ADVENTURES OF AN AIDE-DE-CAMP, VOLUME III (continued 4)

Chocolate, kid's flesh stewed, eggs, milk, dried grapes, and wine, composed the repast: when it was finished, the poor improvisatore, though not quite at ease, found himself compelled to sing; and chose for his theme MARCO SCIARRA, the glory of the Abruzzesi, whose fame and memory the honest man and the bandit alike extol. He sang in ottiva rima and tinkled an accompaniment with his guitar, while every ear listened intently.

The scene opened in the wilds of Abruzzi; Marco was at the head of his thousand followers, and in all the plenitude of his power and terror—that chivalric brigandism which gained him the title of Re della Campagna; then we were told how, kneeling by the wayside, he kissed the hand of Tasso, and did homage to the muse; how successfully he warred with Clement VII. and the Count of Conversano, and then fought the battles of the Venetians against their Tuscan enemies: of his bravery, his loves, his compassion, and countless escapes, we all heard in succession, down to that hour when, in the marches of Ancona, he met Battimello, his former friend; who while embracing him, in the true spirit of Italian treachery, struck a dagger in his heart, and sold his head to a papal commissary.

Every eye flashed as the minstrel concluded; a groan of rage, mingled with a burst of applause, shook the vaulted cavern: for the theme was one well calculated to interest his hearers deeply; and one very pretty young woman threw her arms around the improvisatore, and kissed him on both cheeks. While all were thus well pleased, we took our departure; and were very glad when the cavern and its inmates were some miles behind us. On bidding adieu to Baptistello, I promised to have his father's head sent from Messina, if I lived to reach that city in safety. He kissed my hand, and a dark smile lit up the features of Lancelloti: I was too soon to learn the ideas passing in the mind of that abominable traitor.

There is, generally, a romance about the Italian outlaw, which raises his character far above that of the mere pickpocket or house-breaker. The danger encountered in the course of his desperate profession, and the wild scenery around him, were all calculated to inspire him with a tinge of heroism: were, I say; for the real Italian brigand may now, happily, be classed with the things which are past. Without being guilty of any premeditated crime, many were forced upon that terrible career by the French invasion, or by too freely using their knives in those outbursts of anger and revenge to which the hot blood of the southern climes is so prone: but to some good feelings lingering in those hearts which danger and despair had not completely hardened, I owed my safety in these various encounters with the wild bravos of Calabria.

But the most dangerous was yet to come. The reward offered by Regnier for my recapture had excited the avarice of Lancelloti; who was then tracking me over the hills, intent on my destruction. On parting with the improvisatore, close by where the poor notary yet hung with the wild birds screaming round him, I continued my way, as warily as possible, to avoid the enemy; for a continual pop—pop—popping in the distance, and the appearance of white smoke curling on the mountain sides and from the leafless though budding forests, announced that the French advanced parties were skirmishing with the brigands and armed paesani, and kept me continually on the alert. Dread of the effect of Regnier's reward, compelled me to avoid every man I met; so my route soon became equally toilsome and devious. Yet though exhausted by travelling and loss of sleep, I was animated by a view of Scylla's distant towers and terraces, which rose above the woodlands gleaming in the rays of the joyous sun, and continued to press forward; until completely overcome with fatigue, I threw myself on the green sward, under the cool shade of a pine thicket, and fell into a deep sleep.

This happy slumber, (which after a long march under the scorching heat of noon, the cool shade rendered so refreshing) had lasted, perhaps, an hour, when I was roughly roused by the smart application of a rifle butt to the side of my head. Starting up, I found myself in the grasp of Lancelloti, and two others of Varro's band: alas! weary and unarmed, what resistance could I offer? They were strong, fresh, and armed to the teeth: solitude was around us, and no aid near; every hope of escape vanished.

"Via, Signor Inglese!" said one; "did you mean to sleep there all day?"

"Beard of Mahomet!" said Lancelloti, with a scowl; "you had better make use of your legs."

"Your purpose, scoundrels?"

"To deliver you to the French commandant at Fiumara," replied the ci-devant priest and pirate. "Madonna! a hundred pieces of gold are not to be despised. Look you, signor, I swear by the light of Heaven, to blow your brains out on the first attempt to escape!—so fill the foreyard—maladetto! Remember I am Osman Carora—ha, ha!"

"Wretch! would you murder me in cold blood, and thus add to the guilt accumulated on your unhappy head?"

"Cospetto! it is indeed mighty," said he, gloomily; "yea, enough to darken the stone of Caaba, which was once white as milk, but now, blackened by the sins of men, is like a piece of charcoal in those walls where Abraham built it. When a devout Turk, I—via! on—or a brace of balls will whistle through the head you may wish should reach Fiumara on your shoulders—ha, ha!"

