I had won!

Gaspare Truffi uttered a furious imprecation, and tossing out of his

bloated bag a thousand and ten ducats, together with all the jewels he

had so recently won, the discomfited dwarf rushed from the table, with a

yell like that of a wounded lynx. I now rose greatly in the estimation

of the right honourable company: they crowded round me with

congratulations for my victory over the hunchbacked priest; whom they

seemed equally to dread and despise.

The jewels and gold I secured in my breast pocket, lest some nimble hand

in the crowd might save me the trouble. It was by this time long past

midnight, and Luigi, who had borne an unusual run of ill-luck not very

philosophically, proposed that we should retire. He had lost a large

sum of money to the Baron di Bivona, and they parted in high

displeasure, with mutual threats and promises of meeting again.

We were soon in the carriage, and leaving Nicastro behind us at the rate

of twelve miles an hour. When passing through the porch of the palace,

I caught sight of a strange crouching figure looking like a black bundle

under the shadow of a column. A deep groan, as the carriage swept past,

announced that it was the hunchback, whom I had perhaps reduced to

penury. For a moment the contest and the victory were repented; but a

few hours afterwards proved to me that he was unworthy of commiseration.

*CHAPTER V.*

*GASPARE TRUFFI, THE HUNCHBACK.*

"Beware! Signor Claude," said the Visconte, as we drove homewards; "you

have now made a most deadly enemy in Calabria. Do you know whom you

have defeated?"

"An itinerant priest, probably," I answered, with a slight tone of

pique.

"A priest, certainly; but, thank Heaven! we have few such either in

Naples or Sicily. Though expelled from the brotherhood of San

Baldassare, in Friuli, for some irregularities, (which, in the days of

the late inquisitor, Tourloni, could only have been cleansed by fire)

Gaspare Truffi still wears the garb of a religious order--generally that

of St. Peter of Pisa--that he may the more easily impose upon the

peasantry; who stand in no little awe of his harsh voice, misshapen

figure, and hideous visage. On the mountains I have seen him in a very

different garb: with a poniard in his sash, and the brigand's long rifle

slung across his back. He is said to be in league with the banditti in

the wilderness; and, as the confessor of Francatripa, he has obtained

considerable sway over them. On more than one occasion, in the

encounters between the brigands and the French, he has given

undisputable proofs of valour; though clouded by fearful cruelty. You

have heard of the wilderness of La Syla? There the mountains rise in

vast ridges abruptly from the sea, shooting upward, peak above peak;

their sides clothed with gloomy and impenetrable wood, or jagged with

masses of volcanic rock, which overhang and threaten the little villages

that nestle in the valleys below. Tremendous cascades and perpendicular

torrents--broad sheets of water fringed with snow-white foam--leap from

cliff to cliff, and thundering down echoing chasms, seek their way,

through mountain gorges, to the ocean. Into one of the frightful valleys

of that secluded district, a body of French troops, commanded by the

Marchese di Monteleone, were artfully drawn by Francatripa, the brigand

chief, Gaspare, his lieutenant and confessor, and all their horde; by

whom the whole unhappy battalion, to the number of five hundred rank and

file, were utterly exterminated. Thick as hail the rifle balls showered

down from all sides; and ponderous masses of rock, dislodged by

crowbars, were hurled from the cliffs along the line of march of that

doomed regiment. Save the marchese and his aide, every man perished;

and the place is yet strewn with their bones for miles--a ghastly array

of skeletons, scarce hidden amid the weeds and long rank grass, and

bleaching in the sun as the wolves and vultures left them."

"Cruel! horrible!" said Bianca, clasping her hands.

"Benissimo!" continued my enthusiastic friend; "it was a just

retribution for those whom they slaughtered hourly in their Golgotha at

Monteleone. It was a striking example of Calabrian courage and Italian

vengeance! It will be recorded in history like the terrible 'Sicilian

Vespers.'"

"A pretty picture of society!" I observed: "and such wretches as that

apostate priest are permitted to attend the entertainments of the Prince

of St. Agatha?"

"You must not criticise us too severely," replied Luigi. "The truth is,

we all perceive that Fra Truffi is not an apostle; but he is the

lieutenant and confessor of Francatripa, who is esteemed the greatest

patriot in the province, and with whom it is not the prince's interest

to quarrel, in the present disorganized state of society. Besides, he

has plenty of ducats to spend, and he plays freely and fearlessly; which

is the principal, and indeed essential qualification to ensure respect

and admittance to the first gambling-tables in the land. Per Baccho!

here is the villa--we have arrived at last!" he exclaimed, as the

carriage drew up before the dark facade of his ancestral mansion.

Before the Viscontessa retired, I presented her with her ducats and

jewels which I had won back from the hunchback: but she would by no

means accept of them, and seemed for a moment to be almost incensed at

my offer. I apologized, and returned the ducats to my purse: they

proved a very seasonable reinforcement to my exchequer; which racing,

gambling, and our four-in-hand club at Palermo, had considerably

drained. But the jewels I absolutely refused to retain; and a polite

contest ensued, which ended by Luigi proposing that Bianca should

present them to her patron, St. Eufemio, whose famous shrine stood in

the church of the Sylvestrians at Nicastro.

Although aware that by this arrangement these splendid trinkets would

become the prey of the greedy priesthood, I could not offer a

remonstrance against such a proposition, and only requested permission

to present Bianca with the necklace. I beheld with secret joy the

beautiful girl blushing and trembling with pleasure: she did not

venture, however, to raise her full bright eyes to mine, as I clasped

the string of lustrous gems around her "adorable neck."

"A holy night to you, Signor Claude," said her aunt, as they rose to

retire; "we shall not perhaps see you when you leave the villa, with my

son and his people, for the British camp. But O, caro signor," she

added, pressing my hand affectionately, "we wish you and your companions

all safety and success in fighting against the enemies of our king: on

bended knees, before the blessed patron of Alfieri, will my whole

household and myself implore it. And remember, whenever you have spare

time in the intervals of your military duty, the inmates of the Villa

d'Alfieri will ever be most happy to welcome you."

She retired, leaning on the arm of Bianca, who merely bowed as she

withdrew. The expressive glance I cast after her retiring figure did

not escape the quick-sighted Visconte, who gave me a peculiar--shall I

say haughty?--smile, which brought the blood to my cheek: my heart

misgave me that in time coming I might find him a formidable rival.

Young, handsome, rich, and titled, and enjoying all the privileges which

relationship gave him, he was indeed to be dreaded by a poor sub of the

line.

"Giacomo!" cried he to his follower, "draw back the curtains, and open

the windows towards the sea. Cospetto! the air of these rooms is like

the scirrocco--the malaria of the marshes--or the breath of the very

devil! Bring champagne, and lay dice and cards--no, by Heaven! I have

had enough of them to-night. Bring us the roll of our volunteers, and

then begone to your nest; for Signor Claude and I intend to finish the

morning jovially. And, ola! Giacomo, see that all our fellows are up

with the lark, mustered in the quadrangle, and at Lieutenant Dundas's

disposal, by daybreak."

The lofty casements were thrown open, revealing the midnight ocean, in

which the stars were reflected, together with streaks of lurid light

thrown across the deep blue sky by the beacon fires of the armed parties

along the coast. The murmuring sea dashed its waves into foam beneath

the arched galleries and overhanging rocks, and the cool breeze, which

swept over its rippled surface, being wafted into the saloon, was

delightfully refreshing. The wax-lights were trimmed, silver jars and

tall Venetian glasses placed on the table; and the bright wine sparkling

through the carved crystal of the massive caraffa, and embossed salvers

piled with glowing grapes and luscious peaches, made me feel very much

inclined to bring in daylight gloriously. I wished that my friend

Lascelles and some of our gay staff at Palermo, or the right good

fellows of my regimental mess, had been present.

"Your health, signor," said the Visconte, when Giacomo had filled our

glasses and retired. "May you become a Marescial di campo ere you turn

your horse's tail on Italy!"

"I thank you, my lord," said I, smiling; "but I shall be very happy if I

gain but stars to my epaulettes: and yet, ere that, Massena must be

conquered and Rome won!"

"Now, then," he resumed, laying before me a long muster-roll of Italian

names, "here are five hundred brave Calabrians, most of them my own

immediate dependants, whom I have authority to raise in arms; but who,

without the exertion of that authority, are able and willing to serve

Ferdinand of Naples: whom Madonna long preserve! although the said

Ferdinand is a fool. But unless your general appoints me their leader,

and permits me to nominate my own officers, these fellows may desert _en

masse_ to the mountains; for they are unused to the rule of foreigners."

"Our general is too well aware of the courtesy requisite on his landing

on these shores, to dispute with the Italian nobles, or chiefs of the

_Masse_, their right to command their own followers. If they will serve

obediently, and fight well--obeying as good soldiers must obey, and

enduring as they must endure--Sir John Stuart will require nothing

more." My enthusiastic friend grasped my hand.

"In our first pitched battle with the enemy," he exclaimed; "place us in

front of the line, and we will show il Cavaliere Giovanni Stuardo, that

the bold mountaineers of the Apennines are not less hardy or courageous

than their ancestors were when Rome was in the zenith of its glory."

Puzzled for a moment to recognise the familiar name of the general

through the pronunciation of the Visconte, I was deliberating how to

reply, when I observed the great gnome-like visage of the hunchback

appear at one of the open windows; his fierce twinkling eyes sternly

fixed on mine, with the steady glistening gaze of a snake. He levelled a

pistol, but it flashed in the pan. My first impulse was to grasp my

sabre, my second to spring through the casement, which opened down to

the level of the tessellated floor.

"What see you, signor?' exclaimed my astonished host.

"That abominable hunchback, Peter of Pisa, Friar Truffle, or whatever

you call him."

"Impossible!" said the Visconte. "Most improbable, indeed! at such an

hour of the morning, and in a place where the cliffs descend sheer

downwards to the sea!"

"Monsignore, on my honour I saw his ill-omened visage peering between

the rose-bushes."

Luigi snatched a sword from the wall, and we made tremendous havoc among

the full-blown roses, searching so far as we dared to venture along the

beetling rocks; but no trace of the eaves-dropper could be discovered.

Indeed, the dangerous nature of the place, when I surveyed it, led me to

suppose that I _might_ have been mistaken, and that the apparition was

an illusion of a heated imagination; for my head was now beginning to

swim with the effects of the champagne. Santugo, however, took the

precaution of bolting the casements, and drawing the curtains; after

which we stretched ourselves once more on the couches to listen for any

sound that announced the approach of an intruder.

"Ha! what is that?" exclaimed Santugo abruptly, as a dropping or

pattering sound was heard on the floor.

"The deuce! my wound bleeds!" said I, on finding that the slight sword

thrust which I had received in the morning had broken out afresh;

probably in consequence of my exertions when searching for the

hunchback.

"A wound!" rejoined Santugo, with astonishment; "I knew not that you had

been hurt this morning in your skirmish with the voltigeurs."

"A mere scratch, Visconte," I replied, with a jaunty carelessness, half

affected, as I unbuttoned my uniform coat, and found with surprise that

the sleeve and white kerseymere vest were completely saturated with

blood. Through my neglect, and the heat of the climate, the wound was

becoming more painful than I could have expected so slight a thrust to

be.

"Sancto Januario! you never said a word of all this!" cried Luigi,

alarmed by seeing so much blood. "Ola, there!" he added, springing to

the door. "Giacomo Salvatore! Andronicus! you Greek vagabond!"

In three minutes we had all the male portion, of the household about us,

with faces of alarm, in motley garbs and variously armed.

Giacomo, who had gained some knowledge as a leech during his innumerable

skirmishes with the French, bathed the wound and bound up my arm in a

very scientific manner; after which I bade my host adieu, and requested

to be shown to my apartment. In truth, it was time to be napping, when

in three hours afterwards we should be on the march for Maida.

My sleeping-room was in a part of the villa which had formed a tower of

the ancient castle; and, if there were any ghosts in merry Naples, it

was just the place where one would have taken up its quarters. It was

named the _wolf's chamber_; the legend thereof the reader will learn

towards the close of my narrative. A large black stain on the dark

oaken planks of the floor yet remained, in testimony of some deed of

blood perpetrated in the days of Campanella; when a fierce civil war was

waged in Southern Italy.

That I had seen the face of the hunchback palpably and distinctly, I had

little doubt, when recalling the whole affair to mind; and I had none

whatever that the hideous little man had great reason to be my enemy.

