I was the last to leave the fort, and as I turned to go,
"O, Captain Dundas, don't leave me, sir!" cried an imploring voice: it was the little bugler of the 62nd. A score of wounded men were crying the same thing: it was impossible to attend to them all: but snatching up the boy, I bore him off, and leaped into the launch of the Electra; in the stern sheets of which sat Bianca, rolled up in my regimental cloak, to protect her from the chill morning air and damp sea atmosphere. She sobbed convulsively with terror and joy. Santugo was in one of the gun-boats; Macnesia sat beside him—Lloyd, Lascelles, and the soldiers, were crowded into other craft, and the whole gave a reckless cheer of defiance.
"Shove off!" cried the captain of the Electra, through his speaking trumpet; "give way lads—cheerily now!" and the oars dipped in the water, as the sails were trimmed, and the sterns were turned to Scylla.
The whole embarkation had been effected with matchless rapidity and order; notwithstanding that the cannon-shot, the bursting shells, the grenades, and musketry, lashed and tore the water into foam around us: the sea all the while, roaring and rolling in mighty mountains of froth against the cliffs; where it boiled as if in impotent wrath—recoiling from the slippery and frowning bluff, to run its waves in quick succession into the vast and gloomy Dragara: which has often been compared to the mouth of some wondrous monster essaying to engulf all ocean. One seaman was killed, and ten dangerously wounded: but these casualties were deemed trifling, under so heavy a fire; and when the sea was heaving and breaking beneath us, threatening every instant to swamp the boats, to dash them against each other, or on these inhospitable rocks, which nearly proved so fatal to the "sacred argo" of old.
With three hearty cheers we moved off. Scarcely had we done so, when the tricolor waved over Scylla, and the tall red plumes and glancing bayonets of the 101st appeared among the ruined walls; while a party of the 23rd rushed shouting down the staircase, with such impetuosity that many fell headlong into the seething sea.
We had done our duty. Though by force of numbers they had beaten us out of the last stronghold of Ferdinand IV. and the British in Calabria, they had gained only a pile of shapeless ruin; and at the dear price of many a gallant fellow. We were now on the open ocean—three minutes before, we were manning the frightful breach!
The storm died away, and the bright Ausonian sun arose in his glory: the shores of Sicily, studded with towns and castles, the green woods, the sparkling sandy beach, the bright Neptunian hills, and the red tower of the Lantern, were all radiant with light. The shore we had left, and the blood-stained Scylla, diminished in the distance, as our sailors bent to their flashing oars, and the bellying canvass swelled on the morning wind, which blew from the pine-clad Apennines.
"Courage, Bianca!" I exclaimed, and threw my arm around her; "we are beyond range even of cannon, now."
"Anima mia," she whispered, as she laid her head on my shoulder, "you are safe and I am happy!"
And thus ended MY CAMPAIGN IN THE CALABRIAS.