicily, San Zeno, the blessed Madonna of Philerma, and

innumerable other saints, to ease him of his pain; but as none of these

spiritual potentates seemed disposed to assist him, he then applied to

mortal me.

Dismounting, I raised him from the ground, and tearing my handkerchief

into bandages, bound up the stump of his arm to staunch the blood; he

bemoaning his misfortune in piteous terms. He had a wife and children,

he said, who must perish now, unless the Conciarotti (tanners) of

Palermo--to whose unruly corporation he belonged--would support them.

"Oh! Excellenza," he added, "believe me, I am no traitor: and surely

the want of my hair will not make me one. I fell in with a French

patrol, who compelled me to cut off my long hair, in token of submission

to King Peppo." (Peppo, a contraction of Giuseppe, or Joseph, was the

name by which Joseph Buonaparte was commonly known.) "Maledictions

drive them from purgatory to the deepest dens of hell! They have

destroyed me--curses upon them! May they all hang as high as Tourloni

the cardinal, and may their bones bleach white in the rain and the

sunshine! Had I lost the left hand, instead of the right, I could still

have revenged myself. Maledetto! Oh! blood for blood! Am I not one of

the Conciarotti, at whose name the king quakes, at Naples, and his

viceroy, at Palermo? But, oh! Madonna mia, never can revenge be mine;

for the hand that is gone can grasp the acciaro no more!" And thus

cursing and lamenting, he rolled on the grass till he foamed at the

mouth. I was obliged to leave him, and pursue my journey.

By the road-side, I passed some of the bodies of those who had fallen in

the skirmish of the morning. Stripped by the peasantry, they had lain

all day sweltering under a burning sun; and now the vultures were

screaming and flapping their wings, as they settled in flocks wherever

one of these poor fellows lay unburied, with his blackened and gory

wounds exposed to the gaze of every passer-by.

At the gate of St. Eufemio, I told several persons who were lounging and

smoking under the shadow of the walls, of the condition in which I had

left the tanner among the rocks; but instead of going immediately to his

assistance, they only cursed him as a traitorous Sicilian.

"He is some false follower of Joseph the Corsican--cospetto! Let him

die!--yes, die like a dog!" was the answer I received on all sides.

On entering the town, I was greeted by the shouts of the people, who had

donned the red cockade of the Neapolitan king. Gentlemen bowed, and

ladies smiled and waved their handkerchiefs from verandahs and

sun-shaded windows; women held their children aloft at arms' length, and

the ragged artisan flourished his broad straw hat over the half door of

his shop; all joining in the general burst of welcome, and cries of long

life to King Giorgio of Great Britain.

While riding through the principal street, with all the hurry and

importance of an aide-de-camp bearing the fate of empires and of armies

in his sabretache, I could behold on every hand the traces of that

dreadful earthquake which, two hundred years before, had overwhelmed the

ancient and once-opulent city, converting it in a moment into a vast

fetid marsh. Here and there stood a palace, rearing its time-worn

facade amid the miserable houses or filthy hovels of which the modern

St. Eufemio is principally composed; while fragments of columns,

crumbling capitals, and shattered entablatures still lay strewn on every

side.

The mansion of the podesta, or mayor, and of Ser Villani, the principal

lawyer, as well as others of a better description, bore marks of French

violence and rapine. Torn from its foundations, lay a column with the

arms of Luigi d'Alfieri, the grand bailiff, carved upon it; here lay a

statue, there a fountain broken to pieces; the madonnas at the street

corners were all demolished, the niches empty, the lamps gone; and many

gaps appeared on each side of the way, where houses had been pulled down

for firewood, or wantonly burned by the brigade of the Marchese di

Monteleone--a Buonapartist commander, whom common report declared to be

an Englishman. All the stately trees that once bordered the Marina, or

promenade, along the sea-shore, had been cut away and destroyed;

probably, less from necessity than for the purpose of annoying the

people: for the French, if allowed to be the most gallant nation, are

also considered the most reckless soldiers in Europe.

