"Italia," answered the first file of our advanced guard, and the Cavaliere di Casteluccio rode up at the head of his company of volunteers; all bold athletic fellows, armed with rifles and poniards, and carrying their ammunition in leather pouches or large buffalo horns.
Below us, in Bagnara, all was still; the poor doomed soldiers slept soundly: not a light twinkled, not a sound broke the silence, save the rustle of the leafless trees, or the dash of the lonely sea as it rolled on the shingly beach. At times a red light shot across the sky to the westward; it rose from the peak of Stromboli in the distant isles of Æolus. We held a council in the olive grove before advancing.
"Signor Casteluccio, be so good," said I, "as to describe the enemy's post."
"The voltigeurs are 600 strong, and commanded by a Colonel Pepe——"
"Any relation of Don Pepe?" asked the visconte, laughing.
"A tall lanthorn-jawed fellow, with a scar over the left eye," said the cavaliere.
"The same," said I: "we have met before."
"He occupies the house of the podesta, a stone building, well loop-holed and barricaded; the approach to it is defended by three twelve-pounders, which sweep the principal street, and are always loaded with round and tin-case shot. A hundred voltigeurs garrison the house; the others are quartered in those adjoining; and the defensive arrangements are such, that they can all act in concert, and, like a star-fort, the post gives a cross fire at every angle."
"The safest approach?"
"Is from the seaward. There a deep rut leads directly from the shore to the town; thick foliage overhangs it, under which we can advance unseen. A single sentinel guards the point—the night is dark—you comprehend me?" added the cavaliere, smiling grimly, as he touched one of those villainous stilettos, which his countrymen were never without.