At that unhappy gaming-table, I had stripped him, perhaps, of every coin

he possessed, as well as the rich jewels he had won: a double triumph,

which, coupled with my sarcasm on his appearance, was quite enough to

whet his vengeance against me. In truth, it was impossible to feel

perfectly at ease while reflecting that he might still be lurking about

the villa; aye, perhaps under my very bed.

More than once, when about to drop asleep, the sullen dash of the waves

in the arcades below the sea-terrace aroused me to watchfulness; and I

started, half imagining that the bronze figures on the ebony cabinet, or

the bold forms in a large dark painting by Annibale Carracci, were

instinct with life.

Presently I saw a shadow pass across the muslin curtains of my bed, and

a figure gliding softly between me and the night-lamp, which burned on a

carved bracket upheld by a beautiful statue of a virgin bearing sacred

fire. The sight aroused me in an instant; recalled my senses, quickened

every pulse, and strung every nerve for action. Remaining breathlessly

still, until my right hand had got a firm grasp of my sabre (which

luckily lay on the other side of the couch), I dashed aside the curtains

and sprang out of bed, just in time to elude the furious stroke of a

Bastia knife; which, had it taken effect on my person instead of the

down pillows, would have brought my Calabrian campaign to a premature

and most unpleasant close.

It was Truffi, the hunchback! Exasperated by this second attempt upon

my life, I rushed upon him. He made a bound towards the window, through

which he had so stealthily entered by unfastening the Venetian blind;

but at the moment he was scrambling out, my sword descended sheer on his

enormous hump. Uttering a howl of rage and anguish, he fell to the

ground, where he was immediately seized in the powerful grasp of Giacomo

Belloni.

"Signor Teniente!" cried Giacomo, as they struggled together on the very

edge of the cliff, "cleave his head while I hold him fast! The stunted

Hercules--the cursed crookback! Maladetto! he has the strength of his

father the devil! Quick, signor! smite him under the ribs, or he will

throw me into the sea!" But before I could arrive to his assistance,

the hunchback himself had fallen, or been tossed (Giacomo said the

latter) from the balustrade terrace, which overhung the water. He sank

in the very spot where Belloni informed me there was a whirlpool, which

a hundred years before had sucked down the _San Giovanni_, a galley of

the Maltese knights. Escape seemed impossible, and I expected to be

troubled with him no more.

"You may sleep safely now, signor," said the panting victor; "he will

never annoy you again in this world. The Signora Bianca was afraid that

the hunchback might make some attempt upon your chamber (where, to speak

truth, blood has been spilt more than once), and so she ordered me to

watch below the window with my rifle; but overcome with wine and the

heat of the air I dropped asleep, and was only awakened by his ugly

carcass coming squash upon mine!"

"I am deeply grateful to the Signora Bianca for her anxiety and

attention. But, Master Giacomo, you must learn to watch with your eyes

open, after we take the field to-morrow: nodding on sentry will not do

among us."

Giacomo was abashed, and withdrew. Thus closed the adventures of my

first day in Lower Calabria.

*CHAPTER VI.*

*THE CALABRIAN FREE CORPS.*

Awakened at daybreak by the report of the morning gun from the admiral's

ship in the bay, I leaped out of bed, and threw open the casement to

enjoy the pure, cool breeze from the sea; for my blood felt hot and

feverish: the effects of the wine I had taken during the past evening,

and the exciting occurrences of the last few hours. My wounded arm,

too, was stiff and painful; but I hoped it would soon cease to give me

any inconvenience.

Another bright and cloudless Italian morning: the distant sea and the

whole sky, so far as the eye could reach, were all of that pure azure

tint which the most pellucid atmosphere alone can produce. The sun had

not yet risen, but the east was bright with the dawn, which burnished

the rippling surface of the ocean, whose wavelets gleamed alternately

with green and gold, as they broke on the shining shore. The morning

landscape presented the most vivid contrasts of dazzling light and deep

shadow. The peaks of the hills above Maida,--those hills which were so

soon to echo the boom of our artillery--the wavy woods which clothed

their sides, and the silver current of the reedy Amato, glittered with

glowing light; while the bosky vale through which the river wound, and

the town of St. Eufemio, were steeped in comparative gloom. The

bayonets of the marines on board Sir Sydney's squadron, were gleaming on

poop and forecastle; and the red top-light, which burned like a lurid

spark amid the well-squared yards and taut black rigging of the

flag-ship, cast a long and tremulous ray across the still bosom of the

brightening sea. It vanished when the morning-gun flashed forth from

the dark port-hole; and, the shrill notes of the boatswains' whistles

piping up the hands, when the whole fleet began to heave short on their

anchors.

Dressing with expedition, in ten minutes I stood booted and belted in

front of the villa, where Santugo and two other cavaliers mustered their

recruits. Their appearance, though rather wild, was both romantic and

picturesque: they numbered five hundred men; young, athletic, and

handsome in person, swarthy in visage, and soldier-like in bearing--the

setting-up a little excepted: altogether, they were a very valuable

acquisition to our army. Their weapons were of a very miscellaneous and

unwarlike character: consisting of clubs, poniards, and the formidable

Italian oxgoads which glittered in the sun like lances, with some very

indifferent rifles. But I promised the Visconte a sufficient supply of

arms, accoutrements, and clothing, when his people were formally arrayed

under our standard.

I was welcomed by a shout; and the cavaliers Benedetto del Castagno and

Marco di Castelermo received me with the utmost politeness and warmth of

manner. Both these gentlemen were of noble families, and enjoyed a high

reputation for courage. The first was a merry Neapolitan, who laughed

at everything he said; the second the scarred and sun-burnt knight of

Malta, on whose handsome features were marked a stern gravity and

settled melancholy, no less striking than his garb. He was now

enveloped in the dark mantle of his order, having on the left shoulder

an eight-pointed cross, sewn in white velvet upon black cloth; the same

sacred badge appeared upon the housings of his horse, and various parts

of his attire: in silver on his epaulettes, in red enamel on his black

velvet forage cap, and in scarlet cloth on the tops of his white leather

gauntlets.

To my surprise, I understood that, before marching, solemn mass must be

performed; and the Visconte led me to the private oratory, at the altar

of which stood Fra Adriano, the chaplain and confessor of the family.

The chapel was as gorgeously decorated as many coloured marbles, painted

windows, a roof of gilding and fresco, springing from columns covered

with the richest mosaic, and shining tessellated floor, could make it.

Near the altar stood the celebrated statue of the patron of the

Alfieri--Sant' Ugo. It was of oak, carved, gilt, and evidently of great

antiquity; but so hideous that it might have passed for Thor, or any

monster-god whom our rude forefathers worshipped in the dark ages of

druidical superstition. At St. Eufemio, this image was regarded with

the utmost veneration; from a belief in the wondrous miracles it

wrought, and a tradition that it had been transported through the air by

angels, from the saint's little hermitage in the beautiful plain near

Palermo. Other relics in the chapel were viewed with no less reverence.

I was shewn a leg of the cock which crew to Peter, a rag of the virgin's

petticoat, a packet of the egg-shells on which San Lorenzo was broiled,

and a tooth of the blessed Ugo! which, from its size and the number of

rings, bore so strong a resemblance to the tooth of a horse, that the

venerable aspect and earnestness of Adriano scarcely restrained me from

laughing outright.

"Fra Adriano is the oldest of our Calabrian priests," observed Luigi, in

a whisper: "he has been the confessor of our family for three

generations."

"Kneel with us, signor, if it be but to please the good father, who is

now verging on his hundredth year;" added the Maltese commander in the

same low voice. "Saint John preserve him yet for many years to come:

long after the grave has closed over me! He beheld my order when it was

in the zenith of its power and glory. Yes, signor, he beheld the galleys

of Malta sailing through the straits of Messina, when the grand master

Antonio de Vilhena, of most pious and valiant memory, unfurled against

the infidels of Algeria the blessed banner of redemption. But these

days have passed. The silver keys of Jerusalem, of Acre, and of

Rhodes--three cities of strength, over which the knights of our order

once held sway--are now paltry trophies in the hands of the British.

Struck down by the hand of Napoleon, the banner of God and St. John has

sunk for ever, and the red flag of Mahomet may now sweep every shore of

the Mediterranean with impunity!" (Lord Exmouth's attack on Algiers did

not take place till six years after this time.)

A hundred years spent in the gloomy and monotonous cloister! This

priest had dwelt there from his childhood, and I sighed when

contemplating the silver hairs, magnificent white beard, and calm

features of this fine old man, and reflecting on the long life he had

wasted away--a life which might otherwise have been valuable. To what a

living tomb had zeal and superstitious piety consigned him!

But to proceed. When the incense had been burned, the wine drunk, the

bell rung, the prayers said, and responses given, we softly withdrew;

the sweet, low singing of the choristers, mingled with the pealing notes

of the organ, filling the little oratory with a burst of melodious

harmonies.

After glasses of coffee had been served hastily round, we leaped on our

horses; our appearance being the signal for the column of volunteers to

get under arms. With no little trouble, we formed them into something

like military order, and they moved off in sections of three files

abreast. The Maltese knight enjoyed with me a hearty laugh at their

shuffling march; but I had no doubt that, after being a few weeks under

the tuition of our drill Serjeants, they would all make smart soldiers.

Though we marched without the sound of drum or bugle, music was not

wanting; two or three improvisatori who were in the ranks struck up a

martial song, adapted to the occasion, and the others soon acquired the

chorus--even Santugo and his friends joined; and the bold swell of five

hundred manly voices ringing in the blue welkin, and awakening the

echoes of the wooded hills, produced an effect at once impressive and

animating.

These brave hearts formed the nucleus of that _Calabrian corps_ which,

on many future occasions, fought with such indomitable spirit under the

British standard; which shared in the glories of Maida, the capture of

Crotona, the expedition to Naples in 1809, and the storming of the

Castle of Ischia, when Colonna, with all his garrison, surrendered to

the bravery of Macfarlane and his soldiers.

As I rode round an angle of the villa, I observed the Signora Bianca,

muffled in black velvet and sables, watching our departure, from one of

the windows. Raising my cocked hat, I bowed, with something more than

respect in my manner, at the same time making Cartouche curvet, and

riding with as much of the air of "the staff" as I could assume. The

graceful girl stepped out into one of the little stone balconies which

projected before all the upper windows of the mansion, and I immediately

pulled up; she smiled, and waved her hand in adieu. Standing up in my

stirrups--"Signora," said I, in a low voice, "never shall I forget your

kind anxiety for my safety last night; and believe me, Bianca, since the

first moment we met at Palermo--but the Visconte is calling. The enemy

are before us, and I may never see you again--adieu!"

"Addio! a reveder la!" she murmured; the blush which the first part of

my farewell called forth giving way to paleness.

"May it soon happen, signora!" I added, as, spurring Cartouche, I

galloped after the free corps, with my heart beating a little more

tumultuously than it had done for a long time--at least since we left

England.

"Ola, Dundas!" cried the Visconte, as I came up at a canter, "what has

caused you to loiter?"

"My horse's near hind shoe was clattering, and I merely drew up for an

instant to examine it," I replied: very unwilling he should suspect or

learn the truth.

On our march, my new friends beguiled the tedium of the way by vivid

descriptions of their encounters with the enemy, between whom and the

Calabrese there had long been maintained a blood-thirsty war of

reprisal. Every peasant who fell into the hands of the French, having

arms in his possession--even if it were but the ordinary stiletto or

ox-goad--was instantly dragged before a standing court-martial, tried,

and shot, or else hanged. Every means were adopted by Regnier to

exterminate the roving bands of armed peasantry and fierce banditti, who

incessantly harassed his troops during all their marches and movements:

but in vain. Every tree, shrub, and rock, concealed a rifle, and a

stern eye, whose aim was deadly. In secluded spots, where all seemed

calm and peaceful but a moment before, or the stillness of the leafy

solitude had been broken only by the tap of the drum, or the carol of

the merry French soldier--whose native buoyancy of heart often breaks

forth in a joyous chorus on the line of march--when least expected,

overwhelming ambuscades of wild mountaineers would start up from height

and hollow, galling the march of some unhappy party: suddenly the

foliage would blaze with the fire of rifles, their sharp reports ringing

through the wood, while whistling bullets bore each one a message of

death, responded to by the shrieks and groans of dying men.