*CHAPTER III.*

*VISCONTE DI SANTUGO.*

The villa of the Visconte di Santugo was some distance beyond St.

Eufemio, and my way towards it lay along the desolate Marina.

The appearance of the bay, studded with our fleet of transports and

men-of-war, was beautiful; its deep blue was now fast changing to bright

gold and crimson, in the deep ruddy glow of the setting sun. The calm

sea shone like a vast polished mirror; in whose bright surface the rocky

headlands and the yellow beach, the picturesque little town of St.

Eufemio, and the castles on the cliffs, with the little groups of white

cottages that nestled under their battlements as if for protection, and

the stately frigates, with their yards squared, and open ports bristling

with cannon, were all reflected: every form and tint as vividly defined

below the surface as above.

Situated upon the margin of the bay, stood the residence of the Grand

Bailiff. It was a large and imposing edifice, and, though not a perfect

model of architecture, presented a very fair example of the ancient

Roman blended with the modern Italian style. Designed by the old

architect, Giacomo della Porta, the villa occupied the site of the

ancient castle of St. Hugo; which had withstood many a fierce assault

during the wars with the Norman kings of Sicily, the Saracens and other

invaders: it had also been the scene of a cruel act of bloodshed, during

the revolt of Campanella the Dominican. The castle suffered so much

from the earthquake of 1560, that the then Visconte demolished the

ruins, and engrafted upon them the more modern Italian villa, which I

was now approaching. A large round-tower of dark red brick-work, with

ponderous crenelated battlements, reared its time-worn front above the

erection of the sixteenth century. It was a fragment of the ancient

Castello di Santugo, and its superstructure rose on the foundations of a

Grecian, Roman, or Gothic fortress, of unknown name and antiquity. From

its summit the standard of Naples waved heavily in the light evening

wind.

A rustic lodge and gate gave entrance to an avenue, that wound with

snake-like turnings through the verdant grounds, embosomed among groves

of orange and olive trees. Above these rose the old tower and the

modern minarets with gilded vanes; while the heavy balustraded terraces

and projecting cornices of the villa were seen at intervals, standing

forward in bold relief or sunk in deep shadow, as the evening sun, now

sinking into the Mediterranean, shed bright gleams of gold and purple

upon its broken masses. A part of the edifice projected from the rocks,

and supported upon arches, overhung the sea. The chambers in that damp

quarter of the mansion were fitted up in the style of marine grottos;

with mosaic-work, shells, marble, and many-coloured crystals,

interspersed with fountains, where groups of water-gods spouted forth

ample streams from conches and horns of bronze. These grottos afford a

cool and silent retreat during the heat of the day, and a magnificent

scene for an entertainment, or a ball _al fresco_, when illuminated by

night.

The avenue, which was bordered on each side by statues of heathen

deities, antique marble vases filled with flowers, and carved fragments

of ancient temples, led to the portico; where a range of lofty

Corinthian columns supported a pediment, ornamented with the arms of the

noble house of Alfieri, collared with three orders of Italian

knighthood.

On the smooth lawn in front, a group of girls--probably the servants of

the mansion--danced to the tinkling notes of the mandolin, the sound of

the tabor, and their own musical voices. The picturesque garb, and

stately Ausonian forms of these "deep-bosomed maids," with their jetty

tresses, and sparkling eyes, lent additional charms to a scene which, to

me, was equally new and interesting. A few young men, in the Calabrian

costume, were of the party; and I was not less pleased with their

regular and manly features, agile air, and classic elegance of form,

than with the softer graces of their bright-eyed companions. On my

approach, they abandoned their amusement, and retired with something

very like precipitation: a red coat was new to the Calabrians; with whom

the appearance of a soldier was always associated with the rapine and

violence of French foraging parties.