To resist was to die; so, relying on the humanity of the French officer commanding the outposts, I accompanied them, in indescribable agony of mind. The fading rays of the setting sun, as it sank behind the hills, were reddening the massive towers and crenelated battlements, the terraced streets and shining casements of Scylla. It vanished behind the green ridges; the standard descended from the keep, and my heart sank as we neared Fiumara. My escort kept close by me, with their rifles loaded. A river, the name of which I do not remember, winds from these hills towards Fiumara; and we moved along its northern bank. Its deep, smooth current lay on the left side of the narrow path, and precipitous rocks, like a wall, rose up on the right; so that I was without the slightest hope of effecting an escape. I spoke of the greater reward they would receive on conducting me to Scylla: but they laughed my words to scorn. The French out-picquets were now in sight; and far down the valley we saw their chain of advanced sentinels, motionless on their posts, standing with ordered arms, watching the still current of the glassy river, as it swept onwards to the sea: its bright surface reflected the steep rocks, the green woods, and a ruined bridge, so vividly, that the eye could not distinguish where land and water met. The last flush of day, as it died away over the Apennines, cast a yellow blaze on its windings; which at intervals were dotted by the fitful watch-fires of the out-lying piquets.

A party of armed men had been seen by Lancelloti pursuing the turnings of the path we trod: they came towards us: their conical hats and long rifles announced them Calabrians, and a consultation was held by my capturers whether to advance or retire; as it was quite impossible to leave the path on either hand.

"Go to the front, Gaetano, and reconnoitre," said Lancelloti; "they may be some of the Free Corps." My heart leaped at the idea.

"Cospetto! and if they are?"

"We shoot him through the head, plunge into the river, and swim for it!" said the other ruffian.

"Blockhead!" exclaimed Lancelloti; "they are but four, and the first lucky fire may make us more than equal. To you," addressing me with cruel ferocity, "I swear, by all the devils, you shall be shot the instant we are attacked—shot, I say, and flung into the river, that no one else may win those bright Napoleons which I hoped should clink in my own pouch."

At that moment, Gaetano came running back to say, that, although armed like the Free Calabri with white cross-belts and heavy muskets, they wore no uniform or scarlet cockade.

"They must be free cavalieri of our own order, then," exclaimed Lancelloti. "Some of Scarolla's band, perhaps."

"They have been plundering of late, as far as Capo Pillari."

"Forward, then!"

Life and liberty were hanging by a hair: my heart beat tumultuously, and mechanically I moved forward, cursing the unsoldier-like malice of the French leader, who had placed me in such a position, by exciting the avarice of such wretches. After losing sight of the advancing party for a time, we suddenly met them, front to front, at an abrupt angle where the road turned round a point of rock.

"Advance first, Signor Inglese," said Lancelloti; "and, should you attempt to escape, remember!" and, tapping the butt of his rifle, he grinned savagely as I stepped forward, expecting every instant to be shot through the head. My brain was whirling—I was giddy with rage and despair. The path diminished to a narrow shelf of rock, about a foot broad: on one side it descended sheer to the dark waters of the deep and placid river; on the other frowned the wall of basalt; and I was compelled to grasp the tufts of weeds and grass on its surface, as I passed the perilous turn.

Scarcely had I cleared the angle, when I was confronted by—whom!—Giacomo, Luca labbruta, and two other soldiers of Santugo, in disguise. Their shout of joy was answered by a volley from three rifles behind me; and the report rang like thunder among the cliffs.

I heard the balls whistle past; a shriek and a plunge followed, as one of the Free Corps fell, wounded, into the stream: his comrades rushed on, to avenge him, and I drew aside behind an angle of the rocks, to avoid the cross fire of both parties. Enraged to behold the husband of their famous "Signora Capitanessa" in such a plight, Giacomo and his comrades pressed furiously forward with fixed bayonets. To this formidable weapon, the foe could only oppose the clubbed rifle, and a desperate conflict ensued: but on such ground it could not be of long duration. Blubber-lipped Luca shot Lancelloti through the breast: he rolled down the steep rocks into the sluggish stream, above which his ferocious face rose once or twice amid the crimson eddies of his blood; then sank to rise no more. Immediately after, his companions were bayoneted, and flung over the precipice after him.

Full of triumph at his victory and discovery, honest Giacomo skipped about on the very edge of the cliff, dancing the tarantella like a madman.

"Thrice blessed be our holy Lady of Oppido, who led us this way to-night. O, happiness! O, joy to the capitanessa!" he exclaimed. "Ah, signor! you know not what she has endured. The whole garrison has been turned upside down: the Signora Bianca is distracted; the visconte, the Conte di Palmi, and Signor Olivero Lascelles have been incessantly beating the woods in search of you, so far as they dared venture. And Giacomo—O, triumph!—is the finder! It is an era in my life: Annina herself dare not be coy after this!"

Giacomo's Italian enthusiasm displayed itself in a thousand antics; and it was not until we saw a party of the French tirailleurs (whom the firing had alarmed) advancing up the opposite bank to reconnoitre, that we prepared to retire. It was now night: favoured by the moon, we forded the river at a convenient place, and taking our way through the woods between Fiumara and Scylla, we eluded the vigilance of the French picquets. In an hour I found myself safe within the walls, gates, and gun-batteries of my garrison; where my sudden return caused a burst of universal joy.

Breaking away from Luigi, my brother-officers and soldiers, who crowded clamorously round me, I hurried to the apartments of Bianca. All was silent when I entered, and the flickering rays of a night-lamp revealed to me the confusion my absence had created. Bianca's music, her guitar, her daily work, the embroidery, her books and drawings, lay all forgotten, and huddled in a corner, poor papagallo croaked desolately in his cage: for he, too, had been deserted, and his seed-box was empty. A row of vases, which Bianca used to tend everyday, had been forgotten; and the flowers had drooped and withered. The whole sleeping-chamber wore an air of disorder and neglect; her bed appeared not to have been slept in since I had left; for my scarlet sash lay on it, just where I had thrown it the night I left Scylla.

