ADVENTURES OF AN AIDE-DE-CAMP, VOLUME III (continued 2)

The poor boy was so terrified that his trumpet-call was only a feeble squeak; but the survivors of the company, about fifty in number, rushed from all quarters to the spot. A volley of musketry announced that our marines had opened on the assailants.

"Let us sally out—away with the barricades!" cried Lieutenant Caraffa; and we rushed forth with charged bayonets, eager to revenge the slaughter and devastation of the night. The regular fire of a hundred marines from the terrace—to which Santugo led them by a secret passage from the grottoes below—threw the revolters into a panic; and their discomfiture was completed by a strong detachment of seamen, headed by Hanfield the gallant captain of the Delight, whom Sir Sidney had sent in command of the expedition. Rushing over the lawn with a wild hurrah, they fell slashing and thrusting with cutlass and pike among the recoiling rabble of the barone; who, abandoning their two six-pounder guns, fled, en masse, with rapidity: but fighting every step of the way towards the mountains, and firing on us from behind every bush and rock which afforded momentary concealment. In the pursuit I encountered the formidable Scarolla, who fired both his pistols at me without effect, as I rushed upon him with my sabre: clubbing his rifle, he swung it round his head with a force sufficiently formidable; but watching an opportunity when he overstruck himself, I sabred him above the left eye, and beat him to the ground; when some of his followers made a rally and carried him off.

"Viva Guiseppe!" cried a well-known voice close by me; and looking round, I beheld the little author of all the mischief, struggling in the grasp of a seaman; whom, by his embroidered anchors, I recognised as boatswain of the Delight. He was not much taller than his antagonist, the barone, but strong and thickset, with the chest and shoulders of an ox; an ample sunburnt visage, surmounted by a little glazed hat, and fringed by a circular beard of black wiry hair below, his cheek distended by a quid, and an enormous pig-tail reaching below his waist-belt, made him seem a very formidable antagonist to Guelfo; whom, he had knocked down, and over whom he was flourishing his heavy cutlass, squirting a little tobacco-juice into his eyes from time to time.

"Maladetto!" growled the Italian lord, "O, povero voi, Signor Marinero!"

"Avast, old Gingerbread! I speak none of your foreign lingos," replied the boatswain.

Flushed with rage and disappointment, the barone struggled furiously with his strong antagonist, who held him at arms' length, in doubt whether to cleave him down or let him go; till Zaccheo, the Greek, approached, and, ere I could interfere, ended the matter, by driving his couteau-de-chasse through the heart of Guelfo, who expired without a groan.

By daybreak, the fighting was over. A poor little midshipman and several seamen were killed; a hundred of our mad assailants lay dead in the quadrangle, and as many more round the terrace. In the villa, half its garrison lay killed or wounded around the windows, from which the flames and smoke rolled forth in mighty volumes; many were roasted or consumed before we could remove them: poor old Gismondo with the rest. Hanfield ordered his men to save the villa from further destruction; but the flames had gathered such force, that for a time every effort seemed fruitless. Assisted by three boats' crews from the flag-ship, they pulled down a part of the mansion, and turned the water of the jets d'eau on the rest, to prevent the fire (which was confined to one wing) from spreading to the main building. After an hour of toil and danger, during which I worked away in my shirt-sleeves until I was as black as a charcoal-burner, the flames were suppressed: but how changed was the aspect of the once splendid villa!

One portion of the building was roofless and ruined: its lofty casements shattered, its corbelled balconies, tall pillars, and rich Corinthian entablatures, scorched by fire, and blackened by smoke; the ravaged gardens and terraces were strewn with corpses, the halls, saloons, and corridors, encumbered with the same ghastly objects, splashed with blood, and filled with confusion and destruction; pier-glasses, vases, and statues, were dashed to pieces, hangings and pictures rent and torn. The quiet library and elegant boudoir rang with the cries of the wounded, or the reckless merriment of the sailors, who caroused on the richest wines. But Santugo looked around him with the most perfect sang froid.

Twenty prisoners we had captured were sent over to Palermo, where they expiated their revolt in the horrible dungeons of the Damusi,—the most frightful perhaps in the world, where their bones are probably lying at this hour.

CHAPTER VII.

THE NUPTIALS.

When the fight was over, the fire extinguished, and the dead all interred, I repaired to the grotto, where the ladies and their attendants were shivering with terror and the cold air of the sea, which every instant threw a shower of sparkling spray into the damp vaults. A statue to St. Hugh, before which three dim tapers were always burning, gave a picturesque aspect to the natural grotto; and a rill of limpid water, at which the saint had quenched his thirst, gurgled from the rocks into a rich font of white marble. Around this little shrine the females were clustered; and a cry burst from them when I approached in my unseemly garb, spotted with blood, blackened by powder, smoke, and toil, and plastered over with clay, as if I had been dipped in the mud-baths of Abano.

The carriage was brought; the horses of the ladies were saddled, and they left the half ruined villa with a strong escort, to take up a temporary residence at the castle of Angistola, the property of the Duke of Bagnara, near Pizzo. After seeing the remains of the Calabrian company embarked for Messina in our gun-boats, I, accompanied by Santugo, followed the ladies at full gallop; leaving the old chasseur to act as commandant at the villa. I despatched a mounted servant to Scylla, for some of my baggage; a suit of uniform especially, as my harness was quite ridiculous in the gay salons of the duchess.

At Angistola, the ladies soon recovered from their terror and fatigue: the beauty of the scenery, where the steep Apennines sloped down to the Gulf of St. Eufemio, covered with dark pines or orange trees, and the deep-wooded dell through which the river wound, seemed gloomy, solemn, and picturesque. The Duke of Bagnara held a military command at a distance; but his fair duchessa, who was one of the reigning beauties of the Sicilian Court, received us with every honour and kindness.

A few days after our arrival we had the castello filled with milliners from Palermo, and the ladies were constantly clustered in deep consultation around the duchess in her boudoir; the visconte was joyous and gay—a fête was evidently approaching: he was about to espouse his cousin, with all the splendour that wealth could yield, and the imposing pomp of the Catholic Church impart; and (to be brief) I found myself on the same happy footing with my dear little Bianca, without the portentous question having been asked. It was all quite understood: we had made no secret of our mutual attachment, which was revealed by every gentle word and tender glance. Our marriage was the earnest wish of Santugo and the vicontessa; and as for her principal relative, the withered little Prince of St. Agata, as the girl was without a ducat, he cared not a straw who became her husband.

The day before the auspicious one, old Fra Adriano came jogging up to the castello on his ambling mule, in the execution of his office as family confessor, to confess us all, according to the Italian custom, before marriage. To this I objected, first with a joke, and then gravely; much to the horror of the reverend friar: he turned up his eyes, and muttering "ahi! eretico!" went in search of Bianca, who confessed to him—Heaven knows what! So innocent a being could have nothing to reveal, save her own happiness and joy.

Adriano had scarcely left me, when I saw a sergeant, in the welcome and well-known uniform of my own regiment, ascending the steep avenue to the castle porch.

"What can be the matter now?" thought I; and at such a time—the deuce! "Well, Gask, what news from the corps, and what has brought you here?" said I, as he entered the room and stood straight as his half-pike, which he held advanced. "Take a chair, man," I added, with that kind familiarity with which an officer ought always to greet a soldier of his own regiment in a strange place.

"Sir, I have brought a letter from Sir John Stuart. Being on my way to join the garrison at Scylla castle, he sent me over in a gun-boat from Messina, that I might deliver this; which he was anxious you should receive without delay."

I tore open the note. It ran thus;—

"Messina, Tuesday morning.

"DEAR DUNDAS,—Join your garrison at Scylla without a moment's delay: General Sherbrooke threatens to supersede you, and order you to join the 'Wiltshire' at Syracuse; as he understands that you attend more to the ladies than H.M.'s service. Massena and Regnier are concentrating forces in Upper Calabria; the chiefs of the Masse are wavering; and you may expect more broken heads by Christmas. Adieu! I start for London to-morrow.

"I am, &c. &c.,

"J. STUART, Major-General."

"So, Gask, you are bound for Scylla?" said I, glad the note contained only a friendly hint.

"Yes, sir."

"You will go with me, as it is unsafe for you to travel alone in such a country as this. I set out the day after to-morrow."

"I am much obliged to you, sir, for your forethought. Do we march by daybreak?"

"No, no," I answered, laughing; "that would scarcely suit; but retire with the chamberlain, who will order you a luncheon and tell you news."

Though pleased with Sir John's friendly attention, I could very well have dispensed with the presence of my countryman, the sergeant; who was a true blue Presbyterian from the Howe of Fife, an ardent worshipper of Eben Erskine, and one, consequently, who would look with pious horror on the popish ceremonies of the morrow: which there was no doubt he would witness, with the household of the castello.

Poor Gask! He was a worthy and good soldier, for whom the whole corps had a sincere respect. Educated for our stern Scottish kirk, some misfortunes in early life forced him into the ranks, where his superior attainments and classical education made him a marvel among the Wiltshire men, and gained him three stripes, although it could do nothing more; the quiet tenor of his way being the reverse of the smart drill-corporal or bustling sergeant-major, who looks forward to the post of adjutant. He was the beau-ideal of a Scottish soldier, grave, intelligent, and steady; and was seldom seen, unless, book in hand, reading in some retired nook, when his comrades were roystering in the canteen or sutler's tent. Poor Gask! this page is the only tribute to your memory.

Next day the marriages were celebrated with great pomp, in the church of St. Eufemio, at Nicastro: that of the visconte and Francesca took place first, and was followed by that of Bianca and myself. A new uniform coat was quite spoiled by the holy water, which the bishop sprinkled over us very liberally; and my white "regimental breeches" were totally ruined by the rough Mosaic of the church, when I advanced on my knees, with a lighted candle in one hand, to present bread and wine to the bishop, while old Adriano waved the stole over us, according to the usage of the land.