The chasseur, or courier--that indispensable appendage to a great

continental household--approached me, bowing obsequiously, with cocked

hat in hand. He was an old, iron-visaged and white-mustachioed Albanian

Greek, descended from the followers of Scanderbeg; thousands of whose

posterity are yet to be found in the Calabrias. The courier rejoiced in

the classic name of Zacheo Andronicus, and spoke an uncouth sort of

Italian. His stern aspect, and splendid green livery, laced with gold

and mounted with massive shoulder-knots; his heavy boots and spurs,

scarlet sash, and couteau-de-chasse, or hanger, made him altogether a

formidable-looking fellow; and enabled him to maintain his position as

the attendant of the Visconte and the head of the numerous household.

Bidding me welcome in the name of his lord, the courier desired a

servant named Giacomo to take my horse to the stables in the wing.

Giacomo--a spruce Italian, clad in a blue open-necked shirt, bright

yellow-sleeved vest, and blue-striped breeches, girt about with a

gorgeous scarlet sash, who acted in the capacity of sub

major-domo--replied to the order of the Greek with a scowl, and desired

another man to approach; to whom I resigned the bridle of Cartouche.

On entering the marble vestibule, I was met by the Visconte, who

embraced me in the usual fashion; bestowing a kiss on my cheek with that

theatrical air of friendship which is so truly continental, and

surprises the more phlegmatic but warm-hearted Briton. However, having

been pretty well used to such greetings while quartered in Sicily, I

returned with a good grace the salutation of Santugo; whom I found to be

a handsome young man about five-and-twenty (my own age), and of

singularly noble aspect. His address was polished and captivating; the

brilliancy of his large eyes gave a pleasing animation to his

countenance, and lent a charm to his decided manner. His black

mustachio, twisted on his upper lip, his short black hair (he was beyond

the suspicion of Jacobinism), and closely buttoned sopraveste of

dark-coloured velvet, gave him somewhat of a military air. When he

spoke or laughed, he had more of the Calabrian mountaineer in his tone

and expression, than of the oily condescension, and excessive politeness

of the Italian noble; who, notwithstanding his many quarters and crests,

and his boasted descent from the heroes of Rome and Magna Grecia, is too

often a base and treacherous libertine--perhaps a coward.

What I took to be the jewelled pommel of a concealed poniard, sparkled

at times beneath his vest (it was a time and country in which no unarmed

man was safe); and suspended by a scarlet riband from a button-hole, the

little star of a Sicilian order glittered on his breast. His

shirt-collar, of the richest lace, was left negligently open, the

evening being sultry; a short cloak, or mantello was thrown over his

left arm, and a broad hat of light brown beaver, encircled by an

embroidered riband, was held under his right: completing a costume which

made his whole appearance sufficiently striking, when viewed in that

lofty and magnificent vestibule; where the falling waters of a fountain,

statues of the purest marble, and gilded cornices and pilasters, were

gleaming in the rays of the setting sun, which streamed through four

tall latticed windows.

Introducing myself as Lieutenant Claude Dundas, of his Britannic

Majesty's 62nd Regiment, and Aide-de-camp to Sir John Stewart, I

presented him with the despatch, and added something to its import;

observing how much we stood in need of immediate reinforcement from the

Calabrian barons, in consequence of the smallness of our force.

"Signor, you have but anticipated me," said the Visconte. "The moment I

heard of your disembarkation on the coast, I hoisted the Winged-Horse of

Naples on the villa, and beat up for recruits. I have already mustered

many, in addition to those peasantry over whom, as hereditary

Feudatorio, I have distinct authority and power. These men served under

me when the troops of Naples drove the French generals Championnet and

Macdonald from Rome; and, from their courage and character, they will, I

have no doubt, be a very acceptable aid to your general."

"Monsignore Luigi," I replied, bowing, "how can he sufficiently thank

you?"

