* * * * *Let me throw a veil over the horrors that ensued.The French sentinels on the windings of the lonely river, the wolf in the distant woods and the eagle on the rocks of Battaglia, must have been alike startled by the agonizing shrieks of Dianora. Fearful they were; but of short duration. A moan succeeded—a moan of terrible import. Then rang the hoofs of a horse as if spurred madly down the steep roadway. A turn of the dell hid the wild horseman, and then all became still.Her right hand severed at the wrist, her nose cut off, and her face seamed with the most frightful gashes, Dianora was found by the alarmed household of the bishop, stretched on the marble terrace, bleeding and senseless—mutilated—dying. She was borne away: convulsions succeeded, and that night the unhappy Dianora died.She expired in the arms of the venerable bishop, whose grief and horror rendered him almost distracted.CHAPTER XV.THE MONASTERY.To return to Scylla.—The hour of parade passed: Lascelles had not yet returned, and I could no longer withstand my anxiety for his safety. Accompanied by my intelligent countryman, Gask, a bugler, and twenty soldiers in light marching order, each with sixty rounds of ammunition, I departed in the direction of Fiumara, on the almost hopeless errand of endeavouring to discover him. I now reproached myself bitterly, and really thought I had been much to blame in not restricting my rash friend, even at the chance of a quarrel: it could not have been of long duration.Leaving Scylla as quietly as possible, we marched towards Fiumara by the most lonely and unfrequented route, through gorges and thickets, expecting every instant to hear the musket of our advanced file discharged, as a signal that a patrol of French cavalry, or some such interruption, was in sight.It was a beautiful morning: the rays of the bright sun streamed aslant between the peaks of Mylæ, and the white dewy vapour curled from the dells like a gauze screen, mellowing the dark green of the pine thickets and the blue of the gleaming ocean, which shone at times between the openings of the high and broken shore. The morning hymn to the Virgin, and the tolling of the matin bell, floated through the still air from the dark old walls of St. Battaglia; a monastery perched on a rock, by the base of which the pathway wound. On we hurried; and soon Fiumara, its houses shining in the sun, the red smoky fires of the French camp, and their chain of out-picquets near the river, appeared before us.At the bottom of the hill on which the Villa of Montecino was situated, just as we were striking into the narrow path that wound up its wooded side, our advanced file, (who was about fifty paces in front), halted, and waved his hand."Keep together, men! fix bayonets!—look to your priming—forward!" I exclaimed, and we rushed towards him. There was no immediate cause for alarm; but on a level spot of green sward we discovered sufficient evidence that some deed of violence and atrocity had been perpetrated, and I trembled for my poor friend Oliver! On the grass lay his gilded gorget, with its white silk ribbon rent in two; near it lay a buff military glove, covered with blood; a little further on we found his riding switch, with his crest graven on its gold embossed head. All around, the trampled state of the grass, the marks of feet (some of which had evidently been shoeless), the deep indents of horse-hoofs, and, worst of all, a pool of coagulated blood on the pathway, led us to anticipate some terrible catastrophe. Loud and deep were the threats and execrations of the soldiers.At an accelerated pace we pushed up the hill towards the house of Montecino, passing on our left the mouldering ruins of a castelletto, or little fortalice; the broken ramparts of which were almost hidden under heavy masses of dark green ivy and luxuriant weeds.Entering the bishop's disordered mansion without ceremony, I halted the soldiers in the vestibule, and desired a servant, who appeared, to conduct me to her master. The woman vouchsafed me no other reply than a motion to follow her: she was very pale, and her eyes were red from recent weeping. Opening a door, she ushered me into a little darkened oratory; where, on a bier before the altar surrounded by tapers, shedding "a dim, religious light," lay the sad remains of the hapless Dianora. They were covered with a white shroud; and so completely, that I beheld not the frightful ravages committed by the knife of the assassin. Beside the body—his white vestments soiled with blood, his thin grey hairs dishevelled, his aspect wild and haggard—knelt Piero Montecino, the aged Bishop of Nicastro; his attenuated hands clasped and holding a crucifix, on which, at times, he bowed down his reverend head. His wonted spiritual resignation, priestly dignity, and stateliness of aspect were gone: his spirit was crushed and broken. How changed was his whole appearance since the day when, with Bianca, I stood before the altar in the church of his bishoprick!"O, Dianora! my daughter—my child!" he exclaimed, in accents of the deepest grief: "O, madonna, have mercy upon me! Holy Trinity, have mercy upon me! Dianora, my blessed one! Saint Euphemio, pray for her! Saint Magdalene, pray for her! Sweet lady of Burello!—beatified Rosalia!—thrice blessed lady of Loretto, mother of mercy! hear me, and pray for her!" Heavy sobs succeeded.The touching tones of his voice, and the passionate fervour of his devout appeals, deeply moved me. So intense was his sorrow, that it almost warranted the suspicion of a nearer relationship to Dianora than his vows and character as a Catholic churchman permitted; but no such ungenerous thought occurred to me then: my heart felt only the deepest and most sincere compassion for the bereaved old man. He was so besotted with woe, that I saw it was next to impossible to obtain from him the least intelligence or advice; and, withdrawing softly, I left the villa immediately.When descending the hill towards the spot where we had found the relics of our missing comrade, we met a peasant, who, with a long ox-goad, was urging a pair of lazy buffaloes towards Scylla. I desired my soldiers to bring him before me, in the desperate hope of obtaining some information concerning poor Lascelles; and, strange to say, we could not have had a luckier rencontre, or better intelligencer."Hollo, Signor Campagnuolo!" said I to the cattle driver; "from whence have you come this morning—Fiumara, eh?""No, Signor.""Where, then?""From the monastery of Battaglia, down the mountains yonder," he answered somewhat reservedly; and, endeavouring to pass, he added, "a holy day to you, Signor.""Any movement taking place among the French lately?—are any of their patrols out?""I have not heard, excellency; but a fugitive, chased by a party of them, took refuge at the monastery this morning, and is said to have confessed to the Padre Abate a horrible crime.""Ha! and is he now in the sanctuary?" I demanded, eagerly."Prostrate on the steps of the altar: his penitence is great. Madonna intercede for him!""Thanks," said I, permitting the uneasy rustic to pass on his way. "Advance, soldiers—trail arms—forward, double quick! We have got on the right scent at last, perhaps; and there is not a moment to be lost."With right good will the soldiers moved forward towards the monastery; their arms glancing and pouches clanking as they rushed down the steep hill side. The place of our destination, a confused mass of irregular buildings, stood near the river before-mentioned, about a mile distant. It was a monastery of great antiquity; a high wall of grey stone girdled it round, and above that rose its campanile, a square tower, surmounted by a flat tiled roof. From the outer wall, the rocks on which the edifice was perched sloped precipitously down on all sides; especially towards the south, where they descended in one unbroken line to the deep dark waters of the still but rapid stream, which wound through a chasm below.As we began to ascend the steep and devious path cut in the hard volcanic rock, and leading directly to the monastery, we saw the monks appearing and disappearing like black crows on their high outer wall; and the arched gateway was hurriedly closed: the fathers were evidently in a state of consternation, and making all fast; fearing that we might disregard the immunities of the holy sanctuary. All the friars had vanished by the time we reached the iron-studded door in the outer wall; over which the evergreen, ivy, and long rank grass were waving in profusion.We knocked loudly. No answer was given."Sound!" said I, to the bugle-boy; and a loud blast from his instrument made the old walls, the echoing chapel, the bosky woods and splintered rocks ring far and near. Still the summons was unheeded, and the impatient soldiers thundered at the gateway with the butts of their muskets. The reverend fathers no doubt suspected our purpose."What want ye?" said an old vinegar-visaged friar, appearing on the top of the wall, which he had surmounted by the assistance of a ladder."Are you all asleep within there?" I answered, angrily. "We want a fugitive, to whom you have given refuge. Call you this civility, padre? and to us whose swords are drawn in the cause of your country.""Beware, Signori Inglesi! dare you violate the rights of the blessed sanctuary?""You will soon learn whether we will not, you old scarecrow!" I replied, with increased impatience. "Aprite la porta, Signor Canonico, or by Heaven! we will beat it down in a twinkling!""Patience, capitano—patience, until I confer with the reverend Superior.""Be quick, then! We must see instantly this rascal who has obtained sanctuary. The enemy are so near, that we have not a moment to lose."The monk disappeared. I directed Gask, with six soldiers, to watch the walls, and capture or wound any man attempting to escape; but not to kill—if possible. I was most anxious to learn with certainty the fate of Lascelles: whether he had been assassinated; or was lying perishing and mutilated in some solitary place; or had been delivered up to the French. Indeed, I should have been relieved from a load of anxiety, and felt overjoyed to learn that his fate was only the last. Gask was as well aware as I how jealous the continental monks were of the ancient right of sanctuary, and he knew that they would rather favour the escape of the vilest criminal than deliver him up to offended justice. Of their obstinacy in this respect, I know of several instances: one I will mention in particular. It occurred at Malta.A soldier of ours, when passing one day through a street of Valetta, was run against and thrown down by a provoking brute of a pig. Exasperated at having his gay uniform soiled by the dusty street, he gave the grunting porker a hearty kick; upon which the villainous macellajo, to whom it belonged, drew his poniard and stabbed him to the heart. The poor soldier fell dead on the pavement; the murderer fled to the great church of St. John, and obtained sanctuary. Respecting the popular prejudices of the Maltese (who regard with the greatest veneration that sacred edifice, which contains the sepulchres of innumerable brave knights of the Isle,) the general commanding permitted the hot-blooded ruffian to remain some time in sanctuary, before he applied to the bishop for the exertion of his authority to have him delivered up to the civil magistrates. The prelate delayed, equivocated; and the reverend fathers, foreseeing the violation of their famous place of refuge, facilitated the escape of the assassin, and so defeated the ends of justice.I was determined that the priests of St. Battaglia should not cheat me so in this affair; and, after desiring Gask with his party to keep on the alert, I was about to have the door blown to pieces by a volley of musketry, when the bars were withdrawn, and it slowly revolved on its creaking hinges. The soldiers were about to rush in; but the sight they beheld arrested them: all paused, mute, and turned inquiringly to me for instructions.CHAPTER XVI.THE SANCTUARY VIOLATED.The portal of the edifice slowly unfolded, disclosing the whole array of priests, who, clad in their floating vestments, advanced chaunting from the oratory, with tapers burning, censers smoking, and two emblazoned banners waving: one of white silk, bearing a large crimson cross, surmounted by the sacred charge of St. Peter—the keys of heaven; the other, the symbolical banner of St. Battaglia, surrounded by all the imaginary odour and glory of sanctity. The spectacle was very imposing: the tapers of scented wax, and the silver censers filled with lavender flowers, diffused through the air a fragrant perfume; while the pale curling smoke that encircled the gilded crosses and elevated images rendered—"——Indistinct the pageant proud,As fancy forms of midnight cloud,When flings the moon upon her shroudA wavering tinge of flame."The misty vapour, the flickering lights, and the flowing garments of the fathers; the dark walls of the old cloisters which rang to the solemn and sonorous chaunt of twenty male voices; the distant organ swelling aloud, and then dying away in the hollow recesses of the arched oratory, together produced a striking effect. The abbot, an aged priest of venerable aspect, with a beard white as the new fallen snow (then an unusual appendage to a canon's chin), appeared at their head. They halted beneath the ivy-crowned archway; the chaunt ceased, the soldiers drew back, and all were silent: save the magnificent strains of the organ reverberating in the vaulted chapel and the rustle of the consecrated standards, all was still. The abbot, who no doubt expected that this religious display would impress us with a feeling of awe, then addressed me."Your purpose, signor?" he asked, mildly, but firmly."Reverend abate," I responded, lowering my sword respectfully, "I demand the person, of a vile assassin, whom I have learned, from unquestionable authority, you have concealed within these walls!""He whom you seek is under the protection of God. Know, signor, that he who puts forth a hand in anger against one who seeketh and findeth sanctuary in the church, is guilty of the most atrocious sacrilege!""On my own head be the guilt of the sacrilege, Padre Abate. Excuse us: the French are in your immediate vicinity, and we run the imminent risk of being all taken prisoners. One of our comrades, a young officer of distinction, is missing; and a frightful assassination has been committed at the villa Montecino: we have every reason to believe that your favoured fugitive is implicated in both these mysterious occurrences. I cannot parley with you, reverend signor: I demand an interview with the criminal; and if he is not instantly brought forth, I have to acquaint you that I will search the monastery by force; and, if need be, drag him from the very altar at the point of the bayonet!"Ere the indignant abbot could reply—"Darest thou! abominable heretic as thou art, violate the house of God?" cried a tall, fierce-looking and fanatical monk, rushing