"Ah! if any of our mess could see me just now, how the rogues would laugh!" thought I, while scrambling along the aisle, with the hot wax dropping on my fingers from the confounded taper, which I did not hold so gracefully as Bianca held hers. Grand as the ceremony was, I disliked so much of it, and dreaded to encounter the cold smile and smirking face of Sergeant Gask; who stood, upright as a pike, among the kneeling domestics.

We were glad when the bishop concluded the ritual, the fundamental part of which was simple enough; but I could very well have dispensed with all that Italian superstition had added to it: yet I behaved with such decorum, that the bishop believed me as stanch a Catholic as ever kissed cross, and fain would gentle Bianca have thought me so too. The moment we left the altar a bright circle of young ladies clustered round her, covering her with kisses, while the people shouted, "O giorno felice! Viva il capitano! Viva la capitanessa!"

All blessed her, and muttered, "Bell' Idolo!" as she passed forth: indeed, she appeared as enchanting as beauty of the most delicate caste, the richest attire, and most splendid diamonds could make her; and if always lovely, even in the plainest garb, imagine how she must have shone in her magnificent bridal dress, when her eyes beamed with delight and her soft cheek turned alternately deep red and deadly pale, as the blood came and went with the varying thoughts that agitated her—awe and modesty, love and exultation!

"Giorno felice, indeed!" thought I; and springing into the carriage beside her, we drove off for the castello, as fast as four galloping horses could take us. The sonorous organ, the chanting priests, the ringing bells, the shouts and discharge of fire-arms, died away behind us; and accompanied by a gay cavalcade of the fairest and noblest in the province, our marriage train swept through the solitary vale of the Angistola at full speed, towards the castle: where a lordly fête awaited us, and from the tall windows of its hall a blaze of light was shed on the darkening scenery and winding river as we rode up the gloomy avenue.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE TEMPEST—THE LAST OF THE HUNCHBACK.

Leaving Santugo and his bride with the duchess, we set out next day for Scylla; our calesso having an escort, without which, it was impossible to travel in such a country. Gask occupied the rumble beside Annina, while a chasseur with ten sbirri sent by the duchess, rode five in front and five in the rear; their leader riding some hundred yards in advance. All these men wore the duke's livery; they were well mounted, and armed with carbines, sabres, and pistols. The calesso was furnished with a loop-hole, opening under the rumble, through which I could blaze away with my pistols, in case of having to retreat skirmishing.

The scenery was now beginning to assume the brown warm tints of autumn; but the savage mountain gorges, the deep woods, the winding shore and beetling cliffs, through which the road lay, were not less beautiful than when I passed them before, with poor Castelermo. The ramparts of Monteleone, the bosky forest of Burello, the silver windings of Metramo, the famous vineyards of Rossarno and Gioja were all passed rapidly; and plunging down into the wilderness, between the Apennines and the sea, we had accomplished half our journey, when a tremendous storm overtook us.

Our hearts were so full of happiness, and each was so much absorbed in the presence of the other, that we marked not the flight of time; and though our carriage rolled on through the most beautiful scenery of that wild province, we bestowed scarce a glance or a thought upon it. Yet we conversed very little; for an overwhelming sense of happiness had quite subdued Bianca's vivacity.

I deemed myself the luckiest member of our Calabrian army. Hundreds had come only to find a tomb on the plains of Maida, before the ramparts of Crotona, or in the trenches of Scylla. A few had gained a step of promotion and a little honour; the general a great deal—the title of count, and from the city of London a substantial dinner at the Mansion-house, with the present of a splendid sword: but I had gained Bianca d'Alfieri, who had last season turned half the heads in Palermo. "Bravo Claude!" thought I; "it is quite a regimental triumph, and deserves to be borne on our colours. At Syracuse, the mess will drink deep when they hear of it!"

The darkening of the sky, across the azure surface of which dense columns of cloud were moving in rapid succession, and the exhalation of a chilly vapour and malaria from the stagnant pools of a dismal swamp in which we suddenly became entangled, all foreboded a coming storm. The sea, when seen at intervals between the opening hills, was black as ink, and fleckered with masses of foam. Vessels were making all snug aloft and getting close under the lee of the shore to avoid the threatened tempest, which was soon to sweep over the bosom of the trackless ocean. The rumbling of the carriage, and the hoofs of our galloping escort sounded deep and hollow between the echoing hills.

"Signor," said their decurione or chasseur, riding up to the window which I had let down for the admission of air, "in three minutes we shall have a tremendous storm: perhaps la capitanessa would wish to seek a place of safety."

"But where?"

"Madonna only knows, excellency. The earth shakes, the air is thick. I am an old man, and remember with dread when last I saw such signs. Fly to the shore—the sea may ingulph you; to the hills—they may fall down and overwhelm you; to the plains—and the solid earth may yawn beneath your feet."

"Pleasant!" I said, considerably startled; "what do you advise? to seek Seminara? The spire of the Greek cathedral rises yonder above the pine woods and vapour of the marshes."

"No, signor, we are safer on the mountains or in the marshes: here let us remain and trust to Madonna for protection."

"In God alone is all my trust!" said the Scottish sergeant, whose knowledge of Latin enabled him to understand the sbirro; "but as for your Madonna——" he snapped his fingers without concluding.

The blackness was increasing fast, and we sought the shelter offered by a thick pine wood to escape the pelting rain; which rushed down in a torrent, every drop larger than a pistol bullet. As it would have been unsoldier-like to remain in the calesso while our escort were exposed to the storm, I passed the time under the trees rolled up in my military cloak, after securing the carriage doors to protect Bianca and her attendant; who drew their veils close to shut out the flashes of vivid lightning which every instant illumined the darkest dingles of the forest. A terrible noise, such as I had never heard before, rumbled in the earth and air. I looked to the sbirro; he was crossing himself and muttering an ave, while a sour presbyterian smile curled the lips of Gask, who leaned on his pike beside him. The chasseur, or decurione, ordered the horses to be unharnessed from the carriage; and I had soon reason to thank him sincerely for his forethought.

We saw the flames of distant Etna casting a light across the western sky; but in every other direction the heavens were involved in gloom or dark grey twilight. The whole atmosphere, however, soon began to assume an aspect so fiery, that over Seminara the dense clouds seemed as if rolling in flames; and we beheld the tall façade of the Greek abbey, the dark mountains and the arches of a ruined aqueduct between them, standing in bold outline and strong relief on the red and luminous background. The scene was wild and magnificent; but the drenching rain, and the roaring wind, which shook the strongest pines like ostrich feathers, and almost blew us away with the branches, leaves, and stones which it swept over the waste, the sulphureous state of the atmosphere, and the ground trembling beneath our feet, made us feel, altogether, too uncomfortable to enjoy the splendid aspect of the heavens and earth agitated by such a storm.

It was truly Calabrian! Our horses snorted and pranced, their manes bristled, their prominent eyes shot fire; and it required all our efforts to calm them, and keep them from breaking the bridle-reins which we had buckled to trees. Suddenly a most appalling clap of thunder burst over our heads, like the broadside of a fleet. A lofty and precipitous cliff of volcanic rock, which reared up its rugged front not far from us, heaved and reeled like some mighty animal convulsed with agony: shaken to the base by some tremendous subterranean throe, it rocked visibly, and the foliage on its summit was tossed like raven plumage on a hearse by the motion.

Anon a cry of dismay burst from the sbirri. An enormous mass became detached from the highest peak; rolling from its perpendicular front and rebounding from cliff to cliff it came thundering into the plain below, bringing with it a mighty ruin of shattered stones, dust, trees and soil, which fell like the fragments of a mountain, and with a force that shook the ground we stood on. The crash was deafening; a storm of leaves, small stones, and dust flew past us, and for a minute the air was fearfully dense, gloomy, and palpable. I reeled, and clung to the carriage-wheels for support; Bianca swooned; Gask was praying devoutly with his grenadier cap off, and the sbirri muttered their aves aloud: above us the thunder rolled on from peak to peak, and the lightning shot between them, while the air grew darker and more sulphureous.

Terrified by the shaken rock and the bursting thunderbolts, our fiery horses became mad: they foamed, snorted, plunged, and kicked fire from the stones; the four that were unharnessed from the calesso broke loose and fled, at full speed, towards Seminara, pursued by the decurione and his sbirri, who were eager to save them: they were noble bays, and favourites of the duchess. Thus the sergeant and I were left alone standing by the calesso.

"Ghieu, ho! ho!" cried a croaking voice in the thicket; I heard a chuckling laugh, and a figure rolled up like a ball, making a summerset over the rocks and stones, lighted close by my feet. "Buon giorno, signor capitano! he, he! ho, ho! fine evening, eh?"

Like a gigantic toad, Gaspare Truffi stood before me, with his long matted hair waving over his frightful visage; his torn cassock revealing a leathern baldrick furnished with pistols, poniard, and horn. Like the very demon of the storm, he whooped and yelled. A broad-leaved hat of the largest size overshadowing his figure like an umbrella, gave a peculiarly droll effect to his aspect.

"A delightful evening!" he croaked; "how does our Calabrian weather agree with your stomach, Signor Inglese? Ill, I think, to judge from that lugubrious visage of thine. Ola, Lancelloti! come hither and behold the good padre confessor who came so devoutly to worm a story out of you in the bishop's vaults: he, he! ho, ho! Feel you how the ground shakes?" he added, stamping his shapeless feet on the quaking turf; "feel you how earth and air tremble? Ammirando! there is a rebellion in hell, for our good friend the devil is gone to the witch-tree at Benevento to-night: ha, ha!"

"Beard of Mahomet!" cried a distant voice, "where are you, cursed crookback?" and at that moment I saw my friend of the vaults advancing towards us, clad in the usual brigand costume, with malice in his eye and a cocked rifle in his hand. Other figures, like dim ghosts appeared through the dark misty vapour that floated round us, and I knew that we had fallen in with a party of banditti.