But my Italian friends could not yet boast of the frightful massacre of

Orzamarzo.

By the wayside I observed a mound of fresh earth, above which rose a

cross, composed of two rough pieces of wood. It was the grave of

Krauenz, the leader of our Corsicans, who yesterday had been alive, and

at their head: to-day, Frank himself could not have wished him

lower--poor man!

As we passed through St. Eufemio, the inhabitants followed us _en

masse_, filling the air with shouts, and cries of "Long live Ferdinand

of Naples! Death to the Corsican tyrant, and Massena the apostate!

Death to their soldiery, the slayers of our people!" and the convent

bells rang, as for a general jubilee. "Benissimo!" cried I, waving my

hat, "Live Caroline! Viva la Reina!" and another tremendous shout,

accompanied by the clapping of hands, rent the air.

The sun was now up, and the increasing heat of the morning made a halt

for a few minutes not only desirable but requisite. We dismounted at

the door of a cafe kept by a Sicilian (the Sicilians are famed for their

ices), and procured a cool and delightful cup of limonea, and long

glasses filled with what the seller called sherbet. Meanwhile, our

volunteers were busily imbibing all the liquids they could procure from

the stationary acquaiuoli, or water-sellers; who retail cool beverages

to the passengers, at the corner of every street in a Neapolitan town.

A gaudily painted barrel, swinging on an iron axis fixed between the

door-posts, is the principal feature of these establishments, which

generally open at a street corner; the rough columns supporting it are

garnished with tin drinking cups, scoured bright as silver, and in these

the seller supplies his customers with pure and sparkling water cooled

by snow introduced through the bung-hole of the cask every time a

draught is required.

"Caro signor, give a poor rogue a bajocch to get a draught of cold

water!" is often the cry of the beggars in hot weather.

Thus refreshed, Santugo ordered his volunteers once more to march, and

the road for our camp was resumed. After a short halt in the great

forest, during noon, we reached the British forces, which still occupied

their ground on the banks of the Mucato, where I had left them on the

preceding evening. With much formality, I presented the Visconte and

his companions to the general. The camp was already crowded with other

volunteers, who came pouring in from all quarters, imploring arms and

ammunition, and clamouring to be led against the enemy.

"Napoli! Napoli! Ferdinando nostro e la santa fede! Revenge or

death!" was the shout of the Calabrians: it rang from the gorge of

Orzamarzo to the cliffs of Capo di Larma; and all of the population who

could draw a dagger, or wield an ox-goad, rushed to arms, panting for

vengeance. In less than two days, we had a corps of two thousand picked

soldiers embodied, armed, equipped, eager for battle, and officered by

the noblest families in the provinces. Clad in their white

uniform,--until then there was a ludicrous want of similarity in their

garb,--they appeared a fine-looking body of men, and every way the

reverse of their countrymen of the Southern Provinces: brave, resolute,

and yielding every requisite obedience to those Italian cavalieri whom

the general appointed to lead them into the field.

The peasantry brought us in provisions in plenty, but refused to receive

payment in return; saying that they "could not sufficiently reward those

who came to free them from the hateful tyranny of the French," led by

Massena, the renegade peasant of Nice.

On the night of the 3rd, I was despatched on the spur to the Podesta, or

chief magistrate, of St. Eufemio, with a printed manifesto addressed by

Sir John Stuart to the Italian people; inviting them to rise in arms,

and throw off the yoke of France; promising them protection for their

persons, property, laws, and religion; offering arms to the brave and

loyal, and a free pardon to those whom Buonaparte had either seduced or

terrified into temporary adherence to his brother Joseph.

Santuffo commanded the first battalion of the free corps; which was no

sooner formed into something like fighting order, than we broke up our

camp and moved to attack General Regnier; who, having been apprised of

our debarkation, made a most rapid march from Reggio, collecting on the

route all his detached corps, for the purpose of engaging us without

delay.

On the evening of the 3rd, il Cavaliere del Castagno, a captain in

Santugo's battalion, brought us intelligence that Regnier, at the head

of 4,000 infantry, 300 cavalry, and four pieces of artillery, had taken

up a position near Maida, a town ten miles distant from our camp, and

that another corps of three regiments under the Marchese di Monteleone

was en route to form a junction with him. These advices determined our

leader to march at once on Regnier's position, and attack him ere the

Marchese came up. Accordingly, four companies of Sir Louis de

Watteville's regiment, under the command of Major Fisher, were left to

protect our stores and a small field work which, under the direction of

Signor Pietro Navarro of the Sicilian engineers, had been thrown up on

our landing, and planted with cannon. Our little army marched next day

(the 4th) in three brigades; which, together with the advance under

Colonel Kempt, and a reserve of artillery with four six-pounders and two

howitzers, under Major Le Moine, made barely five thousand men,

exclusive of the free corps.

*CHAPTER VII.*

*THE BATTLE OF MAIDA.*

The morning of the battle was one of the most beautiful and serene I

ever beheld, even in Italy. As the curtain of night was drawn aside, and

the bright beams of morning lighted up the giant masses of the

Apennines, the green rice-fields, and luxuriant vineyards; white-walled

towns and villages, solitary convents and feudal castles, waving woods,

and the indentations of the rocky coast, all became tinted with their

most pleasing hues. But the surpassing splendour of the sun--in whose

joyous effulgence the whole glorious landscape seemed palpitating with

delight--the clearness of the atmosphere, and the deep blue of the

wondrous vault above us, were all forgotten, or unheeded: we thought

only of the foe in position before us; while the dropping fire from our

flankers, who had commenced skirmishing with the French tirailleurs,

kept us keenly alive to the desperate work which had to be accomplished

ere the sun sank below the sea. When that hour came, might I be alive

to behold it? How many an eye that looked on its glorious rising, would

then be closed for ever!

General Regnier's troops were encamped below Maida, on the face of a

thickly-wooded hill, which sloped into the plain of St. Eufemio. The

Amato, a river which, though fordable, has very muddy and marshy banks,

ran along the front of his line, while his flanks were strengthened and

defended by groves of laurel bushes, and a thick impervious underwood,

which he had filled with scattered light troops. Cavaliere Castagno by

his influence among the peasantry, obtained hourly any intelligence we

required; and just before the battle begun, he conveyed to me, for the

general's information, the unpleasing tidings, that Monteleone's corps,

to the number of three thousand men, were now moving into position on

the French right. General Regnier was now at the head of eight thousand

bayonets, while we had little more than half that number, exclusive of

the Calabrians, on whom, as yet, we could not rely much in the field;

and they were, consequently, to form a corps of reserve: much to the

annoyance of the gallant Santugo and his friends.

We marched in close column of subdivisions, parallel with the sea-shore,

until we had nearly turned Regnier's left; and as our movements were all

made in a spacious plain, with the morning sun glaring on our serried

ranks and burnished arms, he had an excellent view of our numbers and

intentions. Had Regnier quietly maintained his position on the hill, we

would soon have turned it altogether, and thus placed him between us and

the sea; where Sir Sydney's squadron lay, broadside to the shore, with

ports open and guns double shotted. To us the movement was full of

peril: our retreat might be cut off; while, in consequence of the

smallness of our force, the difficulties of access, and the natural

strength of the ridge on which the enemy was posted, we should have

found it no easy task to drive him back.

Whether the Frenchman feared he should be out-flanked, or was encouraged

by his numbers to attack us, I know not; but he soon crossed the Amato,

in order of battle, and moved his entire force into the plain, where his

corps of cavalry--an arm, of which we were, most unfortunately,

deficient--would act more effectively.

As yet, not a shot had been fired: the enemy continued advancing towards

us steadily and in line; their arms flashing, colours fluttering in the

breeze, and drums beating in sharp and measured time. They halted by

sound of trumpet, and, at the head of a glittering staff, Regnier swept,

at a gallop, from the right flank to the left.

"Gentlemen," said Sir John to his staff, on first observing this new

movement of the enemy; "ride at full speed to the battalions, and order

them to deploy into line. Mr. Lascelles, desire Cole to take up his

ground where he is now. Dundas, you will direct Major Le Moine to get

his guns into position on that knoll, where the wooden cross stands--to

have them unlimbered, and ready to open on the enemy's line the moment

he deems it within range. Order Lieutenant Colonel Kempt to throw

forward the whole of his light infantry, double quick, and in extended

order to "feel" the enemy, and keep their tirailleurs in check."

Saluting with one hand, I wheeled Cartouche round with the other, gave

him the spur, and galloped on my mission; delivering the order to deploy

into line as I passed the heads of the different columns. In three

minutes Le Moine had his field-pieces at the appointed post, and wheeled

round; the iron pintles drawn, the limbers cast off, and the muzzles

pointed to the enemy. Leaping from his horse, he levelled, and fired

the first shot himself.

It was the signal gun, announcing that the work of destruction and death

had begun in grim, earnest. My heart beat thick and fast; every pulse

quickened, and a proud, almost fierce and wild sensation, swelled within

me, as the sharp report rang through the clear still air, and the white

smoke floated away from the green knoll, revealing the dark cannon that

bristled around it.

I reined up my gallant grey on an eminence, to watch the effect of the

ball. General Regnier, escorted by fifty dragoons, their brass helmets

and bright swords flashing in the sun, was at that moment galloping back

to his right flank; and on this group the shot took effect: a commotion

was visible among them immediately, and they rode on at a quicker pace,

leaving a dark heap behind them--a rider and his horse lay dying or

dead. The whole of our field-pieces now opened a rapid cannonade on the

French line, and continued it incessantly during the action.

By this time the light infantry were hotly engaged: the Sicilian

volunteers, the Corsicans, and our provisional light battalion, were

filling the dark-green underwood, and the leafy groves along the banks

of the Amato, with smoke; while hill, rock, and woodland rang with the

ceaseless patter of the fire they rained on the French tirailleurs, who

blazed at them in return with equal spirit, from behind every screen

afforded by the irregularity of the ground. As the lines drew nearer,

the light troops, as if by tacit agreement, were withdrawn by sound of

bugle; and by nine o'clock in the morning the battle had become general,

from centre to flanks.

The corps which formed the right of our advanced line, was a provisional

battalion commanded by Colonel Kempt, and composed of the light

companies of six of our regiments from Sicily, and that of de

Watteville's corps, with a hundred and fifty picked men of the 35th

under Major Robinson. These troops were opposed to the 1st regiment of

French light infantry (the favourite corps of the Emperor), which they

mauled in glorious style; pouring in a deadly fire at about a hundred

yards distance. On their left was the corps of General Ackland,

composed of the 78th, or Ross-shire Highlanders, the 81st regiment, and

five companies of de Watteville's, with the 58th under the late General

Sir John Oswald, then colonel.

General Cole, with the provisional battalion of grenadiers, and the

27th, formed our left. Such was the disposition of our little army when

engaging the enemy, whose force mustered almost two to one. Sir Sydney

Smith by this time had taken a position with his ships and gun-boats, to

act and co-operate if circumstances favoured; but, much to the annoyance

of the gallant sailor, his fleet could yield us no assistance during

that day's fighting.

Led by the chivalric Macleod of Geanies,--a brave officer, who

afterwards fell in Egypt,--the 78th rushed upon the enemy, with the wild

and headlong impetuosity of their countrymen. I was close by their

dashing colonel, when, sword in hand, he led them on.

"Forward the Ross-shire buffs! Let them feel the bayonet--charge!" And

animated to a sort of martial phrenzy by the shrill pibroch--whose wild

and sonorous war-blast rang as loudly on the plain of Maida as ever it

did by the glassy Loch-duich, when the bale-fires of the M'Kenzie blazed

on continent and isle--the bold Highlanders flung themselves with a yell

upon the masses of the enemy. They were opposed to the French 42d

regiment of grenadiers--a corps led by that brave French officer upon

whom Buonaparte had bestowed the Calabrian title of Marchese di

Monteleone. Riding in advance of his soldiers, by words and gestures

the most enthusiastic, he urged them to advance, to keep together, to

hold their ground. But his sabre was brandished, and the war-cry

shouted, in vain; and vain, too, were the desperate efforts of his

grenadiers before the tremendous charge of our Highlanders. Overwhelmed

and broken, they were driven back in confusion, and pursued with

slaughter by the 78th; until the latter were so far in advance of our

whole line that Sir John sent me after them at full gallop, with an

order to halt and re-form, in case of their being cut off.