forward, with flushed cheeks and kindling eyes, and holding aloft a ponderous ebony crucifix. "Pause! lest the thunders of offended Heaven be hurled upon ye: pause! lest the vials of wrath——""Pshaw!" I exclaimed, impatiently; "we may parley here till sunset. Soldiers, forward to the chapel: there you will doubtless discover the rogue." My followers rushed past; a volley of execrations burst from the padri, and I was assailed with cries of—"Paganico infame! malandrino! infidel! damnable heretic!" and a thousand other injurious and ridiculous epithets. I heeded them not; but, at the head of my party, burst into the chapel of the monastery. I had augured rightly: there the fugitive was discovered.Pale as death, ghastly and bloody from a sword wound on the head, a savage-looking fellow was dragged by force from the foot of the great gilt crucifix on the altar; to the rail of which he clung for a moment with convulsive energy. The soldiers brought him before me, and, by their fixed bayonets, kept back the exasperated priests; who continued to pour forth upon us a ceaseless torrent of invectives and maledictions, which we regarded no more than the wind."Are you the unhappy man who is guilty of murder?" said I. He replied only by a wild and unmeaning stare."Unhappy wretch! your name?""Giosué of Montecino," said he, suddenly and fiercely. I trembled for poor Oliver, on remembering the name of his rival."Villain! what fiend tempted you to slay your unhappy cousin?"He started, as if stung by a serpent."She is dead, then!" he said in a hoarse and almost inarticulate voice, while his head drooped upon his heaving breast. Suddenly uttering a howl like a wild beast, he broke away from the soldiers, escaping their levelled bayonets; and, finding the gate secured, scrambled up the rugged outer wall like a polecat; there balancing himself, he turned, and regarding me with a scornful scowl, he burst into a bitter and hysterical laugh. The soldiers rushed towards him, and one fired; but I threw up his firelock, and the ball passed close to the head of the assassin, who never winced. Escape was now impossible. On one side of him bristled twenty bayonets; en the other was a tremendous precipice, with a deep river flowing at its base several hundred feet below. The slightest dizziness might have been fatal to him. But folding his arms he uttered a laugh of defiance, and called upon us to fire. I was strongly tempted to put his talisman to the proof; but restrained my exasperated soldiers."Wretch," said I; "know you aught of a British officer, who has been missing since last night?""Yes," he replied, with a sardonic grin, shaking his clenched right hand aloft with savage exultation. "These are the fingers that fastened on his throat with a tiger's clutch.""You slew him!" I cried, and drew a pistol from my sash."I did not—ha! and yet I did.""How, villain?" He laughed scornfully again."Hear me, Giosué Montecino," said I: "you see this pistol? I might in one moment deprive you of existence——""Ha! ha!" laughed the assassin."Yet I will spare your life, if you will tell me the fate of my comrade.""My life? Bagatella! ho—ho! I want it not. Fools—dolts that ye are! think ye that I am afraid to die? Here is my breast—a thousand bullets were welcome—straight to the heart—fire!" and he smote his bosom as he spoke. There was something almost noble in his aspect at that moment, notwithstanding its wildness and repulsiveness."Hear me, fellow:—the Lieutenant Lascelles"——"Ha!" he ground his teeth madly. "Curses hurl him to that perdition into which he has hurried me! At this moment he feels in the body some of those agonies I endure in the spirit. O, Dianora!—thou whose very shadow I worshipped,—I who loved the very ground you trod upon!" The inexplicable ruffian sobbed heavily; yet his blood-shot eyes were never moistened by a tear. "O, Dianora!" he continued, in a voice which, though husky, yet expressed the most intense pathos. "Who was the fiend that nerved me to destroy thee—and so barbarously? Who, but this accursed Englishman! Believe me, Signor, I had not the least intention of slaying her last night: O no! none—none!" He wrung his hands wildly. "What could be further from my thoughts? Disguised as her lover—as this Oliver—I intended to have carried her off; but her endearing accents, addressed as to him, fell like scorching fire upon my heart. I could restrain my demoniac feelings no longer. O, horror! Yet I have done nothing that I would not commit again, rather than behold her in the arms of—of—Maladetto!—his name is poison to my lips!""Madman, come down from the wall.""Would you learn the fate of your friend?" he asked, exultingly."Had I a mountain of gold to give you—""Gold?—fool!—what is gold to me? Listen. Waylaid by my companions last night, the dog you call your comrade was dashed from his horse by their clubs. He fought bravely, and with his sabre laid open my head: my own blood blinded me. Ha! a moment, and my hand was on his throat—my acciaro at his breast—yet I spared him.""Heaven will reward you"——"Ha—ha! A sudden death suited not my purpose or my hate. Slow, consuming, diabolical mental tortures were what I wanted: and what think you we did?" I was breathless; I could not ask, but Giosué continued:"Bound with cords, he was borne to a ruined vault among the lonely mountains yonder; there amid stinging adders, hissing vipers, bloated toads, and voracious polecats, we flung him down, tied hand and foot, stunned and bleeding. Then closing the aperture, we piled up earth and stones and rocks against it. There let him perish! unseen, unknown, unheard. May never an ave be said over his bones, and may a curse blight, haunt, and blast, to all futurity, the spot where they lie." He paused for a moment, and then continued more slowly and energetically."To laugh to scorn the terror of death was the glory of the Greek and the Roman; and I will show thee, Signor Inglese, that Giosué of Montecino can despise it, as nobly as his classic fathers may have done in the days of old." He raised aloft a long bright poniard, which he suddenly drew forth from his sleeve."Madman!—desperado!" I exclaimed; "hold, for the sake of mercy! A word—a word—I will give you a thousand ducats! life! all! anything! but say where you have imprisoned my friend?—for Heaven's sake say!""Never!" said he, with a triumphant scowl—-"never: let him perish with myself. Love for Dianora led me to destroy her; and love for her still, teaches me that to survive would be the foulest and basest cowardice!"He struck the stiletto to his heart, and fell dead at my feet.I was horror-stricken: not by the suicide of the assassin, but by the revelation he had had just made. Of its truth I could not entertain a doubt, The situation of the unfortunate Lascelles, pinioned, wounded, and entombed alive, to endure all the protracted agonies of death by starvation, rushed vividly upon my mind, and overwhelmed me with rage and mortification. I explained to my soldiers the terrible confession of the fierce Giosué, and their emotions were not much short of my own. We endured tantalization in its bitterest sense. What would I not have given that the convulsed corpse of the vindictive Montecino were yet endued with life. But, alas! the ruffian had perished in his villainy with the important secret undisclosed, and the horrible fate of my friend could not be averted.And Giosué, wretch as he was, I pitied him. His had been the burning love, and his the deadly hatred of his country:"The cold in clime, or cold in blood,Their love it scarce deserves a name;Buthiswas like the lava's flood,That boils in Etna's breast of flame."Slowly and dejectedly we quitted the monastery, as the sun was setting behind the hills of Sicily; and marching in silence towards Scylla, we reached a third time the place where Oliver's glove and gorget had been found. There we made an involuntary halt, and gazed around us with the keenest scrutiny, in the hope of discovering some clue to the place of his immurement. My brave party seemed very unwilling to return to Scylla without making another effort to rescue the victim of Montecino. Innumerable were the ideas suggested and plans proposed; but none of them seemed worthy of attention, save one of Sergeant Gask's."The rascal mentioned a ruined vault among the hills," said he: "now what think you, Captain Dundas, of searching the ruins on the mountain yonder? And, by my faith, sir! the foot-marks and traces of blood lead off in that direction. See! the lower branches of the shrubs are broken, the withered leaves of the last year are trodden down, and bloody tracks are on the grass.""The sergeant is right, sir," muttered the soldiers, pleased with his acuteness."Move on, then—forward to the old castle; any active occupation is preferable to this horrid state of idle suspense."A quarter of an hour's rapid marching brought us to the castelletto, a little tower in a state of great dilapidation, covered with masses of bronze-like ivy, and the beautiful wild flowers of fruitful Italy. A large owl flew from one of the shattered openings, and with a shrill scream soared on its heavy wings through the evening sky. The woods and hills around us were growing dark; the place was still as the grave: the ivy leaves rustling tremulously on the rugged masonry of the ruin, and a rivulet tinkling through a fissure of a neighbouring rock, were the only sounds we heard. Solemn pines towered around it on every hand, and the aspect of the landscape was peculiarly desolate and gloomy. A musket was fired as a signal, and with a thousand reverberations the wooded hills gave back the echo. With heads bent to the ground, we listened intently; but there was no response, and we looked blankly in each other's faces."This cannot be the place," said I in a tone of sadness, about to move unwillingly away."Stay, sir—look here, Captain Dundas," cried Gask; "here is blood on the grass, and, sure as I live, stones freshly heaped up there!""Right—by Jove! Gask, you are an acute fellow. Pile your firelocks, lads, and clear away this heap of rubbish."Flushed with hope, the soldiers attacked the pile of stones indicated by the sergeant: there were bushes, earth, and fragments of ruined masonry, all evidently but recently piled up against the base of the tower. Rapidly they rolled down the heavy blocks, and toiled so strenuously that in three minutes the whole heap was cleared away, and a little arched aperture disclosed. An exclamation of joy and hope burst from the whole party: we had found the place. Gask and the little bugler descended into the vault—a dark, damp, and hideous hole under the ruins. A faint moan drew them cautiously to a corner, and there they found the object of all our search and anxiety—Oliver Lascelles, benumbed by cold, and his limbs swollen almost to bursting by the tight cordage which confined them. He was speechless and half-stifled by the noxious vapours of the dungeon: had we been half an hour later he must have expired. When we drew him forth, he was so pale, haggard, and death-like, that his aspect shocked me; but the pure fresh breeze of the balmy evening revived him, and he recovered rapidly. He could not address us at first; but his looks of thankfulness, joy, and recognition were most expressive. The soldiers were merry and happy, every face beamed with gladness; even Gask's usually grave and melancholy visage was brightened by a smile.We had little time for explanation; we were in a dangerous vicinity, from which it was necessary to retire without a moment's delay. Oliver was quite enfeebled; but, supported on the sergeant's arm and mine, he contrived to walk, though slowly, and we set out immediately for the castle of Scylla.Gask afterwards told me, that in the vault "he had touched something that made his flesh creep." It was a small and delicate female hand. I never mentioned the circumstance to Oliver; who was long in recovering from the effects of his perilous love adventure. But I had no doubt the dead hand was poor Dianora's: theforfeited hand, which in cruel mockery that incarnate demon Giosué had thrown beside her lover.In the bustle of succeeding and more important events the interest we took in Lascelles' affair gradually subsided. But it was long ere he forgot the fate of Dianora, and the horrible death which, by a lucky combination of incidents, he had so narrowly escaped; and longer still ere he recovered his wonted buoyancy of spirit and lightness of heart.CHAPTER XVII.UNEXPECTED PERILS.The near approach of the enemy made it apparent that the town of Scylla would soon be destroyed by the shot and shell their artillery would pour upon it; and that the Free Corps, who occupied its half-ruined streets, would be sacrificed without being of service to the garrison in the castle; I, therefore, telegraphed to theElectra, to send off a boat, as I wished to consult with her commander about the transmission of those troops to Messina.A strong breeze had been blowing from the south-west all day, and the sea ran with such fury through the Straits that no boat could come off until after sunset, when there was a lull. Immediately, on being informed that a boat had arrived at the sea staircase, I buckled on my sabre, threw my cloak round me, and hurried off, intending to return before the ever-anxious Bianca had discovered my absence. How vain were my anticipations!The longfetchof the sea running from Syracuse rolled the breakers with great fury on the castle rock, and the boat was tossed about like a cork among the foaming surf that seethed and hissed around us. As the oars dipped in the water and she shot away, I seated myself in the stern-sheets, beside the little middy who held the tiller-ropes. The frigate lay nearly a mile to the southward, and there was such a tremendous current against us that the six oarsmen, though straining every nerve and sinew, found it impossible to make head against it."I wish we may make the frigate to-night, sir," said the midshipman, looking anxiously at the clouds: "there's a squall coming from the south-south-east, and these Straits are an awkward place to be caught by one. What do you think, Tom Taut?""Think, sir? why that we'll have a dirty night," replied the sailor whom he addressed: a grim, brown, and brawny tar. "When I sailed in thePolly Femus, 74, we had just such a night as this off Scylla, and I won't be in a hurry forgetting it!"It was now past sunset, in the month of February, and the darkness of the louring sky increased rapidly. Through the thin mist floating over the surface of the water, the frigate loomed large; but when the rising wind cleared it away, we found the distance increasing between us: the strong current was carrying us, at the rate of five knots an hour, towards the terrible rock we had just left; which rose from the water like a black gigantic tower, and seemed ever to be close by, frowning its terrors upon us. Dense banks of vapour soon shrouded the land and hid the frigate: it grew so dark that we knew not which way to steer. The