"Come on, comrades," cried Truffi; "here is a calesso containing, I doubt not, the Signora Bianca, whom we all know of. Viva! a prize worth a thousand scudi!" He advanced to the door of the carriage, but with the butt of his pike Gask dealt him a blow which levelled him on the turf. Uttering a yell he rushed like a lion upon his assailant; who, not expecting so vigorous an onset from a figure so decrepit, was taken completely by surprise and deprived of his weapon, which Truffi snapped like a reed; rending the tough ash pole to threads with his sharp teeth and long bony fingers.

He drew his stiletto; and I, narrowly escaping a rifle-shot from Lancelloti, closed with the hideous dwarf, whose insulting demeanor had roused both my hatred and anxiety. Though once before, in a personal struggle I had obtained convincing proof of his wondrous strength, I disdained to use my sabre against him; but striking the poniard from his hand, endeavoured to hurl him to the earth by grasping his leather girdle. In vain! his short bandy legs upheld his shapeless body, like pillars of steel, while his strong and ample hands grasped me like grappling irons.

Lancelloti advanced with his clubbed rifle; but Gask assailed him with his sword, and I was left to deal with Truffi alone. I heard the cries of Bianca during the lulls of the storm, and my anxiety was great: the sbirri had all disappeared, the misty figures were rapidly increasing in form and number, and shouts rang through the echoing wood. At this most critical moment, when engaged in a desperate struggle, the earth shook under our feet and a sensation like an electric shock shot over every nerve. We paused and glared fiercely at each other.

Again, there was a rumbling in the lurid air above, and the quivering earth beneath: yet we relaxed not our vice-like grasp. What a moment it was! The shaking rocks, the waving trees and the whole country around us were torn by one of those mighty convulsions so common to the Calabrias.

Never shall I forget my sensations when, within a yard of where we struggled, the earth gaped and rent; showing an awful chasm about twenty feet wide: my heart forgot to beat; my blood curdled! From the gap there arose a thin sulphury light, illuminating the trees above and the distant dingles of the wood, shining on the wet trunks and glistening leaves; showers of sparks and columns of smoke arose from it, with balls of ignited matter, which hissed in succession as they rose and fell, or exploded among the wet foliage of the forest. Beautiful was its aspect when illuminated by the mysterious yellow glare of that smoky chasm; and I saw the distorted form of Truffi, in strong outline between it and me. I felt his grasp tightening: we were near the gulf, and I read his hellish purpose in the twinkling of his red hollow eyes. Gathering all my strength for one tremendous effort, great beyond my hopes, I flung him from me into the flaming chasm: but the shock threw me prostrate on the turf. I leaped up: Truffi had vanished in that appalling grave, which was now closing rapidly, and soon shut altogether; the sparks and ignited matter arose no more, and the wood became involved in double gloom.

Dismayed at the horrible living tomb which had so suddenly engulphed the hunchback, Lancelloti shrank back; and I leaned against the carriage overcome with my own emotions. The wind was dying away: the heavy pine branches hung down motionless. One voice alone broke the stillness; it was that of the Scottish serjeant who prayed devoutly. Though as brave a fellow as ever drew sword, he was terrified at that moment.

We soon heard the galloping of hoofs, and the decurione, with the ten sbirri, came back; upon which Lancelloti and his company disappeared and we saw them no more that night.

"The carriage horses?" I inquired.

"O, signor! they have all rushed over the cliffs of Palmi and perished in the sea!" replied the breathless sbirro.

"Bianca," I exclaimed, "O God, what a fate you have escaped! Signor decurione, never can I sufficiently reward you for desiring the horses to be unharnessed so soon!" I shook the hand of the sbirro, while my heart sank at the contemplation of what might have happened.

It was long ere Bianca recovered from the horrors of that night; which, indeed, were such as might have shaken a stouter heart than that of the gentle Italian girl.

We reached Seminara with great difficulty, dragging the calesso by the saddle horses; but on obtaining mules at the Greek abbey, we again set out for Scylla, viâ Bagnara: where soon afterwards I had a sharp encounter with the voltigeurs of the 23d regiment (French).

CHAPTER IX.

A MILITARY HONEYMOON.

On the day after assuming my command at Scylla, I ordered out the little garrison in heavy marching order, and found it to consist of picked young fellows of my own regiment, 250 file, with five officers. This small party, with the garrisons at Reggio and Crotona, Amanthea and Monteleone, formed the whole force left in Calabria, with orders to defend their several posts to the last extremity. The last four places were held by Italians alone.

I found that every means had been taken to render the famous rock, and the stronghold of the race of Ruffo, yet more impregnable. In place of the princely cardinal's banner, our gaudy union spread its scarlet folds to the wind, the mighty breach—to me the scene of an adventure never, never to be forgotten—was now closed up, and a strong stone bastion, surmounted by six iron twenty-four-pounders, frowned grimly in its stead.

We were often visited by Santugo and his bride: he belonged to the Reggio garrison, which was commanded by the Prince of St. Agata. My brother officers were all agreeable men, and the time passed very pleasantly. Bianca's residence shed quite a halo over the formal barrack and rugged castello, which was enlivened by a continual round of fair visitors from Fiumara, Reggio, and the neighbouring villas. Those gay subs who had looked forward with repugnance to detachment duty in the gloomy castle of Cardinal Ruffo, became delighted with the station and the gaiety of the entertainments. The towers rang perpetually with the dulcet voices of Italian girls, the twangling of mandolins, or the notes of the piano. Every evening, the hall—where the ambitious cardinal had formed his deep laid schemes of political intrigue, where his mailed ancestors had drunk "the red wine through the helmet barred," and where the Norman knight and Saracen emir had met hand-to-hand in deadly strife—was the scene of a waltz or quadrille party; or rang to the mad and merry tarantella, the modern remnant of the ancient bacchanalian dance. Never since the days of Faunus, Saturn's fabled son, Ausonia's oldest king, had the rock of Scylla witnessed such a continuance of festivity.

Amid this joyous career, we had all a narrow escape from malice and treason.

One evening Gask appeared with a very long face, and informed me that the castle well had been poisoned, for the purpose of destroying us all. Twenty men lay sick in hospital, and a cry of rage went through the whole castle.

"Poisoned—O, lord!" cried Gascoigne, who was with me at the time, and snatching up a decanter of brandy, he nearly drained it at one gulp. Gask had seen a man in the garb of the Campagnia di Morti prowling about the margin of the well, whom we had no doubt was the perpetrator of the villany. While I was making inquiries and despatching parties in pursuit of him, Oliver Lascelles entered my room with a drawing in his hand.

Oliver was an artist, and a complete enthusiast in Italian scenery, and still more so in Italian women; every moment stolen from duty was devoted to the pencil, and many of his warmly tinted sketches, done in a masterly manner, are at this moment in my portfolio. I have often admired his coolness, when, under a heavy fire, he has seated himself to sketch the enemy's position, a striking ruin, a fallen column, or piece of ancient sculpture, from which his sword had scraped the moss.

"Behold a portrait of our friend of the Campagna di Morti," said he, displaying his drawing. "I saw the rogue seated by the fountain, and admiring his picturesque costume, and his striking countenance, with well-knit brows, the eyes deep set in the head, and having that determined scowl which is esteemed so classic, I gave the fellow a ducat to sit; so here you have his features fairly done in crayon."

"The scoundrel! they are those of Navarro, the Italian engineer, who deserted to the French after assassinating the Maltese knight in mistake for me. He is no doubt employed by Massena as a spy upon us. By Heaven, Lascelles, if I had the rascal here I think I could pistol him this instant!"

"That would make a spirited sketch too: but he cannot be far off, and Gask with his party will probably capture him."

I resolved to hold a drumhead court-martial on him the moment he fell into our hands, and promised twenty guineas to his capturer. But we saw him no more: for a time at least; and, to prevent such attempts in future, I placed a sentinel at the fountain, which after a time became purified. Macnesia's skill saved the twenty soldiers, who were brought almost to the brink of the grave: they had all narrowly escaped death; as a quantity of acquetta was found in the water when Macnesia analyzed it.

To expatiate on the happiness I enjoyed at Scylla would be too common-place; and I have a great press of other matter to relate. Rumours of Massena's advance from Cassano, and the retreat and dispersion of the chiefs of the Masse, spread dismay through all the Lower Province, and roused us from our short dream of pleasure. All families of rank again returned to Palermo; but a few spirited cavaliers retired to the savage fastnesses of the hills, where the brave Paesani and wild banditti made common cause against the invader. The arrival of a detachment of the Royal Artillery, brought from Messina by the Delight, and a despatch from Major-General Sherbrooke, directing me to "defend Scylla while one stone stood upon another," caused me to make the most strenuous preparations for a vigorous resistance; being anxious to render myself worthy of the important trust reposed in me—the defence of the key of the Italian Peninsula.

The presence of Bianca was the only damper to my ardour; for I anticipated with dread the dangers to which she would be exposed when the coming strife closed around us: but to my earnest entreaties that she would join her aunt and the young viscontessa, who had retired to Carolina's court at Palermo, she answered only by her tears and entreaties that I would not send her away, but permit her to share all the perils to which I might be exposed. Poor girl! little knew she of war and the manifold horrors of a protracted siege, or a fortress carried by assault: but to resist her charming entreaties was impossible; and my anxiety increased as the distance between us and the enemy lessened. How marriage spoils the esprit du corps! Every officer and private of the 62nd looked forward with ardour and hope; and I felt the old reckless spirit rising, notwithstanding the fears that oppressed me.

The daily arrival of couriers from the Masse, and from the armed cavalieri on the mountains, the telegraphing of despatches to and fro with Messina, the hourly training of soldiers at the batteries, the visiting of guards, which were doubled at night, and all the eternal hubbub created by the near approach of the foe, kept me fully occupied; and never, even when tenanted by the martial cardinal, had Scylla witnessed such military bustle and excitement.