Above all, I was shocked with the appearance of the poor girl: reclining on a sofa, she lay sleeping on the bosom of Annina; who also was buried in a heavy slumber: both were evidently wearied with watching and sorrow. Bianca was pale as death: her beautiful hair streamed in disorder over her white neck and polished shoulder; and shining tears were oozing from her long dark lashes. She was weeping in her sleep, and the palor of her angelic beauty was rendered yet stronger by comparison with the olive brow and rosy cheeks of the waiting-maid.

I was deeply moved on beholding her thus: but I never felt so supremely happy as at the moment, when, gently putting my arm round her, I awoke her to joy, and dispelled those visions of sorrow which floated through her dreams.

CHAPTER XXI.

JOYS OF A MILITARY HONEYMOON.

Early next morning I was roused by the sharp blast of a French trumpet, stirring all the echoes of Scylla. I was dressing hastily, when Lascelles, who commanded the barrier-guard, entered, saying that a flag of truce and a trumpet, sent by General Regnier, required a conference with the commandant.

"Curse Regnier," said I, testily, while dragging on my boots; "I will not hold any communication with him, after the scandalous manner in which he has treated me."

"But you may receive the officer, and hear that which he is ordered to communicate: at least answer this letter, of which he is the bearer."

By the grey twilight of a February morning I opened the Frenchman's despatch and read:

"SUMMONS

Of unconditional capitulation, and the articles thereof, agreed to between the commandant of Scylla, and Monsieur le General de Division, Regnier, Grand Officer of the Legion of Honour, Knight-Commander of the Iron Crown of Lombardy, Grand Cross of the Lion of Bavaria, Knight of St. Louis of France, Chef de Bataillon of the Grenadiers of the Imperial Guard," &c. &c. &c.

"Bah!" cried Oliver, with a laugh; "throw it over the window."

"Give Monsieur le General, Knight of St. Louis, and all that, my compliments, and say, I will return these articles with the first cannon ball fired on his trenches."

"The enemy are close at hand this morning, and appear to have made great progress during the night."

"Desire the officer commanding the artillery to have all the heavy guns loaded with tin-case-shot, in addition to iron balls; and to have the primings well looked to."

"But the Frenchman—he is still waiting at the barriers—shall I show him up?"

"You may—I have a particular message to his general."

"He is a punchy, ungentlemanly kind of man, and appears to keep a sharp eye about him, evidently observing all our defences."

"Lodge the trumpeter in the main-guard, and bind up the eyes of the officer: they served me so once; I will meet him in the old hall."

That I might not be deficient in courtesy, I directed wine, decanters, &c., to be conveyed to the vaulted hall, where princely banners and Italian trophies had given place to racks of arms, iron-bound chests, and military stores. Oliver led in the officer, with his eyes covered by a handkerchief, which gave him rather a droll aspect. He was a short thick-set man, with wiry, grey moustachios, and wore the uniform of the ill-fated voltigeurs of the 23rd regiment.

"Monsieur, you will no doubt pardon this necessary muffling," said I, advancing; "but as you wished to see me—ha!"—at that moment Oliver withdrew the bandage, when lo! imagine my astonishment on seeing the features of General Regnier! I knew him in an instant; although, instead of the blue coat and gold oak-leaves, the stars and medals of the general of the empire, he wore the plain light green and silver braid of the 23rd. His wonder was not less on recognising me.

"Ouf! you have outflanked me—quite!" said he, bowing with a ludicrous air of confusion and assurance.

"Shame! shame, general!" I replied, with an air of scorn: "who is now the spy and deserves to be hanged or shot?"

"Not I," said he, with sang froid; "I am the bearer of a flag of truce."

"In your own name? Good!"

"No; in that of Joseph I., King of Naples, and the Marshal Prince of Essling."

"A paltry pretence, under which you came hither to reconnoitre our works, our cannon, and means of resistance. Away, sir! Back to your position, and remember that one consideration alone prevents me from horse-whipping you as you deserve, for the manner in which you treated me at Seminara."

"Horsewhip—mille baionettes!" replied he, with eyes flashing fire; "I must have reparation for that: monsieur, be so good as to recall those words?"

"Sir, remember your threats and the fetters."

"Ouf!" he muttered, shrugging his shoulders. "I am in the lion's den. You must meet me, monsieur."

"Yes, in the breach—sword in hand—be gone, sir!"

"I go: but hear me. Remember the fate of the Italian commandant of Crotona. I swear, by God and the glory of France, that like him you shall die, and hang from these ramparts when the place surrenders. Our heavy gun-batteries will open at noon; you have but two hundred rank and file: for every one of these I can bring one piece of cannon and a hundred soldiers—ouf! we shall eat you up. Before the sun sets to-night my triumph shall be complete, and Calabria once more the emperor's."

And thus we parted with the bitterest personal animosity. He retired with the bewildered Lascelles; who led him, blindfold, to the outer barrier, and, with his trumpeter, there dismissed him.

