Chapter L: A Nocturnal Journey

When they were a hundred yards from the park, Michel, who was ready to risk his own life, but not that of Mila's betrothed, in an affair in which he had no concern and no duty to his conscience or his family to fulfil, begged the young artisan to return to Catania. Fra Angelo thought differently. Fanatical in his friendships as in his patriotism, he looked upon Magnani as a providential ally. He was one stout and fearless champion more, and their party was so small! Magnani alone was worth three men; Heaven had sent him to their assistance, and they must make the most of his zeal and his devotion to the good cause.

As they walked rapidly along they maintained a hot discussion. Michel rebuked the monk for his pitiless proselytism under such circumstances; the monk rebuked Michel for rejecting the means while seeking the end. Magnani put an end to the dispute by his invincible determination.

"I understood perfectly well at the outset," he said, "that Michel was engaging in some affair of more serious importance than he chose to admit to his mother. I made up my mind at once. Some time ago I made Princess Agatha a sacred promise: that I would never leave her son to face alone any peril which I could share with him. I am keeping my promise, and whether Michel is willing or not, I shall follow him wherever he goes. I know of no other way to prevent me than to blow out my brains here. Choose whether you will put up with my company or kill me, Michel."

"All right! all right!" said the monk; "but stop talking, my sons. This is a thickly settled spot, and we mustn't talk as we pass the houses. Besides, we can't walk so fast when we are quarrelling. Ah! Magnani, you are a man!"

Magnani marched to meet danger with cold and melancholy courage. He did not feel perfectly happy in love; a craving for violent emotions drove him forward at random toward some extreme goal which appeared to him vaguely as an entire transformation of his present existence and a definitive rupture with the hesitations and languor of his heart.

Michel was determined rather than calm. He knew that he was being led by a fanatic to the succor of a man who was probably no less dangerous than useful to the good cause. He knew that he himself was staking a happier and broader existence than that of his companions; but he did not hesitate to play a manly part under the circumstances. The Piccinino was his brother, and although the sympathy he felt for him was blended with suspicion and sadness, he understood his duty. Perhaps too he had become enough of a _prince_ to be unable to endure the thought that his father's son might die at the end of a rope, with a sentence of degradation nailed to his gallows. Still, his heart was sore when he thought of his mother's grief if he should fall in such a reckless undertaking; but he resolutely closed his heart to all human weakness, and walked like the wind, as if he had hoped to wipe out, by forgetting it, the distance that he made haste to put between Agatha and himself.

The convent was not under suspicion or surveillance, as the Piccinino was not there, and the police of the Val were well aware that he had crossed the Garreta and gone into hiding in the interior of the island. Fra Angelo had invented danger near at hand to prevent the princess from suspecting the existence of distant but more real dangers. He led his young companions into his cell and assisted them to disguise themselves as monks. They divided the money, the sinews of war, as Fra Angelo said, in order that no one of them might be impeded by the weight of all the coin. They concealed beneath their frocks weapons, powder and ball. Their disguise and their outfitting consumed some time; and Fra Angelo, whose former experience of dangerous undertakings had taught him the evils of precipitation, examined everything with great care and perfect self-possession. In truth their freedom of action depended entirely upon their external aspect. The Capuchin trimmed Magnani's beard, colored Michel's eyebrows and hands, changed the tint of their cheeks and their lips by processes learned in his former profession, and with pigments so prepared as to withstand the action of rain, perspiration, and the compulsory baths to which the police resort in vain attempts to identify their prisoners.

So far as he himself was concerned, the Capuchin took no pains to deceive the eye as to his identity. It mattered little to him whether he was captured and hanged, provided that he had first saved his former captain's son. And since, in order to succeed in their undertaking, it was necessary to travel in the guise of peaceably disposed persons, nothing could be better suited to the rôle he had assigned to himself than his genuine features and costume.

When the two young men were all equipped, they gazed at each other in amazement. They were hardly recognizable, and they realized how the Piccinino, who was much more expert than Fra Angelo in the art of disguise, had been able thus far to conceal his real identity throughout his adventurous life.

And when they found themselves astride two tall mules, gaunt but willing, of wretched aspect, but of unlimited strength and endurance, they admired the monk's genius and complimented him upon it.

