::-;;!'!;'!;iiip;i'i;iiB;!p^^^ tsfie STORY or ANTONIO THE GALLEYSLAVE ARRIGHI ^lyiA(hyvtip ^v^yp^ ^^^^^5^i^^ THE STORY OF ANTONIO THE GALLEY-SLAVE ^^^^^^^^ ^i^wi^i^ 0A^j^ he Str :, of Antonio cne Galley- Slave A 'Romance of Real Life In Three Parts BY ANTONIO ANDREA ARRIGHI New York Chicago Toronto Fleming H. Revell Company London and Edinburgh Copyright, 191 1, by FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY New York: 158 Fifth Avenue Chicago: 123 N. Wabash Ave. Toronto : 25 Richmond St., \V. London : 21 Paternoster Square Edinburgh : 100 Princes Street SRLF mi TO MRS. HELEN L. PHELPS STOKES, AS A TOKEN OF MY HIGH ESTEEM AND APPRECIATION OF HER KINDNESS, THIS BOOK IS DEDICATED. My profound gratitude to my dear friend, the Rev. John Harrington Edwards, D.D., for his valuable help in the publication of this volume. THE AUTHOR FOREWORD This book has the appearance of a novel, yet is no fiction but a romance of real life. The events narrated in a somewhat dramatical manner were actual experiences of the narrator. It is perhaps the only book extant which gives autobiographically a correct idea of the life of a galley slave, with its untold sufferings and horrors. As here described they are not drawn from imagination, but are vivid recollections of almost infernal realities. The whole story forms a chain of extraordinary happenings. It is the veritable record of the life of a valiant young soldier who served as a drummer boy in Garibaldi's heroic struggle for Italian liberty in 1849, ^^^ who, after many sufferings and re- markable deliverances, escaped to free America. Here he found friends, a Saviour, and his life work. Returning to Italy, he preached the gospel of peace for nine years in Florence, and since then for thirty years he has been a very successful pastor among his countrymen in New York. Tens of thousands in the United States and Can- ada have heard from his lips the thrilling story of his earlier experiences, his Italian songs of patriot- ism, and his lectures on life in Italy. Now in later years he gives to the world a biographical account 5 6 FOREWORD of the leadings of Providence throughout his career, in the sincere hope that others may be led to trust in the same overruling care and saving grace of his Divine Friend and Master. Written in a language not his vernacular, this true story is narrated in an ingenuous and spirited style which will interest readers of all ages, and ensure a wide welcome. Personal knowledge of Antonio and his work in both countries makes it a privilege to say this introductory word. J. H. E. CONTENTS PART I A Drummer Boy with Garibaldi, at the Siege of JRome, 184^ FACE I. The Notaro's Home 11 II. The Little Drummer 22 III. The Liberty Pole 30 IV. The Siege of Rome 41 V. The Drummer's Mother .... 60 PART II The Galley-Slave of Civita Vecchia VI. **Va in Galera!" 79 VII. The Slave's Work 97 VIII. Olina no IX. The Escape 125 X. In the Maremme 144 PART III A Herald of the Cross in America and Italy XI. The Land of the Free . 179 XIL The Greater Liberty 194 XIII. The Student 211 XIV. Home Again 228 XV. The Church in Florence 7 . 254 PART I o A Drummer 'Boy with Garibaldi, at the Siege of Rome, 1849 THE STORY OF ANTONIO, THE GALLEY-SLAVE CHAPTER I THE NOTARO'S HOME ** r t ^ONIO! Stop your infernal drumming! — m Do yon hear? " The above words, so crisp and so full of gentle heat, were spoken by my father while at his desk writing a letter for a lovely peasant girl, and it was a — well, guess ! Although I was only six years old when the words were uttered, they still ring in my ears. How true it is that paternal utter- ances are never forgotten, when uttered in the above manner. My father, the notaro, would often say that " I was born a drummer," for my boyhood ruling passion was drum-playing. To gather some conceptions of that boyhood, we must go to Italy, and to beautiful Florence, the " city of flowers " and of art. It is autumn of the year 1842, when everything in nature is charming. We are in the Piazza della Signoria, a public square gtored with memories of great historic events. We 12 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY pass to the south of the famous fountain of Nep- tune, with its colossal statue of the King of the Seas, which stands in the centre of the large basin surrounded by life-sized fiery, swimming horses. This is sacred ground, for here the great reformer, Savonarola, was burned at the stake. As we look to the north, above us, like a grim sentinel, rises the tower-shaped Palazzo Vecchio. To the east we see the