"By Heaven!" he exclaimed, when he hurried back to me, "what a triumph it would have been to have sent the old fox over to Messina! Only think of Sherbrooke's flaming general order and address of thanks on the occasion. What on earth tempted you to let him go?"

"Flags of truce must be respected: but I had a hard struggle between etiquette and inclination. Desire the gunners of the guard to telegraph to the Electra and gun-boats to keep close in shore; and send my orderly to the Visconte di Santugo, saying I will visit him shortly."

The continual skirmishing of the peasantry and banditti with the French had greatly retarded the operations of the latter: but on the 10th of February—the infantry brigade of Milette's corps having descended from the Milia heights and come within range of our cannon—it became imperative to order off to Sicily the whole of the armed paesani who occupied the town of Scylla; as the bombarding operations of the besieging army would only subject them to destruction. While our batteries kept in check the soldiers of Milette, I superintended the embarkation of these brave fellows and the remnant of Santugo's Free Corps; who were all received on board the Sicilian gun-boats at the sea staircase. The visconte remained with me; but his volunteers, who afterwards distinguished themselves so much in our service, were quartered in Messina. Poor Giacomo was afterwards slain in the brilliant attack made by General Macfarlane on the coast of Naples, in the July following. The Cavaliere Paolo for his bravery on the same day, at the capture of the Castello d'Ischia, received the thanks of Ferdinand IV. and Sir J. Stuart, at the head of the army. He was afterwards created Conte Casteluccio, and shared his coronet with the fair widow of Castagno. He is now senior commandant of the Yager Guards in the Neapolitan army.

I transmitted with the gun-boats the whole of the sick and wounded, and everything of value. I sent away my groom with my gallant grey; which was indeed far too good a nag to be captured and ridden by Frenchmen.

It was in vain that I intreated Bianca to go in safety with the boats, and described to her all the horrors of a siege: the noise of our guns playing on Milette's advancing column only confirmed the fond girl's determination to remain with us; and she seemed happy when the last gun-boat, laden to the water's edge with her countrymen, moved slowly away from the shore, and the only chance by which she could leave me was cut off for ever.

A safe place was fitted up for her by the soldiers in a bomb-proof chamber, where the thick walls and arches of solid masonry shut out the storm of war, which was soon to shake the towers of Scylla to their deepest foundations. The barriers of palisade were secured, the bridges drawn up, the standard hoisted, the guns double shotted with balls, canister, and grape, the breastworks and ramparts lined, the locks and flints examined; and thus we awaited the enemy on the forenoon of the 10th: the roll of their brass drums rang among the hills, as the successive columns descended from the heights of Milia, taking the most circuitous routes to avoid the fire of our cannon, which played upon their line of march at every opportunity afforded by the inequality of the ground.

CHAPTER XXII.

THE SIEGE OF SCYLLA.

My mind was a prey to the utmost anxiety, when I beheld the overwhelming masses which Regnier was pouring forward on the last solitary hold of Ferdinand, cut off by the stormy Strait of Messina from all Sicilian succour. A strong brigade of cavalry, the 23rd Light Infantry, the 1st, 62nd, and 101st Regiments of the French line, together with a powerful battering train, formed his force; but as each corps consisted of three battalions, he mustered more than 6,000 foot alone. The "handful" of the British 62nd, amounting now to only 200 file, were to encounter them: but proud of my corps, and feeling all the glorious ardour of my profession glowing within me—relying on the indomitable English spirit of my soldiers, and the great natural strength of the position we occupied—I did not despair of at least protracting a siege; which, when the great disparity of numbers is remembered, must be deemed as glorious a deed of arms as our military annals exhibit.

On the morning of the 11th February, five 24-pounders, five 18-pounders, four mortars, and innumerable field-pieces, opened a tremendous cannonade on the keep and upper works of Scylla, to demolish our cover and bury us with our guns under the ruins. This battering continued daily, without a moment's cessation, until the 14th; when, covered by it, the French sappeurs and artillerists formed two other breaching batteries, at two hundred yards distance from our bastions: notwithstanding the appalling slaughter made among them by our shells bursting, and grape-shot and musketry showering around, with deadly effect. Though the whole of Regnier's infantry remained under cover during these operations, the execution done on those who worked at the breaching batteries must have been fearful: they were so close and so numerous. My own brave little band was becoming thin from the fire from the heights: every cannon-shot which struck the stone walls was rendered, in effect, as dangerous as a shell, by the heavy splinters it cast on every side; and I foresaw that the castle of Ruffo—mouldering with the lapse of years, and shaken by the storms and earthquakes of centuries—would soon sink before the overwhelming tempest of iron balls which Regnier hurled against it from every point: his gunners stopping only until their cannon became cool enough to renew the attack. We had expected great assistance from our flotilla of gun-boats; which, by keeping close in shore, might have cannonaded the enemy's position, and shelled their approaches; but a storm of wind and rain, which continued without cessation or lull from the time the attack began until it was ended, rendered an approach to Scylla impossible: the sea was dashing against it in mountains of misty foam, and on its walls of rock would have cast a line-of-battle ship like a cork.