seamen still continued to pull fruitlessly; for we made so much sternway that I expected to find the frail craft momently stranded on the rocky beach."We shall never reach the frigate to-night, unless she fills and makes a stretch towards us," said the middy. "This current will not change till daylight, and the Lord knows when the wind will chop about. It has been blowing from Syracuse ever since the poor littleDelightwas driven on the rocks yonder.""You cannot fetch Scylla, I suppose.""Lord, no, sir! we must give it a wide berth: the breakers will be running against it in mountains just now. We must put up the helm and run with the wind and tide, to avoid swamping; and if we escape being sucked into Charybdis on the westward, or beached under the cliffs of Palmi to the northward, we may consider ourselves lucky dogs.""But we may be thrown upon a part of the coast occupied by the enemy.""Better that than go to old Davy, sir," said the grey-haired bow-oarsman, "as I nearly did when thePolly Femus, 74, came through these same Straits of Messina.""When?" said I. "Lately?""Lord love you, no, sir—why 't was in the year one.""One?""That is 1801. We were standing for Malta with a stiff breeze from the nor'-east. ThePolly Femuswas close hauled on the starboard tack——""D—n thePolyphemus," cried the midshipman, testily, as he put the helm up; "take in your loose gaff, Tom: if we are not picked up by theAmphion, your tune will be changed before morning. Hoste keeps a good look out!""He was made a sailor of in thePolly—whew! beg pardon, sir," said the old fellow, who could not resist making another allusion to his old ship."Faith! Captain Dundas," said the middy, "it is so dark that I have not the slightest notion of our whereabouts.""Yonder's a spark away to windward, sir," said old Tom. "TheElectra, cannot be less than somewhere about two miles off—a few fathoms more or less."At that moment the frigate fired a gun; the red flash gleamed through the gloom, and after a lapse the report was borne past us on the night wind. A blue light was next burned; it shone like a distant star above the black and tumbling sea, then expired: and so did all our hopes of reaching the ship—the sound of her gun having informed us that we had been swept by the current far to the north of the Lanterna of Messina, which was rapidly being lost amid the murky vapour."Keep a good look out there forward," cried the middy: "if we miss theAmphion, we may all go to the bottom, or be under weigh for a French prison by this time to-morrow.""Ay, ay, sir," replied the sailor through his hand, while, bending forward, he strove to pierce the gloom a-head."Give way, men—cheerily now."The rowers stretched back over the thwarts till their oars bent like willow wands, and as the strong current was with us now, we flew through the foaming water with the speed of a race-horse."TheAmphionshould be somewhere hereabouts," said the midshipman, as the oarsmen suspended their labours after a quarter of an hour's pulling: we anxiously scanned the gloomy watery waste, but could discern no trace of her. Vapour and obscurity involved us on every side, and our minds became a prey to apprehensions, while our blood chilled with the cold atmosphere, and a three hours' seat in an open boat at such a season. The tower of the Lantern had vanished; a single star only was visible, and the inky waves often hid it, as the boat plunged down into the dark trough of the midnight sea.Suddenly the broad moon showed her silvery disc above the level horizon; her size seemed immense, and as the thin gauzy clouds rolled away from her shining face, we saw the black waves rising and falling in strong outline between. Her aspect was gloomy and louring."When the moon sets, the current will begin to run northward," said the experienced little mid; "and we shall have a capital chance of being sucked into the Calofaro, or stranded on Punta Secca. Would to God, we saw the frigate!"As he spoke, a large vessel passed across the bright face of that magnificent moon, which shed a long line of silver light across the troubled water, brightening the summits of the waves as they rose successively from the dark bosom of the sea. The effect was beautiful, as the vessel passed on the rolling surge, and heaving gracefully, slid away into obscurity."A large frigate on the starboard tack," said the midshipman, as she disappeared: "she is five miles off.""That's theAmphion, your honour," said Tom Taut; "I know her as well as the oldPolly Femus.""Are you sure?" I asked with anxiety."Sure?" replied Tom, energetically spitting his quid to leeward; "I know her in a moment, by the rake of her spars. Her mizen top-sail aback—her courses shivering: I know her better than any ship on the station, except the darling oldPolly. Bill Hoste is creeping along shore, after some of these gun-boats theDelightlet slip so easily.""If I judge rightly, we must be somewhere off Palmi.""Hark!" said the midshipman, and the roar of billows rolling on the shore confirmed my supposition."Breakers ahead!" cried the man at the bow, and we beheld a long white frothy line, glimmering through the gloom; and above it towered the dark outline of a lofty coast. The current shot us among the surf; which boiled around us as white as if we were amid the terrors of Charybdis. A little cove, where the waves rolled gently up the sandy slope, invited us to enter; the boat ran in, and we were immediately in the smooth water of a little harbour, where the dark wild woods overhung the rocks at its entrance, and all around it on every side. Here we hoped to remain unseen, till daylight revealed our "whereabouts," as the middy had it.For a time we kept the oars in the rowlocks, ready to retire on a moment's notice; but finding that not a sound, save the dashing sea, woke the echoes of that lonely place, I volunteered to land and make a reconnoissance; desiring the midshipman to pull southward, along the shore, in case of any alarm, that I might be picked up at some other point. Belting my sabre tighter, I threw aside my cloak, and sprang ashore. On walking a little way forward, through the wood, I found the country open, and saw lights at a distance; which I conjectured to be those of Palmi or Seminara, where Regnier had concentrated a strong body of troops.Struggling forward among a wilderness of prostrate columns and shattered walls overgrown with creeping plants and foliage (probably the ruins of ancientTaurianum), I often stopped and bent to the ground to listen; but heard only the creaking trees, the gurgle of a lonely rill seeking its devious path to the sea, or the rustle of withered leaves, swept over the waste by the rising wind. But the roll of a distant drum and the flash of a cannon about two miles off, arrested my steps and made me think of returning: I conjectured it to be the morning gun from the French fort at Palmi. Daylight soon began to brighten the summits of the Apennines, and the waves, as they rolled on each far off promontory and cape. Having nearly a mile to walk, I began hurriedly to retrace my steps; for the dawn stole rapidly on. As I walked on, the deep boom of a cannonade and the sharp patter of small arms made my heart leap with excitement and anxiety, and spurred me in my flight. Breaking through the wood, I rushed breathlessly to the shore; but alas! the boat was gone: I saw it pulled seaward, with a speed which the strong flow of the morning current accelerated. In close chase, giving stroke for stroke, while the crew plied their muskets and twenty-four pounder, followed one of those unlucky gun-boats captured by the French: it had been anchored in the same cove, and had discovered our little shallop the moment day broke.The pursued and the pursuers soon disappeared behind a promontory, and I found myself alone, far behind the enemy's lines, and almost without a chance of escape. Cursing the zeal which had led me on such a fruitless reconnoissance, I retired into a beech wood, as the safest place; and lay down in a thicket to reflect on my position, and form a plan for extrication from it.CHAPTER XVIII.CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY—THE TWO GENERALS.I was only twelve miles distant from Scylla; but as every approach to it was closely blocked up by Regnier, whose troops covered the whole province from sea to sea, every attempt to reach it would be attended by innumerable dangers and difficulties: yet, confiding in the loyalty of the Calabrese, and the influence my name had among them, I did not despair of regaining the fortress, by seeking its vicinity through the most retired paths.Except my sword, spurs, and Hessian boots, I had nothing military about me; as I wore a Calabrian doublet of grey cloth, and a nondescript forage-cap. As I walked forward, the trees became more scattered, and the openness of the ground made the utmost circumspection necessary. A sudden cry of "Halte! arrêtez!" made me pause; and, within a few paces, I beheld a French vidette—a lancer in his long; scarlet cloak, which flowed from his shoulders over the crupper of his horse, and, like his heavy plume and tricoloured banderole, was dank with dew."Ah, sacre coquin!" he cried, lowering his lance, and charging me at full speed. "I see you are an Englishman." I sprang behind a tree, and as he passed me in full career, by a blow of my sabre I hewed the steel head from his lance. At that moment an officer rode up, and, placing a pistol at my head, commanded me to yield. Resistance was vain, and I surrendered my sabre in the most indescribable sorrow and chagrin; for thoughts of Bianca, of a long separation and imprisonment, of all my blighted hopes of happiness, honour, and promotion, and of the important trust reposed in me, rushed in a flood upon my mind: almost stupified, I was led away by my captor.A few minutes' walk brought us to the bivouac of a cavalry brigade, which was in all the bustle of preparation for the march; while six trumpeters, blowing "boot and saddle," made the furthest dingles of the forest ring. The horses were all picqueted under trees, or within breast-ropes; and the officer informed me that the brigade was that of General Compere, before whom he led me.Rolled up in a cloak, the general was seated at the foot of a tree; behind him stood his mounted orderly, holding his charger by the bridle. His aide-de-camp and a number of officers lounged round him, smoking cigars, drinking wine from a little barrel, and joking with great hilarity ere they marched. The ashes of the watch-fires smouldered near; the mist was curling between the branches of the leafless trees, and the rising sun glittered on the bright lance-heads, the gay caps, and accoutrements of the dashing lancers; who were rapidly unpicqueting their chargers, and forming close column of squadrons on the skirts of the wood."Monsieur le vicomte is welcome as flowers in spring," said the general; "but who is this?—Ah!" he exclaimed, suddenly recognising me, and raising politely his cocked-hat. "I did not expect to have this pleasure. You are the brave officer I met at Maida?"I bowed."And again behind our lines at Cassano—disguised as a monk?" he added, with a keen glance."Thrown upon that coast by shipwreck, I gladly adopted any disguise until I could escape.""Our whole army heard of you, and understood you had been employed as a spy by the Count of Maida; consequently Massena was enraged at your escape. Ah! the old Tambour—he is a rough dog! However, monsieur,Ido not believe that one who could fight so gallantly at Maida, would stoop to act a dishonourable part.""Yet, will monsieur be so good as explain," said another officer, "how we find him here; without the lines drawn round Scylla, to the garrison of which he says he belongs—and why in the garb of a Calabrian?"Indignant at the suspicious nature of these queries, and unused to the humiliating situation of a prisoner, I replied briefly and haughtily; relating how I had missed the boat—a story which none of them seemed to believe. A whisper ran round, and the offensive term "espion" brought the blood rushing to my cheek."Monsieur le general," said I, with a sternness of manner which secured their respect, "will, I trust—in memory of that day at Maida—be so generous as to send me, on parole, to Messina, where I may treat about an exchange; by doing so, he will confer a lasting obligation, which the fortune of war may soon put it in my power to repay.""I deeply regret that to General Regnier I must refer you—he alone can grant your request. As we move instantly on Scylla, you must be transmitted to head-quarters without delay, and under escort. Appearances are much against you; but I trust matters will be cleared up. Chataillion," said he to his aide, "help the gentleman to wine and a cigar, while I write a rough outline of this affair to monsieur le general."Commanding my feelings and features, I drank a glass or two of wine, while the general, taking pen and ink from his sabretache, wrote a hasty note to Regnier."Chataillion," said he, while folding it, "order a corporal and a file of lances."The vicomte went up to the first regiment of the brigade, and returned with the escort."In the charge of these soldiers, you must be sent to Seminara, where I trust your parole will be accepted in consequence of this note: though monsieur le general and monseigneur le marechal are far from being well disposed towards you; especially for the last affair with the voltigeurs of the 23rd. Ah! Regnier's son Philip was shot at Bagnara—poor boy! Adieu! May we meet under more agreeable circumstances;" and giving the letter to the corporal, Compere sprang into his saddle, and left me. His aide-de-camp, the Vicomte de Chataillion, seeing how deeply I was cast down, expressed regret at having been my capturer. "But monsieur will perceive," said he, with a most insinuating smile, "that I was only doing my duty. You cannot travel on foot with a mounted escort—it would be dishonourable; and as I have a spare horse, you are welcome to it: on reaching Seminara, or even the frontiers, you can return it with the corporal.