He congratulated me on my promotion to a company in the Regiment de Rolle, from which I was re-gazetted to my old corps: a double favour, which I had no doubt was to be attributed to the general's favourable mention of me in his despatches, and my good fortune in capturing the eagle. This trophy, by-the-bye, may now be seen in the hall of Chelsea Hospital, in company with thirteen others.
Poor Oliver! he found his grave beneath the towers of the Castello d'Ischia; where the waves roll over the bones of many a bold Calabrian and Ross-shire Highlander. He was barely twenty when he was shot at the head of his stormers.
After a hurried ride over the well-known positions of the third of July, we separated; Castelermo and I to pursue our journey to St. Eufemio, and Lascelles to continue his to General Regnier's camp: he was the bearer of a copy of Sir John Stuart's third proclamation, dated 18th July, and issued in consequence of the barbarous cruelties exercised by the French troops on those Italian royalists who unhappily fell into their hands. In that official document, after a long statement of appalling facts, Sir John reminded the French general that three thousand of their soldiers were prisoners to the British arms, together with many of Buonaparte's well-known partisans. "If, therefore," concluded the manifesto, "such violence is not put an end to, for the future, I shall not only deem myself justified, but compelled by my duty, to have recourse to the severe but indispensable law of REPRISALS!" This determined threat had some effect on the iron-hearted Regnier, and for a time we heard less of slaughtered peasantry and priests shot before their altars; of nuns and poor country girls torn from their homes and hiding-places, to become worse than slaves in the camps and bivouacs of the French: who were yet entrenched at Cassano, awaiting the advance of Massena's division.
Not choosing to be seen so far out of our proper road by any of our troops cantoned in St. Eufemio, or encamped around it, we took a solitary path across the plain towards the villa; and, as there was no ford, we had to swim our horses across the Amato, in a part where the stream was both deep and rapid. We then sought the shelter of an orange-grove, where, having poured the water out of our boots, we passed the noon-time until the intense heat passed away. It was a still and solitary place, where the silence was broken by no ruder sounds than the hum of the bee, the flap of the plover's wing, the murmur of the Amato, the notes of a shepherd's zampogna, and the faint tinkling bells of his flock afar off on the green and verdant mountains. We remained nearly two hours in that delightful grove, through the thick foliage of which the hot rays of the sun never penetrated: the shining river swept slowly past us to the sea, with its smooth surface glittering in the sunlight, and the whole air was fragrant with the perfume of the wild flowers blooming among its sedges, and the orange-trees which shaded its rocky banks. The ruddy fruit hung in rich golden clusters above us; and though, from the appearance of some of the trees, the winds of a hundred years had swept their branches, they were yet, in a "green old age," bending beneath their load of produce. The Calabrian knows well that the oldest trees bear the sweetest oranges: those that are soft and juicy, with thin skins: the thickly rinded are always the fruit of young saplings, and are seldom cared for by the orange-gatherer.
Cavaliere Marco—who had not such reasons as I for visiting the villa, and whose knowledge of the world led him to suppose that his presence could, perhaps, be dispensed with—suddenly recollected that he had a gambling affair with Ser Villani, the lawyer (there was only one in the province), and rode on to St. Eufemio, promising to rejoin me in a few hours. Meanwhile I pursued my way to the villa alone; and passing through its luxuriant orchards, reached the terraces unperceived by any of the inhabitants.
Leaving my horse under the portico, I passed through a white marble corridor into the lofty and superb saloon; where, through a cupola of stained glass covered with heraldic blazonry, the sun poured down a flood of variegated light upon three rows of gilded galleries, and a bronze fountain: the Neapolitan emblem, a winged horse, vomited forth a jet of sparkling water. Save the ceaseless plash of the fountain, the place was silent: no sounds of life were heard.
After a time, however, the laugh of the giddy Annina rang merrily in one of the vast corridors, where she was flirting with the old Greek chasseur, Andronicus; but only to drive away ennui in the absence of her cavalier Giacomo, whom with his party the visconte had sent back to Crotona.
"There can be nothing amiss, when Annina laughs so joyously," thought I; "and yet this great Italian villa, so gloomy and so silent, looks like a vast catacomb by the evening light. Ola! Annina!"
"Ecco, signor," cried the damsel, as she danced into the saloon: she evidently expected a stranger, and could not conceal her astonishment on beholding me; but assuming a prim air, she placed a little finger on her ripe pouting lips, and, with a glance full of archness and mystery, imposed silence.
"My pretty Annina, I am not inclined to flirt just now," said I, kissing her cheek with jocose gallantry, in proof of my assertion: though, indeed, the girl of Capri was attractive enough to tempt one to be gallant in good earnest. "Where is your lady?"