The roar of the musketry and the perpetual booming of the adverse battery guns, produced a tremendous effect; awakening all the echoes of the fathomless caves of Scylla in the splintered cliffs and Mont Jaci; and after being tossed from peak to peak of the Milia Hills, with ten thousand reverberations all varying, the reports died away in the distant sky—only to be succeeded by others. The dense volumes of smoke that rose from the French batteries, were forced upwards and downwards by the stormy wind, and rolled away over land and sea, twisted into a thousand fantastic shapes; mingling on one side with the mist of the valleys, on the other with the foam of the ocean. The continual rolling of the French brass drums, the clamour of their artillerymen, and the wild hallooing of their infantry, added to the roar of the conflict above and that of the surge below, increased the effect of a scene which had as many beauties as terrors.

The night of the 14th was unusually dark and stormy; and on visiting Bianca in her dreary vault (which, by being below the basement of the keep, was the only safe place in the castle) she told me, with a pale cheek and faltering tongue, that often, of late, she had been disturbed by sounds rising from the earth below her. I endeavoured to laugh away her fears: but, on listening, I heard distinctly the peculiar noise of hammers and shovels; which convinced me that the French sappers were at work somewhere, and that the hollows of the rock had enabled them to penetrate far under the foundations of the castle. On examination, we found that for three nights they had been lodging a mine, during the noise and gloom of the storm, and had excavated two chambers; one under our principal bastion, the other under the keep, connecting them by a saucisson led through a gallery cut in the solid rock: the effect of such an explosion would have ended the siege at once, and blown to atoms the vault appropriated to Bianca and her servant. My mind shrank, with horror, from contemplating the frightful death she had so narrowly escaped. Next night the train would, undoubtedly, have been fired; and the inner chamber was pierced within three feet of her bed! * * * * * *

Desiring Lascelles to prepare a counter-mine in case of our failure, I slipped out by the barriers, accompanied by Santugo and twelve volunteers. Favoured by the darkness of the night, the howling of the stormy wind, and dashing of the "angry surge," we stole safely to the scene of operations, and with charged bayonets fell upon a brigade of sappeurs—as the French style a party of eight private-artificers, under the command of a non-commissioned officer. They were all as merry as crickets, talking and laughing whilst working in their shirt sleeves.

They defended themselves bravely with their swords; but, as we possessed the mouth of the excavation, all retreat was cut off. The corporal, a strong athletic fellow, beat down Santugo's guard with a shovel, and striking him to the earth with the same homely weapon, broke through us, plunged down the rocks and escaped; but the whole of his party were bayoneted, and after utterly ruining and destroying the mine, we retreated within our gates without losing a man, or firing a shot. The exasperation of the proud Santugo at the rough knock down he received from the corporal is quite indescribable.

Next day the enemy pushed forward still closer to the walls: led by my old acquaintance De Bourmont, the 101st regiment had the temerity to advance round an angle of the rocks to the water's edge, for the purpose of destroying the sea staircase—our last, our only means of retreat. A cry burst from my soldiers: we brought every musket to bear upon that point, and depressed our cannon by wedges and hand-spikes: section after section of the enemy were swept into the sea, and they were therefore compelled to abandon the attempt; leaving half their number piled up on the rocky shore, killed or wounded, or drowned by falling from the narrow path, where many of the dead and dying were drenched and swept away every instant by the sea.

As the mist rolled up from the mountains, we saw the shattered remains of the regiment—a dark mass in grey great-coats, with the tops of their glazed caps and bayonet-blades glancing in the sun—retiring, double quick, beyond the eminence, which, to a certain extent, sheltered Regnier's infantry from our missiles: but their retreat was galled by them, and a line of prostrate bodies marked their route.

"Dundas, you shall see how I will unhorse that fellow," said the officer commanding our artillery, as he coolly adjusted the quoin under the breach of a long nine. He meant old Bourmont, who, like a brave fellow as he was, retreated in rear of his column, and was jogging along on his charger, whose drooping head, mulish ears, curved face, and shambling action, shewed the thorough French horse. Before I could speak, the match fell on the vent, the gun was fired, and the aim was true—fatally so.

"A splendid shot, and a jewel of a gun," exclaimed my friend, exulting in his gunnery, as both horse and rider tumbled prone to the earth. "Will you try a shot, Dundas?"

"Thank you, no: you have killed the only man, amid all those ranks, I would have spared."

"By Jove! he is not settled yet," said Lascelles, with an air of disappointment, as the colonel disengaged himself from his fallen horse, and, heavily encumbered by his jack-boots, scrambled over the hill with as much expedition as his short legs and rotund form would permit. Both Oliver and the artillerist were chagrined at his escape; and yet, in their quiet moods, both were men who would not have killed a fly.

At that moment, so critical to Bourmont, I heard a splitting roar—the rock shook beneath us, and we knew not which way to look. Shaken and rent by the salvos of heavy shot which for four successive days had showered from the French batteries, an immense mass of wall, the curtain of our strongest bastion, rolled thundering to the earth; burying the poor artillery officer, Gascoigne, Sergeant Gask, a number of soldiers, and all our best cannon, under a mighty mountain of crumbled masonry. I was dismayed and grieved by this terrible catastrophe, which the French hailed with shouts of rapture and triumph: they redoubled their battering, with such effect on the shattered walls, that every time a ball struck, other masses gave way, burying soldiers and cannon beneath them. By sunset every gun was entombed under the prostrate walls, and we had only musketry to trust to, in case of an assault; which I had no doubt would be attempted that very night, as the breach was quite practicable, and the continual cannonade prevented us from repairing it by fascines or any other contrivance.