—Adieu!" And we parted.The frontier! distraction! I could scarcely thank the young Frenchman: but memory yet recalls his gallant presence and commanding features—one of the true old noblesse. How different he was from Pepe, Regnier, Massena, and many others; whom the madness and crimes of the Revolution had raised to place and power, from the dregs of the French people.With a little ostentation, the lancers loaded their pistols before me, and in five minutes I wasen routefor Seminara, with a file on each side and the corporal riding behind. I often looked back: Compere's brigade were riding in sections towards the hills, with all their lance heads and bright accoutrements glittering in the sun; while the fanfare of the trumpets, the clash of the cymbals, and the roll of the kettle-drums, rang in the woods of Palmi. They were moving towards Scylla, and my heart swelled when I thought of my helplessness and of poor Bianca; the hope of Regnier accepting my parole alone sustained me: but that hope was doomed to be cruelly disappointed.By the way we passed many ghastly objects, which announced the commencement of that savage war of extermination which General Manhes afterwards prosecuted in the Calabrias. Many armed peasantry had been shot like beasts of prey, wherever the French fell in with them; and their bodies hung on the trees we passed under, while their grisly heads were stuck on poles by the roadside. Some were in iron cages, and, reduced to bare skulls, grinned through the rusty ribs like spectres through barred helmets; while the birds of prey, screaming and flapping their wings over them, increased the gloomy effect such objects must necessarily have upon one's spirits.The morning was balmy and beautiful, the sun hot and bright, the sky cloudless and of the palest azure; light fleecy vapour floated along the distant horizon, where the sea lay gleaming in green and azure: but never had I a more unpleasant ride than that from Compere's bivouac. I often looked round me, in the desperate hope that a sudden attack of robbers or loyal paesani would set me free; though warned by the corporal that on the least appearance of an attempt at rescue he would shoot me dead. But Regnier had effectually cleared and scoured the country, and we passed no living being, save an old Basilian pilgrim, travelling barefooted, perhaps on his way to the Eternal City; and once, in the distance, a solitary bandit on the look-out, perched on the summit of a rock like a lonely heron. The bells of the mountain goats, the hum of the bee or the flap of the wild bird's wing, and the dull tramp of our horses on the grassy way, alone broke the silence. My escort were solemn and taciturn Poles, who never addressed a word either to me or to each other; so my gloomy cogitations were uninterrupted till we entered Seminara, when the scene changed.The town was crowded with soldiers, and all the populace had fled: cavalry, infantry, artillery, sappeurs, voltigeurs, and military artizans, thronged on every hand; shirts and belts were drying at every window, and the air was thickened by pipe clay and tobacco-smoke, while the sound of drums, bugles, and trumpets mingled with shouts and laughter, rang through the whole place—noise and uproar reigning on all sides. The great Greek abbey and cathedral were littered with straw for cavalry horses; the principal street was blocked up by waggons, caissons, tumbrils, pontoons, mortars, and the whole of that immense battering train concentrated for the especial behoof of my brave little band at Scylla: whither it would be conveyed the moment the roads were completed.A strong guard of grenadiers stationed before the best house in the town, announced it to be the quarters of the general. They belonged to the 62nd of the French line. In front of the mansion stood thirty pieces of beautiful brass cannon: the same which the French threw into the sea on abandoning Scylla, when, in the year following, the British beleaguered it under Lieutenant-Colonel Smith, 27th regiment. I was ushered by the corporal into the general's presence, and found him just finishing breakfast: he had pushed away his last cup of chocolate, placed his foot on the braciere, and was composing himself to resume reading theMoniteur, while his servant, a grenadier in blue uniform, with rough iron-grey moustaches cleared the table. On the wall hung a bombastic bulletin of Napoleon, dated 27th December, 1806:—"The Neapolitan dynasty has ceased to reign! its existence is incompatible with the repose of Europe and the honour of our crown. Soldiers, march! andifthey will await your attack, drive into the sea those feeble battalionsof the tyrants of the ocean—lose no time in making all Italy subject to my arms!"Probably theMoniteurcontained some unpleasant account of our brilliant success in other parts of the world; for the temper of the general was soured, and he regarded me with a most vinegar-like aspect, when the corporal ushered me in. I bowed coldly; he answered only by a stern glance, spread his hands behind his coat tails, and leaned against the mantel-piece."Ouf! a prisoner of war," said he, and scanning me at intervals, while reading the letter of Compere."Your name and rank?""Dundas, captain of the 62nd regiment of the line, and commandant of the castle of Scylla, for his Majesty Ferdinand IV.""Ouf! the very man we wanted! You were caught on the shore near Palmi?""Yes, when left there by the boat of theElectrafrigate, and merely meaning to make a reconnoissance, (until daybreak enabled us to put to sea) I penetrated"—"A deuced lame story! Bah! you were merely making a reconnoissance at Canne too, I suppose? Ha! ha! well, we will cure you of that propensity for the future.""I request to be liberated on my parole.""A spy on parole! Ouf!""Scoundrel!" I exclaimed, losing all temper, "I am a gentleman—a British officer.""Sacre coquin! men of honour do not prowl in the rear of an enemy's chain de quartiers in disguise: where is your uniform?"I gave him a scornful glance in reply."Ouf!" said he, "you came to see our arrangements for capturing your crow's nest at Scylla. Behold, then, our pontoons, our battering train, our brigades of infantry and sappers: I trust you will report to monseigneur the Prince of Essling, that they are all ready for instant service.""Monsieur, I demand my parole.""If Massena grants a parole he may, but not so Regnier: you must be sent to the marshal; and I believe he is most likely to give you a yard or two of stout cord, and a leap from the nearest tree.""Such conduct would not surprise me in the least!" I answered, bitterly; "the savage military government, which dragged the Duc d'Enghien from a neutral territory, and after a mockery of judicial form shot him by torchlight at midnight; and which so barbarously tortured to death a British officer, in the Temple, at Paris, must be capable of any inhumanity. After the ten thousand nameless atrocities by which France, since the days of the Revolution, has disgraced herself among the nations of Europe; no new violation of military honour, of humanity, or the laws of civilized nations, can be a subject of wonder.""Ah, faquin! I could order you to be hanged in ten minutes.""A day may yet come when this ruffianly treatment shall be repaid.""Ouf! monsieur mouchard, Massena will look to that. At Castello di Bivona, you will be embarked on board La Vigilante courier gunboat, commanded by Antonio Balotte. He is a rough Lucchese, that same Antonio, who will string you to the yard-arm if you prove troublesome. Ouf! if the emperor was of my opinion, his soldiers would not take any prisoners." He grinned savagely, and summoned his orderly."Order a corporal and file of soldiers. To them," he continued, addressing the Lancer, "you will hand over the prisoner with this brief despatch for Marshal Massena at Cosenza; it states who he is, and the suspicions against him."Massena! O, how little I had to hope for, if once in the clutches of that savage and apostate Italian: particularly when blackened by all that Regnier's malicious nature might dictate. In half an hour I was on the march for Castello di Bivona, escorted by a corporal and file of the 101st, with fixed bayonets. As a deeper degradation, Regnier had ordered me to be hand-cuffed. Heavens! my blood boils yet at the recollection of that! I would have resisted; but a musket levelled at my head silenced all remonstrance, and I bottled up my wrath while Corporal Crapaud locked the fetters on me. We marched off, my exasperation increasing as we proceeded; for the escort seemed determined to consider me in the character of a spy, and consequently treated me with insult and neglect: in vain I told them I was a British officer, and deserved other treatment."True, monsieur," replied the corporal, who was a dapper little Gaul, four feet six inches high, "but I am obeying only the orders of the general; and a British officer, or any other officer, who is caught among an enemy's cantonments in disguise, must be considered as a spy, and expect degradation as such. Monsieur will excuse us—we have orders not to converse with prisoners; and the general—ah! ventre bleu!—he is a man of iron!"This coolness, or affectation of contempt or superiority, only increased my annoyance. Although the soldiers conversed with all the loquacity and sung with all the gaiety of Frenchmen, they addressed me no more during the march of more than twenty-five miles. This lasted seven hours, exclusive of halts at Gioja, Rossarno, and several half-deserted villages and shepherds' huts; where they extorted whatever they wanted, at point of the bayonet, and made good their quarters whenever they chose; browbeating the men and caressing the women (if pretty). I often expected a brawl, and perhaps a release; but all hope died away, when, about sunset, we entered Castello di Bivona: my spirit fell in proportion as the plains and snow-capped Apennines grew dark, when the red sun dipped into the Tyrhene sea.There were no French troops in the town; but anchored close to the shore lay the French gun-boatLa Vigilante, mounting a six and a fourteen pounder, and having thirty-six men—quite sufficient to hold in terror the inhabitants of the little town, who had not forgotten the visit paid them by Regnier's rear-guard. My heart sickened when, from an eminence, I beheldLa Vigilante, which was to bear me further from liberty and hope; and the most acute anguish took possession of me, when confined for the night and left to my own sad meditations. I understood that I was to be transmitted to the Upper Province with some other prisoners, who were to arrive from Monteleone in the morning, and be conveyed across the gulf of St. Eufemio by the gun-boat.I found myself confined for the night in the upper apartment of a gloomy tower, formed of immense blocks of stone, squared and built by the hands of the Locrians. The chamber was vaulted, damp, and destitute of furniture; but a bundle of straw was thrown in for my couch by Corporal Crapaud: he, with the escort, occupied a chamber below, where they caroused and played with dominoes. A turf battery of four 24-pounders, facing the seaward, showed that the French had converted this remnant of the ancient Hipponium into a temporary fort: a trench and palisade surrounded it.A single aperture a foot square, four feet from the floor, and crossed by an iron bar, admitted the night breeze and the rays of the moon; showing the dark mountains, the blue sky, and the sparkling stars.Left to solitude, my own thoughts soon became insupportable. "At this time yesternight I was with Bianca!" To be separated from her for an uncertain time—perhaps for ever, if Regnier's threats were fulfilled by the relentless Massena; to be taken from my important command at a time so critical—when the last stronghold of the British in Calabria was threatened by a desperate siege, on the issue of which the eyes of all Italy and Sicily were turned; the imminent danger and degrading suspicions under which I lay, manacled and imprisoned like a common felon; threatened on the one hand with captivity, on the other with death; and, worst of all, the image of Bianca, overwhelmed with sorrow and horror by the obscurity which enveloped my fate: all combined, tortured me to madness. I was in a state bordering on distraction. Stone walls, iron bars, and steel bayonets: alas! these are formidable barriers to liberty.Midnight tolled from a distant bell, then all became still: so still that I heard my heart beating. Deeming me secure, my escort were probably sleeping over their cups and dominoes. I was encouraged to attempt escaping, and endeavoured to rally my thoughts. Though half worn out by our long march over detestable roads—a journey rendered more toilsome by the constrained position of my fettered hands—I became fresh and strong, and gathered courage from the idea. Yonder lay theVigilante, with her latteen sail hanging; loose: and the sight of her was an additional spur to exertion: once on board of her, every hope was cut off for ever.The detested fetters, two oval iron rings secured by a padlock and bar, were first to be disposed of: but how? The manner in which they secured the wrists crippled my strength: the iron bar was a foot long, and though defying my utmost strength to break or bend it, yet ultimately it proved the means of setting me free. The padlock was strong and new: but a happy thought struck me; I forced it between the wide and time-worn joints of the wall until it was wedged fast as in a vice, then, clasping my hands together, I wrenched round the bar, using it as a lever on the lock which passed through it; and in an instant the bolt, the wards, the plates which confined them, and all the iron-work of the once formidable little engine, fell at my feet."God be thanked! oh, triumph!" burst in a whisper from my lips: my heart expanded, and I could have laughed aloud, while stretching my stiffened hands. But there was no time to be lost: the fall of the broken padlock might have alarmed the escort, and I prepared for instant flight. Thrusting some of the iron pieces under the door bolts, to prevent it being readily opened, I turned to the window, and found, with joy, that there was space enough between the cross-bar and the wall for egress: but the ground was fifteen feet below. With great pain and exertion I pressed through, and, half suffocated, nearly stuck midway between the rusty bar and stone rybate. At that moment of misery and hope, the corporal thundered at the door; I burst through, fell heavily to the ground, and for a moment was stunned by the fall: but the danger of delay, and the risk of being instantly shot if retaken, compelled me to be off double-quick. I rushed up the banquette of the gun-battery, cleared the parapet at a bound, and scrambled over the stockade like a squirrel."Villan, hola! halte!" cried Crapaud, firing his musket: the ball whistled through my hair, and next moment I was flying like a deer with the hounds in full chase. I was closely pursued: but, after three narrow escapes from the bullets of my escort, I baffled them, and gained in safety the cork wood of Bivona.
* * * * *
Let me throw a veil over the horrors that ensued.
The French sentinels on the windings of the lonely river, the wolf in the distant woods and the eagle on the rocks of Battaglia, must have been alike startled by the agonizing shrieks of Dianora. Fearful they were; but of short duration. A moan succeeded—a moan of terrible import. Then rang the hoofs of a horse as if spurred madly down the steep roadway. A turn of the dell hid the wild horseman, and then all became still.
Her right hand severed at the wrist, her nose cut off, and her face seamed with the most frightful gashes, Dianora was found by the alarmed household of the bishop, stretched on the marble terrace, bleeding and senseless—mutilated—dying. She was borne away: convulsions succeeded, and that night the unhappy Dianora died.