Advices soon reached us that General Regnier had invested the castle of Crotona; which, after a bold defence by the Free Calabri, had been compelled to capitulate when the heavy battering train of the French opened on its decayed fortifications. All Naples was exasperated by the intelligence that the gallant Cavaliere del Castagno had been hanged as a traitor by orders of Regnier; whose forces, eager to revenge the triumph of Maida, marched rapidly by the shores of the Adriatic: they crossed the mountains at Francavilla, fighting every inch of the way with the Masse and the bold comrades of Francatripa, Fra Diavolo, Benincasa, and Mamone, and reached Monteleone, which the Italians abandoned; and once more the tricolor of the Buonapartists was triumphantly hoisted on its ramparts.

CHAPTER X.

WRECK OF THE DELIGHT.

Towards the end of December, the French had pushed forward as far as Seminara; and, by the concentration of troops and a train of heavy ordnance at that place, I had no doubt that preparations were making to besiege the castle of Scylla. Every exertion was made by the loyalists to prevent the carriage of cannon into that corner of Calabria: working parties of soldiers and armed peasants were continually employed in trenching and barricading the roads, and rendering the passes of the Solano impracticable; thus making every approach down from the hills of Milia as difficult as possible.

Along these heights and passes, I stationed strong bodies of armed Calabrese, entrusting the defence of the Solano to the Cavaliere di Casteluccio; who, since his escape, had distinguished himself on a thousand occasions: so miraculous were his adventures, that the superstitious provincials believed he had been rendered bullet-proof by the witches of Amato. But so overwhelming was the force of Regnier, that all attempts to bar the passage of his train proved, ultimately, unavailing.

On the last day of that eventful year, the glitter of arms and the pale white smoke of musketry were seen spreading over the Milia Hills; between the peaks of which the morning sun poured down his strong and ruddy light on the scene of contest. The drums beat, and we got under arms. Our Calabrian out-picquets and fatigue-parties were driven down from the mountains by three battalions of French infantry, led by General Milette, and were pursued by four squadrons of hussars until close under cover of our twenty-four-pounders.

Regnier was now in complete possession of those important heights; and his working parties were daily and nightly employed in repairing or forming roads for the conveyance of their battering train from Seminara. Their operations were retarded and rendered perilous by the incessant attacks of the followers of Casteluccio and Francatripa; but a damper was given to our zeal by the surrender of a numerous garrison at Reggio, where an Italian force, under the Prince of St. Agata, capitulated after a brief resistance. The castle of St. Amanthea, a property of the Prince di Bisignano, was captured by assault, after a desperate defence by the gay Captain Piozzi: he was slain by a cannon-ball, and thus the fair and fickle Despina was once more left a widow. On—on pressed the foe. The banner of Ferdinand IV. had sunk from every rampart in Calabria, save the solitary stronghold of Scylla. We found ourselves alone, and could hope for little from resistance; as all the forces of Massena were pouring southward, with orders to capture it at every risk of life and expense of blood.

Every night the sky was streaked with fire, showing where Favazina, Fiumara, San Batello, and many a hamlet were given to the flames, after being ravaged by the foragers of the enemy; and every breeze bore past us the cries of slaughtered men and the shrieks of miserable women.

The fall of Reggio was first announced to us by seeing Santugo's battalion of the Calabri retreating upon Scylla in solid square, pursued by cavalry, and galled by three curricle guns; which followed them at a gallop and were discharged from every eminence that afforded an opportunity of sending a shot into the retiring column: on its arrival, it occupied the half-ruined town below us.

Shortly afterwards, four Sicilian gun-boats, each carrying a twenty-four pounder in its bow, were captured by the enemy close by Scylla; and these cannon were landed and added to the train against the fortress. The moment it was known they had fallen into Regnier's hands, the Delight sloop-of-war, commanded by Captain Hanfield, stood close in shore to recapture them; and we watched her operations, from the ramparts, with the greatest interest.

Although the last day of December, it was a beautiful evening, and the golden Straits were gleaming in the light of the setting sun, then verging, through a sky of the purest azure, towards the green and lofty mountains which rise behind the spires and towers of Messina. The French beached the gun-boats in succession; and, covered by field-pieces and surrounded by squadrons of cavalry, we feared the sailors of the Delight would never cut them out or destroy them. Protected by the ship's broadside, three well-armed boats put off from her, and pulled shoreward, with the gallant intention of spiking the gun-boats' artillery at all risks.

Fire flashed incessantly from the red portholes of the Delight; and the white smoke of her cannon, rising through her taut rigging in fantastic curls, rolled away over the still bosom of the glassy Straits. The shot of the French field-pieces fell in a shower round her advancing boats; and wherever a ball plunged into the bright ocean, a pillar of liquid, like a water-spout, reared into the air with a hollow roar: a dozen of those crystal columns shot up their foamy heads at every moment, as the sailors pulled steadily towards the beach. In the headmost boat waved a large union-jack; and beside it, in the stern-sheets, sat Hanfield, waving his sword and cheering on his men. Close in his wake came the other boats, crowded with red and blue jackets, and glittering with boarding-pikes, bayonets, and cutlasses; while the glistening blades of the feathered oars flashed like silver in the sunlight, as they rose and fell in measured time, shooting the swift boats onward.

Crowding on the ramparts, the 62nd cheered, and threw their caps into the air; a response arose from the deck of the distant sloop, when lo! a most unlooked-for misfortune took place. Scylla, that place of horror and mystery to the ancient mariner, and before whose "yawning dungeon" Æneas and Ulysses quailed with terror, was still fraught with danger. Under a press of canvass, the Delight sailed obliquely, to keep company with her boats: there was a stiff breeze blowing straight from Sicily, and she stood close along shore, with every inch of her snowy canvass filled, when we beheld her shaken by a tremendous shock: her stately masts shook like willow wands, her long pendant fluttered, her broad sails shivered in the breeze, and she careened suddenly over. An exclamation burst from every lip.

"Ashore!" cried the soldiers, with sorrow and dismay, as her tall fore-topmast fell overboard; the main and the mizen followed it with a hideous crash: the beautiful vessel, which a moment before had been sailing so smoothly and swan-like, so trimly and saucily, lay a dismasted wreck, bulged on a sunken rock within a few furlongs of the beach, with her lee guns buried in the water, and all her seamen and marines who were not floundering in the wreck around her, clinging to her windward bulwarks.

A triumphant vivat! burst from the enemy, who plied their field-pieces with redoubled ardour; and a cry, loud, fierce and hoarse, answered from the English boats. The oarsmen paused, and the utmost confusion took place: there seemed a doubt whether to advance to the attack, or return to the assistance of their drowning messmates. Exasperated by the wreck of his dashing vessel, and filled with a desire for vengeance, the gallant Hanfield (an officer of great professional knowledge, and high individual worth) ordered the boats to advance: but his efforts were fruitless. His craft were soon crippled by the French cannon-shot and grape, which killed or wounded the majority of his force before it came near the Sicilian prizes. Hanfield, with many of his sailors, was killed, and Captain Seccombe, of the Glatton frigate, who happened to be on board the Delight, received a severe wound, of which he died a few days after. The boats' crews were all captured; and those men on the wreck went off in two remaining boats to save themselves from the same fate. To prevent Regnier from using the cannon remaining in the Delight, in prosecution of the siege, the moment it was dark enough I left the sea-staircase, in a boat, with ten soldiers, and setting fire to the vessel, burned her to the water's edge: so ended this catastrophe, which shed a gloom over us all for some time.

CHAPTER XI.

THE VOLTIGEURS.—THE MASSACRE OF BAGNARA.

Il Cavaliere di Casteluccio, some of whose followers still hovered about the Solano, having sent me accurate information of the position and arrangement of Regnier's outpost at Bagnara—the point nearest to us in his possession, and held by the voltigeurs of the 23rd (French) Light Infantry—I concerted a plan to form a junction with the Cavaliere's Free Company, and cut off that detachment; as the castle had been quite blocked up on every side since Regnier had pushed his advanced parties as far south as Bagnara and Favazina.

On a misty night in the month of February, an hour after tattoo-beat, I marched out one hundred rank and file (more indeed than could be spared from my small garrison), and was joined by three times that number of the Free Calabri, led by Santugo. Guided by the distant watchfires of General Milette's picquets, which formed a fiery chain along the Milia heights, we moved by the most unfrequented paths and gorges: the last were numerous enough, as the whole country bore traces of that terrible convulsion of nature, which twenty-four years before engulphed Bagnara and three thousand of its inhabitants. Hideous scaurs and chasms rent in the sandstone rocks and salt-hills, together with the banks of vapour exhaled from the marshes, completely screened our movements from the enemy; scattered parties of whom watched the operations of the banditti and the Masse (a force now rapidly melting away), who were apt at all times to beat up their quarters. The system of perpetual harassing was vigorously maintained, to prevent the formation of roads for the conveyance of their battering train towards the scene of the intended siege.

After a time, the night became so dark that the visconte was doubtful which was the way; as the dense vapour rolling down from the mountains cast a double gloom over everything. Opening the door of a wretched hut, I found an old crone, who dealt in spells and love potions, spreading her shrivelled hands over the expiring embers of a few dried sticks.

"Beware, excellency, the hag is a sorceress!" said Giacomo, as I entered.

"Signora," said I, unheeding his caution, "we are in want of a guide to the olive wood of Bagnara: can you procure us one for the service of Ferdinand and la Santa Fede?"

I glanced at her son, or grandson, a boy about fifteen, a model of that bloom and symmetry so common in the youth of Spain and Italy; he was almost naked, or clad only in skins. "Go thou, Pablo," said the crone.

"Ahi! madre," said he, shrinking back, "like my father, I may be shot by the French."

"Via—away!" she replied, sternly. The strict filial obedience exacted by the ancients yet existed in these remote provinces; so taking his knife and pole, the youth at once prepared to accompany us.

Guided by him, we reached the neighbourhood of Bagnara about midnight, and halted in an olive wood, situated on an eminence above the town: it was then reduced to a few cottages, occupied by the voltigeurs; who had taken all the usual means to render their post as strong as possible, by loop-holing the walls to enfilade the approaches, and barricading the ends of the little street with trees, furniture, brushwood, and banks of earth.