"By permitting me to take, as usual, the supreme command over them: in

truth, Signor Claude, they will scarcely obey any one else. At their

head, I have already seen some sharp service at Rome and in Apulia;

where I fought in three pitched battles under the Cardinal Ruffo, when

he was a loyal man, and true to Italy. In those days, how little could

we have dreamed that the Cardinal Prince of Scylla, would become a

traitor, and of such unhappy fame? I have fought well and hard for

Italy," continued the Visconte, as we ascended the staircase, "and would

still have continued in open hostility against Peppo the Corsican: but I

left the army in disgust, at certain slighting expressions used towards

me on a recent occasion, by his Majesty of Naples; who ought in person

to lead on his people to death or victory, instead of eating his

maccheroni at Palermo, like a coward as he is!"

"Harsh words, my lord!"

"Not more harsh than true. Know, Signor, that the high spirit of

Carolina alone keeps the cause of liberty alive in the hearts of the

Neapolitan people. Oh! for a hero to raise the house of Parma to its

ancient fame! But we will talk of these matters over a glass of the

ruby-coloured Capri Rosso. Be it remembered, Signor," continued the

young lord, as he led me through a suite of noble apartments, "that

zealous as I am in the service of my country and its unhappy royal

family, it is not without considerable dread that I draw off the sbirri

from my territory, in the present state of Calabria. Divided by

politics and old family grudges, our Feudatories are all at enmity, and

quarrels exist here among these wild mountains, which are altogether

unknown to northern Italy. Up the Valley of the Amato, some miles from

this, there dwells a certain troublesome fool, Dionisio Barone, of

Castel Guelfo: a rank Buonapartist. He is descended from that ancient

family which, when but petty lords of Germany, in their wars with the

Ghibelines, contrived to involve all the seignories, the cities, and

families of Italy in feuds and bloodshed: and all 'for the sake of a

vile cur!' as Giovanni Fiorentino tells us in his novel. Now, since the

wars of Campanella the rebel-friar, there has existed a bitter quarrel

between the family of Alfieri and that of the Barone; who (as he has

been making himself more than usually active and obnoxious of late) may,

in my absence, overrun my territory with his followers and the banditti,

and sack the villa. He is encouraged by the success of the French;

whose general has abetted him in many an act of outrage and hostility."

We had now reached a splendid saloon, where a smooth floor of oak planks

with the brightest polish, amply compensated for the want of a

comfortable carpet: indeed this was not missed, while observing the

richly gilded furniture, the superb frescoes on the ceiling, the

graceful masses of rich drapery breaking the outline of lofty

casement-windows, and the trophied arms, marble vases, and dark

paintings by ancient masters, which adorned the walls. How all these

gay things had escaped the French seemed a miracle.

A mandolin, with some leaves of music, a veil, a small kid glove, and a

bouquet of roses, lying upon a side table, announced that the villa was

the residence of ladies; and my curiosity became strongly excited. I

had heard much of the beauty of the Roman and Neapolitan women--of the

rich lustre of their dark eyes, and their classic loveliness of face and

form; I was anxious, therefore, to have the happiness of an introduction

to the fair inhabitants of the villa. Such rapturous descriptions had

been given of the charms of these Juno-like damsels, by officers who

served with the Russians, under our general and Sir James Craig, at

Naples, a short time before the Calabrese expedition was set on foot;

that these, coupled with tender recollections of a certain adventure at

Palermo, made me feel doubly interested in making acquaintance with the

female branches of this noble family.

Giacomo Belloni (the man in the parti-coloured garments), who acted as

butler and maggior-domo, or steward, superintended the arrangement of

decanters, ices, grapes, and other refreshments; and by Santugo's

invitation I was about to seat myself at a table, when two ladies

entered. The elder was a stately-looking gentildonna, about fifty years

of age, robed in black satin. Her face, with its pale and blanched

complexion, instead of exhibiting the ugliness so common in the elderly

women of South Italy, wore traces of what perhaps had once been perfect

loveliness; while her full dark eyes, and ebon hair, arranged in massive

braids above a noble forehead, gave her, when viewed at a little

distance, an aspect of statuesque beauty of form, though sadly faded by

the dissipation of fashionable life; and I saw that she freely used both

rouge and bella-donna. Luigi introduced me, and I learned she was the

dowager Viscontessa, his mother.