She expired in the arms of the venerable bishop, whose grief and horror rendered him almost distracted.
CHAPTER XV.
THE MONASTERY.
To return to Scylla.—The hour of parade passed: Lascelles had not yet returned, and I could no longer withstand my anxiety for his safety. Accompanied by my intelligent countryman, Gask, a bugler, and twenty soldiers in light marching order, each with sixty rounds of ammunition, I departed in the direction of Fiumara, on the almost hopeless errand of endeavouring to discover him. I now reproached myself bitterly, and really thought I had been much to blame in not restricting my rash friend, even at the chance of a quarrel: it could not have been of long duration.
Leaving Scylla as quietly as possible, we marched towards Fiumara by the most lonely and unfrequented route, through gorges and thickets, expecting every instant to hear the musket of our advanced file discharged, as a signal that a patrol of French cavalry, or some such interruption, was in sight.
It was a beautiful morning: the rays of the bright sun streamed aslant between the peaks of Mylæ, and the white dewy vapour curled from the dells like a gauze screen, mellowing the dark green of the pine thickets and the blue of the gleaming ocean, which shone at times between the openings of the high and broken shore. The morning hymn to the Virgin, and the tolling of the matin bell, floated through the still air from the dark old walls of St. Battaglia; a monastery perched on a rock, by the base of which the pathway wound. On we hurried; and soon Fiumara, its houses shining in the sun, the red smoky fires of the French camp, and their chain of out-picquets near the river, appeared before us.
At the bottom of the hill on which the Villa of Montecino was situated, just as we were striking into the narrow path that wound up its wooded side, our advanced file, (who was about fifty paces in front), halted, and waved his hand.
"Keep together, men! fix bayonets!—look to your priming—forward!" I exclaimed, and we rushed towards him. There was no immediate cause for alarm; but on a level spot of green sward we discovered sufficient evidence that some deed of violence and atrocity had been perpetrated, and I trembled for my poor friend Oliver! On the grass lay his gilded gorget, with its white silk ribbon rent in two; near it lay a buff military glove, covered with blood; a little further on we found his riding switch, with his crest graven on its gold embossed head. All around, the trampled state of the grass, the marks of feet (some of which had evidently been shoeless), the deep indents of horse-hoofs, and, worst of all, a pool of coagulated blood on the pathway, led us to anticipate some terrible catastrophe. Loud and deep were the threats and execrations of the soldiers.
At an accelerated pace we pushed up the hill towards the house of Montecino, passing on our left the mouldering ruins of a castelletto, or little fortalice; the broken ramparts of which were almost hidden under heavy masses of dark green ivy and luxuriant weeds.
Entering the bishop's disordered mansion without ceremony, I halted the soldiers in the vestibule, and desired a servant, who appeared, to conduct me to her master. The woman vouchsafed me no other reply than a motion to follow her: she was very pale, and her eyes were red from recent weeping. Opening a door, she ushered me into a little darkened oratory; where, on a bier before the altar surrounded by tapers, shedding "a dim, religious light," lay the sad remains of the hapless Dianora. They were covered with a white shroud; and so completely, that I beheld not the frightful ravages committed by the knife of the assassin. Beside the body—his white vestments soiled with blood, his thin grey hairs dishevelled, his aspect wild and haggard—knelt Piero Montecino, the aged Bishop of Nicastro; his attenuated hands clasped and holding a crucifix, on which, at times, he bowed down his reverend head. His wonted spiritual resignation, priestly dignity, and stateliness of aspect were gone: his spirit was crushed and broken. How changed was his whole appearance since the day when, with Bianca, I stood before the altar in the church of his bishoprick!
"O, Dianora! my daughter—my child!" he exclaimed, in accents of the deepest grief: "O, madonna, have mercy upon me! Holy Trinity, have mercy upon me! Dianora, my blessed one! Saint Euphemio, pray for her! Saint Magdalene, pray for her! Sweet lady of Burello!—beatified Rosalia!—thrice blessed lady of Loretto, mother of mercy! hear me, and pray for her!" Heavy sobs succeeded.
The touching tones of his voice, and the passionate fervour of his devout appeals, deeply moved me. So intense was his sorrow, that it almost warranted the suspicion of a nearer relationship to Dianora than his vows and character as a Catholic churchman permitted; but no such ungenerous thought occurred to me then: my heart felt only the deepest and most sincere compassion for the bereaved old man. He was so besotted with woe, that I saw it was next to impossible to obtain from him the least intelligence or advice; and, withdrawing softly, I left the villa immediately.
When descending the hill towards the spot where we had found the relics of our missing comrade, we met a peasant, who, with a long ox-goad, was urging a pair of lazy buffaloes towards Scylla. I desired my soldiers to bring him before me, in the desperate hope of obtaining some information concerning poor Lascelles; and, strange to say, we could not have had a luckier rencontre, or better intelligencer.
"Hollo, Signor Campagnuolo!" said I to the cattle driver; "from whence have you come this morning—Fiumara, eh?"
"No, Signor."
"Where, then?"
"From the monastery of Battaglia, down the mountains yonder," he answered somewhat reservedly; and, endeavouring to pass, he added, "a holy day to you, Signor."
"Any movement taking place among the French lately?—are any of their patrols out?"
"I have not heard, excellency; but a fugitive, chased by a party of them, took refuge at the monastery this morning, and is said to have confessed to the Padre Abate a horrible crime."
"Ha! and is he now in the sanctuary?" I demanded, eagerly.
"Prostrate on the steps of the altar: his penitence is great. Madonna intercede for him!"
"Thanks," said I, permitting the uneasy rustic to pass on his way. "Advance, soldiers—trail arms—forward, double quick! We have got on the right scent at last, perhaps; and there is not a moment to be lost."
With right good will the soldiers moved forward towards the monastery; their arms glancing and pouches clanking as they rushed down the steep hill side. The place of our destination, a confused mass of irregular buildings, stood near the river before-mentioned, about a mile distant. It was a monastery of great antiquity; a high wall of grey stone girdled it round, and above that rose its campanile, a square tower, surmounted by a flat tiled roof. From the outer wall, the rocks on which the edifice was perched sloped precipitously down on all sides; especially towards the south, where they descended in one unbroken line to the deep dark waters of the still but rapid stream, which wound through a chasm below.
As we began to ascend the steep and devious path cut in the hard volcanic rock, and leading directly to the monastery, we saw the monks appearing and disappearing like black crows on their high outer wall; and the arched gateway was hurriedly closed: the fathers were evidently in a state of consternation, and making all fast; fearing that we might disregard the immunities of the holy sanctuary. All the friars had vanished by the time we reached the iron-studded door in the outer wall; over which the evergreen, ivy, and long rank grass were waving in profusion.
We knocked loudly. No answer was given.
"Sound!" said I, to the bugle-boy; and a loud blast from his instrument made the old walls, the echoing chapel, the bosky woods and splintered rocks ring far and near. Still the summons was unheeded, and the impatient soldiers thundered at the gateway with the butts of their muskets. The reverend fathers no doubt suspected our purpose.
"What want ye?" said an old vinegar-visaged friar, appearing on the top of the wall, which he had surmounted by the assistance of a ladder.
"Are you all asleep within there?" I answered, angrily. "We want a fugitive, to whom you have given refuge. Call you this civility, padre? and to us whose swords are drawn in the cause of your country."
"Beware, Signori Inglesi! dare you violate the rights of the blessed sanctuary?"
"You will soon learn whether we will not, you old scarecrow!" I replied, with increased impatience. "Aprite la porta, Signor Canonico, or by Heaven! we will beat it down in a twinkling!"
"Patience, capitano—patience, until I confer with the reverend Superior."
"Be quick, then! We must see instantly this rascal who has obtained sanctuary. The enemy are so near, that we have not a moment to lose."
The monk disappeared. I directed Gask, with six soldiers, to watch the walls, and capture or wound any man attempting to escape; but not to kill—if possible. I was most anxious to learn with certainty the fate of Lascelles: whether he had been assassinated; or was lying perishing and mutilated in some solitary place; or had been delivered up to the French. Indeed, I should have been relieved from a load of anxiety, and felt overjoyed to learn that his fate was only the last. Gask was as well aware as I how jealous the continental monks were of the ancient right of sanctuary, and he knew that they would rather favour the escape of the vilest criminal than deliver him up to offended justice. Of their obstinacy in this respect, I know of several instances: one I will mention in particular. It occurred at Malta.
A soldier of ours, when passing one day through a street of Valetta, was run against and thrown down by a provoking brute of a pig. Exasperated at having his gay uniform soiled by the dusty street, he gave the grunting porker a hearty kick; upon which the villainous macellajo, to whom it belonged, drew his poniard and stabbed him to the heart. The poor soldier fell dead on the pavement; the murderer fled to the great church of St. John, and obtained sanctuary. Respecting the popular prejudices of the Maltese (who regard with the greatest veneration that sacred edifice, which contains the sepulchres of innumerable brave knights of the Isle,) the general commanding permitted the hot-blooded ruffian to remain some time in sanctuary, before he applied to the bishop for the exertion of his authority to have him delivered up to the civil magistrates. The prelate delayed, equivocated; and the reverend fathers, foreseeing the violation of their famous place of refuge, facilitated the escape of the assassin, and so defeated the ends of justice.
I was determined that the priests of St. Battaglia should not cheat me so in this affair; and, after desiring Gask with his party to keep on the alert, I was about to have the door blown to pieces by a volley of musketry, when the bars were withdrawn, and it slowly revolved on its creaking hinges. The soldiers were about to rush in; but the sight they beheld arrested them: all paused, mute, and turned inquiringly to me for instructions.
CHAPTER XVI.
THE SANCTUARY VIOLATED.
The portal of the edifice slowly unfolded, disclosing the whole array of priests, who, clad in their floating vestments, advanced chaunting from the oratory, with tapers burning, censers smoking, and two emblazoned banners waving: one of white silk, bearing a large crimson cross, surmounted by the sacred charge of St. Peter—the keys of heaven; the other, the symbolical banner of St. Battaglia, surrounded by all the imaginary odour and glory of sanctity. The spectacle was very imposing: the tapers of scented wax, and the silver censers filled with lavender flowers, diffused through the air a fragrant perfume; while the pale curling smoke that encircled the gilded crosses and elevated images rendered—
"——Indistinct the pageant proud,As fancy forms of midnight cloud,When flings the moon upon her shroudA wavering tinge of flame."
"——Indistinct the pageant proud,As fancy forms of midnight cloud,When flings the moon upon her shroudA wavering tinge of flame."
"——Indistinct the pageant proud,
As fancy forms of midnight cloud,
When flings the moon upon her shroud
A wavering tinge of flame."
A wavering tinge of flame."
The misty vapour, the flickering lights, and the flowing garments of the fathers; the dark walls of the old cloisters which rang to the solemn and sonorous chaunt of twenty male voices; the distant organ swelling aloud, and then dying away in the hollow recesses of the arched oratory, together produced a striking effect. The abbot, an aged priest of venerable aspect, with a beard white as the new fallen snow (then an unusual appendage to a canon's chin), appeared at their head. They halted beneath the ivy-crowned archway; the chaunt ceased, the soldiers drew back, and all were silent: save the magnificent strains of the organ reverberating in the vaulted chapel and the rustle of the consecrated standards, all was still. The abbot, who no doubt expected that this religious display would impress us with a feeling of awe, then addressed me.
"Your purpose, signor?" he asked, mildly, but firmly.
"Reverend abate," I responded, lowering my sword respectfully, "I demand the person, of a vile assassin, whom I have learned, from unquestionable authority, you have concealed within these walls!"
"He whom you seek is under the protection of God. Know, signor, that he who puts forth a hand in anger against one who seeketh and findeth sanctuary in the church, is guilty of the most atrocious sacrilege!"
"On my own head be the guilt of the sacrilege, Padre Abate. Excuse us: the French are in your immediate vicinity, and we run the imminent risk of being all taken prisoners. One of our comrades, a young officer of distinction, is missing; and a frightful assassination has been committed at the villa Montecino: we have every reason to believe that your favoured fugitive is implicated in both these mysterious occurrences. I cannot parley with you, reverend signor: I demand an interview with the criminal; and if he is not instantly brought forth, I have to acquaint you that I will search the monastery by force; and, if need be, drag him from the very altar at the point of the bayonet!"