I delivered the order to Macleod, who was stooping from his horse in the

arms of a sergeant of his regiment, and almost unable to speak. A

rifle-ball had passed through his breast, within an inch of the heart,

inflicting a most severe and dangerous wound: yet he quitted not the

field, but remained on horseback, and at the head of his Highlanders,

during the remainder of the action, and the fierce pursuit which

followed it.

Drumlugas, a captain of the corps, in the _melee_ unhorsed the Marchese,

who narrowly escaped with the loss of his steed and sabre: these

remained the trophies of the victor, who distinguished himself by more

conquests and captures ere the day was done.

Colonel Kempt's corps was now within a few yards of the enemy, and the

deadly fire which they had been pouring upon each other was suspended,

"as if by mutual agreement," as Sir John stated in his despatch; "and in

close, compact order, and with awful silence, they advanced towards each

other, until the bayonets began to cross. At this momentous crisis, the

enemy became appalled; they broke, and endeavoured to fly; but it was

too late: they were overtaken with most dreadful slaughter." Ere they

fled--

"Dundas, ride to Brigadier-General Ackland; let him push forward his

brave corps, and complete that which Kempt has so nobly begun!" cried

the general. I departed with this order, on the spur; but it was

anticipated by Ackland, who was already leading on in triumph, through

clouds of smoke, and over heaps of dead and dying, the 78th and 81st:

shoulder to shoulder, they rushed on, with bayonets levelled to the

charge--cool, compact, and resolute. Discomfited by their formidable

aspect, and the impetuosity of this movement, the whole of the French

left wing gave way, and retired in confusion, leaving the plain strewn

with killed and wounded. The river Amato was choked with the bodies and

crimsoned with the blood of those who, unable by wounds or fatigue to

cross the stream, became entangled among the thick sedges on its banks;

where they perished miserably, either by the bayonets of the pursuers or

by drowning.

At that moment a dashing French officer, at the head of three hundred

heavy dragoons, made a desperate attempt to retrieve the honour of

France and the fortune of the day: rushing forward at full speed through

the white clouds of rolling smoke, he attempted to turn the left of the

81st, and capture three field-pieces posted between that regiment and

the Ross-shire Buffs.

"Allons, mes enfans! Napoleon! Napoleon! allons!" cried he, waving his

sabre aloft. "Vive l'Empereur! Guerre a mort!" was the answering shout

of his fierce troopers, as they swept onward in solid squadron; their

brandished swords and long line of brass helmets gleaming in the sun,

while their tricoloured Guideon and waving crests of black horse-hair

danced on the passing breeze. But the steady fire of the Highlanders

made them recoil obliquely, and I found myself most unexpectedly among

them, when spurring onward with the order to Ackland: to deliver which

with speed, I had the temerity to ride through a little hollow raked by

the fire of the three guns already mentioned, and along which these

dragoons had advanced unseen amid the smoke.

The press was tremendous: riders cursed and shrieked as they were thrown

and trod to death; horses were plunging and kicking; and both fell fast

on every side. Twenty swords at once gleamed around me, and their cuts

whistled on every side, as I attempted desperately to break through the

dense, heaving mass of men and horses. My heart leaped within me, my

brain reeled, and my blood seemed on fire: I struck to the right, left,

and rear, giving point and cut with the utmost rapidity; never

attempting to ward off the flashing blades that played around my bare

head--for my gay staff hat, with its red and white plume, had vanished

in the melee. I must inevitably have been unhorsed and cut down, but

for a sudden volley that was poured in point blank upon the cavalry from

the dark brushwood covering one side of the gorge. A score of saddles

were emptied, and many a strong horse and gallant rider rolled on the

turf in the agonies of death; while all the survivors, save their

officers alone, retreated at full gallop to the French position.

Next moment the whole line of the dashing 20th, led on by

Lieutenant-colonel Ross, started out from their ambush in the thick

underwood; where the regiment lay concealed during the smoke and

confusion of the battle, unseen even by ourselves. Having only landed

that morning from Messina, they had come up with our army during the

heat of the contest; and Ross, observing the movement of the enemy's

cavalry, threw his battalion into the thicket, the sudden flank-fire

from which completely foiled their attempt upon our cannon. One man

only of the 20th fell: but he was deeply regretted by the whole

regiment--Captain Maclean (the son of Gilian Maclean of Scallecastle, in

the Isle of Mull), an officer who had served with distinction in

Holland, in the first expedition to Egypt, and elsewhere.

The Frenchman who had led on the dragoons seemed to be one of those

daring and reckless fellows who scorn flight, and laugh at danger; so,

venting a malediction on his runaway troops, he rode alone towards me.

The 20th and other corps near us, seeing that we were well matched, with

a chivalric resolution to see fair play, suspended their fire to let us

prove our mettle, while they looked on.

Being an expert swordsman, and master of my horse, so far that I could

clear a five-barred gate or cross a hunting country with any man, I had

but slight fear as to the issue of the encounter; yet it flashed upon my

mind, that to be signally defeated in front of our whole army would be

worse than death. My antagonist was about thirty years of age, with a

form modelled like that of a young Hercules; and his aspect and bearing

led me to conclude that the encounter would be a tough one. He belonged

to the staff, and on his breast glittered the star of the Iron Crown of

Lombardy: a badge bestowed upon five hundred knights (the flower of his

officers) created by Napoleon on his recent coronation at Milan, as king

of Italy.

We advanced within twelve yards of each other, and then rode our horses

warily round in a circle; each watching the eyes and movements of the

other, with stern caution and alert vigilance, such as the time and

circumstances could alone draw forth: the life of one depended on the

death of the other. At last I rushed furiously to the assault, making a

cut seemingly at the head of my antagonist, but changing it adroitly to

his bridle hand; the stroke missed the man, but cut through both curb

and snaffle rein. I deemed him now completely at my mercy; but as he had

a chain-rein attached to his bridle, nothing was gained by the first

stroke.

"Monsieur, I disdain to return the compliment!" said he carelessly,

while, with a laugh of triumphant scorn, he shook his strong

chain-bridle. Provoked by his insolent non-chalance, I dealt a backward

blow with such force and dexterity that he began to press me in turn;

and with skill that I had some trouble in meeting. His charger was so

well trained, that he was aided in every stroke and thrust by its

movements; while Cartouche, startled by the clash of the sabres, began

to snort and rear. The restless spirit of the fiery English blood-horse

was roused, and a shell thrown by a French field howitzer exploding

close by, completed his terror and my discomfiture: Cartouche plunged so

fearfully that my sabre fell from my grasp, and I nearly lost my seat

while endeavouring, by curb and caress, to reduce him to subjection. I

was thus quite at the mercy of the Frenchman; who, generously disdaining

to take the advantage that my restive horse gave him, merely said,

"Gardez, monsieur!" and bowing, lowered the point of his sabre in salute

and galloped away, greeted by a hearty cheer from the 20th and Ackland's

brigade.

*CHAPTER VIII.*

*THE COTTAGE ON THE MAIDA ROAD--THE EAGLE.*

Broken by the impetuous and simultaneous advance of our brigades,

Regnier's whole line of battle gave way, and retired from the field with

precipitation--especially the left wing--leaving the position strewn

with dead and wounded, and presenting a terrible scene of carnage and

agony, as we pressed triumphantly forward. The right and centre

retreated in tolerable order, covered by the cavalry; but the left was

swept away and almost annihilated by the fierce charge of the Ross-shire

Buffs. Our light battalion, commanded by Colonel Kempt, and Macleod

with his regiment, flushed with victory, were ordered forward

immediately in pursuit. They followed it up in double quick time for

upwards of three miles, killing and capturing an immense number of the

enemy; whose rear they galled by a continual fire from the eminences

commanding their line of march.

When Sir John again sent me after them with an order to halt, I found

them briskly engaged with a small band of fugitives who had thrown

themselves into a little cottage by the wayside, over which a gigantic

chestnut threw its ample shadow. From the garden wall and barricaded

door and windows, the French maintained a spirited fire, to defend a

standard and eagle which Regnier's son, a young sub-lieutenant, had

carried in there instead of continuing his flight. This rural post was

enveloped in the blaze of musketry and clouds of snow-white smoke: steel

bayonets bristled above the green hedges, through which, and the

shattered casements, red flashes broke incessantly; while fierce faces,

pale with anger and chagrin, appeared at every opening.

"Shall I ride to Le Moine, to send up a four-pounder, and blow the place

about their ears?" said I to Kempt.

"Cannon against a shelling!" exclaimed Macleod, backing his horse over

the heaps of dead. "No, no; let the Buffs storm it. I will lead them

on. Forward the Ross-shiremen!"

"Forward!" I added; "for the cavalry have halted, and seem disposed to

return and engage. On, then, colonel; and a dozen of wine from the last

officer over the wall!"

"CUIDICH'N RHI!" (the motto of the regiment), cried Macleod, dashing

spurs into his horse. "Charge, Seventy-eighth!"

A shout burst from the ranks, and the brave fellows rushed to closer

conflict. I urged forward Cartouche, and the spirited horse shook the

foam from his bit, as snorting and rearing up he bounded over the

enclosure of the garden, and came down crash among the mass of

Frenchmen, whose bayonets formed a steel hedge around me. I must have

been destroyed in a moment, but for the strenuous exertions of Macleod

and his gallant Buffs; who came pouring in at the gap my horse had made,

and engaged the enemy hand to hand--fighting with that fierce and

unconquerable ardour which has enabled those brave sons of the north to

sweep all the troops of Europe before them.

I was not slow in seconding their efforts, and made good use of my

sabre: one instant it descended upon musket barrels and bear-skin caps,

and the next inflicted some deadly wound, which at that wild and

exciting time was a matter of exulting triumph to me. Terrible were the

bayonet wounds given and received in that short encounter; many poor

fellows who were beaten to the earth were trodden to death beneath the

hoofs of our horses, and in five minutes the defenders of the cottage

surrendered. The walls without and within were piled up with dead and

dying, and its once blooming garden was trodden flat, cumbered with

bodies, and drenched with blood. But another desperate encounter was

yet before me.

"The colours! the eagle!" exclaimed Macleod, breaking in amongst the

prisoners; "where is the officer who bore the eagle?"

"Escaped, by Heaven!" answered Oliver Lascelles, who galloped up at that

moment, and cleared the garden-wall at a flying leap. "There he goes on

the bald-faced nag. A hundred to one the standard is lost!" A muttered

exclamation of regret and mortification burst from us all on beholding

the bearer of the eagle riding at full speed after the retreating

cavalry.

"S'death!" cried Macleod, rushing to his horse; "he has escaped by the

rear. Come on, gentlemen, we will have a steeple-chase for it!"

"Stole away! hark forward!" exclaimed Lascelles, with a reckless laugh,

as his nag once more cleared the wall. The mounted officers all pushed

onward at full gallop; but they were soon outstripped by my noble grey,

which rapidly brought me up with the fugitive. On finding himself

nearer the French rear-guard than the victors, and perhaps disdaining to

fly from a single foe, young Regnier reined up on an eminence near the

Amato, and with his sabre lashed by the knot to his wrist, with bent

brows, and eyes flashing fire with determination, he awaited my onset.

His horse was a small French trooper; the straight neck, drooping ears,

and close flanks of which showed its inferiority of breed when compared

with my high-headed, bold-eyed, and bluff-chested charger.

I charged him with such fury that both man and horse were almost

overturned by the shock; and parrying his thrust, I dealt a blow which

had certainly cleft his jaws, but for the thick brass scales of his

shako. He was stunned, and reeled in his saddle for a moment, striking

blindly and at random. At that instant the French cavalry trumpets

sounded an _advance_, and I was compelled to press him more boldly than

ever. Grasping the colour-staff with my bridle hand, the flag was

nearly rent between us; while he endeavoured to hew off the eagle with

his sabre. He glared at me like a tiger and cut fiercely at my left

hand, which the twisted reins and thick military glove alone saved from

being slashed off; but at the second blow his sabre turned in his grasp,

and the blade was shivered into fragments on the stout ash-pole. In the

heat of the moment, my sword was raised to cut him down: he was

completely at my mercy. He was young, brave, and handsome. I remembered

how his countryman had spared me but an hour before, and could I be less

generous? Determined, however, to carry off the colours, I grasped him

by the belt, placed my foot under his left stirrup, and hurled him to

the ground on the other side. The moment he let go the staff, I struck

spurs into my grey, and galloped off with the prize to our own troops;

who had watched the combat from the eminence on which the contested

cottage stood.

