On returning to the town, a surprise awaited the _sindico_ and his
friends. Men, women, and children were running to and fro; the children
screaming, the men and women giving utterance to loud shouts and
exclamations. There had been a similar _fracas_ on the first alarm of
the brigands, but it had subsided as the soldiers started off to ascend
the hill. What had caused it to break forth afresh? This was the
question hurriedly exchanged between the returning townsmen. Could it
be the robbers who had entered from the opposite side, and taken
possession of the place? Was the skirmish on the hill only a feint to
draw the soldiers out of the town? If so, it had succeeded; and the
shouts now heard, with the rushing to and fro, were signs of a general
pillage.
With sad hearts, they hastened on into the streets. They soon came in
sight of the piazza. A crowd was collected in front of the _sindico's_
house--another by the albergo. Both were composed of armed men, not in
any uniform, but in costumes of varied kind: peasants, proprietors, and
men in broad-cloth habiliments of city life, all carrying guns, swords,
and pistols. They were not citizens of Val di Orno; they were
strangers, as could be seen at a glance. Neither did they appear
banditti, though several of the soldiers who had lagged behind were now
seen standing in the piazza, guarded as their prisoners! What could it
mean? Who could the strangers be?
These questions were answered as the returning townsmen came near enough
to distinguish the cries: "_Evviva ella Republica! Abasso tyranni!
Abasso il Papa_!" At the same time a tricoloured flag shot up on its
staff, proclaiming to the citizens of Val di Orno that their town was in
possession of the Republicans! And so, too, was Rome at that moment.
The Pope had fled, and the triumvirate--Mazzini, Saffi, and Aurelli--
held rule in the Holy City.
A fresh surprise awaited the _sindico_ on reaching his own house; his
son Luigi stood in front of it--one of those who was vociferating the
watchword of _Liberty_.
A hurried greeting passed between father and son. With a quick glance,
the latter caught the expression of grief on his father's countenance.
"What is wrong?" he asked. "There have been brigands here--where is my
sister?"
A groan was the answer; this, and a hand raised in the direction of the
hills.
"O God!" exclaimed the young man; "too late! Have I come too late?
Speak, father! Tell me what has happened--where is Lucetta?"
"_Poverina!--mia povera figlia_!--gone, Luigi! Borne off by the brigand
Corvino!"
The words were gasped out with the choking utterance of grief. The
bereaved parent could say no more. He sank into the arms of his son.
"Friends!" cried Luigi Torreani to those who stood around listening;
"comrades, I may call you! But for absence in a foreign land, I should
have been one of you. I am one of you now, and henceforth. Here is my
father, Francesco Torreani, the _sindico_ of this town. You heard what
he has said. His daughter--my sister--carried off by the brigands! And
that with a hundred soldiers supposed to be protecting the place! This
is the protection we get from the valiant defenders of the Holy Faith!"
"Defenders of the devil!" came a voice from the crowd.
"Worse than the brigands themselves," added another. "I believe they've
been in league with them all along. That's why the scoundrels have so
often escaped."
"Quite true!" cried a third. "We know it. They're in the pay of the
Pope and his Majesty of Naples. That's one of the ways by which our
tyrants have controlled us."
"You will stand by me, then?" said the young artist, his face
brightening with hope. "You will help me to recover my sister? I know
you will."
"We will! we will!" answered a score of earnest voices.
"You may depend upon that, Signor Torreani," said a man of imposing
aspect, who was evidently the leader of the Republican troop. "The
brigands shall be pursued, and your sister saved, if it be in our power.
Nothing shall be left undone. But first we must dispose of these
hirelings. See! they are coming down the hill. Into the houses,
_compagnos_! Let us take them by surprise. Here, Stramoni, Giugletta,
Paoli! On to the end of the street. Shoot down any one who attempts to
go out and give them warning! Inside, _compagnos_!--in, in!"