"I have not done all these things so rapidly without assistance," he replied, modestly; "I have been energetically and skilfully seconded, for we are not alone in our expedition. We shall meet pilgrims of divers sorts on the road we are about to take. Salute most courteously, my sons, all those persons who salute you; but be careful not to speak a word to anybody until you have looked at me. If any unforeseen accident should separate us, you will find other guides and other companions. The countersign is: _Friends, isn't this the road to Tre-Castagne_? I need not tell you that it is the road that leads in the opposite direction, and that nobody but one of your confederates would ask you such an absurd question. You will answer, however, as a matter of prudence, and in a jesting tone: _All roads lead to Rome_. And you will not place absolute confidence in your interlocutor until he has answered: _By the grace of God the Father_. Don't forget; don't fall asleep on your mules; and don't spare them. We have relays on the road; not a word except in whispers to one another."

As soon as they were fairly on the mountains, they urged their mules forward at a rapid pace, and rode several miles in a very short time. As Fra Angelo had said, they met various persons with whom they exchanged the sentences agreed upon. Then the Capuchin would ride up to them and talk with them in undertones, and they would resume their journey in company, sufficiently far apart not to seem to be travelling together, but always within sight and call.

The weather was exceedingly mild and the night superbly bright when they started up the mountain. The moon lighted up huge masses of rock and romantic precipices; but as they ascended through that wild country the cold made itself felt, and the mist veiled the splendor of the stars. Magnani was lost in his thoughts, but the young prince abandoned himself to a childlike delight in adventures, and, far from nourishing and fondling any presentiment of evil, as his friend was doing, he rode forward overflowing with confidence in his lucky star.

As for the monk, he abstained from thinking of anything whatsoever unconnected with the enterprise he was directing. With watchful, penetrating eye, his ear on the alert for the faintest sound, he also watched closely every movement, every change of position on the part of his companions. At the slightest sign of relaxation of their hold upon the reins, at the slightest suspicious swaying of their hooded heads, he would have rescued them from the danger of dozing and falling from their mules.

After riding fifteen miles, they changed mounts at a sort of hermitage which seemed to be deserted, but where they were received in the darkness by pretended muleteers, of whom they inquired as to the road leading to the famous village of _Tre-Castagne_, and who answered, as they grasped their hands and held their stirrups, that _all roads led to Rome_. Fra Angelo distributed money, powder and bullets, which he carried in his mendicant's wallet, to all those persons whom he met and who were provided with that eloquent countersign; and, when they approached the end of their journey, Michel had counted a score or more of men, muleteers and peddlers, monks and peasants, who belonged to their party. There were even three in woman's dress,--young fellows whose beards had not yet grown nor their voices changed. They were very well made up, and played their parts to perfection. They were ready to serve as messengers or scouts at need.

The Piccinino's situation and the circumstances of his capture were as follows. The murder of Abbé Ninfo had been executed and proclaimed with an insane audacity altogether contrary to the young chief's habitual prudence. To kill a man, and to boast of it by an inscription left upon the very spot where the crime was committed, instead of concealing his body and removing every trace of the deed--a very simple matter in a region like that of Ætna--was certainly a desperate performance, a sort of challenge hurled at destiny in a moment of frantic excitement. But Carmelo, wishing not to shut himself out forever from his cherished retreat at Nicolosi, had left it in perfect order, in case of an investigation which should result in domiciliary visits. He had hastily stripped his luxurious boudoir and hidden all his treasures in an excavation under the house, of which it was almost impossible to find the entrance or to suspect the existence. And about sunrise he had shown himself in the village of Nicolosi, perfectly placid and in excellent spirits, thus laying a foundation for an _alibi_, if the police, taking for true the declaration written on the base of the _Destatore's_ cross, should conceive suspicions of him and make inquiries as to what he was doing at that time. The murder of Abbé Ninfo had been committed at least two hours earlier.

Having taken these precautions, Carmelo had ridden through the village, making some purchases for a journey of several days, and informing his acquaintances that he was going to look at some farming lands in the interior of the island.

He had started for the Nebrodes mountains in the northern part of Sicily, having determined to pass some days with certain brigands affiliated to his own band, until the investigations and searching about Catania had probably come to an end. He knew the methods of the police of the province; they were zealous and fierce at first, then timid and knavish, and, finally, tired and slothful.