My heart bounded with exultation as I bore aloft the tricoloured trophy:

it was so torn with shot and shell splinters, that we could never

discover to what regiment it belonged. How different must have been the

feelings of the poor sub-lieutenant, while borne off by the French

cavalry; who, returning to the rescue, discharged their carbines after

me: but I was happily beyond the range of their fire.

The battle was now completely over, and every hostile sound had died

away. No trace now remained of all that gallant host, whose bayonets

had flashed back the morning rays from the ridge of Maida, save the

wounded and the dead: the distant glitter of arms and eddying clouds of

dust, marked the route of columns hurrying in full retreat towards the

shores of the Adriatic. Four thousand Frenchmen lay dead or wounded on

the plain; exhibiting a melancholy picture of war and its attendant

horrors--more especially on the day succeeding the action. A French

account of the battle of St. Eufemio, as they style it, states that

Regnier left fifteen hundred on the field; but we had substantial proofs

that this number was far below the truth. Our own loss was trifling:

one officer only was killed (Maclean of the 20th); but Major Hamil of

the Maltese, and many others, lay severely wounded on the plain: our

casualties, however, amounted to only three hundred and twenty-six.

When riding towards our position, to present my trophy to the general, I

had to pick my way with the utmost nicety, to avoid treading on the

wounded; who filled the air with groans and ceaseless cries for "water!"

as they lay unheeded, bleeding--too many of them to death--under a

blazing Italian sun.

The evening, like the morning, was serene and beautiful. The dense

white smoke, which during the whole day enveloped the plain of Maida and

overhung the dark forest of St. Eufemio, had now floated away to the

distant sea. The volleying musketry and hollow thunder of the cannon

awoke no more the echoes of the lofty hills, and the deep dingles of the

woods: a mournful silence seemed to have succeeded to the roar, the

turmoil and carnage of that eventful day,--eventful at least to those

who witnessed and survived it.

It is a deplorable sight--when one is calm or suffering under a reaction

of spirits so lately excited to the utmost stretch, and after the fierce

tumult of a hot engagement has evaporated--to behold a vast plain

bepuddled with human blood, and strewn with the bodies of men and

horses, mingled with arms, broken cannon, splintered shells, balls half

buried in the turf, shattered drums, and torn standards--on every hand,

destruction, agony, and death; while ghastly piles of slain mark where

the fiercest encounters have taken place. Alas! how changed the aspect

of the gay young officer, or the stout and toil-worn veteran, when,

shorn of their trappings, they lie weltering in blood--death glazing the

eyes that have no kind hand to close them, and each yielding up his life

like a dog in a ditch, unnoticed and unknown!

--"The groan, the roll in dust, the all white eye

Turned back within its socket,--these reward

Your rank and file by thousands; while the rest

May win, _perhaps_, a ribbon at the breast."

*CHAPTER IX.*

*LIVES FOR DUCATS!--BIANCA D'ALFIERI.*

The remains of General Regnier's army were now in fall retreat for

Crotona, a seaport of Naples; harassed and galled by the Highlanders,

and by the Free corps under the Duca di Bagnara and Cavalier del

Castagno. The brigands and a host of armed peasantry also hovered like

storm-clouds on their skirts; and all who fell to the rear, under wounds

or fatigue, perished by that favourite Italian weapon--the knife.

On rejoining the main body of our army, I found the general in the

highest state of glee at the glorious success of the day: he was seated

on horseback in the midst of the field, a holster-flap serving as his

desk, writing a hurried despatch recounting our first regular brush with

the enemy in Calabria. My arrival with the standard added a new and

important paragraph to the general's missive. While he was

complimenting and rallying me by turns, our interview was interrupted by

cries of Frenchmen for succour, proceeding from a thicket close by.

There I found six French officers, and the same number of soldiers,

bound with cords to the trees, and surrounded by some of Santugo's free

corps; who were hammering their flints and loading, with great

deliberation, for the purpose of making targets of these unfortunates.

Among the prisoners I recognised the gallant leader of the cavalry, whom

I had encountered in the early part of the day. His arms were corded

behind him round the trunk of an oak, and he was nearly blinded by the

blood which flowed from a wound on his head, inflicted apparently by the

butt of a musket, or the knob of a peasant's club.

"Save us, Monsieur Aide-de-camp!" cried he, in broken English; "these

Italian ruffians know not the rules of nations, or the courtesy of war.

Save us from such base poltroons! It is hard for brave men to die so

helplessly."

"Giacomo--how now, rascal! Is this the way you mean to treat our

prisoners?" I angrily asked of Santugo's follower, who seemed to be the

officiating authority. "Unbind them instantly, and with these

mule-headed rogues of yours, rejoin the free corps! But first, read to

them the general's proclamation concerning the treatment of prisoners."

As I severed the cords which bound the staff officer, the Calabrians

vented their anger in loud murmurs.

"Eh, via! what would you do, signor?" asked Belloni, with an air of

sulky surprise.

"Ola, damnazione!" growled the rest, as they grimly handled their

knives, and closed round the Frenchmen; seemingly resolved that their

prey should not escape. Poor fellows! it was an anxious moment for

them. Taking from my sabretache a copy of Sir John's proclamation to

the Calabrians, I read it aloud: it enjoined them to treat generously

all captives who fell into their hands, and offered rewards for every

one conducted by them in safety to the British camp--twenty ducats for

an officer, and six for each private soldier. Immediately there arose a

shout of "Il denaro--the money!" I cast the ducats (part of what I had

won from Truffi the crookback) amongst them, with ill concealed

impatience and scorn. The money was gathered up hurriedly, and the

prisoners were unbound. Thus, for a hundred and fifty pieces of silver,

I saved the lives of twelve human beings; who would have been butchered

without remorse, but for my opportune arrival and intervention.

I led the reprieved men to Sir John Stuart, who was still intent on his

despatch. Surrounded by whole hecatombs of slain and wounded--by sights

and sounds replete with agony and horror--the old soldier continued to

scribble on "for the information of his Royal Highness," with an

expression and air of as perfect coolness, as if seated in the most

comfortable drawing-room at home. A group of adjutants and orderlies

stood round him, reporting the various casualties, and making up their

lists of killed, wounded, and missing. They fell back on our approach.

I presented the prisoners, among whom were an aide-de-camp, the

lieutenant-colonel of a Swiss battalion, and my brave antagonist; whom I

discovered to be the famous General Compere. He had been unhorsed and

disarmed by Captain Drumlugas, who gave him in charge of the free corps;

from whose gentle wardship I had rescued him. The privates were poor

Swiss conscripts, who had been marched from their native mountains to

fight under the eagles of the Emperor. They were placed among the rest

of our prisoners, who now numbered about a thousand: these were formed

in a solid square, and surrounded by the Sicilian battalion, with two

four-pounders loaded with cannister and grape, to keep the forlorn band

in complete subjection.

As I accompanied General Compere in search of a surgeon to dress his

wound, we passed a deep trench, or natural chasm of rock, in which about

seven hundred French dead were being hastily interred; to prevent their

bodies producing malaria, or being stripped and mutilated by the

peasantry. A wing of les chasseurs Brittaniques, working with their

jackets off, were performing the duty of sextons. Compere paused to

observe them.

"Poor fellows!" said he, looking down on the heaped dead within that

hideous catacomb. "This morning, how merrily they marched from Maida!

How many a young and brave heart, that was then swelling with courage

and ardour, is lying here--crushed, cold, and still!" His fine, bronzed

face, clouded for a moment with the deepest dejection and mortification,

while surveying the ghastly trench where his soldiers lay piled one on

another, with arms, knapsacks, and harness, just as they were found; but

his proud eye brightened as he turned towards the darkening hills, where

the far-off clouds of dust, curling like smoke in the distance, marked

the line of Regnier's quick retreat.

"Hah!" added he, gaily, "France yet swarms with brave soldiers; and

Massena will soon show your haughty general that Naples is not to be won

and lost on Maida only. He is 'the child of victory;' and fortune will

soon smile again on the soldiers of the emperor. As for this day's

field, about which they will doubtless make a great noise in

England--poh! 'tis a mere battle of eggshells to what I have seen: even

in Italy--this land of cowards! Had you been on the fields of Arcole

and Lodi--had you seen our victorious legions sweep the Romans from the

mountains of Imola--'twould have done your heart good. Faith! one who

has captured Naples, fought in Apulia, invested Gaeta, and seen the

corpses piled chin-deep in the redoubt of San Andero, must know what

campaigning is! But allons! Monsieur; if it please you, let me get my

poor broken head dressed." I hailed one of the medical staff (Dr.

Macneisa of ours) who was passing near us, and in a few minutes

Compere's wound was bathed and bandaged up, with a care and tenderness

of which he seemed deeply sensible.

Macneisa had scarcely retired, when we were informed that the numerous

prisoners had become refractory, and Sir John was about to give them a

dose from the field-pieces; but Compere hastened to the spot, and by his

presence reduced them to subjection. They were then formed in sections,

and strongly escorted, preparatory to their march to the coast, where

the boats of Sir Sydney's fleet were in waiting to embark them.

"En arriere--marche!" cried the crest-fallen Compere, half-forgetting

that his authority was no more; and the dark, disarmed mass moved off

towards the sea, encircled by a hedge of glittering bayonets. "Dieu

vous benisse!" said the French general, raising his cocked hat;

"Monsieur aide-de-camp, I shall never forget your kindness. Adieu--a

thousand adieux!" And I saw him no more--at least, not as a prisoner.

On their retreat to Crotona, the French were closely followed by Macleod

with the 78th, les chasseurs Brittaniques, and Santugo's free corps,

with orders to attack them on every occasion, and to endeavour to

dislodge them entirely from Calabria Ulteriore. As their route lay

along the shore of the Adriatic, an excellent opportunity was afforded

for an effectual co-operation with our squadron in that sea, commanded

by Captain (afterwards Sir William) Hoste; who never neglected an

opportunity of galling their left flank whenever it came within range.

On their right a giant chain of mountains heaved upwards from the beach;

and there the chiefs of the Masse, at the head of thousands panting for

French blood, hovered in clouds, while Macleod pressed on their rear.

For miles the shore was strewn with their killed and wounded. A

position was hastily taken up at Catanzaro; but as hastily abandoned,

before the overwhelming power of the Masse.

Our wounded were conveyed to St. Eufemio, where all the officers of the

medical staff and fleet were in attendance on them daily. The

solicitude of the sailors to be of use to us, and their anxiety to

assist their wounded countrymen--the alacrity with which they brought

supplies ashore--and the general tenderness and attention with which

these rough tars treated their helpless brethren, elicited the highest

encomiums from the general and the admiral; on board whose ship I had

the honour to lodge the eagle (captured at Maida), which, with our

despatches, was immediately transmitted to London in charge of

Lieutenant Villiers of ours. Sir John wished me to have been the bearer;

but, having cogent reasons for remaining in Calabria as long as

possible, I contrived to excuse myself.

Our head-quarters were established at St. Eufemio; while Macleod, with

three thousand men, laid siege to Crotona, and Hoste, with the Adriatic

fleet of gun-boats, blockaded it by sea. Colonel Oswald was despatched

to invest Scylla, with orders to storm the castle of Monteleone on his

way. These were the only strongholds of importance possessed by Regnier

in the lower province. Immediately on his retreat, the famous

Capo-bandito Francatripa, with his ferocious horde issued from the

forest of St. Eufemio, and carried by storm a battlemented and

palisadoed house at the place called the Sauveria; where an unfortunate

party of the 23d French light infantry, who formed its garrison, had

been abandoned by Regnier in his flight. After a gallant resistance,

the garrison were all cruelly massacred by these blood-thirsty patriots;

even their little trumpeter, a boy only twelve years of age, perished

beneath their poniards. Such a sample of Italian savagism called forth

the indignation of our soldiers, who were well aware that by the

courtesy of war the little band deserved very different treatment; but

Francatripa excused himself on the plea that it was but a part of that

cruel system of reprisals maintained on both sides.

When the embarkation of prisoners, the landing of cannon and stores, the

billetting of sick and wounded, the burial of the dead, and all the

bustle succeeding the battle were over, I thought of paying a visit to

my friends at the villa d'Alfieri. There could not be a better time;

the Visconte was at Crotona with his regiment, and I should have Bianca

to myself.