In a score of seconds the piazza was cleared of the crowd, the strangers
hurrying inside the houses, forcing along with them the
soldier-prisoners whom they had taken. Half-a-dozen men hastened
towards the suburbs, to cut off any communication that might be
attempted between the citizens and soldiery, who were now returning _en
masse_ down the mountain slope, their captain at their head. Such of
the townsmen as chose were allowed to remain in the streets, with a
warning that any attempt at treason, made either by word or sign, would
draw the fire of the Republicans upon them. Few of them stood in need
of it. Under the administration of such a _sindico_, there were not
many of the inhabitants of Val di Orno who did not secretly exult at the
new order of things. They had already hailed with acclamation their
deliverers from the city, and were joyed at the prospect of a Republic.
On came Guardiola at the head of his troop. The soldiers were marching
in straggling disorder. The captain was not himself in the best of
spirits. False as his love had been, he felt bitter chagrin at the girl
having been carried away. His own recreance too, there was something to
regret about that. Now that the excitement was over, he could not help
thinking of it. With soiled shield and trailing pennon, he was
returning into the town. He cared little for the sentiment of the
citizens; less now that _she_ was no longer among them. But his own
followers had been witnesses of his cowardly conduct, and he would hear
of it perhaps at headquarters. Captain, subalterns, and troop tramped
back towards the town, observing neither rank nor caution. Little did
they dream of the trap into which they were advancing. The measures of
the Republican leader had been well taken. On each of the four sides of
the piazza he had placed a portion of his force--distributed into nearly
equal parts. Hidden by the blinds inside, they commanded the whole
square, and could rake it with their fire through the windows and doors.
The soldiers would have no chance. Once within the piazza they would
be at the mercy of the Revolutionists. And into the piazza they came,
utterly unconscious of the fate that awaited them. They had noticed the
silence pervading the place, and wondered that their comrades, left
behind, came not forth to greet them.
They were reflecting on the strangeness of these things when a loud
voice, issuing from the inn, summoned them to surrender.
"_Rendate, Capitano_! Yield up your sword to the soldiers of the
Republic!"
"What's the meaning of this impertinence?" cried Guardiola, facing the
albergo, and endeavouring to discover from whom proceeded the voice.
"Sergeant," he continued, "drag that man out into the street, and see
that he has a score of blows upon the back--heavily laid on."
"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed the voice, while the laughter was loudly echoed
from the four sides of the square, and again the demand was repeated.
The carabineers unslung their firelocks, and faced in different
directions, ready to make havoc among the jeering citizens, as they
supposed them to be. They only waited for the word to fire into the
windows and doors.
"We don't want to spill your blood," said the same stentorian voice,
speaking from the albergo; "but if you insist upon it, we shall.
Soldiers of the Pope! you are surrounded by soldiers of a higher power--
the Republic. Your master is no longer in Rome. He has fled to Gaeta.
Mazzini rules in the city, and we intend to rule here. You are
completely in our power. The first of you that draws a trigger will be
answerable for the sacrifice of your whole troop; for we shall not leave
a man of you standing. Be wise, then, and surrender, as we tell you.
Put down your arms, and we shall treat you as prisoners of war. Use
them, and you shall have the treatment you more deserve--that accorded
to hirelings and brigands!"
Guardiola and his troop were astounded. What could it mean--this
summons so impudently and yet so confidently spoken? They stood
irresolute.
"_Compagnos_!" cried the voice from the albergo, speaking as if from the
interior of some Delphian shrine, and loud enough to reach the four
sides of the square; "these worthy gentlemen seem to hesitate, as if
they doubted the truth of my words. Convince them of it by showing the
muzzles of your guns. When they have counted those, perhaps they will
be less incredulous."
Quick following upon this speech came the clanking noise of gun-barrels
brought in collision; and, to the consternation of Guardiola and his
carabineers, a score of windows around the piazza glistened with dark
iron tubes that could not be mistaken for aught else than what they
were. There appeared to be at least two hundred. One-fourth of the
number would have been sufficient.
The soldiers saw that they were in an ambuscade--that the Revolution,
long threatened, had at length come; and, without waiting for the
sanction of Captain Guardiola or his subalterns, they flung their
carbines to the ground, and declared themselves agreeable to a
surrender.
In ten minutes after they were standing under the tricolour flag, and
crying "_Evviva ella Republica_!" while their captain, swordless and
looking very uncomfortable, was pacing a chamber floor in the albergo,
to which but three days before he had consigned Henry Harding as a
prisoner.
He was now himself a prisoner to the soldiers of the Republic.