Ere the indignant abbot could reply—
"Darest thou! abominable heretic as thou art, violate the house of God?" cried a tall, fierce-looking and fanatical monk, rushing forward, with flushed cheeks and kindling eyes, and holding aloft a ponderous ebony crucifix. "Pause! lest the thunders of offended Heaven be hurled upon ye: pause! lest the vials of wrath——"
"Pshaw!" I exclaimed, impatiently; "we may parley here till sunset. Soldiers, forward to the chapel: there you will doubtless discover the rogue." My followers rushed past; a volley of execrations burst from the padri, and I was assailed with cries of—
"Paganico infame! malandrino! infidel! damnable heretic!" and a thousand other injurious and ridiculous epithets. I heeded them not; but, at the head of my party, burst into the chapel of the monastery. I had augured rightly: there the fugitive was discovered.
Pale as death, ghastly and bloody from a sword wound on the head, a savage-looking fellow was dragged by force from the foot of the great gilt crucifix on the altar; to the rail of which he clung for a moment with convulsive energy. The soldiers brought him before me, and, by their fixed bayonets, kept back the exasperated priests; who continued to pour forth upon us a ceaseless torrent of invectives and maledictions, which we regarded no more than the wind.
"Are you the unhappy man who is guilty of murder?" said I. He replied only by a wild and unmeaning stare.
"Unhappy wretch! your name?"
"Giosué of Montecino," said he, suddenly and fiercely. I trembled for poor Oliver, on remembering the name of his rival.
"Villain! what fiend tempted you to slay your unhappy cousin?"
He started, as if stung by a serpent.
"She is dead, then!" he said in a hoarse and almost inarticulate voice, while his head drooped upon his heaving breast. Suddenly uttering a howl like a wild beast, he broke away from the soldiers, escaping their levelled bayonets; and, finding the gate secured, scrambled up the rugged outer wall like a polecat; there balancing himself, he turned, and regarding me with a scornful scowl, he burst into a bitter and hysterical laugh. The soldiers rushed towards him, and one fired; but I threw up his firelock, and the ball passed close to the head of the assassin, who never winced. Escape was now impossible. On one side of him bristled twenty bayonets; en the other was a tremendous precipice, with a deep river flowing at its base several hundred feet below. The slightest dizziness might have been fatal to him. But folding his arms he uttered a laugh of defiance, and called upon us to fire. I was strongly tempted to put his talisman to the proof; but restrained my exasperated soldiers.
"Wretch," said I; "know you aught of a British officer, who has been missing since last night?"
"Yes," he replied, with a sardonic grin, shaking his clenched right hand aloft with savage exultation. "These are the fingers that fastened on his throat with a tiger's clutch."
"You slew him!" I cried, and drew a pistol from my sash.
"I did not—ha! and yet I did."
"How, villain?" He laughed scornfully again.
"Hear me, Giosué Montecino," said I: "you see this pistol? I might in one moment deprive you of existence——"
"Ha! ha!" laughed the assassin.
"Yet I will spare your life, if you will tell me the fate of my comrade."
"My life? Bagatella! ho—ho! I want it not. Fools—dolts that ye are! think ye that I am afraid to die? Here is my breast—a thousand bullets were welcome—straight to the heart—fire!" and he smote his bosom as he spoke. There was something almost noble in his aspect at that moment, notwithstanding its wildness and repulsiveness.
"Hear me, fellow:—the Lieutenant Lascelles"——
"Ha!" he ground his teeth madly. "Curses hurl him to that perdition into which he has hurried me! At this moment he feels in the body some of those agonies I endure in the spirit. O, Dianora!—thou whose very shadow I worshipped,—I who loved the very ground you trod upon!" The inexplicable ruffian sobbed heavily; yet his blood-shot eyes were never moistened by a tear. "O, Dianora!" he continued, in a voice which, though husky, yet expressed the most intense pathos. "Who was the fiend that nerved me to destroy thee—and so barbarously? Who, but this accursed Englishman! Believe me, Signor, I had not the least intention of slaying her last night: O no! none—none!" He wrung his hands wildly. "What could be further from my thoughts? Disguised as her lover—as this Oliver—I intended to have carried her off; but her endearing accents, addressed as to him, fell like scorching fire upon my heart. I could restrain my demoniac feelings no longer. O, horror! Yet I have done nothing that I would not commit again, rather than behold her in the arms of—of—Maladetto!—his name is poison to my lips!"
"Madman, come down from the wall."
"Would you learn the fate of your friend?" he asked, exultingly.
"Had I a mountain of gold to give you—"
"Gold?—fool!—what is gold to me? Listen. Waylaid by my companions last night, the dog you call your comrade was dashed from his horse by their clubs. He fought bravely, and with his sabre laid open my head: my own blood blinded me. Ha! a moment, and my hand was on his throat—my acciaro at his breast—yet I spared him."
"Heaven will reward you"——
"Ha—ha! A sudden death suited not my purpose or my hate. Slow, consuming, diabolical mental tortures were what I wanted: and what think you we did?" I was breathless; I could not ask, but Giosué continued:
"Bound with cords, he was borne to a ruined vault among the lonely mountains yonder; there amid stinging adders, hissing vipers, bloated toads, and voracious polecats, we flung him down, tied hand and foot, stunned and bleeding. Then closing the aperture, we piled up earth and stones and rocks against it. There let him perish! unseen, unknown, unheard. May never an ave be said over his bones, and may a curse blight, haunt, and blast, to all futurity, the spot where they lie." He paused for a moment, and then continued more slowly and energetically.
"To laugh to scorn the terror of death was the glory of the Greek and the Roman; and I will show thee, Signor Inglese, that Giosué of Montecino can despise it, as nobly as his classic fathers may have done in the days of old." He raised aloft a long bright poniard, which he suddenly drew forth from his sleeve.
"Madman!—desperado!" I exclaimed; "hold, for the sake of mercy! A word—a word—I will give you a thousand ducats! life! all! anything! but say where you have imprisoned my friend?—for Heaven's sake say!"
"Never!" said he, with a triumphant scowl—-"never: let him perish with myself. Love for Dianora led me to destroy her; and love for her still, teaches me that to survive would be the foulest and basest cowardice!"
He struck the stiletto to his heart, and fell dead at my feet.
I was horror-stricken: not by the suicide of the assassin, but by the revelation he had had just made. Of its truth I could not entertain a doubt, The situation of the unfortunate Lascelles, pinioned, wounded, and entombed alive, to endure all the protracted agonies of death by starvation, rushed vividly upon my mind, and overwhelmed me with rage and mortification. I explained to my soldiers the terrible confession of the fierce Giosué, and their emotions were not much short of my own. We endured tantalization in its bitterest sense. What would I not have given that the convulsed corpse of the vindictive Montecino were yet endued with life. But, alas! the ruffian had perished in his villainy with the important secret undisclosed, and the horrible fate of my friend could not be averted.
And Giosué, wretch as he was, I pitied him. His had been the burning love, and his the deadly hatred of his country:
"The cold in clime, or cold in blood,Their love it scarce deserves a name;Buthiswas like the lava's flood,That boils in Etna's breast of flame."
"The cold in clime, or cold in blood,Their love it scarce deserves a name;Buthiswas like the lava's flood,That boils in Etna's breast of flame."
"The cold in clime, or cold in blood,
Their love it scarce deserves a name;
Their love it scarce deserves a name;
Buthiswas like the lava's flood,
That boils in Etna's breast of flame."
That boils in Etna's breast of flame."
Slowly and dejectedly we quitted the monastery, as the sun was setting behind the hills of Sicily; and marching in silence towards Scylla, we reached a third time the place where Oliver's glove and gorget had been found. There we made an involuntary halt, and gazed around us with the keenest scrutiny, in the hope of discovering some clue to the place of his immurement. My brave party seemed very unwilling to return to Scylla without making another effort to rescue the victim of Montecino. Innumerable were the ideas suggested and plans proposed; but none of them seemed worthy of attention, save one of Sergeant Gask's.
"The rascal mentioned a ruined vault among the hills," said he: "now what think you, Captain Dundas, of searching the ruins on the mountain yonder? And, by my faith, sir! the foot-marks and traces of blood lead off in that direction. See! the lower branches of the shrubs are broken, the withered leaves of the last year are trodden down, and bloody tracks are on the grass."
"The sergeant is right, sir," muttered the soldiers, pleased with his acuteness.
"Move on, then—forward to the old castle; any active occupation is preferable to this horrid state of idle suspense."
A quarter of an hour's rapid marching brought us to the castelletto, a little tower in a state of great dilapidation, covered with masses of bronze-like ivy, and the beautiful wild flowers of fruitful Italy. A large owl flew from one of the shattered openings, and with a shrill scream soared on its heavy wings through the evening sky. The woods and hills around us were growing dark; the place was still as the grave: the ivy leaves rustling tremulously on the rugged masonry of the ruin, and a rivulet tinkling through a fissure of a neighbouring rock, were the only sounds we heard. Solemn pines towered around it on every hand, and the aspect of the landscape was peculiarly desolate and gloomy. A musket was fired as a signal, and with a thousand reverberations the wooded hills gave back the echo. With heads bent to the ground, we listened intently; but there was no response, and we looked blankly in each other's faces.
"This cannot be the place," said I in a tone of sadness, about to move unwillingly away.
"Stay, sir—look here, Captain Dundas," cried Gask; "here is blood on the grass, and, sure as I live, stones freshly heaped up there!"
"Right—by Jove! Gask, you are an acute fellow. Pile your firelocks, lads, and clear away this heap of rubbish."
Flushed with hope, the soldiers attacked the pile of stones indicated by the sergeant: there were bushes, earth, and fragments of ruined masonry, all evidently but recently piled up against the base of the tower. Rapidly they rolled down the heavy blocks, and toiled so strenuously that in three minutes the whole heap was cleared away, and a little arched aperture disclosed. An exclamation of joy and hope burst from the whole party: we had found the place. Gask and the little bugler descended into the vault—a dark, damp, and hideous hole under the ruins. A faint moan drew them cautiously to a corner, and there they found the object of all our search and anxiety—Oliver Lascelles, benumbed by cold, and his limbs swollen almost to bursting by the tight cordage which confined them. He was speechless and half-stifled by the noxious vapours of the dungeon: had we been half an hour later he must have expired. When we drew him forth, he was so pale, haggard, and death-like, that his aspect shocked me; but the pure fresh breeze of the balmy evening revived him, and he recovered rapidly. He could not address us at first; but his looks of thankfulness, joy, and recognition were most expressive. The soldiers were merry and happy, every face beamed with gladness; even Gask's usually grave and melancholy visage was brightened by a smile.
We had little time for explanation; we were in a dangerous vicinity, from which it was necessary to retire without a moment's delay. Oliver was quite enfeebled; but, supported on the sergeant's arm and mine, he contrived to walk, though slowly, and we set out immediately for the castle of Scylla.
Gask afterwards told me, that in the vault "he had touched something that made his flesh creep." It was a small and delicate female hand. I never mentioned the circumstance to Oliver; who was long in recovering from the effects of his perilous love adventure. But I had no doubt the dead hand was poor Dianora's: theforfeited hand, which in cruel mockery that incarnate demon Giosué had thrown beside her lover.
In the bustle of succeeding and more important events the interest we took in Lascelles' affair gradually subsided. But it was long ere he forgot the fate of Dianora, and the horrible death which, by a lucky combination of incidents, he had so narrowly escaped; and longer still ere he recovered his wonted buoyancy of spirit and lightness of heart.
CHAPTER XVII.
UNEXPECTED PERILS.
The near approach of the enemy made it apparent that the town of Scylla would soon be destroyed by the shot and shell their artillery would pour upon it; and that the Free Corps, who occupied its half-ruined streets, would be sacrificed without being of service to the garrison in the castle; I, therefore, telegraphed to theElectra, to send off a boat, as I wished to consult with her commander about the transmission of those troops to Messina.
A strong breeze had been blowing from the south-west all day, and the sea ran with such fury through the Straits that no boat could come off until after sunset, when there was a lull. Immediately, on being informed that a boat had arrived at the sea staircase, I buckled on my sabre, threw my cloak round me, and hurried off, intending to return before the ever-anxious Bianca had discovered my absence. How vain were my anticipations!
The longfetchof the sea running from Syracuse rolled the breakers with great fury on the castle rock, and the boat was tossed about like a cork among the foaming surf that seethed and hissed around us. As the oars dipped in the water and she shot away, I seated myself in the stern-sheets, beside the little middy who held the tiller-ropes. The frigate lay nearly a mile to the southward, and there was such a tremendous current against us that the six oarsmen, though straining every nerve and sinew, found it impossible to make head against it.
"I wish we may make the frigate to-night, sir," said the midshipman, looking anxiously at the clouds: "there's a squall coming from the south-south-east, and these Straits are an awkward place to be caught by one. What do you think, Tom Taut?"
"Think, sir? why that we'll have a dirty night," replied the sailor whom he addressed: a grim, brown, and brawny tar. "When I sailed in thePolly Femus, 74, we had just such a night as this off Scylla, and I won't be in a hurry forgetting it!"