My billet was at an inn of St. Eufemio, called "Il Concha d'Oro," from

its sign, the Golden Shell. It was kept by a worthy bustling little

Italian, Maestro Matteo Buzzone: who, in truth, was not ill named; his

paunch being one of the first amplitude. I was enjoying a cigar and a

decanter of iced Malvasia from the classic isles of Lipari, at an open

lattice. Opposite, stood the house of the Signor Podesta, and I amused

myself for some time by attempting to engage his daughter, a dark-eyed

and red-cheeked damsel, in a flirtation: but my efforts were vain;

though she appeared every moment at the window--watering flowers,

arranging and disarranging the sunshade, bowing to a passer by, or what

not.

The coolness of the evening induced me to think of a canter as far as

the villa d'Alfieri. Summoning the groom, I desired him to saddle

Cartouche; while, with rather more care than usual, I made my toilet:

for I was about to pay my devoirs to the fair Bianca. In those days,

when one was not on duty, the uniform coat was worn open, with the

lappelles buttoned back, to show the facings barred with silver; the

sash and swordbelt being worn under it, and over a white kerseymere

waistcoat. White breeches, long jackboots reaching above the knee, and

equipped with jangling spurs, a heavy sabre with a brass sheath, buff

gloves, and a cocked hat with a drooping plume of scarlet and white

feathers, completed the uniform of a British staff officer.

I was just setting forth, when the ill-omened visage of the general's

orderly, an old and sunburnt serjeant of the 81st, appeared at the door:

erect as a ramrod, he raised his hand to his bear-skin cap, and placed a

despatch in my hand.

"Hallo, Pierce! what's fresh now?"

"Sir John's compliments, sir, and he requests you will make all speed

with this before the night sets in."

"Now, by all the gods! 'tis mere slavery this staff work--I'll resign,

and join the 62d at Syracuse!" I muttered, while tearing open the note

accompanying the dispatch--an oblong document, addressed "O.H.M.S., To

Lt.-Col. Macleod, Ross-shire Buffs, Crotona."

"Dear Dundas (ran the note), You will ride forthwith, and deliver the

accompanying letter at Crotona. If it suits your taste, stay there to

partake of the fighting; but bring me word the moment it capitulates.

Yours, &c.,

"JOHN STUART, Maj.-Gen."

There was no course but to obey: yet I determined that my original

purpose of visiting Bianca should not be interfered with. Thrusting the

despatch into the sabretache, I buckled on my sabre, and in five minutes

was en route, with all the worldly goods I possessed (at least in

Calabria) strapped to the saddle before and behind me. In front were a

pair of excellent pistols, newly oiled, flinted and loaded, and my blue

cloak was rolled and buckled over the holsters; a valise was strapped

behind me, containing a few changes of linen, and a fighting jacket: a

handful of cigars and an Army List, a horse-picker and a cork-screw,

with a copy of "The Eighteen Manoeuvres" (compiled by my namesake Sir

David Dundas), completed my camp equipage; the whole of our heavy

baggage having been left behind us in Sicily. The telescope--an

appendage indispensable to a staff-officer--I carried in a pipe-clayed

case, slung across my left shoulder.

Evening had almost given place to night when I arrived at the villa, and

dismounted. Its ample facade was shrouded in gloom, and there were no

signs of animation within; which was accounted for by the absence of

Santugo, with all his dependents. I fastened my horse in the porch, for

there was no one to receive it: the guard-room of the sbirri, or armed

militia (which all the feudal nobles maintained until the French

invasion), was empty, and the quadrangle deserted. In remote places on

the mountains some residences were still garrisoned or protected by the

sbirri; and the landholders, abetted by these armed followers in their

hereditary and inveterate feuds, became the perpetrators of outrages and

atrocities of every kind.

In the vestibule I met Annina, a girl of Capri, and Bianca's favourite

attendant; who, on beholding me, uttered an exclamation of delight: this

was a good omen. I enquired of course for the Viscontessa, and was

informed that she was away to the prince's conversazione at Nicastro,

accompanied by the old Major Gismondo; but the Signora Bianca was at

home, and, taking my hand, the frank Italian girl bade me accompany her.

With my clattering boots, buckskin gloves, and worn accoutrements, I was

in fitter trim for the march than for a lady's boudoir: but though my

scarlet uniform, its embroidery and silver epaulettes, were faded and

dingy, still they were quite service-like; and the coat yet showed the

stains of blood from the wound I had received at Cefalu, and the scratch

in the skirmish near St. Eufemio.

Bianca was seated at a table, leaning her cheek upon her hand, intent on

the sorrowful pages of "La Guiletta," her glossy curls clustering over

her white arm, which the fashion of her country revealed to the dimpled

elbow. The lamp by which she sat reading (a globe of light, upheld by a

silver Atlas) shed its radiance full upon her eyes, which flashed

brilliantly as she raised them on my entrance, with an expression in

which surprise, confusion, and welcome were blended. Good omen the

second! thought I. One is more apt to be egotistical when on the staff,

than when doing duty as a mere regimental officer. The momentary flush

which suffused her soft cheek and pale forehead, heightened her rare

beauty; and at the moment when she arose, and threw back the rich masses

of half-disordered curls with her white hand, her bust resplendent in

the full glare of light, she seemed perfectly divine--in the language of

her countrymen, a _Bell'idolo_.

Her constant companion, Luisa Gismondo, rising from an embroidery frame,

received me with a smile of welcome: she, too, was an enchanting girl,

though much shorter in stature than Bianca; and never did the light of a

candelabrum shine on curls more glossy, lips more rosy, softer blue

eyes, or a face more brilliantly fair than poor Luisa's.

"O joy!" exclaimed the girls together; "and so, signor, you have escaped

the awful day at Maida?"

"Yes, ladies; and I hope to escape many more such days. I trust you

will excuse this somewhat unseasonable visit, Signora Bianca," said I,

slightly pressing her hand; "but being ordered off on the spur to

Crotona, I have taken the liberty of visiting you, to be the bearer of

any message or letters to Monsignore Luigi."

"How very kind of you, Signor Claude; but--but you do not proceed on the

road to Crotona to-night?"

"I must, indeed, ride forward without delay; and believe me the general,

kind-hearted though he be, would scarcely excuse my having made a

detour, even to visit the Villa D'Alfieri."

"O, Signor Claude, consider the state of the country!" said she

earnestly, as I seated myself at the other end of the sofa, evincing not

the least hurry in the world.

"'Consider the nature of the service,' the general would reply; but I

believe that the wildest bandit in Italy--not even Francatripa, or Fra

Diavolo--would molest a British soldier."

"You, perhaps, trust them too far. But, indeed, our oppressed people

are not quite so bad as the Parisian papers have represented them."

By this time the distance between us on the sofa was greatly diminished,

and I was about to say something very pointed and gallant, when Annina

entered with a tray of refreshments, which she placed on the ebony table

before us. I saw a cunning smile twinkling in her black eyes as she

watched us, while arranging the ices, the crystal goblets, and a

superbly embossed caraffa of the wine of Gioja--a village of Calabria,

famed for the excellence of its grapes. The Viscontessa was, as I have

said, at Nicastro, where, I heartily hoped, she would continue to enjoy

herself; not wishing my tete-a-tete with these two charming girls to be

interrupted by her presence, or that of the Major.

"O, signor, tell us how you captured the standard at Maida?" asked

Luisa.

Well aware how much such an encounter makes one shine in the estimation

of women, I briefly related the whole affair; deriving considerable

satisfaction from the expressions of horror, pity, and surprise, that

flitted in succession across the fair faces of the listeners.

"And so you escaped unhurt!" exclaimed Bianca clasping her hands--with

delight I was fain to suppose.

"Quite, signora: you observe my thick glove, and the curb rein--"

"And the bearer--the poor Frenchman!" said Luisa, fixing her blue eyes

upon me.

"Escaped, I am now happy to say. Poor fellow! 'tis said he was

Regnier's son."

"Phillipe Regnier! O my God!" murmured Luisa in a breathless voice.

"Luisa!" exclaimed Bianca, surveying her pale features with

astonishment. The poor girl blushed deeply, and bent over her

embroidery frame, adding, in a faltering voice, that she herself was

soon to behold such scenes, and looked forward to them with horror.

"True, Luisa, dear," said Bianca, kissing her cheek, "You set out with

your father for our army at Cassano to-morrow."

"To join the chiefs of the Masse?" I asked. Luisa Gismondo bowed, and

the subject was abruptly changed. I saw that some secret was labouring

in her breast; causing a dejection and confusion she could ill conceal.

But to proceed, briefly. The acquaintance that Bianca and I had formed

in Sicily was fast ripening, and we became as intimate as cousins; and

quite as harmless in our flirtation. Swiftly and happily passed that

agreeable evening, in the course of which I discovered that the minds of

these fair girls were no way inferior to the perfection of their

persons. Their manners were animated and bewitching, their imaginations

brilliant; each was mistress of music and drawing, and well read in the

best works of Italian literature. We commented on the "Giuletta" of

Captain Luigi da Porta--that brave cavalry officer, who wielded his pen

in peace as well as he had done the sword in the wars of the league of

Cambray and the campaigns of Gradiska; and from whose pathetic novel,

Shakspeare derived the plot of his far-famed tragedy. We also dipped

into the "Gierusalemme" of Tasso, and wooed the softer muse of Petrarch.

Then Luisa seated herself at the piano, and with Bianca sang a beautiful

duet from the "Antonio e Cleopatra," of the amorous Vittorio D'Alfieri;

whose genius enriched and invigorated the literature of his country.

Bianca showed me her portfolio, wherein I sketched the distant hills of

Maida, as seen from the casement, shining in all the silvery blaze of an

Italian moonlight: next came her collection of medals and bronzes; and

her music, including the last new piece from Palermo. Her lap-dogs,

parrot, and heaven knows what besides, were all separately admired;

while the general, his dispatch, and the service were alike forgotten.

The boudoir was a charming little place; elegantly fitted up and

decorated with every ornament that her own taste or her cousin's wealth

could procure; and the cool sea-breeze wafted the aromatic perfumes of

the garden through the open casements. The broad moon was shining on

the glassy deep, and we heard the solemn hymn of the Sicilian fishermen,

and the dipping of oars as they fell in measured time into the sparkling

waters of the gulf.

The sullen toll from the clock turret in the quadrangle, warned me that

it wanted but an hour of midnight. I started up as the forgotten

dispatch rushed upon my remembrance.

"The deuce!" thought I; "now then to horse and away."

Bianca set before me in grim array all the dangers of travelling in so

wild a country at midnight--the woods, the marshes, the wolves, the

banditti; and begged me to remain at least until her aunt returned with

some of the mounted servants. The fine eyes of the lovely and

warm-hearted girl became almost suffused with tears, as she presented me

with an Agnus Dei for Luigi. This was a piece of some unknown stuff cut

in the form of a heart, which Fra Adriano had informed her had power to

drive away evil spirits and calm storms, and tempests; having been

consecrated by his holiness the Pope, who provides an ample supply of

these sacred toys for distribution every seven years. Although at that

moment I was on the point of leaving her, perhaps for ever, I could not

forbear smiling at the credulous superstition or devout simplicity which

induced her to entrust me, in such sincere good faith, with this gift

for her cousin.

"Felicissima notte, Signorina Luisa, and happiest night to you, dearest

Bianca!" said I on turning to leave them.

"I would give you such an amulet too," said Bianca, "but 'twere better

not: you only scoff at these things, which your erring fathers have

taught you to scorn."

"No, dear Bianca; believe me that any gift--"

"Hush now, Caro Claude!" said she, placing her pretty hand on my mouth;

"I will not believe you."

In one short evening how had the enchanting manner, the gentle tones and

sweet nature of this Italian girl endeared her to me! Until I rose

unwillingly to depart, I knew not that the spell she had cast around me

was so powerful. My hand trembled; and this sympathetic confusion was

conveyed by its touch to Bianca; who blushed and cast down her eyes,

while a roguish smile overspread the fair face of Luisa. A love affair

makes rapid progress in the fervid clime of volcanoes and earthquakes,

though the pathway is too often planted with poniards; and before

parting, Bianca and I had formally exchanged rings. Respectfully

pressing my lips to her hand and cheek, I resigned her, in tears, to the

tender solace of Luisa Gismondo, and hastened from the apartment. I led

forth poor Cartouche, who had spent the whole night in the dark porch

shaking his ears and snorting with impatience, while the cold night dew

gathered on his glossy coat and glittering harness.