Some were now despairing, and all more or less dispirited: many an anxious glance was cast to Sicily, and to the sea which raged between us, as the lowering yellow sun sank behind the Neptunian hills, and the waves grew black and frothy.

CHAPTER XXIII.

THE FALL OF SCYLLA—CONCLUSION.

Night descended upon Scylla, upon the dark Apennines and the tempestuous sea; and my mind became filled with anxiety: our means of defence were greatly diminished, our shelter ruined. The stormy state of the weather cut off, equally, all hope of succour or escape, and I anticipated with dread a surrender to General Regnier, my personal enemy: by his orders Santugo had little mercy to expect from Napoleon: and I knew not to what indignities Bianca, as an Italian lady, might be subjected, if taken prisoner. Though crippled in means of resistance and reduced in number, my few brave fellows would have defended the ruined breach till the last of them perished; but I saw that, ultimately, Scylla must become the prize of the enemy, and only trusted that, during a lull of the storm, we might effect a retreat to Messina by the flotilla of Sicilian gun-boats.

How changed now was the aspect of the venerable Scylla, since that morning when the French batteries first opened on it! The massive Norman battlements and its beautiful hall had crumbled into rubbish, or sunk in ponderous masses beneath the heavy salvos: every window and loophole were beaten into hideous gaps, and yawning rents split the strong towers from rampart to foundation. The well was choked up by the falling stones; and want of water increased the miseries of sixty wounded men: whom, ultimately, we had to abandon to the care of the enemy. Every cannon was buried under the mighty piles of ruin beyond recovery—all, save one thirteen-inch mortar, which I ordered to be dragged to the summit of the breach; where it afterwards did good service.

Many of the miserable wounded were destroyed under the falling walls, or buried, more or less, at a time when we could not spare a hand to extricate them: their cries were piteous, and their agonies frightful. The dead lay heaped up behind breastwork and banquette, and from the castle gutters the red blood was dropping on the sea-beaten rocks below; where the sea mews and cormorants flapped their wings and screamed over the sweltering corpses of the 101st. The artillerymen were almost annihilated, and their platforms were drenched in gore.

Though exhausted by the toil they had endured, the brave little band of survivors manned the breach, and remained under arms during the whole of a most tempestuous night, with that quiet cheerfulness, mingled with stern determination, which are the principal characteristics of our unmatched soldiery in times of peril. Towards midnight, Santugo (whom, with Lascelles, I had left in charge of the breach) aroused me from a nap I was snatching, rolled up in my cloak and ensconced under the lee side of a parapet.

"Signor, we have had an alert," said he; "a movement is taking place amongst the enemy: they will be in the breach in five minutes."

I hurried to the mighty rent in our fortifications, and saw the long and perilous route which an escalade had to ascend—a steep and uncertain pathway, jagged with rocks and covered with a thousand cart-loads of loose stones, mortar, and rubbish: it looked like a waterfall as it vanished down the rocks into the gloom and obscurity below. The sky was intensely dark, and though the wind howled and the sea hissed and roared on the bluff headlands, the night seemed calm and still after the battle-din of the past day.

A white mass, like a rolling cloud, was moving softly towards the breach, and Santugo was puzzled to account for the strange uniform; but I knew in a moment that it was an attack en chemise, and that the stormers were clad each in a white shirt: a garb sometimes adopted by the French when engaged in a night assault. Here our vigilance got the better of them.

The chemise is a short shirt, either with or without sleeves, worn over the accoutrements, reaching only to the flap of the cartridge-box; and is a very useful and necessary precaution, to prevent the stormers from mistaking each other in the darkness, horror, and confusion of a night assault.

Our drum (we had only one now) beat, and a volley of musketry was poured upon the breach from every point that commanded it. The flashes glared forth over the ruined parapets above and the loopholes of the case-mates below, while our artillerymen, now that they had no longer cannon to work, stood by the howitzer to sweep the breach, and showered rockets, hand-grenades, and red and blue lights on the advancing column. The bursting of the former retarded and confused them, while the lurid or ghastly glare of the latter shewed us how to direct our fire: many fireballs alighted on the rocks, and blazed furiously, shedding over everything floods of alternate crimson and blue light, which had a magnificent yet horrible effect.

"Vive la gloire! Avancez! avancez, mes enfants!" cried the officer who led a wing of the French 62nd, and a wild cheer burst from his soldiers. It was the brave young Vicomte de Chataillion who headed "the Lost Children," and I saw with regret that he must fail.

"Forward the howitzer, to sweep the breach!" cried I to the artillerymen, who were every second falling down, killed or wounded, into the gap, before the fire of the French. "Forward—depress the muzzle, and stand clear of the recoil!"

Loaded with a bag containing a thousand musket-balls, the howitzer was run forward to the breach, over which its yawning muzzle was depressed and pointed.

"Fire!" cried the corporal. A little flame shot upward from the vent, a broad and vivid blaze flashed from the muzzle, and the report shook the ground beneath our feet. The effect of such an unusual and concentrated discharge of musket-shot on the advancing mass was awful and tremendous. By the light of the blazing fire-balls, we saw the sudden carnage in all its sanguinary horror: the dashing Chataillion, and more than two hundred rank and file, were swept away—literally blown to pieces—by the storm of leaden balls; and the remainder of his party retired on the main body in undisguised confusion and dismay.