But the affair at the _Destatore's_ cross had made a deeper impression on the ruling powers than an ordinary murder. This had a political bearing, and seemed to be related to the great sensation of the moment, Agatha's declaration and her son's appearance on the world's stage. Severe orders were sent out rapidly in all directions. Carmelo was not safe in the mountains, especially as his acolyte, the false Piccinino, had joined him, and thus drew upon him all the danger of pursuit. Carmelo did not choose to abandon that savage, bloodthirsty man, who had given him abundant proofs of boundless devotion and blind submission, and who continued to play his part to the end with proud and unwearying courage.

He determined, therefore, to arrange for his escape before providing for his own safety. The false Piccinino, whose real name was Massari, and who was called _Verbum Caro_ because he was a native of the village of that name, was endowed with a brute courage that nothing could daunt, but was as stupid as a buffalo in a frenzy. Carmelo went to the seashore with him, and tried to find a boat to take him to Sardinia. But, despite the precautions with which he surrounded that step, the owner of the boat betrayed them as smugglers to the revenue officers on the coast. Verbum Caro fought like a lion, and was half dead when he finally fell into the hands of his enemies. Carmelo was slightly wounded, and both were taken to the nearest fort, to be turned over to a squad of _campieri_, in which were two men who recognized the false Piccinino from having seen him during a skirmish at another part of the island. They so testified before the magistrate at Cefalù, and there was great rejoicing because the famous chief of the dreaded band was in custody. The real Piccinino was supposed to be one of his confederates, although Verbum Caro insisted that he had known him only three days, and that he was a young fisherman who proposed going to Sardinia with him as he had business there.

Carmelo replied to the questions that were asked him with a presence of mind and a talent for deception which would have secured his release at any other moment; but the country was intensely excited; so they decided to send him to Catania with his dangerous companion, for further proceedings, and they were placed in charge of the _campieri_, who decided to take them to Catania by the road leading through the mountains to the centre of the island, deeming it the safer way.

But they were attacked in the outskirts of Sperlinga by a few brigands who had already learned of the arrest of the two Piccininos; but, just as the prisoners were about to be set free, an unexpected reinforcement came to the aid of the _campieri_ and put the brigands to flight. It was during this action that the Piccinino was adroit enough to throw among the assailants a paper wrapped around a stone, which he had in his hand ready for the first opportunity. Malacarne, whom he had recognized among his would-be rescuers, was an active, intelligent man, a former member of his father's band and a loyal friend to Fra Angelo. He had picked up the note and carried it to its address with valuable additional information.

In the fear, well-founded as we have seen, of an attack in the Nebrodes mountains and an attempted rescue of the Piccinino, the authorities at Cefalù had tried to conceal the importance of this capture, and the escort of the prisoners made no display when they set forth. But the same authorities had despatched an express to Catania to ask that a detachment of Swiss troops be sent to Sperlinga to meet the escort, and to say that they would halt there and wait for them. The brigands of the mountain, who were on the alert, had waylaid and killed the messenger; and, having ascertained beyond question, by reading his despatches, that the prisoner was their leader, they had tried, as we have seen, to rescue him from the hands of his escort.

The ill success of this attempt did not discourage them. Carmelo was the soul of their lives. His shrewd leadership, his activity, the spirit of justice, now savage, now chivalrous in its manifestations, which governed his decisions with respect to them, and the immense prestige attached to his name and his person, made him no less sacred than necessary to them. It was the unanimous opinion among them, and among a great number of mountaineers, who, while they did not know him and were not immediately under his orders, were very glad to exchange favors with him and his troop, that when the Piccinino was dead, the bandit's profession would become impossible, and that there would be no other resource for the heroes of the mountain than to become beggars.

So Malacarne assembled a few of his comrades near Sperlinga, and succeeded in sending word to the two Piccininos that they must represent themselves as being very ill, in order to remain there as long as possible. It was by no means difficult to act upon the suggestion, for Verbum Caro was dangerously wounded, and in the desperate efforts he had made to burst his bonds during the engagement on the mountain, he had reopened his wound and lost so much blood that they had had to carry him to Sperlinga. Moreover, the _campieri_ knew that it was of the utmost importance to take him to Catania alive, so that they might try to extort from him some information concerning Ninfo's murder and the whereabouts of his band.

