My kindness was repaid by his superior, the old Abate of the Basilians; to whom he reported our arrival in the decayed and solitary town, which was then involved in the gloom and obscurity of night. We heard no sound as we entered, save that of our horse's hoofs ringing on the old Roman road, and the distant roar of the Ionian sea, as it rolled on the reverberating shores of the gulf—the Scylletic gulf of classical antiquity, famous for the shipwreck of "wise Ulysses;" who, as tradition asserts, with the survivors of his disaster, founded the city.
We were hospitably received by the Abate, who was a true Calabrian and staunch royalist; and he made the purple wines of the province flow like water, in honour of Ferdinand and Carolina of Naples—"il Cavaliere Stuardo, and the brave soldiers of his Britannic Majesty—Evoe, viva!"
As we had ridden our horses at an easy pace, they held out admirably; but seventy miles of such miserable roads as those we had travelled—ways suited only for mules, goats, and buffaloes—were equal to a hundred on level ground. By the war-like operations of the French, the Masse, and the brigands, the rustic bridges were everywhere broken down, and the roads trenched and cut up to hinder the passage of cannon and waggons; so we had to make many a weary detour among the hills, following sheep-tracks, at one time at the summit, at another at the bottom of a precipice: too often we had no better road than the dry channel of a mountain stream afforded; and on such a path it required the utmost powers of spur and bridle, and all the rider's skill, to prevent the horse breaking his knees by slipping on the wave-worn pebbles.
On quitting the monastery next morning, we beheld the ceremony of a military salutation of the consecrated host, by a party of the Sicilian volunteers belonging to Kempt's brigade, then lying there in cantonment.
The host was borne aloft through the streets by the venerable Abate, followed in solemn procession by his Greek basilians, carrying crosses, banners, relics of saints and martyrs, smoking censers and lighted tapers, which filled the air with perfume. They moved to the sound of a low chant; and the whole population knelt bare-headed on each side, as they passed. The Sicilian infantry formed a lane, with the ranks facing inwards—the commanding officer kneeling in front, while the arms were presented—the colours levelled to the dust, and the drums beat a march on the flanks. Castelermo dismounted, and knelt on the pavement; but I, like a heretical presbyterian, kept my saddle: yet the sour looks of the watchful fathers softened when I uncovered my head; for I was well aware that it would have been gross disrespect not to have done so, on an occasion so solemn.
Turning our horses eastward to regain our lost ground, we passed through the village of Jacurso, and the town of Francavilla, crossed the stream of Angistola, and ascended towards Monteleone; whose castled height, and groves of oak, burst at once upon our view, as we turned an angle of the mountain path. At our feet spread the Tyrrhene sea, calmly rolling, and stretching like a vast blue mirror from St. Eufemio to Castello di Bivona; whilst its waves flashed golden in the sun, as they broke on the distant promontory of Tropea—the Portus Hercules of the Romans. Further westward, the dim but sunny horizon was streaked by the light smoke ascending from the peak of Stromboli, nearly fifty miles distant. Around us the country was like a beautiful garden: the maple, the vallonia oak, the dark sepulchral cypress, the wild acacia, the towering pine, the pistachio, the sweet-chestnut, and the walnut-trees, all displayed their varying foliage on the lowlands; while the quivering aspen and evergreen oleander waved their leafy branches from the sandy rocks. Sheltered by graceful weeping-willows and lofty Judas'-trees, little cottages peeped out on the green hill sides; whilst the ruddy orange, the golden-apple, the pomegranate, the almond, the grape, and the plum, were flourishing around in glorious luxuriance beneath the warm light of an unclouded sun.
Spangled with myriads of flowers, the green and lofty hills reared their verdant or wooded summits to the azure sky; numerous flocks browsed on their sides, beneath the shepherd's care, and the cawing rooks wheeled in airy circles around them. We were always greeted with a wave of the hat by the guardians of this modern Arcadia; who lay basking on the grassy sward, or sat beneath the brow of an ivy-clad rock, or a shadowy tree, where they had slept away the night in their rough tabarri. Each had by him his keen-eyed wolf-dog, courageous in spirit, strong, muscular, and beautiful in form, with bushy tail and long hairy coat whiter than snow. These dogs watched alternately the browsing herds, the twittering birds, and the dark eyes of their indolent masters; who spent their solitary hours in smoking home-made cigars, sucking liquorice root, carving cudgels, scraping reeds for the zampogna, or improvising their mistresses on the three-stringed guitar.
The breeze from the Tyrrhene Sea swept over the fertile shore, making the morning air delightfully cool and agreeable; but when noon approached, we were glad to halt at Monteleone, until its fierce glow and suffocating closeness had passed away.
Monteleone (a marquisate which Buonaparte had bestowed on one of the most famous and favoured of his officers) lies close to the base of lofty mountains, which are covered with the richest foliage during the greater part of the year: they form a part of that mighty chain which runs through the centre of all Italy. Its regular streets and handsome houses, built in the picturesque style of the country, were securely enclosed by a fortified wall, where the bayonets of our sentinels were gleaming through loop and embrasure. On the towers of its castle, which were half-hidden amid a wood of lordly oaks and pines, the standard of Naples drooped listlessly; every breath of wind had died away, and the air was hot and still: profound silence reigned in the streets, and the white sunny pavement appeared new and strange to us, after riding so long on the green velvet turf of the country. Both piazza and street were lonely and deserted; the citizens were enjoying their forenoon nap, and the sentinels kept close within their boxes.
We put up at an inn, or hotel, over the arched portal of which projected a hideous centaur, holding loft a sign-board, on which a long string of verses informed us that Andrea da Fossi gave the best entertainment in Italy for man and horse. Beneath this peeped out a coat armorial, cut in stone, time-worn and decayed; but the collar that surrounded it bore the Order of the Crescent, instituted by Rendler of Anjou on his conquering Sicily. Above this was the coronet of the Princes of Squillaci, to whom, in happier times, the edifice had been a palace; and, though partly ruined, altered, and transmogrified, it still bore traces of its ancient grandeur.