"Well done, soldiers!" I exclaimed, with stern triumph, and feeling a wild glow of excitement only to be felt in such a place and at such a time. "Ready the handspikes—back with the mortar—load again, and cram her to the muzzle with grape and tin-case shot, to sweep their column again!"

Again the brave French came headlong on, led now by jovial old De Bourmont; who, with the tricolor in one hand and his cocked hat in the other, scrambled up the loose stony breach in his clumsy jack-boots with an agility astonishing in one of his years and size. The gold cross of the Legion, the silver badges of Lodi, Arcola, of Marengo, and other scenes of honourable service—his bald head and silver hair—shone amid the glaring fire-balls and flashing musketry, as the desperate stormers swept on.

"Vive l'empereur! Avancez! Avancez!" cried he.

"Tué! tué!" yelled the forlorn band; and the whole of Regnier's division sent up the cri des armes from the hills to heaven. On came the infuriated assailants—on—on—rushing up the frightful path; but the deadly fire we rained upon them, and the fast falling corpses (every bullet killing double) soon kept them thoroughly in check.

Regardless of danger, I stood on the summit of the breach, that my soldiers might not want example: I felt the wind of the flying balls as they whistled past me; one carried away my right epaulette, a second broke the hilt of my sabre, and I lost a spur by a third.

"Soldiers, courage!" cried Santugo, who kept close by my side, and brandished his sabre with hot impatience; "courage, and they must again fly before you! Viva Ferdi—O, Madonna mia!" he suddenly ejaculated, in a gasping voice, as a ball struck him, and he sank at my feet. The soldiers at the howitzer dragged him back from the enemy's fire; and as they did so, a musket bullet dropped from his left shoulder: he caught it, all dripping as it was with his blood, and giving it to the corporal, exclaimed, like the soldier of Julian Estrado: "With this will I avenge myself! Signor Bombardiere, be so good as to load me a musket, and ram this bullet well home."

It was done in a twinkling; and while from sheer agony his frame quivered and his teeth were clenched like a vice, he levelled the piece over the wheel of the howitzer and shot poor De Bourmont; who fell dead and rolled to the bottom of the rocks. The concussion threw Santugo backwards: but he was again dragged out of the press by the gunners, and taken to a sheltered place, where Macnesia attended to his wound.

The instant Colonel Bourmont fell, another officer snatched the tricolor from the hand of the corpse as it rolled past, and supplied his place; and once more the storming party rushed up the steep ascent: regardless as before of falling men and rolling stones, of the shot showered on them from every point, and the hedge of keen bayonets bristling at the summit of the breach above them.

"Long live Joseph, King of Naples! Tué! Tué! Vive la France!" They were again within a few yards of us, when the stern order, "Forward with the howitzer!" rang above the din. The artillery put their hands and shoulders to the wheels, and urged it to the breach; which was again swept by an irresistible storm of bullets. Once more the carnage was beyond conception horrible; and with a yell of rage and dismay, the stormers retreated precipitately beyond the eminence which sheltered their infantry.

On their flying, the incessant discharge of fire-arms, which had rung for so many hours, died away for a time; and the rising sun revealed to us the carnage of the last night's conflict. The breach, the rocks, and approaches without the court, parapets and defences within, were covered with blood, and strewed with mangled bodies: but the ascent of the forlorn hope was terrible—no pencil could depict—no pen can describe it! The Frenchmen lay in piles of twenty and thirty; while scattered in every direction were seen the fragments of those who had perished by the discharges of the howitzer.

Taking advantage of the temporary cessation of hostilities, I ordered the breach to be repaired by piles of stones and rubbish, to form a breastwork; while another fatigue party cleared away some of the ruins which buried our cannon and platforms. The soldiers raised a faint cheer—one gun was extricated. Alas! a trunnion was knocked off by the falling stones, and our labour had been in vain—it was useless. On seeing how we were employed, the French drums once more beat the pas de charge, and the attack was renewed with greater fury, and on two distant points at once. The 1st, 62nd, and 101st again advanced to the breach, while a brigade of their second battalions, under General Milette, with ten or twelve field-pieces, assailed us on a point almost opposite; and the breaching battery, the field-brigade and mortars on the height, poured shot and shell upon us with remorseless determination. During the whole night and morning, the elemental war had continued with such unabated fury, that our gun-boats had been unable to leave the Sicilian coast; and I became convinced—but with sorrow and chagrin—that a capitulation was inevitable. I was about to order the gallant union to be hauled down, and the white flag of mercy hoisted: but before doing so, I conveyed a notice by telegraph to General Sherbrooke, in Sicily, acquainting him with my situation and intention.

"Fight on—you will be rescued!" was the answer we received. Almost immediately after the storm lulled a little, and we saw the stately Electra standing, with her sails crowded, towards Scylla; while the flotilla, from the Faro, spread their broad latteens to the stormy wind. Animated by the prospect, and filled with desperate courage, once more we manned the deadly breach. Before, we fought for honour and in the fulfilment of our duty; now, it was for life and liberty: and most effectually we kept the foe in check, until the gun-boats reached the sea staircase; where Captain Trollope, of the Electra, with the men-of-war launches, arrived to superintend the embarkation.