The younger lady was his cousin, Bianca d'Alfieri; who even at first

appeared to me a strikingly beautiful girl: a captivating manner

rendered the gentle expression of her features still more pleasing, as

our acquaintance ripened. Her soft, bright, hazel eyes were shaded by

lashes of the deepest jet, and her finely arched eyebrows were of the

same sable hue. Glossy black tresses were braided like a coronet around

her superb head, whence a mass of fine ringlets flowed over a neck and

shoulders which would have been considered fair even in our own land of

fair beauties; and in sunny Italy were deemed white as the new fallen

snow. The charms of her face and figure were rendered still more

striking by the richness of her attire, and the splendid jewels which

sparkled in her hair, on her bosom, and her delicate arms. Much has been

said about the witchery of unadorned beauty; but the appearance of

Bianca d'Alfieri, arrayed in the splendour of full dress, and adorned

with all that wealth and Italian taste could furnish to enhance her

natural loveliness, was truly magnificent.

But how awkward was our greeting! The little I knew of her language had

been picked up at the mess of Florestan's Italian Guard at Palermo, and

she knew not a word of English; so we could only maintain a broken

conversation, while her cousin the Visconte laughed without ceremony at

my blunders. Our interview was stupid enough; and yet not without

interest, for my delight was equal to my surprise on beholding in the

young lady one with whom I had been acquainted at Palermo: indeed, I had

been quite in love with her for a time, until the unlucky route arrived

from head-quarters, and she became almost forgotten when we changed our

cantonments.

My readers will kindly indulge me while I relate a short reminiscence of

my first introduction at the Sicilian capital; for, besides being of

importance to my story, it affords an illustration of the peculiar

manner of the time and country.

One night, at Queen Carolina's grand theatre, I observed, in the

dress-circle, three young ladies, whose beauty made them the stars of

the evening. Every glass, double and single barrelled, was levelled at

them from boxes and pit, with the coolest impertinence. None present

knew aught of them; save that they belonged to a Calabrese family of

distinction, which had retired to Palermo on the advance of Joseph's

army to Naples. The youngest (whom I had now the happiness of

recognising) seemed to me the most attractive; although, perhaps, less

stately and dashing than her sisters Ortensia and Francesca: and truly

she was one of those enchanting beings whom a man meets but once in a

life-time; or at least imagines so. I was in the next box to them, with

some of Sir John's gay staff, when, inspired with admiration of their

beauty, the whole house rose, _en masse_, on their retiring. I followed

the three beauties to the portico, out of mere curiosity, to see what

sort of a "turn out" they had, and endeavour to discover who they were.

A handsome carriage, adorned with a coronet, stood at the steps to

receive them. By the mismanagement of the driver and chasseur, it had

run foul of the equipage of Castel Guelfo, the Calabrian Baron before

mentioned; a volley of abuse was exchanged by the servants, who soon

came to blows: knives were drawn, and the chasseur of each carriage

unsheathed his hanger. With a lack of gallantry not usual on the

continent, the proprietor of the other vehicle, a sour-visaged, withered

little mortal, would not yield an inch. Terrified by the uproar, the

kicking and plunging of horses, the swearing of servants and the clamour

of a gathering mob, the timid Italian girls stood trembling and

irresolute on the steps of the illuminated portico. I advanced to make

an offer of my services as an escort. They surveyed me for a moment,

while their large dark eyes dilated with pleasure and thankfulness. I

was a stranger, it was true; but my staff uniform and commission were

sufficient introduction: the moment was critical, and my services were

at once accepted.