"Chi è là?" cried a sonorous voice from the wood as we entered it.

"Italia," answered the first file of our advanced guard, and the Cavaliere di Casteluccio rode up at the head of his company of volunteers; all bold athletic fellows, armed with rifles and poniards, and carrying their ammunition in leather pouches or large buffalo horns.

Below us, in Bagnara, all was still; the poor doomed soldiers slept soundly: not a light twinkled, not a sound broke the silence, save the rustle of the leafless trees, or the dash of the lonely sea as it rolled on the shingly beach. At times a red light shot across the sky to the westward; it rose from the peak of Stromboli in the distant isles of Æolus. We held a council in the olive grove before advancing.

"Signor Casteluccio, be so good," said I, "as to describe the enemy's post."

"The voltigeurs are 600 strong, and commanded by a Colonel Pepe——"

"Any relation of Don Pepe?" asked the visconte, laughing.

"A tall lanthorn-jawed fellow, with a scar over the left eye," said the cavaliere.

"The same," said I: "we have met before."

"He occupies the house of the podesta, a stone building, well loop-holed and barricaded; the approach to it is defended by three twelve-pounders, which sweep the principal street, and are always loaded with round and tin-case shot. A hundred voltigeurs garrison the house; the others are quartered in those adjoining; and the defensive arrangements are such, that they can all act in concert, and, like a star-fort, the post gives a cross fire at every angle."

"The safest approach?"

"Is from the seaward. There a deep rut leads directly from the shore to the town; thick foliage overhangs it, under which we can advance unseen. A single sentinel guards the point—the night is dark—you comprehend me?" added the cavaliere, smiling grimly, as he touched one of those villainous stilettos, which his countrymen were never without.

"Ay, Signor Paolo," I replied; "once in we will do very well; but as the voltigeurs sleep with their muskets loaded and their belts on, they will start to arms the moment the sentinel fires his piece."

"But he must be disposed of," said Santugo, coolly. "Giacomo!"

His fac-totum appeared immediately.

"A French sentinel occupies the ravine through which we must advance undiscovered. He must not fire: you will see to this as you value life."

Giacomo bowed intelligently, and was withdrawing, when the voice of Gascoigne arrested him.

"You murdering: villain, come here! what the devil—will you permit this piece of rascality, Dundas?"

"Assuredly not!" said I, dismounting from Cartouche.

"I am an English officer, and not an assassin!" said Lascelles, in great wrath.

"You have both only anticipated me," I replied. "Santugo, we cannot permit the poor soldier to be slain in a manner so dastardly. No! I would rather advance under the hottest fire of musketry, than consent to it: my own soldiers at least will follow me." A murmur of assent rose from the 62nd.

"Cospetto!" exclaimed Santugo, impatiently; "and to save the life of this paltry voltigeur, who will perhaps be shot afterwards, you may sacrifice all our lives and the success of the expedition?"

"I understand the scruples of our friends," replied Casteluccio; "and will undertake that in ten minutes Signor Dundas will have the voltigeur beside him, safe and sound: unless, indeed, he makes a great resistance; in which case I cannot assure you of my being very patient."

In three columns we moved to the attack. Santugo with his corps marched on one flank of the post; the cavaliere, with his Free Company, on the other; with my hundred men, I chose the central point of assault by the gorge; and the report of the first volley was to be the signal for the onset. Luckily for us, a thick white vapour, rolling from the sea, enveloped all Bagnara, veiling our movements completely: the enemy had not the remotest suspicion of our vicinity. My soldiers were in light marching order, with sixty rounds of ammunition; we went down the hill double quick, and entered the gorge softly in sections of threes. Casteluccio accompanied us to seize the sentinel; but I had little reliance to place on the successful fulfilment of his promise.

"The sentinel once captured, we will rush upon them like a herd of wolves; and the massacre of Bagnara shall live in Calabrian story, like the Sicilian vespers of old!" said the cavaliere, in a low, hoarse tone. His eyes sparkled; he drew his poniard, and stole from my side towards the unsuspecting voltigeur, whom we discerned about fifty yards from where my party halted. Under the shade of a foliaged cliff he stood motionless, with his musket ordered, and his eyes bent on the ground. His voice alone broke the intense stillness of his post, and had he been less occupied with his own thoughts, he must undoubtedly have seen us; but the mind of the poor Swiss conscript was perhaps far away, where his mother's vine-clad chalet looked down on the vales and cataracts of his native canton: sadly and slowly he hummed the pastoral "Ranz des vetches," and saw not the foe who, crouching like a lynx, with one hand on his lip and the other on his weapon, stole softly towards him. I waited the issue with anxiety.

"Silenzio!" exclaimed the strong cavalier, in a fierce whisper, as he grasped the sentry by the throat. The poor Swiss boy (for he was but a boy after all) understood not the word; but the sudden stifling grasp, and the sight of the glittering bastia poniard, almost deprived him of his faculties: taken completely by surprise, he dropped his musket, and was dragged among us a prisoner.

"Signor, I have redeemed my promise," said the breathless Paolo. "May this be an omen of what is to follow!" He sprang up the rugged face of the gorge to rejoin his party, while mine moved forward double quick. Leading the way, sabre in hand, I scrambled over a bank of earth; a strong wicket in which led to the guard-house. We were provided with sledge-hammers; and the noise of breaking it down brought out the guard: they fired, and two soldiers fell dead beside me; we answered by a volley, and the whole cantonment was alarmed in a moment. With the charged bayonet and clubbed musket we rushed upon the guard, which we overwhelmed and captured in a moment.

"Lascelles, take twenty men, and beat down the Seminara gate: Santugo will enter that way. Off, double quick!"

The surprise was so complete, that the resistance we encountered on every hand was faint: the guards were overpowered, the avenues beaten open, and the fierce followers of the visconte and Cavaliere Paolo spread like a pack of famished hounds over the little town; slaying all they met, without mercy or remorse.

The party occupying the podesteria gave us more trouble than we had expected. I saw Colonel Pepe, in his shirt and trousers, rush from the door to the three field-pieces, which he discharged in rapid succession; and their canister shot did terrible execution among the dense column of Calabrians rushing up the street. Ere he regained the door, a shot from a rifle arrested him; he tossed his arms wildly above his head, and then fell backwards a corpse. The entrance was closed and barricaded; and a close and destructive fire was opened from every window, and those countless loop-holes with which the walls had been hastily perforated: flashes, smoke, and half naked men were seen at every aperture; and the gleams of the musketry illuminated the whole place.

Aware that not a moment was to be lost, as the cavalry at Seminara or the picquets of Milette would be all under arms at the sound of the first shot, I resolved that a vigorous attempt should be made to storm the podesta's house; which, from its size and strength, had become the principal keep or stronghold of the enemy. Desiring Gascoigne, with a suitable party, to collect as many prisoners as possible, I led forward my own immediate command. Our approach was completely enfiladed by the adjoining houses, from which the French poured forth a fire with such destructive precision and rapidity, that in a few minutes the street presented a horrible spectacle; being heaped with killed and wounded, whose blood crimsoned the gutters on both sides of the way. Directing Santugo to assail the house in rear, Casteluccio and I led on a mixed force of British and Calabri; but so terrible was the leaden hail the French showered on three sides of us, that we were repulsed with immense slaughter: the cavaliere received a severe wound in the sword-arm; yet he quitted not the ground, but brandishing his sabre with his left hand, continued to animate his followers by his presence and cries of "Viva Ferdinand IV!"

Again I led forward the remnant of my party, and again we were forced to recoil, but succeeded in bringing off one of the curricle guns; with a wild shout of triumph it was wheeled round, double shotted, and discharged against the house.

"Hurrah!" cried I, almost frantic with excitement, ramming home another ball with my own hand; "Bravo! Gask, keep your hand tight on the vent—ready the match—stand clear of the recoil—fire!" and again it belched forth destruction. Thrice it was fired, and thrice the shot struck the same place; an enormous rent yawned in the wall, and a mass of masonry fell to the earth: yet the French fought with undiminished courage. The side of a room had been completely breached.

"Forward the 62nd! Advance the Calabri! On them with the bayonet—charge—hurrah!" Animated by my example, and notwithstanding the deadly fire poured on them from every part, onward they went, with that heroic ardour which soon after swept the armies of Napoleon from the fields of Spain and Flanders. We burst in amongst the voltigeurs; whose diminutive stature placed them at the utmost disadvantage, when opposed to English soldiers and the tall athletic Calabri in the fierce hand-to-hand combat which ensued. A desperate struggle followed; for a time the podesteria seemed shaken to its base, and in the close melée I received a severe blow from a clubbed musket: but the voltigeurs yielded themselves prisoners of war in five minutes; and my soldiers immediately encircled them, to protect them from the knives and bayonets of the infuriated Italians.

In the despatch of General Sherbrooke it is mentioned, that "in the night attack on Bagnara, the voltigeurs of the 23rd Light Infantry were cut to pieces." This was literally the case: so merciless were the Calabrese, that a great number of the poor Frenchmen were slaughtered in their beds (a blanket, a greatcoat, or a bundle of fern), and no wounded man escaped them. Of Colonel Pepe's 600 voltigeurs, 450 lay, like himself, weltering in blood, in the streets and houses of Bagnara. I did all that man could do, short of assaulting the Calabrians, to stop the horrid slaughter; but my efforts were unavailing, and the blood of these brave men was poured forth like water: the soldiers of the 62nd revolted at such cold-blooded cruelty, and expressed their indignation aloud. The poor remnant of the 23rd were moody and silent, cast down in spirit and pale in visage, ragged and half naked, when I paraded them outside the town; just as the grey day-light brightened the Milia peaks, and the sea began to change its hue from inky grey to sparkling blue, as it rolled on the rocky promontories of Scylla and Palmi. Our casualties were numerous: but one officer, a hundred and fifty rank and file, and three pieces of cannon were the prizes of the night. To gain these, four hundred and fifty of their comrades had been destroyed; and almost in cold blood too!