It was now past sunset, in the month of February, and the darkness of the louring sky increased rapidly. Through the thin mist floating over the surface of the water, the frigate loomed large; but when the rising wind cleared it away, we found the distance increasing between us: the strong current was carrying us, at the rate of five knots an hour, towards the terrible rock we had just left; which rose from the water like a black gigantic tower, and seemed ever to be close by, frowning its terrors upon us. Dense banks of vapour soon shrouded the land and hid the frigate: it grew so dark that we knew not which way to steer. The seamen still continued to pull fruitlessly; for we made so much sternway that I expected to find the frail craft momently stranded on the rocky beach.
"We shall never reach the frigate to-night, unless she fills and makes a stretch towards us," said the middy. "This current will not change till daylight, and the Lord knows when the wind will chop about. It has been blowing from Syracuse ever since the poor littleDelightwas driven on the rocks yonder."
"You cannot fetch Scylla, I suppose."
"Lord, no, sir! we must give it a wide berth: the breakers will be running against it in mountains just now. We must put up the helm and run with the wind and tide, to avoid swamping; and if we escape being sucked into Charybdis on the westward, or beached under the cliffs of Palmi to the northward, we may consider ourselves lucky dogs."
"But we may be thrown upon a part of the coast occupied by the enemy."
"Better that than go to old Davy, sir," said the grey-haired bow-oarsman, "as I nearly did when thePolly Femus, 74, came through these same Straits of Messina."
"When?" said I. "Lately?"
"Lord love you, no, sir—why 't was in the year one."
"One?"
"That is 1801. We were standing for Malta with a stiff breeze from the nor'-east. ThePolly Femuswas close hauled on the starboard tack——"
"D—n thePolyphemus," cried the midshipman, testily, as he put the helm up; "take in your loose gaff, Tom: if we are not picked up by theAmphion, your tune will be changed before morning. Hoste keeps a good look out!"
"He was made a sailor of in thePolly—whew! beg pardon, sir," said the old fellow, who could not resist making another allusion to his old ship.
"Faith! Captain Dundas," said the middy, "it is so dark that I have not the slightest notion of our whereabouts."
"Yonder's a spark away to windward, sir," said old Tom. "TheElectra, cannot be less than somewhere about two miles off—a few fathoms more or less."
At that moment the frigate fired a gun; the red flash gleamed through the gloom, and after a lapse the report was borne past us on the night wind. A blue light was next burned; it shone like a distant star above the black and tumbling sea, then expired: and so did all our hopes of reaching the ship—the sound of her gun having informed us that we had been swept by the current far to the north of the Lanterna of Messina, which was rapidly being lost amid the murky vapour.
"Keep a good look out there forward," cried the middy: "if we miss theAmphion, we may all go to the bottom, or be under weigh for a French prison by this time to-morrow."
"Ay, ay, sir," replied the sailor through his hand, while, bending forward, he strove to pierce the gloom a-head.
"Give way, men—cheerily now."
The rowers stretched back over the thwarts till their oars bent like willow wands, and as the strong current was with us now, we flew through the foaming water with the speed of a race-horse.
"TheAmphionshould be somewhere hereabouts," said the midshipman, as the oarsmen suspended their labours after a quarter of an hour's pulling: we anxiously scanned the gloomy watery waste, but could discern no trace of her. Vapour and obscurity involved us on every side, and our minds became a prey to apprehensions, while our blood chilled with the cold atmosphere, and a three hours' seat in an open boat at such a season. The tower of the Lantern had vanished; a single star only was visible, and the inky waves often hid it, as the boat plunged down into the dark trough of the midnight sea.
Suddenly the broad moon showed her silvery disc above the level horizon; her size seemed immense, and as the thin gauzy clouds rolled away from her shining face, we saw the black waves rising and falling in strong outline between. Her aspect was gloomy and louring.
"When the moon sets, the current will begin to run northward," said the experienced little mid; "and we shall have a capital chance of being sucked into the Calofaro, or stranded on Punta Secca. Would to God, we saw the frigate!"
As he spoke, a large vessel passed across the bright face of that magnificent moon, which shed a long line of silver light across the troubled water, brightening the summits of the waves as they rose successively from the dark bosom of the sea. The effect was beautiful, as the vessel passed on the rolling surge, and heaving gracefully, slid away into obscurity.
"A large frigate on the starboard tack," said the midshipman, as she disappeared: "she is five miles off."
"That's theAmphion, your honour," said Tom Taut; "I know her as well as the oldPolly Femus."
"Are you sure?" I asked with anxiety.
"Sure?" replied Tom, energetically spitting his quid to leeward; "I know her in a moment, by the rake of her spars. Her mizen top-sail aback—her courses shivering: I know her better than any ship on the station, except the darling oldPolly. Bill Hoste is creeping along shore, after some of these gun-boats theDelightlet slip so easily."
"If I judge rightly, we must be somewhere off Palmi."
"Hark!" said the midshipman, and the roar of billows rolling on the shore confirmed my supposition.
"Breakers ahead!" cried the man at the bow, and we beheld a long white frothy line, glimmering through the gloom; and above it towered the dark outline of a lofty coast. The current shot us among the surf; which boiled around us as white as if we were amid the terrors of Charybdis. A little cove, where the waves rolled gently up the sandy slope, invited us to enter; the boat ran in, and we were immediately in the smooth water of a little harbour, where the dark wild woods overhung the rocks at its entrance, and all around it on every side. Here we hoped to remain unseen, till daylight revealed our "whereabouts," as the middy had it.
For a time we kept the oars in the rowlocks, ready to retire on a moment's notice; but finding that not a sound, save the dashing sea, woke the echoes of that lonely place, I volunteered to land and make a reconnoissance; desiring the midshipman to pull southward, along the shore, in case of any alarm, that I might be picked up at some other point. Belting my sabre tighter, I threw aside my cloak, and sprang ashore. On walking a little way forward, through the wood, I found the country open, and saw lights at a distance; which I conjectured to be those of Palmi or Seminara, where Regnier had concentrated a strong body of troops.
Struggling forward among a wilderness of prostrate columns and shattered walls overgrown with creeping plants and foliage (probably the ruins of ancientTaurianum), I often stopped and bent to the ground to listen; but heard only the creaking trees, the gurgle of a lonely rill seeking its devious path to the sea, or the rustle of withered leaves, swept over the waste by the rising wind. But the roll of a distant drum and the flash of a cannon about two miles off, arrested my steps and made me think of returning: I conjectured it to be the morning gun from the French fort at Palmi. Daylight soon began to brighten the summits of the Apennines, and the waves, as they rolled on each far off promontory and cape. Having nearly a mile to walk, I began hurriedly to retrace my steps; for the dawn stole rapidly on. As I walked on, the deep boom of a cannonade and the sharp patter of small arms made my heart leap with excitement and anxiety, and spurred me in my flight. Breaking through the wood, I rushed breathlessly to the shore; but alas! the boat was gone: I saw it pulled seaward, with a speed which the strong flow of the morning current accelerated. In close chase, giving stroke for stroke, while the crew plied their muskets and twenty-four pounder, followed one of those unlucky gun-boats captured by the French: it had been anchored in the same cove, and had discovered our little shallop the moment day broke.
The pursued and the pursuers soon disappeared behind a promontory, and I found myself alone, far behind the enemy's lines, and almost without a chance of escape. Cursing the zeal which had led me on such a fruitless reconnoissance, I retired into a beech wood, as the safest place; and lay down in a thicket to reflect on my position, and form a plan for extrication from it.
CHAPTER XVIII.
CAPTURED BY THE ENEMY—THE TWO GENERALS.
I was only twelve miles distant from Scylla; but as every approach to it was closely blocked up by Regnier, whose troops covered the whole province from sea to sea, every attempt to reach it would be attended by innumerable dangers and difficulties: yet, confiding in the loyalty of the Calabrese, and the influence my name had among them, I did not despair of regaining the fortress, by seeking its vicinity through the most retired paths.
Except my sword, spurs, and Hessian boots, I had nothing military about me; as I wore a Calabrian doublet of grey cloth, and a nondescript forage-cap. As I walked forward, the trees became more scattered, and the openness of the ground made the utmost circumspection necessary. A sudden cry of "Halte! arrêtez!" made me pause; and, within a few paces, I beheld a French vidette—a lancer in his long; scarlet cloak, which flowed from his shoulders over the crupper of his horse, and, like his heavy plume and tricoloured banderole, was dank with dew.
"Ah, sacre coquin!" he cried, lowering his lance, and charging me at full speed. "I see you are an Englishman." I sprang behind a tree, and as he passed me in full career, by a blow of my sabre I hewed the steel head from his lance. At that moment an officer rode up, and, placing a pistol at my head, commanded me to yield. Resistance was vain, and I surrendered my sabre in the most indescribable sorrow and chagrin; for thoughts of Bianca, of a long separation and imprisonment, of all my blighted hopes of happiness, honour, and promotion, and of the important trust reposed in me, rushed in a flood upon my mind: almost stupified, I was led away by my captor.
A few minutes' walk brought us to the bivouac of a cavalry brigade, which was in all the bustle of preparation for the march; while six trumpeters, blowing "boot and saddle," made the furthest dingles of the forest ring. The horses were all picqueted under trees, or within breast-ropes; and the officer informed me that the brigade was that of General Compere, before whom he led me.
Rolled up in a cloak, the general was seated at the foot of a tree; behind him stood his mounted orderly, holding his charger by the bridle. His aide-de-camp and a number of officers lounged round him, smoking cigars, drinking wine from a little barrel, and joking with great hilarity ere they marched. The ashes of the watch-fires smouldered near; the mist was curling between the branches of the leafless trees, and the rising sun glittered on the bright lance-heads, the gay caps, and accoutrements of the dashing lancers; who were rapidly unpicqueting their chargers, and forming close column of squadrons on the skirts of the wood.
"Monsieur le vicomte is welcome as flowers in spring," said the general; "but who is this?—Ah!" he exclaimed, suddenly recognising me, and raising politely his cocked-hat. "I did not expect to have this pleasure. You are the brave officer I met at Maida?"
I bowed.
"And again behind our lines at Cassano—disguised as a monk?" he added, with a keen glance.
"Thrown upon that coast by shipwreck, I gladly adopted any disguise until I could escape."
"Our whole army heard of you, and understood you had been employed as a spy by the Count of Maida; consequently Massena was enraged at your escape. Ah! the old Tambour—he is a rough dog! However, monsieur,Ido not believe that one who could fight so gallantly at Maida, would stoop to act a dishonourable part."
"Yet, will monsieur be so good as explain," said another officer, "how we find him here; without the lines drawn round Scylla, to the garrison of which he says he belongs—and why in the garb of a Calabrian?"
Indignant at the suspicious nature of these queries, and unused to the humiliating situation of a prisoner, I replied briefly and haughtily; relating how I had missed the boat—a story which none of them seemed to believe. A whisper ran round, and the offensive term "espion" brought the blood rushing to my cheek.
"Monsieur le general," said I, with a sternness of manner which secured their respect, "will, I trust—in memory of that day at Maida—be so generous as to send me, on parole, to Messina, where I may treat about an exchange; by doing so, he will confer a lasting obligation, which the fortune of war may soon put it in my power to repay."
"I deeply regret that to General Regnier I must refer you—he alone can grant your request. As we move instantly on Scylla, you must be transmitted to head-quarters without delay, and under escort. Appearances are much against you; but I trust matters will be cleared up. Chataillion," said he to his aide, "help the gentleman to wine and a cigar, while I write a rough outline of this affair to monsieur le general."
Commanding my feelings and features, I drank a glass or two of wine, while the general, taking pen and ink from his sabretache, wrote a hasty note to Regnier.
"Chataillion," said he, while folding it, "order a corporal and a file of lances."
The vicomte went up to the first regiment of the brigade, and returned with the escort.
"In the charge of these soldiers, you must be sent to Seminara, where I trust your parole will be accepted in consequence of this note: though monsieur le general and monseigneur le marechal are far from being well disposed towards you; especially for the last affair with the voltigeurs of the 23rd. Ah! Regnier's son Philip was shot at Bagnara—poor boy! Adieu! May we meet under more agreeable circumstances;" and giving the letter to the corporal, Compere sprang into his saddle, and left me. His aide-de-camp, the Vicomte de Chataillion, seeing how deeply I was cast down, expressed regret at having been my capturer. "But monsieur will perceive," said he, with a most insinuating smile, "that I was only doing my duty. You cannot travel on foot with a mounted escort—it would be dishonourable; and as I have a spare horse, you are welcome to it: on reaching Seminara, or even the frontiers, you can return it with the corporal.—Adieu!" And we parted.
