Chapter Forty Nine.
Evviva Ella Republica!
On returning to the town, a surprise awaited the sindico and his friends. Men, women, and children were running to and fro; the children screaming, the men and women giving utterance to loud shouts and exclamations. There had been a similar fracas on the first alarm of the brigands, but it had subsided as the soldiers started off to ascend the hill. What had caused it to break forth afresh? This was the question hurriedly exchanged between the returning townsmen. Could it be the robbers who had entered from the opposite side, and taken possession of the place? Was the skirmish on the hill only a feint to draw the soldiers out of the town? If so, it had succeeded; and the shouts now heard, with the rushing to and fro, were signs of a general pillage.
With sad hearts, they hastened on into the streets. They soon came in sight of the piazza. A crowd was collected in front of the sindico’s house—another by the albergo. Both were composed of armed men, not in any uniform, but in costumes of varied kind: peasants, proprietors, and men in broad-cloth habiliments of city life, all carrying guns, swords, and pistols. They were not citizens of Val di Orno; they were strangers, as could be seen at a glance. Neither did they appear banditti, though several of the soldiers who had lagged behind were now seen standing in the piazza, guarded as their prisoners! What could it mean? Who could the strangers be?
These questions were answered as the returning townsmen came near enough to distinguish the cries: “Evviva ella Republica! Abasso tyranni! Abasso il Papa!” At the same time a tricoloured flag shot up on its staff, proclaiming to the citizens of Val di Orno that their town was in possession of the Republicans! And so, too, was Rome at that moment. The Pope had fled, and the triumvirate—Mazzini, Saffi, and Aurelli—held rule in the Holy City.
A fresh surprise awaited the sindico on reaching his own house; his son Luigi stood in front of it—one of those who was vociferating the watchword of Liberty.
A hurried greeting passed between father and son. With a quick glance, the latter caught the expression of grief on his father’s countenance.
“What is wrong?” he asked. “There have been brigands here—where is my sister?”
A groan was the answer; this, and a hand raised in the direction of the hills.
“O God!” exclaimed the young man; “too late! Have I come too late? Speak, father! Tell me what has happened—where is Lucetta?”