CHAPTER XII.

RETREAT IN SQUARE.—THE PRISONER OF WAR.

Borne on the morning breeze from Seminara, the distant sound of a cavalry trumpet warned us to retire with precipitation. We spiked the guns, blew up the tumbrils, and, setting the town on fire, soon destroyed all of Bagnara that the last earthquake had left unengulfed. Lighted by the red blaze which the burning houses cast on the green hills, the dark pine woods, and the impending masses of basaltic rock frowning over mountain-streams and deep defiles, we continued our retreat double-quick, without the aid of our little guide, Pablo; who, at sound of the first shot, had vanished, without waiting for his promised reward.

"Hark to the tantara of the trumpets! Milette's cavalry brigade is coming on," said Santugo, checking his black Barbary horse and listening to the distant sound.

As he spoke, French cavalry appeared on the Seminara road, galloping in file along the narrow way by which we were hurrying towards Scylla; whose ramparts we discerned above the morning mist, about three miles off. The rising sun gleamed gaily on the long lines of shining helmets and glancing sabres, as the horsemen swept through the deep dell in close pursuit. The fire of Casteluccio's volunteers, who formed our rear-guard, served to keep them in check for a time, and impede their advance by the fall of steeds and their riders; but on our debouchement into more open ground, I formed the whole into a compact square, with the prisoners in the centre. The cavalry now pushed on at a furious gallop, and, as they cleared the gorge, the trumpeters sounded in succession "form squadron;" the right files trotted, while the left swept round at full speed; and, the moment each troop formed, it rushed upon us with a force and impetuosity which must have stricken terror into the Calabrese: but the proud troopers recoiled before the levelled bayonets and steady fire of a few brave men of my own corps, who formed the rearward face of the square.

Successively the six squadrons of a whole corps of light cavalry swept after us, and successively they were compelled to break into subdivisions, and retire to the right and left round the flanks of their column, while the next in order advanced to the charge. They suffered severely: both horses and riders lay rolling in heaps, while we lost not a man, as the troopers never fired their pistols: probably to spare their countrymen who were our prisoners. Just as a brigade of horse artillery came at a gallop from the dell, and were wheeled round on an eminence to open upon us, we gained the shelter of a pine thicket, and in perfect safety retired leisurely upon Scylla.

Casteluccio's band—whose retreat to their fastnesses in the Solano the advance of Milette's cavalry had completely cut off—I added to the garrison of the town. The wound of the brave cavaliere was severe, and a musket-ball had broken his left arm. Our surgeon, Macnesia, reduced the fracture; but the patient was quite unserviceable, and therefore retired for a time to Messina.

After the transmission of our prisoners and wounded to the same place, in the boats of the Electra frigate, I gladly retired to my quarters; where the joy and tenderness of Bianca soon made me forget the excitement and weariness of the past night. That evening the mist, which had all day hovered over land and sea, cleared away; when we plainly saw the French working parties on the mountains, forming the road from Seminara, under the protection of strong escorts of cavalry and infantry.

Occasionally a puff of white smoke, curling from the brow of a cliff or from a neighbouring thicket, and an immediate commotion among the enemy, announced a sudden shot from a concealed Calabrian rifle, which had struck one from the roll of the soldiers of the empire. Banditti, and broken parties of the Masse, stuck like burrs in the skirts of the French; and the loss of life occasioned by such desultory warfare was immense.

Bianca shuddered as she surveyed the distant foe and glanced at the castle batteries below us; where, in regular order, stood the long lines of iron twenty-fours and thirty-twos, with all the accompaniments of rammers, sponges, and handspikes; pyramids of balls occupying the spaces between. The glittering bayonets shone on every bastion and angle; while the numerous sentinels, and the hourly rounds of the watchful commanders of guards, denoted an alertness and excitement: a vicinity of warfare equally appalling and novel to her. Whilst we were watching all these preparations, a little drummer beat the warning for the "evening retreat;" the sharp rattle of his drum agitated Bianca so much, that she burst into tears, and, sinking on my shoulder, exclaimed, "Oh, Claude! would to God, we were safe at Palermo! All this is indeed terrible."

"All this!" I reiterated. "Faith! Bianca, I see nothing terrible here. The guards on the alert, the cannon in order, the duty carried on strictly, all bespeak the orderly garrison. But if the mere sight of these things and the clatter of that little boy's drum affright you, think what will be your terrors when yonder hill bristles with brigades of cannon, vomiting death and fire; when every point around us glitters with steel, and even the roar of Dragara is lost in that of the conflict; when men are falling like ripe grapes in a storm, and the shot flying thick as hail, rending battlement and tower. Oh! think of all these dangers, dear one; and, once more, let me entreat you—implore you, to retire to Messina. Consent, Bianca; and I will this moment order a gun to fire for the Electra's boat."

"And you counsel me to leave you so soon?" said she, bending her soft eyes on mine.

"Your gentle mind cannot conceive the horrors of a siege. Scylla I must defend to the last, for such are my orders: but how long can such a little fortress withstand the mighty army of Massena? Our separation, Bianca, can only be for a time——"

"Caro Claude, for a time—but how long? You may be taken prisoner and carried to Don Pepe's dungeons in Dalmatia, and I may never see you again. When I think of poor Benedetto's fate—oh, horror! Say no more, Claude: death only shall separate us."

The entrance of Bob Brown or Annina (they now composed our entire household) put an end to this pathetic interview. Bianca smiled through her tears, and looked so beautiful and happy, and love made me so selfish, that I said no more of her retiring to Sicily.

The evening was sunny and still, the air serene, and the sea calm, except around the rock of Scylla. The green Sicilian shore rose up, clearly and distinctly, from the azure ocean; and the sails of the Amphion, the Electra, the Glatton, the Pompey, and all our numerous war-ships which studded the Straits, shone white as snow in the sunbeams; while Sicilian gun-boats, slave-galleys, and xebecques dotted the sea between: the cloudless sky and the range of hills which terminates at the Faro, formed the background. Our casements were open, and the setting sun poured his bright rays into the castle-hall; the roof of which was covered with the dilapidated frescoes of Matteo Prette, and the faded coats armorial of the princes of Ruffo Scylla. It was a noble relic of other days. Massive Ionic columns of Sicilian marble, with bases of green Corsican jasper, rising from a tessellated floor, supported its arched roof; between these, in niches, were some rare pieces of ancient sculpture, dug from the ruins of the neighbouring Columna Rhegini: or, perhaps, relics of that edifice which Anaxilaus, its prince, first raised on the rock to defend him against the warriors of Tuscany. The early flowers of a warm Italian spring were blooming in the balconies, and their sweet perfume was wafted around us.

Bianca was seated at work, brocading a piece of scarlet Palmi silk, while I lounged on a sofa reading the last "Gazetta Britannica;" a silver caraffa of the cardinal's muscadel stood close at hand, and I thought, while knocking the ashes from my third cigar, that my situation on the staff would be a very pleasant one, if Monsieur le General Regnier contented himself by remaining entrenched at Cassano, instead of beating up my quarters at the extremity of lower Italy.

A smart single knock at the door announced Sergeant Gask.

"Mr. Lascelles has sent me to say, sir, that the officer taken prisoner at Bagnara, who wished to be sent to Dalmatia on parole, appears to be an Italian."

"The rascal!" I exclaimed; "but perhaps he is a Roman or Venetian."

"He says the last, sir; but I could swear that he is a Calabrian born and bred."

"Bring him here, with a file of the barrier guard, that I may examine him myself."

Gask retired, and in five minutes returned with the prisoner—a sullen and dogged-like fellow, wearing a plain French uniform, blue, with scarlet facings, an aiguilette and shoulder-scales. He was swarthy, and his lank moustaches gave him a melancholy aspect; while the rolling of his restless eyes announced that he was very ill at ease.

On his entrance with the escort, Bianca withdrew. Imagine my surprise on recognising Pietro Navarro, who grew deadly pale on beholding me.

"Good-evening! Signor Navarro," said I; "I did not expect to meet a descendant of the worthy inventor of mines under circumstances so degrading."

"I am Pepe Biada, a Venetian, bearing a commission in the artillery of the emperor. You are making some mistake, signor, and I warn you to beware of reprisals. A heavy brigade of guns are already en route for Scylla, which cannot hold out a day against the forces now marching on it—no, San Martino!—not a single day."

"San Marteeno? ha! the true Neapolitan twang that," I exclaimed. "How many men are moving on this point?"

"Six thousand, exclusive of artillery, horse, and sappers," he answered, gruffly. "I demand, signor, as a Venetian, in the service of the King of Italy, that I may be permitted to retire on my parole of honour." He spoke boldly, and seemed to imagine that his information had staggered me a little.

"You must first be examined by a military court-martial. I have not forgotten that night when you poniarded the brave cavaliere of Malta in mistake for me. On clearing yourself of that, and several other gross misdemeanours, you will be transmitted to Sicily, to be treated as the government shall deem fit. You will be good enough to hand me your sabretache? Take him away, Gask, and guard him well—he deserves no mercy. Give Captain Gascoigne my compliments—send him here, and desire the orderly drum to beat for orders."

Navarro, finding that his assertions of innocence were made to one who was too well convinced of his guilt, in silence unbuckled his belt, threw it with the sabretache towards me, and retired with his escort. From its bulk and weight, I thought it contained something of importance; but found only an Italian work on engineering by Donato Rosetta the canon of Livournia, together with a few sketches of forts and roads. One of these was important enough: it showed the castle of Scylla, with the positions to be occupied by the French cannon; their proposed approaches and trenches were laid down, and our weakest points were marked. This document was a fresh cause for exasperation: from his knowledge of the fortress and its locality, Navarro must have been of the utmost use to General Regnier; and I was determined to bring him to trial without delay. My process was harsh: but let the peculiar nature of my position, the power with which I was vested, and Navarro's crimes, excuse it.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE DRUM-HEAD COURT-MARTIAL.