My foot was in the stirrup, when the opening of a window above made me

pause, and my fair friends appeared leaning over a balcony.

"Claude," said Bianca; "on the wild hills above Maida there dwells an

aged hermit, to whom every year we have sent alms--madonna mia! he is

very, very old! My aunt did so when she was a girl, and her mother had

done so before her. Tell the good man that I remember him in my

prayers, and ask his blessing for Bianca."

"And for me, too, signor," added Luisa.

"I shall not forget, ladies," said I, leaping into my saddle. "Adieu."

In ten minutes the Villa d'Alfieri was far behind, and I was galloping

along the moonlit beach of St. Eufemio.

*CHAPTER X.*

*A NIGHT WITH THE ZINGARI.*

An hour's hard riding brought me to the skirts of the great forest; so

famous as the haunt of wolves and brigands, that I did not feel

perfectly at ease in its vicinity, and kept on the alert as I proceeded.

On one side stretched away into obscurity the level shore, bordered by

the sea; which rolled its sullen waves on the yellow sand, or dashed

them in glittering foam against the jutting rocks: on the other, arose

the rustling oaks and beeches of the lofty forest, the long dark vistas

and gloomy recesses of which the sun had never penetrated. From the

wooded heights I expected every moment to issue the red flash of a

rifle, or the glancing weapons and tall conical hats of Francatripa's

horde; but I trusted that my character as an Italian ally, would gain me

some favour with those desperadoes--whose ferocity, strange to say, was

often mingled with the highest spirit of patriotism and chivalry.

A dense cloud obscured the radiant moon, casting a long dark shadow over

sea and land, and I missed the beaten track which supplied the place of

a road. Presently, Cartouche sank to the girths in a plantation of

rice, where he snorted and plunged furiously. By using bridle and spur

with the utmost caution, I extricated him; but he sank again and again,

and I had fears of losing my noble grey altogether. A rice field is

little better than a marsh, full of water and holes. I toiled on for

half an hour, holding his bridle and endeavouring to regain the lost

road; but every instant we plunged deeper into bogs and pools of

stagnant water. At last I regained terra firma, close to the forest:

but was exhausted with over-exertion and want of sleep. Then the

warnings of Bianca were remembered, and I regretted not having remained

all night at the villa.

On the verge of the forest, and close to the preceptory house of

Castelermo--a ruin overgrown with vine and ivy, and now brilliantly

illuminated by the moon, which broke forth with double splendour--I came

suddenly upon a large blazing fire, that lit up the dark arcades of the

wood, and hissed as the dew was shaken from the waving branches on the

flames. Around it moved a group of people, whom at first I supposed to

be brigands, but on nearer approach I found they were Zingari--a class

half gipsies half robbers; of unknown origin, and speaking Italian, but

with an accent peculiar to themselves. Like all the scattered remnants

of this mysterious tribe in other countries, the Zingari wander over the

face of the land without possessing any property save the chattels borne

in the panniers of their mules and asses. These vagrants are chiefly

employed in working on metals, which they manufacture into rude

stilettos, buckles, and bodkins; though they live principally by their

wits, and the nimbleness of their fingers.

On my approach, the male portion of the community snatched up their

knives and poles; and a skirmish might have ensued, had not an old man,

who appeared to be their capo, or chief, quieted their clamour, and

stepped forward to receive me. The gang consisted of twelve men and the

same number of women; all of them clad in a gaudy, though miserable

manner.

The old Zingaro had a beard like that of a patriarch, and the thick

masses of his grizzled hair were confined in a netted bag--the only

covering his head perhaps had ever known. His red cotton breeches and

deer-skin jacket were worn to tatters, and his brawny brown legs were

bare below the knee, his feet being encased in sandals, laced with

straps above the ankle; a broad belt encircled his waist, and sustained

a knife, a flask, a pouch, and a mandolin, which, with a staff or ashen

pole, six feet long, completed his equipment. The younger vagabonds

were all attired much in the same manner; their dark glancing eyes,

naked limbs and shoulders, wild tangled hair, and wolf-skin garments,

giving them, a very savage or satyr-like aspect.

Believing there was no cause to fear these people, and being willing to

rest and gratify my curiosity, I dismounted, and returned ceremoniously

the greeting of the venerable capo.

"Cross her hand with a ducat of gold, that Zilla may read your fortune,

signor gentiluomo!" said a young girl, dancing round me, and snapping

her castanets, while a gipsy struck a few notes on a rude guitar, and

chanted the Zingaresca. "Touch my hand with gold, and if your love will

be successful, I will read it in the stars."

"I would rather have it read from your own bright eyes, my pretty

donzella," said I, with a gallant air. This made the eyes of the young

rogue with the guitar flash fire; and on my attempting to take the hand

of the girl, she tripped away from me with a demure air of rustic

coquetry which made her look prettier still. Though not tall, she was

finely formed: the contour of her head and profile was of classic

beauty. Her eyes were darker than any I had ever looked on, and at

times they became lustrous with lambent light; and her teeth, white and

regular, were unsurpassed in brilliancy even by those of Bianca. But

her face, her arms, and legs--the latter partially displayed by a scanty

petticoat--were burned by the sun to a hue considerably darker than the

natural olive tint of her race. Her hair was so black, that it seemed

of a _blue_ tint, where the light struck upon it, and its luxuriant

masses were confined by a golden arrow, with an unexpanded bulb;

announcing that she was a maiden spotless and free: the _barb_ being the

sign of betrothal or marriage.

"Gentil signor, for a crown, I will write you a spell that will make all

the women love you."

"Benissimo, my girl!" said I, "if only one woman loves me truly"----

"Or seek you a love potion? or a charm against French bullets?" said a

hideous hag, with fierce black eyes, a shrivelled skin, and the aspect

of a Hecate.

"Bah!" growled the old Zingaro; "away with you, Zilla--and you, too,

good mother! The cavaliere has not come among us to have charms made,

or fortunes read; but for a trusty guide, who for a handful of carlini

will conduct him through any part of the woods between seas."

"Right, master Zingaro!--a guide is just what I am in search of, to

direct me on the Crotona road: at least, so far as we may go until dawn;

when I may see to avoid these cursed rice-fields and quagmires, through

which it is no joke to ride in the dark."

"True, signor: you have had a very narrow escape. I remember that in

the wet season, when these marshes become lakes, three of Regnier's

dragoons, while escorting the famous crook-back, Gaspare Truffi, to the

gallows at Monteleone, were cajoled by his oily tongue, and led among

the rice-fields yonder, as the shortest way. Via! 't was the longest

road they ever marched--for they are on it yet. Gaspare escaped; but

the troopers and their horses sunk for ever in the shifting morass. You

may thank those blessed stars that shone so kindly on you: you had

perished but for them. Seat yourself on the turf, signor: the Zingari

feast when other men sleep; and if you will condescend to partake of our

meal"----I bowed assent, and seated myself beside his daughter.

It would have been wiser to have ridden on my way, with or without a

guide, rather than have trusted myself in such quarters and company; but

the aspect of the whole group was so strikingly romantic, that I was

tempted to linger. The red flames of the fire cast fitful and lurid

gleams of light on the dark countenances and wild garments of the

wanderers, shedding a fiery glow on the rich green foliage of the

gigantic oaks and elms, whose gnarled trunks were interlaced with ivy,

vine, and olive. No wind poured through the long, still vistas of the

forest; whose gloomy recesses were spangled with myriads of fire-flies,

flitting like flames of fairy tapers. A mountain torrent was falling

near us; and the roaring hiss of the cascade seemed alone to stir the

dewy leaves of the umbrageous foliage. The large eyes of the Zingari

were glinting in the light, as they stared fixedly on the red embers, or

watched the motions of the aged crone who superintended the cooking. The

meal--whether late supper or early breakfast, I know not--consisted of

sundry portions of roebuck and wild pig, which were broiling and

sputtering merrily on the glowing bars of an immense gridiron. To these

savoury viands were added cakes of flour, a jar of boiled rice, and a

pitcher of the wine of the country. Close by me stood Cartouche, reined

up to the lower branch of an oak; his large and prominent eyes glaring

in the light of the fire, and his broad, red nostrils quivering as the

smoke curled around them.

This was one of those picturesque scenes of service, which are rendered

so pleasant by the very contrast they present to others. Two hours

before I had been seated in a superb boudoir, beside Bianca and her

friend; now I lounged on the grass among unshaven thieves and vagrants,

who regarded my rich uniform and well-trimmed mustachios with eyes of

ill-concealed admiration and wonder.

During this midnight revel, the old capo represented the roads about the

forest, as being so dangerous, that I resolved to abide with his band

until dawn, when he promised to send a guide with me so far as I wished.

"Besides, Excellenza," he added, "Francatripa's men are in the forest,

and you might be in some peril if you fell into their hands alone: while

under my protection you are safe. I mean not that the noble Francatripa

would in person molest you; but there are those in his band who are less

scrupulous, and who care not whether a traveller wears the scarlet

uniform of Britain, or the blue of my Lord Peppo: especially that

crooked fiend, Gaspare Truffi, who, since the massacre of his own gang

by the voltigeurs of the Marchese di Monteleone, acts as Signor

Francatripa's lieutenant."

As day light could not be far distant I consented to remain. Rolled up

in my cloak, I lay down to sleep by the feet of my horse; while the

Zingari, after posting one of their gang to watch, also composed

themselves for repose on the green sward.

The novelty of my situation, the character of my companions, and my late

happy interview with Bianca, kept floating before me, chasing away

sleep, and compelling me for a time to lie awake. I lay watching a

gigantic tarantella--a species of spider well known for the venomous

nature of its bite--spinning its net of silvery gauze from the branches

of the oak above me. But I soon found a more agreeable object for

contemplation, in the classic form of Zilla; who lay near me, sleeping

on her father's mantle of undressed deer-skin, over which her unbound

ringlets rolled in luxuriant profusion. At last I dropped into a half

slumber, but was speedily aroused by something writhing within my cloak.

I threw it open, and lo! a bloated viper of enormous size was coiled

round my left arm. While I endeavoured in vain to shake it off, an

exclamation of disgust escaped me, which awoke the young girl Zilla;

who, on beholding my predicament, fearlessly grasped the throat of the

venomous reptile, and tossed it with all her strength among the trees.

This action recalled the lines in Virgil's Third Georgic--

"In fair Calabria's woods a snake is bred,

With curling crest and with advancing head;

Waving he rolls, and makes a winding track:

His belly spotted, burnished is his back."

"Signor, do not be alarmed!" said Zilla; "I hope the horrid thing has

not bitten you? Ah, were you to sleep for a single night where I have

often slept, in the sedges by the Lake of Lugano, at the base of Mont

Salvador, where the surface of the water and all the fields around it

swarm with vipers, you would not be so frightened by one."

"I was not frightened, my gentil Zingara, though certainly a little

startled."

"Pardon me, Excellenza--I meant not that; but--but only that I am so

happy to have been of service." She paused with something like

embarrassment.

She was so beautiful that I was half ashamed to offer her money; and on

my placing a Venetian sequin in her hand, strange to say, it was with

the utmost reluctance, and after many a furtive glance at the snoring

capo, that this half-clad gipsy girl accepted the gift. So I kissed

each of her dimpled cheeks--a soldier-like mode of payment, which she

evidently relished much more: the sequin seemed only the bestowal of a

charity, but the kiss was a compliment. Her oriental eyes kindled with

vivacity and light, equalled only by those of the young Zingaro, her

admirer; whom I observed coiled up close by, like a snake in a bush, and

watching us with a keen expression of anger and mistrust, that boded me

little good-will.

"And so, for this night, I am the rival of a Zingaro--a beggarly gipsy

boy!" thought I, resigning myself once more to slumber; "what a dashing

intrigue for an aide-de-camp! And yet the girl is pretty enough to turn

the heads of our whole mess."

I tossed and turned restlessly on my grassy bed. In vain I invoked

sleep: a dreamy sense of danger kept me awake, although I had a long and

hard ride before me at daybreak. At last I fell into a dozing stupor,

produced by the capo's wine and the dampness of his bivouac.