The frontier! distraction! I could scarcely thank the young Frenchman: but memory yet recalls his gallant presence and commanding features—one of the true old noblesse. How different he was from Pepe, Regnier, Massena, and many others; whom the madness and crimes of the Revolution had raised to place and power, from the dregs of the French people.
With a little ostentation, the lancers loaded their pistols before me, and in five minutes I wasen routefor Seminara, with a file on each side and the corporal riding behind. I often looked back: Compere's brigade were riding in sections towards the hills, with all their lance heads and bright accoutrements glittering in the sun; while the fanfare of the trumpets, the clash of the cymbals, and the roll of the kettle-drums, rang in the woods of Palmi. They were moving towards Scylla, and my heart swelled when I thought of my helplessness and of poor Bianca; the hope of Regnier accepting my parole alone sustained me: but that hope was doomed to be cruelly disappointed.
By the way we passed many ghastly objects, which announced the commencement of that savage war of extermination which General Manhes afterwards prosecuted in the Calabrias. Many armed peasantry had been shot like beasts of prey, wherever the French fell in with them; and their bodies hung on the trees we passed under, while their grisly heads were stuck on poles by the roadside. Some were in iron cages, and, reduced to bare skulls, grinned through the rusty ribs like spectres through barred helmets; while the birds of prey, screaming and flapping their wings over them, increased the gloomy effect such objects must necessarily have upon one's spirits.
The morning was balmy and beautiful, the sun hot and bright, the sky cloudless and of the palest azure; light fleecy vapour floated along the distant horizon, where the sea lay gleaming in green and azure: but never had I a more unpleasant ride than that from Compere's bivouac. I often looked round me, in the desperate hope that a sudden attack of robbers or loyal paesani would set me free; though warned by the corporal that on the least appearance of an attempt at rescue he would shoot me dead. But Regnier had effectually cleared and scoured the country, and we passed no living being, save an old Basilian pilgrim, travelling barefooted, perhaps on his way to the Eternal City; and once, in the distance, a solitary bandit on the look-out, perched on the summit of a rock like a lonely heron. The bells of the mountain goats, the hum of the bee or the flap of the wild bird's wing, and the dull tramp of our horses on the grassy way, alone broke the silence. My escort were solemn and taciturn Poles, who never addressed a word either to me or to each other; so my gloomy cogitations were uninterrupted till we entered Seminara, when the scene changed.
The town was crowded with soldiers, and all the populace had fled: cavalry, infantry, artillery, sappeurs, voltigeurs, and military artizans, thronged on every hand; shirts and belts were drying at every window, and the air was thickened by pipe clay and tobacco-smoke, while the sound of drums, bugles, and trumpets mingled with shouts and laughter, rang through the whole place—noise and uproar reigning on all sides. The great Greek abbey and cathedral were littered with straw for cavalry horses; the principal street was blocked up by waggons, caissons, tumbrils, pontoons, mortars, and the whole of that immense battering train concentrated for the especial behoof of my brave little band at Scylla: whither it would be conveyed the moment the roads were completed.
A strong guard of grenadiers stationed before the best house in the town, announced it to be the quarters of the general. They belonged to the 62nd of the French line. In front of the mansion stood thirty pieces of beautiful brass cannon: the same which the French threw into the sea on abandoning Scylla, when, in the year following, the British beleaguered it under Lieutenant-Colonel Smith, 27th regiment. I was ushered by the corporal into the general's presence, and found him just finishing breakfast: he had pushed away his last cup of chocolate, placed his foot on the braciere, and was composing himself to resume reading theMoniteur, while his servant, a grenadier in blue uniform, with rough iron-grey moustaches cleared the table. On the wall hung a bombastic bulletin of Napoleon, dated 27th December, 1806:—
"The Neapolitan dynasty has ceased to reign! its existence is incompatible with the repose of Europe and the honour of our crown. Soldiers, march! andifthey will await your attack, drive into the sea those feeble battalionsof the tyrants of the ocean—lose no time in making all Italy subject to my arms!"
Probably theMoniteurcontained some unpleasant account of our brilliant success in other parts of the world; for the temper of the general was soured, and he regarded me with a most vinegar-like aspect, when the corporal ushered me in. I bowed coldly; he answered only by a stern glance, spread his hands behind his coat tails, and leaned against the mantel-piece.
"Ouf! a prisoner of war," said he, and scanning me at intervals, while reading the letter of Compere.
"Your name and rank?"
"Dundas, captain of the 62nd regiment of the line, and commandant of the castle of Scylla, for his Majesty Ferdinand IV."
"Ouf! the very man we wanted! You were caught on the shore near Palmi?"
"Yes, when left there by the boat of theElectrafrigate, and merely meaning to make a reconnoissance, (until daybreak enabled us to put to sea) I penetrated"—
"A deuced lame story! Bah! you were merely making a reconnoissance at Canne too, I suppose? Ha! ha! well, we will cure you of that propensity for the future."
"I request to be liberated on my parole."
"A spy on parole! Ouf!"
"Scoundrel!" I exclaimed, losing all temper, "I am a gentleman—a British officer."
"Sacre coquin! men of honour do not prowl in the rear of an enemy's chain de quartiers in disguise: where is your uniform?"
I gave him a scornful glance in reply.
"Ouf!" said he, "you came to see our arrangements for capturing your crow's nest at Scylla. Behold, then, our pontoons, our battering train, our brigades of infantry and sappers: I trust you will report to monseigneur the Prince of Essling, that they are all ready for instant service."
"Monsieur, I demand my parole."
"If Massena grants a parole he may, but not so Regnier: you must be sent to the marshal; and I believe he is most likely to give you a yard or two of stout cord, and a leap from the nearest tree."
"Such conduct would not surprise me in the least!" I answered, bitterly; "the savage military government, which dragged the Duc d'Enghien from a neutral territory, and after a mockery of judicial form shot him by torchlight at midnight; and which so barbarously tortured to death a British officer, in the Temple, at Paris, must be capable of any inhumanity. After the ten thousand nameless atrocities by which France, since the days of the Revolution, has disgraced herself among the nations of Europe; no new violation of military honour, of humanity, or the laws of civilized nations, can be a subject of wonder."
"Ah, faquin! I could order you to be hanged in ten minutes."
"A day may yet come when this ruffianly treatment shall be repaid."
"Ouf! monsieur mouchard, Massena will look to that. At Castello di Bivona, you will be embarked on board La Vigilante courier gunboat, commanded by Antonio Balotte. He is a rough Lucchese, that same Antonio, who will string you to the yard-arm if you prove troublesome. Ouf! if the emperor was of my opinion, his soldiers would not take any prisoners." He grinned savagely, and summoned his orderly.
"Order a corporal and file of soldiers. To them," he continued, addressing the Lancer, "you will hand over the prisoner with this brief despatch for Marshal Massena at Cosenza; it states who he is, and the suspicions against him."
Massena! O, how little I had to hope for, if once in the clutches of that savage and apostate Italian: particularly when blackened by all that Regnier's malicious nature might dictate. In half an hour I was on the march for Castello di Bivona, escorted by a corporal and file of the 101st, with fixed bayonets. As a deeper degradation, Regnier had ordered me to be hand-cuffed. Heavens! my blood boils yet at the recollection of that! I would have resisted; but a musket levelled at my head silenced all remonstrance, and I bottled up my wrath while Corporal Crapaud locked the fetters on me. We marched off, my exasperation increasing as we proceeded; for the escort seemed determined to consider me in the character of a spy, and consequently treated me with insult and neglect: in vain I told them I was a British officer, and deserved other treatment.
"True, monsieur," replied the corporal, who was a dapper little Gaul, four feet six inches high, "but I am obeying only the orders of the general; and a British officer, or any other officer, who is caught among an enemy's cantonments in disguise, must be considered as a spy, and expect degradation as such. Monsieur will excuse us—we have orders not to converse with prisoners; and the general—ah! ventre bleu!—he is a man of iron!"
This coolness, or affectation of contempt or superiority, only increased my annoyance. Although the soldiers conversed with all the loquacity and sung with all the gaiety of Frenchmen, they addressed me no more during the march of more than twenty-five miles. This lasted seven hours, exclusive of halts at Gioja, Rossarno, and several half-deserted villages and shepherds' huts; where they extorted whatever they wanted, at point of the bayonet, and made good their quarters whenever they chose; browbeating the men and caressing the women (if pretty). I often expected a brawl, and perhaps a release; but all hope died away, when, about sunset, we entered Castello di Bivona: my spirit fell in proportion as the plains and snow-capped Apennines grew dark, when the red sun dipped into the Tyrhene sea.
There were no French troops in the town; but anchored close to the shore lay the French gun-boatLa Vigilante, mounting a six and a fourteen pounder, and having thirty-six men—quite sufficient to hold in terror the inhabitants of the little town, who had not forgotten the visit paid them by Regnier's rear-guard. My heart sickened when, from an eminence, I beheldLa Vigilante, which was to bear me further from liberty and hope; and the most acute anguish took possession of me, when confined for the night and left to my own sad meditations. I understood that I was to be transmitted to the Upper Province with some other prisoners, who were to arrive from Monteleone in the morning, and be conveyed across the gulf of St. Eufemio by the gun-boat.
I found myself confined for the night in the upper apartment of a gloomy tower, formed of immense blocks of stone, squared and built by the hands of the Locrians. The chamber was vaulted, damp, and destitute of furniture; but a bundle of straw was thrown in for my couch by Corporal Crapaud: he, with the escort, occupied a chamber below, where they caroused and played with dominoes. A turf battery of four 24-pounders, facing the seaward, showed that the French had converted this remnant of the ancient Hipponium into a temporary fort: a trench and palisade surrounded it.
A single aperture a foot square, four feet from the floor, and crossed by an iron bar, admitted the night breeze and the rays of the moon; showing the dark mountains, the blue sky, and the sparkling stars.
Left to solitude, my own thoughts soon became insupportable. "At this time yesternight I was with Bianca!" To be separated from her for an uncertain time—perhaps for ever, if Regnier's threats were fulfilled by the relentless Massena; to be taken from my important command at a time so critical—when the last stronghold of the British in Calabria was threatened by a desperate siege, on the issue of which the eyes of all Italy and Sicily were turned; the imminent danger and degrading suspicions under which I lay, manacled and imprisoned like a common felon; threatened on the one hand with captivity, on the other with death; and, worst of all, the image of Bianca, overwhelmed with sorrow and horror by the obscurity which enveloped my fate: all combined, tortured me to madness. I was in a state bordering on distraction. Stone walls, iron bars, and steel bayonets: alas! these are formidable barriers to liberty.
Midnight tolled from a distant bell, then all became still: so still that I heard my heart beating. Deeming me secure, my escort were probably sleeping over their cups and dominoes. I was encouraged to attempt escaping, and endeavoured to rally my thoughts. Though half worn out by our long march over detestable roads—a journey rendered more toilsome by the constrained position of my fettered hands—I became fresh and strong, and gathered courage from the idea. Yonder lay theVigilante, with her latteen sail hanging; loose: and the sight of her was an additional spur to exertion: once on board of her, every hope was cut off for ever.
The detested fetters, two oval iron rings secured by a padlock and bar, were first to be disposed of: but how? The manner in which they secured the wrists crippled my strength: the iron bar was a foot long, and though defying my utmost strength to break or bend it, yet ultimately it proved the means of setting me free. The padlock was strong and new: but a happy thought struck me; I forced it between the wide and time-worn joints of the wall until it was wedged fast as in a vice, then, clasping my hands together, I wrenched round the bar, using it as a lever on the lock which passed through it; and in an instant the bolt, the wards, the plates which confined them, and all the iron-work of the once formidable little engine, fell at my feet.
"God be thanked! oh, triumph!" burst in a whisper from my lips: my heart expanded, and I could have laughed aloud, while stretching my stiffened hands. But there was no time to be lost: the fall of the broken padlock might have alarmed the escort, and I prepared for instant flight. Thrusting some of the iron pieces under the door bolts, to prevent it being readily opened, I turned to the window, and found, with joy, that there was space enough between the cross-bar and the wall for egress: but the ground was fifteen feet below. With great pain and exertion I pressed through, and, half suffocated, nearly stuck midway between the rusty bar and stone rybate. At that moment of misery and hope, the corporal thundered at the door; I burst through, fell heavily to the ground, and for a moment was stunned by the fall: but the danger of delay, and the risk of being instantly shot if retaken, compelled me to be off double-quick. I rushed up the banquette of the gun-battery, cleared the parapet at a bound, and scrambled over the stockade like a squirrel.
"Villan, hola! halte!" cried Crapaud, firing his musket: the ball whistled through my hair, and next moment I was flying like a deer with the hounds in full chase. I was closely pursued: but, after three narrow escapes from the bullets of my escort, I baffled them, and gained in safety the cork wood of Bivona.