I commanded the baron to wheel back his calesso; and did so with an air

of determination and authority.

"Superba!" cried the little man, ironically; "who the devil are you?"

"That you will discover in the morning, my lord," I answered, sternly;

"but, in the mean time, order your driver to rein back, or I will slash

his cattle across the face."

"Not the thousandth part of an inch!" exclaimed the little man, from the

depths of his carriage. "And hark you, Signor Carozziere, whip up your

horses, and hold fast: on your life!"

"Monsignore Barone, once more I request--"

"Fico! I am in waiting for the Princess of Paterna: and is my carriage

to give way before that of my bitterest enemy? Hear me, good people,"

he added, addressing the increasing mob, among whom I recognised many of

the savage conciarotti--a tribe, or faction, which was long the terror

of the citizens, and disgrace of Palermo--"hark-ye, sirs! you all know

me--Barone Guelfo, of the Vale of Amato--a true patriot, a despiser of

Jacobins, and hater of Frenchmen. Is my carriage to make way for that

of the Visconte di Santugo, a follower of Ruffo, the Buonapartist--a

traitor to his king, to Naples, and to Sicily--an upstart signorello of

yesterday? I draw name and blood from the house of Guelfo, the foes of

the Ghibellines, and one of the most ancient races of northern Italy."

"Beware what you assert, Signore Barone!" said Zacheo, the old chasseur;

"Santugo, who is now fighting bravely in La Syla, is the reverse of a

traitor, and may yet make you eat your words with an ounce bullet."

"Hell contains not a blacker traitor!" cried the baron, starting half

out of his carriage, and animated by the bitterest personal hatred

against his enemy. "No, nor Naples a more cunning Buonapartist. And

sure I am that the bold-hearted conciarrotti of Palermo will not see the

Barone Guelfo, one of the most faithful nobles of the Junta, and grand

cup-bearer to his Altezza the Prince of Paterna, insulted in their

streets, and his equipage compelled to yield before another."

"Largo! largo! viva il Barone! largo! make way!" yelled the rabble.

I was excessively provoked at this obstinacy, in the cicisbeo of the

princess; it flowed from a political spirit, which I did not altogether

understand. Meanwhile, the terror of the three Italian girls, and my

anxiety for their safety, increased, as the clamouring conciarotti

mustered apace, crowding around us.

The conciarotti! who has not heard of that terrible community, at whose

name all Palermo trembled? Like the lazzaroni at Naples and the

trasteverini of Rome, a nest of matchless ruffians, banded together by

mysterious laws, by ancient privileges and immunities, upon which not

even the king or his viceroy dared to infringe; and against whom the

power of the civil authorities and the bayonets of the soldiers, the

edicts of the Junta and manifestoes from the vice-regal palace, were

alike levelled fruitlessly and vainly. The enlightened viceroy, the

Marchese di Caraccioli, could smother the death-fires of the

Inquisition, and demolish its dreaded office; but he dared not meddle

with the tanners of Palermo.

The conciarotti, or leather-dressers, occupied the lowest and most

filthy parts of the city. In every revolutionary commotion, riot, and

brawl, they pre-eminently distinguished themselves by their murderous

ferocity, and wanton outrages; and even during times of the most perfect

peace, woe to the sbirro, or officer of the civil courts, who dared to

show his face within their districts: which thus became a sanctuary for

the robbers and assassins of all Sicily. These, from the date of their

entrance, became enrolled among the conciarotti; and to offend one

member of this lawless community was sufficient to arouse the whole in

arms. Many of the first noblesse in the kingdom were savagely massacred

by the conciarotti during the riot of 1820; since when they have been,

by the most vigorous efforts, rooted out, and their hideous den, so long

a festering sore on the face of Palermo, utterly demolished.