I was roused to consciousness by a shriek from Zilla--a piercing

cry--which brought the whole Zingari on their legs in an instant; and

springing up, I grasped my sabre. The hideous visage of Gaspare Truffi,

lit up by the dying embers, scowled at me for a moment, from among the

pale green foliage of an orange tree; we then heard him bounding away

with one of his elvish yells of spite and malice.

"Slay him--slay him! O the hideous crook-back," exclaimed Zilla. "Caro

Signor, I watched while you slept, and saw him stealing near you like a

tiger-cat. He had a dagger in his hand, and his look was deadly: I knew

his fell intentions."

"Ola Zingari!" shouted the enraged capo; "up Mose--up Maldo--away--after

him with your knives and poles!"

"A hundred ducats for him, dead or alive!" I exclaimed.

"Cowards!" ejaculated the old capo. But no man stirred in pursuit: the

lieutenant of Francatripa was not to be pursued and attacked like an

ordinary outlaw. The gang hung their heads and drew back.

My exasperation was only equalled by my astonishment at this

re-appearance of the hunchback; who, I had supposed, must have perished

in the whirlpool beneath the Villa d'Alfieri. My rage was kindled anew

by this third attempt to assassinate me; and had he fallen into my hands

at that moment, I should certainly have incapacitated him from making

another attempt on my life.

As a longer stay with my new acquaintances in such a vicinity seemed

likely to be fraught with other troubles and dangers, I mounted and rode

off; accompanied by a little boy, the brother of Zillah. To her I

tendered my thanks and purse at parting: but what gold could ever repay

the debt of gratitude I owed the poor gipsy girl? She had saved my

life. I thought less of it then than I have done since; one's existence

is in hourly peril when campaigning, and escapes from danger are matters

of much less note in warfare than in a time of peace.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*THE HUNCHBACK AGAIN.*

In a little while day dawned, and all the splendour of an Italian

sunrise lit up the scenery. The waning moon shone pale and dim as,

fading, it disappeared in the azure sky. From the lofty hills I had a

view of the Mediterranean; its bright surface gleamed like a sea of

polished glass, throwing out in strong relief the dark frigates anchored

in the gulf, the gaudy xebecques with their broad lateen sails, swift

feluccas, oared galleys, and a swarm of little coasting vessels. These

seas, nevertheless, were at times infested by French cruisers and

Algerine corsairs; who, darting from behind some cape or isle, pounced

upon the unwary merchantman: for this tribe of Mussulman pirates had not

then been extirpated or subdued.

As I advanced, fields of rice, of Turkey corn, and even sugar-canes

appeared at intervals among the wooded hills; and the road-way was

bordered by laurels, myrtles and mulberry trees. A few cottages with

picturesque little mills turned by natural cascades, peeped out from

among groves of the orange and plum-tree; and ridgy mountains, over

whose tall summits the sun poured down his lustre, bounded the

landscape. As the sun ascended higher into the blue vault, and his heat

and brilliance increased, the scenery became involved in a hazy silver

mist, which floated over the face of nature like a veil of the finest

gauze, softening and subduing the vivid and varied tints: it was denser

on the mountains; from whose giant sides vast volumes of white vapour

came rolling down, like avalanches or foaming cascades, into the valleys

below.

The wild and rugged nature of the country, and my ignorance of the

localities, caused me to progress but slowly. When passing through

lonely places, I met more than one scout belonging to various bands of

brigands, watching, rifle in hand among the rocks, and exchanging

signals by imitating the scream of the owl, the yell of the lynx, or the

caw of the rook; but they always greeted me by a wave of the hat, and a

cry of "A holy day to you, signor!" permitting me to pass without

question. In many of these desert places the wayside was strewn with

the dead bodies of French soldiers who had perished from wounds or

exhaustion. By this route some of Monteleone's brigade had retreated,

and many of the poor stragglers lay in ghastly groups around the rude

wooden crosses, (marking the scene of murder) and stone fountains so

common by the road-side in Italy. They had been stripped--and some

perhaps despatched by the poniards of the plunderers; many were torn by

wild beasts, and all were in a loathsome state of decay, lying unburied,

blackening and sweltering under a burning sun.

A long ride over rough ground brought me to Policastro. Wearied with so

long a seat on horseback under such intense heat, and feeling a langour

caused by the hot south wind which had blown all day, I gladly halted at

the first albergo that appeared.

Policastro was all in a bustle: the people were holding a festival in

honour of St. Eufemio, their patron saint. It was with the utmost

difficulty I found quarters in a miserable inn, where I fed and dressed

Cartouche with my own hands, while such humble fare as the place

afforded was in course of preparation.

The signoressa was very sorry--but the town was in such a bustle, she

hoped "Excellenza" would condescend to take what her house

afforded--maccheroni, lardo, bread and fruit, with Gioja wine.

"Maladetto!" said I with no very contented air, "let me have the best,

signora."

This indifferent repast was soon dismissed, the table cleared, and fruit

and wine brought in. Lighting a cigar I drew a sofa close to the open

window, and lounged there, observing the fair, or merrymaking, held in

honour of the sainted Eufemio. Laces, silver buttons, ribbons, chaplets

of beads, knives and bodkins, gaudy pictures of miracles and the

madonna, skins of bucks and wolves, real or imaginary relics of holy

personages who died in the odour of sanctity, rags, rotten bones, teeth,

and innumerable pieces of the true cross, were offered for sale by

various ecclesiastics and pious rogues who kept stalls; the first for

the benefit of the saint, and the last for their own. Warm

choke-priest, pastry, and sour wine (the refuse of the convent cellars)

were retailed for the same purposes. Flags waved, and garlands and

ribands fluttered on every side; bells were tolling, and men carolling;

and women and children were dancing and singing round a richly-attired

image of Saint Eufemio, as large as life, erected on the identical spot

from which that blessed personage ascended to heaven. Dominicans,

Minorites, Servites, Trinitarians, Clerks of Madonna, and I know not how

many more of the Padri, with shaven scalps, dark cowls, or shovel hats,

clad in sombre tunics girt with cords of discipline, swarmed in the

streets.

All this festivity displayed the harmless devotion of the Italian

character, and its peculiar superstitions; but among the mountains

eastward of the town, I became acquainted with deeds of atrocity which

revealed all its blacker traits--its proneness to revenge and bloodshed.

"Love," says a popular writer, "is a fiery and a fierce passion

everywhere; but we who live in a more favoured land know very little of

the terrible effects it sometimes causes, and the bloody tragedies which

it has a thousand times produced, where the heart of man is uncontrolled

by reason or religion, and his blood is heated into a fever by the

burning sun that glows in the heaven above his head." Of this I had

many instances during our short campaign among the wild Calabrians.

On entering a little hamlet at the base of the hills which rise between

Policastro and Crotona, I found that a marriage had just been

celebrated; and all the inhabitants of the place were making merry on

the occasion. Rustic tables were spread under the shade of

orange-trees; and baked meats, rice, milk, fruit, and other simple

viands, were displayed in profusion. The happy peasants welcomed me

joyously, and invited me to tarry for a time and partake of the general

festivity. I dismounted; and was led forward by a crowd of rustics to

the place of honour beside the most respected guest--the parrocchiano, a

venerable and silver-haired brother of San Francesco, who had just

united the young couple.

After touching our glasses and tasting the wine, we stood up to observe

the dancers, who were performing one of their spirited national

measures, to the music of the tabor, the flute, and zampogna. The

bridegroom, a stout and handsome woodman, arrayed in gala attire--a

particoloured jacket, scarlet vest, and green breeches; the knees of

which, like his conical hat, were gaily decorated with knots of

ribbons--was dancing with his bride, little dreaming that a malignant

rival scowled from the orangery close beside them. As usual, the bride

was the object of greatest interest; she possessed beauty of form,

delicacy of feature, and a soft Madonna-like expression of serenity and

modesty which, set off by her smart Italian costume, rendered her quite

bewitching. A piece of white linen was folded square on her head, and

fell with a fringed edge over her shoulders, half concealing the heavy

braids of ebon hair through which shone the gilt arrow, whose bulb would

to-morrow be expanded. Large dark, but downcast eyes, a small rosy

mouth, and dimpled chin, and a beautiful bosom, were among those charms

with which the woodman's bride was gifted--doubtless, her only dower.

The old people clapped their hands; while the younger sang her praises,

accompanied with the music of flutes and mandolins.

The measure was the provincial tarantella; one which requires the utmost

agility, the movements increasing in rapidity as the dance approaches

its termination. At the moment when the music was loudest, and the joy

of the dancers and revellers at its height, the sharp report of a

rifle-shot, fired from the orangery, startled the joyous throng; a wild

shrieking laugh was heard, and the unhappy bride fell dead at the feet

of her husband!

"Ahi! Madonna mia! la sposa!" burst from every tongue; then all stood

for a moment mute--transfixed with horror.

The woodman uttered a yell of rage and grief, and unsheathing his knife,

plunged into the thicket with the aspect and fury of a tiger. Then rose

shouts of anger.

"Oh, abomination! 't is Truffi, the devil--Gaspare, the hunchback!

Malediction and revenge!" The men scattered in pursuit of the assassin,

armed with knives, clubs, ox-goads, and such weapons as they could

snatch on the instant; leaving the old Franciscan and women on their

knees lamenting over the hapless victim of revenge, thus cruelly cut off

when her young and buoyant heart was bounding with love and joy.

"Gaspare!" I ejaculated, leaping on my horse to join in the pursuit; "is

this devil everywhere? Can this gnome of the woods be dogging my

footsteps? Could this death-shot have been intended for me?"

But the Franciscan informed me that the cripple had been a disappointed

suitor, and that, ugly and venomous as he was, this overgrown reptile

professed love for the village girl, and had made a solemn vow of

vengeance on the woodman. I was exasperated beyond measure at this

deplorable outrage, and assisted in the fruitless pursuit as long as it

was possible for me to do so, consistently with the general's order.

Finding that I had far outstripped the villagers and was alone among the

mountains, I turned my horse's head eastward, and pursued my journey:

not consoled by the recollection that deeds as dark were committed in

the wild county of Tipperary when I was quartered there.

*CHAPTER XII.*

*THE HERMITAGE.*

Reflecting on the recent catastrophe, I rode for some time absorbed in

mournful thought, from which I was aroused by the peculiar sound of

Cartouche's hoofs ringing on hard pavement. On looking about, and

finding that I was riding over some old Roman way, the aged hermit, whom

the young ladies had requested me to visit, came to my remembrance: for

in answer to my inquiries at Policastro, as to his residence, I had been

informed that a causeway of unknown antiquity led to his hermitage.

Evening was fast approaching; and after entering a narrow wooded valley

between two lofty hills, I found the gloom increasing rapidly. The

clouds, too, were gathering fast; a few large drops of rain plashed

heavily on the tossing leaves; while a faint gleam of lightning, and the

muttering of distant thunder announced an approaching storm. I now

looked somewhat anxiously for the dwelling of the recluse; and pursuing

the windings of that ancient way--which, perhaps, in former days had

echoed to the sandalled feet of Milo's mighty host--I penetrated yet

further into the deep valley. Stupendous oaks clothed the darkening

hills, and cast a sable and melancholy gloom around. The solitude was

awful; the stillness intense: for it was scarcely broken by a brawling

torrent, rushing, red and muddy, over a precipice of jagged rock, and

resounding in a deep and echoing chasm. Afar off, on the most distant

peaks, flickered the blaze of vast furnaces kindled by charcoal burners;

but soon these fires were quenched by the fury of the rising storm, and

broad sheets of lightning, with vivid and ghastly glare lit earth and

sky almost incessantly. By the livid flashes I was enabled to find my

way to the hermitage, and pushing forward at full gallop I gladly

reached its welcome shelter.

A rough wooden cross, and a turf-seat beside a rock, from which bubbled

a rill into a basin worn by the water (that had fallen for ages,

perhaps) on the stones below, answered the description given me of the

abode of this recluse of the wilderness. Dismounting, I approached a

small edifice of stone, which appeared to be the ruined tomb of some

ancient Roman; whose name once great and glorious, was now lost in

oblivion. Its form was square, its size about twelve feet each way, and

it had a domed roof of massive stone-work, which was covered with ivy

and myrtle, while wild fuchsias and wall-flowers flourished in the

clefts and joints of the decayed masonry. Two Roman columns and an

entablature, time-worn and mutilated, formed the portico, which was

closed by a rustic door of rough-barked wood. On the architrave I could

just make out this inscription, cut in ancient characters,