As soon as Malacarne had made his arrangements, he bade his comrades, who were as yet only eight in number, to be ready for action, mounted the murdered messenger's horse, after clipping him so as to make him unrecognizable, and rode across the country in a straight line to Bel Passo, notifying all those persons upon whom he could rely, to take arms and await his return. Seconded by Fra Angelo, he passed six hours on Ætna, collecting other brigands, and at last, on the second night after the arrival of the prisoners at Sperlinga, a score or more of determined men, trained to daring enterprises of this sort, encamped at the foot of the cliff on which it stands.

Fra Angelo, the young Prince of Castro-Reale, and the faithful Magnani also arrived, to direct the expedition, the first as leader, for he knew the country generally and the particular locality better than anyone, having once before carried the paltry stronghold by assault under the _Destatore_, in better days; the other two as lieutenants, young noblemen of the patriotic party, forced to conceal their identity, but rich and powerful. So said Fra Angelo, who knew well that both poetry and prose are essential to stimulate men who are fighting against the laws.

When Fra Angelo and his friends left their mules, to plunge in among the steep cliffs of Sperlinga, they were able to count their men, and found that there were about twenty peasants posted here and there at some little distance--prudent auxiliaries who would come to their assistance as soon as the chances of war seemed to favor them; revengeful and bloodthirsty men, who had suffered many and grievous wrongs which they longed to avenge upon their enemies, and who knew how to do justice speedily and pitilessly when there was not too great a risk to be run.

Nevertheless, a part of the band was beginning to show signs of demoralization when the monk arrived. The lieutenant of the _campieri_, who had charge of the prisoners, had sent to Castro-Giovanni during the day to request reinforcements, which were likely to arrive with the dawn. This officer was disturbed by the non-appearance of the Swiss, whom he was awaiting with great impatience. The spirit manifested by the surrounding population did not tend to allay his fears. Perhaps he had detected some signs of activity among the brigands in the mountain, and of their evident understanding with certain people in the village. However that may be, he was afraid--which fact the monk looked upon as a pledge of victory--and he issued orders for departure on the following day, preferring, he said to see a miserable wretch like the Piccinino die on the highroad, rather than expose brave troops to the risk of being murdered in a fortress without gates or walls.

Perhaps the officer knew enough Latin to read, over the gateway of the ancient Norman castle in which he was intrenched, the famous motto which French tourists go thither to contemplate with love and gratitude:

_Quod Sicilis placuit, Sperlinga sola negavit_.[1] We know that Sperlinga was the only place which refused to surrender the Angevins at the time of the _Sicilian Vespers_. It is well enough for our compatriots to take pride therein; but it is certain that Sperlinga performed no act of patriotism; and that, if the officer of _campieri_ looked upon the then government as existing in compliance with the popular desire of Sicily, he must have seen, in the _negavit_ of Sperlinga, a constant threat which might well arouse a superstitious terror in his mind.[2]

The reinforcements from Castro-Giovanni were expected at any moment. The assailants would find themselves between two fires. The imaginations of some pictured the arrival of the Swiss also, and the Swiss soldier is the terror of the Sicilians. Hardened and implacable, those children of Helvetia, whose mercenary service under despotic governments is the shame of their fatherland, strike without distinction at everything they meet, and the _campiere_ who hesitates to display less courage and ferocity than they, is the first to fall under their bullets.

Thus there was fear on both sides; but Fra Angelo triumphed over the hesitation of the brigands by a few words of rough eloquence and unparalleled temerity. After vehemently rebuking those who talked of waiting, he declared that he and his two _princes_ would go alone to meet their death under the walls of the fort, so that it might be said throughout all Sicily: "Two patricians and a monk alone tried to effect the rescue of the Piccinino. The children of the mountain looked on and did not stir. Tyranny triumphs, the people of Sicily have become dastards!"

Malacarne seconded him, declaring that he too would go and be shot down. "And then," he said, "you can hunt up a leader and do what you choose." There was no further hesitation, and such men know no middle course between discouragement and unbridled frenzy. Fra Angelo had no sooner seen them start forward than he exclaimed: "The Piccinino is saved!" Michel was amazed that he could place so much confidence in courage that was so weak-kneed a moment before; but he soon found out that the Capuchin knew them better than he did.

[Footnote 1: Sperlinga alone refused to do what the Sicilians wished.]

[Footnote 2: However ill-advised the hospitality accorded to the French by the castle of Sperlinga may have been from the standpoint of the welfare of the country, it was admirable in its persistence and self-sacrificing spirit. Refugees and defenders died of hunger in the fortress rather than surrender.]