Ripe at all times for wanton outrage, especially against the weak and

unoffending, and animated by the prospect of plunder, a rabble of these

black-browed artisans, armed with ox-goads, knives, and clubs, threw

themselves, with loud yells, upon the carriage which bore the arms of

Santugo; they would have smashed it to pieces in a moment, had I not cut

their leader down--an act which struck them with a panic--and, aided by

Oliver Lascelles (a brother officer, who luckily came up at that

moment), drove them back sword in hand. To hurry the ladies up the

steps of the carriage, to close the door, and spring on the foot-board

behind, was the work of a moment; and we drove off to Sant' Agata

Palace, with all the rabble of Palermo yelling in our rear, like a pack

of hungry hounds after a fruitless chase.

The splendid mansion of this Calabrese prince would probably have fallen

a prey to the furious conciarotti, but for the timely arrival of the

Queen's Italian Guard, and a detachment of ours, which were quartered in

it for its protection.

Having thus, like a cavalier of romance, obtained a strong claim to the

gratitude of the young ladies, next night, at a gay fete given by the

Prince of St. Agatha, I made all my approaches to these fair belles in

due form: opened the trenches between the figures of a quadrille, came

to closer quarters in the waltz, and kept up such a continual fire of

little attentions and gallant nonsense, that ere the ball closed I

congratulated myself on having made a favourable impression where I had

some anxiety to please. I returned to my gloomy quarters in Fort la

Galita, with my head buzzing from the effects of the prince's good wine

and the myriad wax-lights which illuminated his saloons, to dream of

Italian eyes and ankles, Sicilian gaiety, and the soft voice and softer

smile of Bianca d'Alfieri, until aroused next morning by our drums

beating the _generale_ in the echoing squares of the fortress.

"Dundas, the route for Syracuse has come!" cried Lascelles, knocking

lustily at my room door. "We march at daybreak to relieve the 81st.

Deuced unpleasant, is it not?"

"Devil take the route!" thought I, as an appointment with Bianca to

gallop along the Marina, and drive four-in-hand to Montreale, flashed

upon my mind. But there was no help for it. The 62nd bade adieu to

"Palermo the Happy," and amid the severe duties of Syracuse, I perhaps

ceased for a time to think of Bianca. But to resume.

"Ah, signora!" said I, taking her hand, "you have not quite forgotten

me, then?"

"Oh, Signor Claude, how can I forgot that terrible night with the

conciarotti?"

"And the ball at the prince's palace?"

A slight blush suffused her soft cheek, and I felt my old penchant

returning with renewed strength. "Good!" I thought; "she has not

forgotten _my name_." On inquiring for her sisters, Ortensia and

Francesca, whose black eyes had so bewitched poor Oliver Lascelles, the

young lady changed colour, as if one part of my inquiry distressed her,

and the Visconte appeared a little disconcerted. I had made an unlucky

blunder, yet knew not how.

"Ortensia is married to the Cavaliere Benedetto del Castagno," replied

Bianca; "and dear Francesca has taken the veil, and resides in her

convent at Crotona."

The Visconte interrupted any further questioning, by warmly thanking me

for the attention I had shown to his cousins in saving them from the

insults of the Sicilian rabble. A very long and common-place

conversation then ensued, about the probable issue of our expedition,

politics, and the fashionable gossip of Palermo; until the subject was

changed by the entrance of Giacomo Belloni, to announce that the

carriage was in readiness. The Viscontessa rose, and began to apologize

for having to leave me; but as it was a playing night at Casa Sant'

Agata at Nicastro, the prince would be indignant if she were absent.

"Bianca and I are constant visitors at the prince's conversazioni; and

as all the elite of the Lower Province are invited in honour of your

army landing, it is so impossible to absent oneself, that you must

indeed excuse us. Visconte, you will, of course, remain?"