I paraded the whole of the little garrison, and ordering a drum-head court to assemble immediately, wrote the charges on which the prisoner was to be arraigned before it: but I was interrupted by an outcry and combat in the guard-house. Snatching the sword from Gask's belt, he had attempted to stab him, and break away by force; but the soldiers beat him down with the butts of their muskets, and he was secured with handcuffs, an iron bar, and a padlock.

Formed in close column, the whole garrison, including the free corps of Santugo (who, although their lieutenant-colonel, was, oddly enough, under my orders,) paraded to hear and behold the proceedings. So exasperated were the Calabri, that the presence of British soldiers alone prevented them from sacrificing the unhappy Navarro, and thus destroying all that judicial form which I meant to give to our proceedings.

In centre of the castle court was placed a drum, with a Bible, pens, ink and paper upon it. The president stood on one side, and the members on his right and left hand; Navarro, with his escort, stood opposite: I had to act in the triple capacity of prosecutor, witness, and approver. The paper found attached to the poniard in Castelermo's bosom, the likeness of Navarro, disguised as one of the Campagnia di Morti, together with the contents of his sabretache, I laid before the court for examination.

Brief as the proceedings of such a tribunal always are, ours were necessarily unusually so: a forward movement was at that moment being made by the French cavalry, and we were pressed for time. The following is a literal transcript of the short and singular document indicted by Lascelles on that occasion: it is still in my possession:—

"Proceedings of a drum-head court-martial, held on PIETRO NAVARRO, late of the Sicilian Engineers, by order of Captain DUNDAS, 62d Regiment, Commandant of the Castle of Scylla.

"The court being duly sworn, and having weighed and considered the evidence against the prisoner and his defence, are of opinion that he, Pietro Navarro, is guilty of the following charges:—

"First, Of assassinating Marco di Castelermo, a Knight Commander of Malta, and Captain of the Free Corps.

"Second, Desertion to the enemy.

"Third, Conspiring with rebels to destroy the Villa D'Alfieri.

"Fourth, Poisoning the well of H. M. Castle of Scylla, and thereby endangering the lives of the garrison.

"Sentence, To be shot or hanged, as the Commandant shall direct.

"MEMBERS. "PAT. GASCOIGNE, Capt. 62d Regt. Pres. "O. LASCELLES, Lieut. 62d Regt. "PELHAM VILLIERS, Lieut. 62d Regt. "CONTE D'ARENA, Lieut. Free Corps. "CONTE DI PALMA, Lieut. Free Corps. "Scylla, Feb. 1808."

To this I affixed my signature, with the fatal words "confirmed—to be shot." Navarro grew pale as death when I laid down the pen; and as I gave the command, forming the close column into a hollow square by marching it to the front and wheeling the subdivisions of the central companies outward, he seemed to receive an electric shock. He moved mechanically to the front; when I desired Lascelles, who acted as our adjutant, to read the brief proceedings. So flagrant were his crimes that to have yielded him one privilege as an officer, was not even to be thought of, and he was treated in every respect as a private soldier.

Oliver read the proceedings and sentence first in English, and then in Italian; Navarro listened with dogged silence, knowing well that entreaties were useless if made to the stern military tribunal before which he found himself so suddenly arraigned. His lip quivered, and his brow blanched, when the last words "to be shot," fell upon his ear, and he gave me a dull inquiring stare, as I folded the paper and thrust it into my sabretache.

Though my glance was firm and my voice never quavered, I felt for the poor wretch, undeserving as he was. He hovered on the brink of eternity, and my lips were to utter the command which would at once send him into the presence of his Creator.

Mine—there was something terrible in the idea: I paused for a moment; a beam of hope lightened his gloomy eyes and brow. The place was so still that one might have heard a pin fall: but delay was cruel.

"Unhappy man!" said I, "you have heard the opinion and sentence of the court. The latter must be carried into execution in twenty minutes, and it would be well to employ that little time in pure repentance, and in solemn prayer."

"O, omnipotente!" he exclaimed, raising up his eyes and fettered hands; "in twenty minutes, can so many years of sin and enormity be repented of? O, San Giovanni, thou whose most holy order I have outraged! O, San Marco the glorious! Eufemio the martyred! and thou, sweetest Madonna! intercede for me with One whom I am unworthy to address?" Deeply touched with his tone, I turned to Santugo: but he was too much used to hear such pious ejaculations on every frivolous occasion to care a straw about them; and leaning on his sabre he surveyed the culprit with a stern glance of distrust and contempt.

"Down on your knees, villain!" he exclaimed, "and pray with a will; for I fear you are standing on the brink of eternal damnation!"

"O, horror!" cried Navarro; and losing all self-possession, he sank on his knees, and began to repeat his paternoster with great devotion.

"I regret that we have here no priest of the Catholic church to attend you in this terrible hour;" said I, "but yonder is a good and worthy soldier who has once been in holy orders, and if his prayers——"

"Away!" cried Navarro, as Gask took a Bible from his havresack, and laying his grenadier cap aside, advanced towards him. "Better a Turk than a Jew; but in such an hour as this, better the devil than a heretic! Away, accursed! I spit upon you! I will trust rather to my own prayers than thy intercessions——"

"I presume not to intercede," said poor Gask, meekly, as he closed the Bible; "I am but a humble soldier, though I have seen better days; and I am a sinner, doubtless, though never committing sin wilfully. I entreat your permission to accompany you in prayer, to soothe your last moments, in such wise that through the blessed mercy of the Lord of Hosts——"

"Ghieu, setanasso!" screamed the assassin, quite beside himself; "away, heretic! Better the most ribald monk of Pistoja than such as thee!"

"Fall back, Gask; the man is frantic," said I. "Tell off a section with their arms loaded; desire the pioneers to dig a grave in the cardinal's bastion, and their corporal to bind up the prisoner's eyes."

Gask saluted and retired to obey; while the prisoner, covering his face with his fettered hands, appeared to be engaged in the deepest prayer. The men of the 62nd evinced considerable repugnance to become his executioners: such a duty being always reserved as a punishment for bad or disorderly soldiers; and there was not one among them who could be deemed to come under either of these denominations. A whisper circulated through the ranks, and I knew that I was imposing an unpleasant duty upon good men. The visconte divined my dilemma.

"Dundas," said he, "as Italians, let ours be the task to punish this wretch: whom I blush to acknowledge a countryman! Giacomo, take twenty of our corps, and shoot him through the back: but unbind his hands, that he may tell over his beads once more before he dies."

Giacomo selected his marksmen, and drew them up opposite a high wall, before which Navarro knelt about thirty paces from them. As the Calabrians loaded, two pioneers with a shovel and pickaxe approached; and on seeing them the prisoner seemed seized with a frenzy. Suddenly he sprang up and fled towards a parapet wall with the fleetness of a hare, and a scene of the utmost confusion ensued: shot after shot was fired at him, but missed. It was madness to hope to escape from Scylla, filled as it was with armed men, enclosed on three sides by the surging sea, on the fourth by steep cliffs, and girdled by lofty towers and bastions. Frantic with desperation and terror, the miserable Navarro rushed up the platform of one of the gun-batteries, and swung himself over the parapet; escaping a shower of balls aimed at him by the half-disciplined Calabri, who had all rushed in disorder to the walls: destruction dogged him close. Beneath, the cliff descended sheer to the sea three hundred feet below; above, the parapet bristled with weapons, and was lined with hostile faces. Chilled with a sudden horror, when the dash of the foaming sea and the hollow boom of those tremendous caverns by which the rock is pierced, rang in his ears, he became stunned; and closing his eyes, clung to a straggling vine or some creeping plants, with all the stern tenacity that love of life and fear of death inspire: never shall I forget the expression of his face when I looked over the parapet upon him. It was ghastly as that of a corpse: his short black hair bristled and quivered on his scalp; his deep dark eyes glared with terror, hatred, and ferocity, till they resembled those of a snake; and every muscle of his face was contracted and distorted. He swung in agony over the beetling cliff, on which he endeavoured in vain to obtain a footing; but its face receded from him, and he hung like a mason's plummet.

"Giacomo," said the visconte, "end his misery."

The Calabrian levelled his musket over the breast-work, and his aiming eye, as it glanced along the smooth barrel, met the fixed and agonized glance of Navarro. He fired; the ramparts round us, and the rocks and caves beneath gave back the reverberated report like thunder: the ball had passed through the brain of Navarro, who vanished from the cliff, and was seen no more.

So perished this unhappy traitor.

CHAPTER XIV.

DIANORA—THE FORFEITED HAND.

The exciting affair with Navarro was scarcely over, before we became involved in another; which, though of a different description, caused me no little anxiety: of this, my gay friend, Oliver Lascelles, was the hero.

Oliver was a handsome, good-humoured, light-hearted, curly-headed, thoughtless, young fellow; heir to one of the finest estates in Essex, with a venerable Elizabethan manor-house and deer park, a stud of horses and a kennel of hounds. He was a good shot, and a sure stroke at billiards; could push his horse wherever the hounds went, and, when hunting, was never known to crane in his life: he would spur, slapdash over everything; and he always led the field. However, these were but the least of his good qualities: he possessed others that were of a better order. Oliver was, every inch, an English gentleman and soldier; possessing a refined taste, and more solid acquirements than such as are necessary merely to enable a man to acquit himself in fashionable or military life: for, in truth, a very "shallow fellow" may pass muster, at times, in the ball room, on parade, or in the hunting-field.

About this time, when Regnier's advance kept us all on the alert, Oliver, as if he had not wherewithal to occupy his thoughts, contrived to fall in love; and, to all appearance, so earnestly, that I was not long in discovering and rallying him about it. People are very prone to fall in love in that land of bright eyes: the little god Cupid is still "king of gods and men," in sunny Ausonia; where love seems to be the principal occupation of the inhabitants.