Aware of our intended escape, the enraged enemy did all in their power to frustrate it: the batteries, the brigades of field-pieces, and the battalions of infantry, poured their utmost fire upon the steep and narrow staircase (which was hewn out of the solid rock), on the ruined breach, the blood-stained ramparts, the corpse-heaped ditches, and the heaving boats: their drums rolled and their shouts rent the air, while their frantic gunners worked their cannon like madmen.

Now, indeed, came the moment of my greatest dread and anxiety; to which all the rest had been child's play. Bianca—the poor drooping girl, now half dead with terror and exhaustion—had to be brought forth, with her attendant, and conveyed to the boats: to the boats, good God! And at that terrible time, when the concentrated fire of such a number of cannon, mortars, and musketry was poured upon Scylla; and especially on that steep and slippery stair which she had to descend. The 1st Legere, nearly a thousand strong, swept it with their fire. My heart became quite unmanned—I trembled: but it was for her alone.

"Oliver!" I cried to Lascelles; "see Bianca—see Mrs. Dundas to the boats: it is a duty with which I can hardly trust myself—I have the breach to defend. Look sharp, man! yet in God's name, I implore you to be wary!"

He wrung my hand, sheathed his sword and withdrew. A minute afterwards, he emerged from the ruined arch of a bomb-proof; Bianca leaned on his arm, and a party of soldiers threw themselves in a dense circle around her for her protection.

"Claude, Claude!" she cried, in a despairing voice: but the faithful band hurried her down to the boats.

"Sound—close to the centre!" cried I to the bugle-boy; "call off the men from every point!"

As he obeyed me, tears fell fast from his eyes: his father, a soldier, lay dead in the breach close by. The bugle-blast was caught, in various cadence, by the wind; and could be barely heard above the noise of the conflict: the assembly, and the retreat, poured in rapid succession on the ear; and the last shrill note of the warning to retire double-quick had scarcely been given, ere the bugle flew from his grasp, and struck by a shot, the poor boy rolled at my feet, bleeding and beating the earth. Sixty men, the last remnant of my comrades, assembled from every point. Lloyd spiked the mortar, and the whole rushed helter-skelter down the steep staircase and sprang into the boats; which were pushed off as soon as they were filled.

I was the last to leave the fort, and as I turned to go,

"O, Captain Dundas, don't leave me, sir!" cried an imploring voice: it was the little bugler of the 62nd. A score of wounded men were crying the same thing: it was impossible to attend to them all: but snatching up the boy, I bore him off, and leaped into the launch of the Electra; in the stern sheets of which sat Bianca, rolled up in my regimental cloak, to protect her from the chill morning air and damp sea atmosphere. She sobbed convulsively with terror and joy. Santugo was in one of the gun-boats; Macnesia sat beside him—Lloyd, Lascelles, and the soldiers, were crowded into other craft, and the whole gave a reckless cheer of defiance.

"Shove off!" cried the captain of the Electra, through his speaking trumpet; "give way lads—cheerily now!" and the oars dipped in the water, as the sails were trimmed, and the sterns were turned to Scylla.

The whole embarkation had been effected with matchless rapidity and order; notwithstanding that the cannon-shot, the bursting shells, the grenades, and musketry, lashed and tore the water into foam around us: the sea all the while, roaring and rolling in mighty mountains of froth against the cliffs; where it boiled as if in impotent wrath—recoiling from the slippery and frowning bluff, to run its waves in quick succession into the vast and gloomy Dragara: which has often been compared to the mouth of some wondrous monster essaying to engulf all ocean. One seaman was killed, and ten dangerously wounded: but these casualties were deemed trifling, under so heavy a fire; and when the sea was heaving and breaking beneath us, threatening every instant to swamp the boats, to dash them against each other, or on these inhospitable rocks, which nearly proved so fatal to the "sacred argo" of old.

With three hearty cheers we moved off. Scarcely had we done so, when the tricolor waved over Scylla, and the tall red plumes and glancing bayonets of the 101st appeared among the ruined walls; while a party of the 23rd rushed shouting down the staircase, with such impetuosity that many fell headlong into the seething sea.

We had done our duty. Though by force of numbers they had beaten us out of the last stronghold of Ferdinand IV. and the British in Calabria, they had gained only a pile of shapeless ruin; and at the dear price of many a gallant fellow. We were now on the open ocean—three minutes before, we were manning the frightful breach!

The storm died away, and the bright Ausonian sun arose in his glory: the shores of Sicily, studded with towns and castles, the green woods, the sparkling sandy beach, the bright Neptunian hills, and the red tower of the Lantern, were all radiant with light. The shore we had left, and the blood-stained Scylla, diminished in the distance, as our sailors bent to their flashing oars, and the bellying canvass swelled on the morning wind, which blew from the pine-clad Apennines.

"Courage, Bianca!" I exclaimed, and threw my arm around her; "we are beyond range even of cannon, now."

"Anima mia," she whispered, as she laid her head on my shoulder, "you are safe and I am happy!"

And thus ended MY CAMPAIGN IN THE CALABRIAS.

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