"Impossible!" replied Luigi; "I am bound in honour to visit the prince's

tables to-night, and to give Castelermo, the Maltese commander, a chance

of regaining the thousand ducats I won from him--ay, per Baccho! and

lost immediately afterwards to that cursed hunchback, Gaspare Truffi.

Signor, I am puzzled! To stay away would offend my powerful friend, the

prince; and yet, to go, even should you accompany us, may seem lacking

in politeness----"

"I have already received an invitation, my lord," said I; "a chasseur of

the prince's household arrived at the camp, just before I left, with

cards for the general and staff officers."

"Benissimo! excellent! Then you go, of course?"

I bowed and assented. Knowing how deeply the desperate passion of

gaming was rooted in the hearts of the Neapolitans, I expected to behold

something altogether new--card-playing on a grand scale; and desiring my

valise to be unstrapped from the saddle of Cartouche, I retired to make

a hurried toilet for the prince's conversazione.

*CHAPTER IV.*

*DOUBLE OR QUIT!*

The ladies soon appeared attired for the carriage; each closely shawled,

with her elaborately dressed hair covered by an ample riding-hood of

black satin. The evening had now turned to night, and four servants

bearing links lighted us to the portico; where stood the well hung and

clashing carriage of the Visconte, whose footmen were clad in a livery

so gay, that my uniform was almost cast in the shade by comparison.

The vehicle being light, and the horses swift and strong, we dashed at a

tremendous rate over a road so rough and stony that all attempts at

conversation were rendered futile by the jolting and noise: I never

endured such a shaking, save once, when I had the pleasure of being

conveyed, severely wounded, from Cefalu to Palermo, on a sixteen-pounder

gun. All the Neapolitans, I believe, are addicted to furious driving.

As the carriage swayed from side to side, I expected, at every lurch,

that the whole party would be upset, and scattered on the road.

However, no such mishap occurred, and in a very short time, with the gay

chasseur galloping in front, we were flying through the paved streets of

Nicastro--a large and well built city, on the frontiers of the Upper

Province.

High hills, covered with thick foliage, and watered by innumerable

cascades, arise on every side of Nicastro; while towering above its

houses and ample convents, stands the black, embattled keep of the

ancient castle: within the strong chambers of which Enrico, Prince of

Naples, paid the penalty of his rebellion, by a long and dreary

captivity.

We drove through a lofty archway, and drew up in the crowded quadrangle

of a brilliantly-illuminated palace; from the windows of which the light

streamed down on densely-packed carriages, horses richly caparisoned,

gilded hammercloths, and the glancing plumes and liveries of footmen,

drivers, and chasseurs, or outriders. The palace was situated

immediately opposite the shrine of poor Sancto Gennaro--whom we involved

in total darkness, by extinguishing all his consecrated tapers as we

swept through the Strada Ruffo.

On alighting, I was about to give my arm to the Viscontessa, but happily

her son anticipated me, and I had the more agreeable office of ushering

his fair cousin up the splendid staircase of the mansion; which

displayed on every hand the usual profusion of vases and Italian

statuary, coloured lamps, gilding, and frescos.

"It is, then, a conversazione?" I observed to Bianca.

"Yes, signor; but you will find little conversing here," she replied,

smiling in such a way as to reveal a row of brilliant little teeth.

"Ah! 't is a horrible den!" she added, with a sigh. "You are a stranger

among us, and will surely become a victim. Oh, caro signor! let me

implore you not to play, whatever my cousin the Visconte may say to

induce you, as you will surely be stripped of every ducat: and above

all, do not quarrel with any one, or you will as certainly be--killed!"

"Pleasant!" said I, surprised at her advice, and the earnestness with

which it was given. "But I trust, cara signora, that my Scottish

caution will protect me from the first danger; while a keen blade and a

stout arm may be my guard against the second."

"Alas!" she sighed, "your sabre will little avail you in an encounter

with the stiletto of a revengeful Calabrian. Said you, signor, that you

came from la Scozia--the land of Ossian and Fingal?"