Though the advanced posts of the enemy were now pretty close to us on all sides, our fiery spark, Lascelles, went forth every evening, to visit his inamorata; who dwelt in the neighbourhood of Fiumara, which had now become a French cantonment. I have elsewhere alluded to his artistic talent: he had now conceived a violent fancy for delineating Italian girls in all the glory of ruddy and dimpled cheeks, dark eyes, braided hair, and very scanty petticoats. His apartments were strewed with such sketches; and Bianca rallied him smartly on finding that the same pretty face was traceable in every drawing: Oliver had evidently one vivid and particular idea ever uppermost in his mind. He had a rival, too,—a devil of a fellow,—who contrived to infuse an unusual quantum of mystery into this love affair: all the perils of which I will relate to the reader, while our friends, the French, are labouring at the Seminara road, in order to bring up their train of cannon.

"Where away so fast, Oliver?" asked I, as he was hurrying past me, one evening, about dusk, muffled in his cloak.

"Only a little way from the castle," he responded, somewhat impatiently.

"Southward, eh?"

"Ah—yes."

"To Fiumara?"

"Why—yes."

"Take care, Oliver, my boy! The French 101st, a thousand strong, are cantoned there; and the end of this nightly visiting may be a few years unpleasant captivity in Verdun or Bitche."

"Tush!" said he, impatiently; "I have my sword and pistols."

"So much the worse; they may only provoke the wrath of your captors. 'T is a pity your fair one, Signora Montecino (that's her name, I believe) lives in so dangerous a vicinity."

"I am only going to visit the bishop of Nicastro."

"A shallow excuse, Oliver: you are not a man to relish the old bishop's society. By-the-bye, his niece is very pretty; is she not?"

"Rather," said he, drily.

"So much so, that you think her face cannot be delineated too often?"

"Stay, Claude; no quizzing: I won't stand it."

"She has a brother, or cousin, a sad fellow—an outlawed guerilla, or something of that sort; who has served under Francatripa, and is stained with a thousand nameless atrocities. And do you know what people say about the pretty signorina herself?"

"What say they?" he asked, sternly.

"That she is a nearer relation of the good padre bishop than he cares to have generally known: priests' nieces——"

"D——n their impudence! only yourself, Claude—Capt. Dundas, I must request——"

"O, yes; I understand all that: ha! ha!"

"No man in the service——"

"What! do you really love this girl, Oliver?"

"Yes; on my honour, I do."

"Very possibly: but—I speak as an old friend—you do not mean seriously?"

He started, and coloured deeply.

"I know not," he muttered, hurriedly: "and yet, Claude, I cannot be so base as to think of her otherwise than as a man of honour ought to do. Her relationship to the old padre is, to say the best of it, somewhat dubious: but then, she is so good-tempered and ladylike—so gentle, so beautiful, and winning—that I cannot, for the soul of me, help loving her; and I pledged——"

"Pledged! Maladetto! as they say here, are you engaged to her?"

"Why, I did not make a particular—that is to say, not quite an engagement—pshaw! what am I talking here about?"

"I see! Ah, Oliver, you are evidently very deeply dipped with her: you cannot steal a march upon me. Let me advise you, Lascelles, to be cautious in your affair with this young lady. Your family, your fortune, all entitle you——"

"Thanks, Dundas! I don't require this tutor-like advice," said he, putting his foot in the stirrup of his roan-horse, with a dash of hauteur in his manner.

"At Fiumara, the French keep a sharp look out," I urged.

"Be it so," said he: "thither I go at all risks."

"You are not acting wisely."

"Granted—one never does so in love."

"Be cautious, Oliver! I would be loth to lose you; and I find it will be necessary to 'come the senior over you,' as the mess say, and order that no officer or soldier shall go beyond one mile from camp or quarters."

"Do so to-morrow," he added, laughing; "but, meanwhile, ere the order is issued, I shall ride so far as Fiumara to-night. What is the parole?"

"Maida—countersign Italy."

"Thank you: I do not wish to be fired on by the blundering Calabri," he replied; little imagining he would never require the watch-word. "Adieu! by midnight I will return."

Breaking away, he leaped on his horse, and dashing through the arched portal of the castle, rode down the hill through Scylla at a furious gallop.

I was under considerable apprehension for my rash friend's safety. Midnight passed: slowly the hours of morning rolled on. Day was breaking, and the peaks of Milia were burnished by the yet unrisen sun, when I visited the posts to inquire for Lascelles. He had not returned; and as he had never before been absent so long in such a dangerous neighbourhood, I became very uneasy: deeply I regretted that, even at the risk of unpleasant words, I had not exerted my authority as commanding officer, and compelled him to stay within the castle. The bugle sounded for morning parade at the usual hour; but Oliver Lascelles was not forthcoming: his place in the ranks was vacant.

On the advance of the French, the old bishop, before mentioned, had retired from the city of Nicastro; abandoning to them his residence—the ancient castle, famous as the place where Henry, of Naples, expiated his rebellion. Retiring to his little paternal villa, near Fiumara, he lived in retirement, unmolested by the French; who almost depopulated the surrounding country by their tyranny, extortions, and wanton outrage. On the side of a hill, at the base of which ran a deep and rapid stream, its banks covered with orange and citron trees, stood the bishop's villa. It faced the straits of Messina: high rocks and a thick wood of pines hid it from the view of the foe at Fiumara; otherwise their forage parties would assuredly have paid it a visit.

On the evening I last saw Oliver, a young lady was visible at an open window of this mansion. She was alone, and seated in a reclining posture on an ottoman, upon which lay her guitar: her hair, half-braided, half-disordered, rolled in natural ringlets of the deepest black over a neck of the purest white—so pure, so transparent, that the blue veins beneath were distinctly visible. She was not tall, but of a full and beautifully rounded form; and though her features were not regular, yet their expression was very captivating and piquant. Her eyes were dark and brilliant, her lips full and pouting, her cheeks flushed and dimpled.

Notwithstanding the season of the year, the air was close and still; the sun had set, and the sky wore a warm and fiery tinge; but the hills and wood were of a dark bronze hue.

Dianora Montecino listened impatiently. She awaited the coming of Oliver: but he came not. She often surveyed her figure in a mirror which hung opposite, and a calm smile lighted up her pretty face: it was one of complacent but innocent admiration of her own attractions. Her hair being in partial disorder, languidly, with her delicate fingers, she endeavoured to adjust it; then pausing, she sighed, and after again consulting the friendly mirror, with a pardonable coquetry, she allowed the flowing tresses to remain free.

"He always prefers me in dishabille. That seems strange: and yet I think I really look better so. But truly, Signor Oliver, you tarry long to-night."

The last flush of sunlight vanished from the hills of Milia (or Mylæ), and now rose the bright moon, shedding its softer light over land and sea; tinging the straits with silver lustre, and revealing the Sicilian feluccas, with their striped latteen sails, and other picturesque vessels, which the sombre shadows of evening had for a time obscured. At the base of the hills the river wound between rocks and thickets, its surface reflecting the innumerable stars that studded the serene blue sky. A beautiful fountain beneath the terrace threw up its jet of water like a ceaseless shower of diamonds; the air was laden with the perfume of the earliest flowers of an Italian spring, and not a breath of wind was abroad to stir their closed petals, then filled with fragrant dew. Intently the young girl hearkened for the tramp of her lover's horse; but he came not: she heard only the tumultuous beating of her own heart, and the monotonous plash of the water falling from the bronze Triton's mouth into the marble basin below.

A step was heard softly on the gravel walk:

"At last he comes!" she said, pouting; while joy and hope sparkled in her dark and liquid eyes: a man leaped over the balustrade of the terrace. "Dear Oliver, you have come at last: but stay! I owe you a scolding, signor mio!"

"'T is not Oliver," replied the stranger, with a husky, but somewhat sad tone of voice; and he stood before her. Dianora's first impulse was to call for assistance; but the voice of the stranger again arrested her.

"For God's sake, signora, do not summon any one! You have nothing to fear from me—indeed you have not."

"Giosué, is it only you?" said the young lady, with a tone of undisguised reproach and vexation. There was a pause.

The unwelcome visitor was a young man about six-and-twenty, whose dress announced his occupation and rank in life to be somewhat dubious; but his air, though constrained in the presence of Dianora, had a dash of gallant and graceful recklessness in it. He wore the brigand garb, which had then become a kind of uniform adopted by all desperadoes; he had a carbine in his hand, and a knife and four long iron pistols were stuck in a yellow silk sash. A loose velvet jacket, knee breeches, and gaiters crossed with red leather straps, displayed to advantage his fine athletic figure; and round his open neck hung a little bag containing a charm, which he supposed rendered him bullet-proof. A large, shapeless, and battered Calabrian hat, with a royalist red riband flaunting from it, shaded his face; which was fringed with a black and untrimmed beard, and presented a kind of savage beauty: though squalid through want, and fierce in its expression; being marked with the lines of the worst passions. The young girl regarded him with a glance expressive equally of timidity and pity.

"Dianora—Dianora!" said he, reproachfully, but mildly; "there was a time when you were not wont to pronounce my name in such a tone. Alas! sweet cousin—like myself, its very sound seems changed."

"Poor Giosué!" she began.

"Was not expected here to-night," said he, bitterly. "No; you await another. Cattivo! I know it."

He regarded her gloomily; his fierce dark eyes sparkling in the twilight like those of a basilisk; and she, who but a moment before had been all eagerness for the arrival of Oliver Lascelles, now mentally implored Heaven that he might not come that night, for something dreadful would certainly ensue.

"Dianora," said the young man, "is it true what they tell me—that you love this stranger?"

"As I never can love thee, Giosué," replied the girl, with timid energy.

"Malediction! Have you forgotten how you once swore your hand should be mine?"

"True, Giosué; but you were not then what you have since become."

"Hear me, false one! I swear by God and his blessed saints, that the hand you promised me shall never be the prize of another. No! Maladetto! I will slay you rather!" He laughed bitterly, and spoke in a hoarse tone. "You despise me, Dianora. I am now a penniless outlaw. May our uncle, the hard-hearted bishop, whose miserly cruelty has driven me to despair——"