As the train pulled out we heard the tramp, tramp of marching men coming up the street—more soldiers for the south. Nearly all the garrison at Messina had been killed; every day regiments of soldiers went down to that grim battle-field, some to lose their lives, all to suffer agonies of mind and body, for as usual the army bore the brunt of the disaster—and bore it well.
As we left the station we met Princess Nadine, called “the first citizen of Rome” by reason of her splendid work for the poor sick children of the city. Something was said about meeting the profughi (refugees) who were expected on the next train from Naples. She shook her great benevolent head and answered firmly:
“That is for the rest of you. I must keep to my work. My sick babies cannot be neglected. Everybody else will do for Calabria and Sicily; they only have me.”
The Princess was right. She belongs to the regular working army of philanthropists. The reserve volunteer force of the world was already mustering for this world disaster.
A little farther on we met our friend, Lombardi, the great mathematician, carrying a traveling shawl and an umbrella. He stopped to speak to us:
“Just in time to say good-by! I am leaving by the next train.”
“For Messina?”
He laughed—“No, to get out of Messina—that’s more than I can do in Rome! I am off for Morocco, the farthest place from Messina I know. The Moors won’t trouble themselves much about the earthquake. I must have more quiet than can be found in Italy this year, if I am to finish my calculations.”
Just as we were getting into our cab outside the station our friend Nerone came along. He looked pale, red-eyed, completely knocked out.