matchless Loggia dei Lanzi, with its rare collection of statuary. We nov^r go through the portal of the municipal palace and are on the banks of the river Arno, whose classic waters are never clear. A short walk to the south brings us to the quaint old Ponte Vec- chio, with its array of attractive jewelry stores on each side of the arches of the historic bridge. Having crossed the river, we turn to the left and follow the Via San Nicola till we come to house Number 3. At the entrance we see a large hanging sign, with but one word inscribed on it in golden letters, " Notaro." The door of Number 3 is always open, and, en- tering, we walk along its broad hall till we reach a door which has the inscription " // Notaro, en- trate." Encouraged by this invitation, we open the door, and here is what we see : The room is large, but poorly furnished. A few pictures of no merit hang on the wall. Two large windows overlook Via San Nicola and give plenty of light. Near one of them we see a table with a THE NOTARO'S HOME 13 few books scattered on it, and supplied with a large quantity of writing material. Seated at the table is a man about forty years of age. Black hair and eyes and a great moustache give him the appearance of a man of unusual strength of character; and a second glance shows him handsome and jovial. He holds in his hand a large quill pen, with which he is writing rapidly. Seated at the same table close to the notaro is a lovely peasant girl, nineteen years of age, wearing a bright dress of many colours in the fashion of the day and country. Her beautiful eyes are watching the quill in the hand of the notaro, and she seems to infuse into every word she dictates all the affec- tion of her heart. When she mentions the name " Peppe " her eyes fairly dance with joy. It needs no penetration to see that the notaro is writ- ing a letter for the maiden. So we watch the beautiful girl, as she whispers sweet words into the ear of the writer, and see how, now and then, her face becomes aglow, as if a flame from her heart has set on fire all the blood in her veins. Then there is a change; sadness causes a sigh to break forth. As she thinks of her promesso sposo far away in distant America seeking his fortune, there comes an expression of such longing for him, that it is clear she would fly to her beloved on the wings of the morning if only she could. At the thought of the great dis- tance between her and her lover, a tear flows 14 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY down her cheek and drops on the hand of the notaro, who stops writing and looks up, saying, " Nita, what is the matter ? " "Oh! Signor Notaro," rephes the girl, "I was thinking of the great distance, and of that cruel ocean which separates me from my dearest Peppe." " Well," says the notaro, " do you want me to write that the ocean has separated your love from him?" " Not for the world," cries the young lady, " but rather tell him that my love is as deep as the ocean, and that I am dying to see him." Before the notaro takes up his quill to write again, he looks towards a closed door at one side of the room, and, standing before this door, we see a little boy. The lad has on a suit of frustagno, a very common article of wear in Italy. His head is covered with jet-black hair, falling in ringlets over his shoulders. You will observe that this boy is using the door in lieu of a drum, beating it strenuously with spoons which he holds in each hand. The notaro looks at him with an expression of annoyance, and gives utterance to the exclamation with which this story began, adding, " Tonio, come here and stand by the table ! " The lad obeys quickly, and, as he turns round, we see a childish face perfectly Italian in all its features. His black hair accentuates the lustre in the black eyes. He has a smile upon his lips, which seems to emanate from a soul full of sunshine. THE NOTARO'S HOME 15 Ready to obey that which seems to him right, but quick to resent anything which seems wrong, we see in him the quahties that make a courageous lad. At his father's command, he comes quickly to his side, and for a few moments is quiet. His father makes use of the opportunity to send his pen scratching vigorously over the paper. The boy, however, longs to be drumming, and for lack of something better, his imagination seizes the noise made by the scratching of his father's quill as a substitute. But, judging by the look of growing disgust on his face, it is very unsatisfactory. He becomes restless and finally breaks out in a loud voice : " Papa ! let me teach you how to play the drum." Then he strikes the table with great force with his fists, causing a blot of ink to drop upon the letter his father is writing, almost ruining the page. The notaro throws down his pen and makes the child know the experience of being taken across an angry father's knees. The tender-hearted girl, moved to compassion by the blows descending thick and fast upon the struggling person of the boy, cries out, " Signor Notaro, have mercy ! I will pay for the damage done by the bambino." At her pleading the notaro puts his son down on the brick floor, and tells him to sit there and not move. The poor boy, with his eyes full of tears, obeys; but the lovely peasant girl takes him on her lap. i6 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY smoothing his curly hair and pressing him to her bosom. This quiets him and he is soothed into a refreshing sleep. A few minutes later Tonio awakes and, thinking his father still angry with him, slides down from the young lady's lap and sits on the floor. The notaro, however, smiles and says, " Well, my boy, it will be rather hard for you to drum on the brick floor. Now keep quiet, and when I am through I will give you a soldo." In those days, in some parts of Italy the people wore shoes, the soles of which were made of hard wood, and only the uppers of leather. The clatter of these on the paved streets sounded much like the galloping of an army of horses. Our drummer boy has on his feet wooden shoes, and after a while his restless spirit overpowers the determination to remain quiet, for his desire to drum is stronger than ever. He moves his feet quickly and the slippers striking against the bricks make a sound pleasing to his ears. In a second off come the shoes and soon, with one in each hand, he is making the room resound with his drumming. The notaro calls out, " Tonio, you annoy me so that I cannot write. Stop your racket; go to the window and look at the people as they pass by." The boy runs to the windov^^ and begins to look at the passers-by, but soon becomes tired of this occupation. Unconsciously his fingers begin drum- ming lightly on the window panes. His enthusi- THE NOTARO'S HOME 17 asm grows until he makes the window panes rattle. People in the street, attracted by the noise, look up and smile at the lad. The notaro, exasperated beyond control, lays down his pen and starts for the noisy child, but the young lady prevents a second punishment by taking him away from the window and holding him in her arms until the letter is completed. Then the notaro asks, " Nita, shall I read you the letter?" " Please, Signor Notaro," replies the girl. " I should like to hear it read, not only once, but every moment of the day." Tonio, still upon the girl's lap, watches her face during the reading of the long letter. He sees many queer changes on her features which the little fellow cannot understand. He does not know why the young lady gives him now and again such a tight squeeze, and so frequently kisses him. The letter finished, the notaro asks, " How do you like it, Nita?" " Oh ! it is grand," she exclaims. " It seems to me that even the Holy Madonna could not write a better letter." At this remark the notaro makes a graceful bow and his face lights up. " It says," continues the girl, " just what I feel in my heart. I thought I should melt into sweetness while I was listening to it." Just then, the door at which we first saw the boy. i8 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY opens, ami the child's mother enters the room. She is about thirty-five years of age. Snow-white hair crowns a face that seems to overflow with motherly kindness, and when she looks at her son we can plainly see that she loves him better than life; for she is self-sacrificing and even over- indulgent. Her voice is soft and tender, a voice once heard never to be forgotten. Tonio rushes into her outstretched arms, saying, " Cara Mamma, I am so hungry; please give me an egg cooked in the ashes." " Yes, carino, right away," and she places an tgg in the midst of the ashes in the fireplace, carefully covering it over. It is soon ready, and no delicacy could please the boy more. At the time of the above incident I was the young- est of five children, the pet of the family, and dearly beloved by my kind and affectionate mother. The neighbours often warned her that she would spoil me with her indulgence. She would reply that I was the idol of her heart, and, even though I was at times naughty, she had not the heart to punish me. My mother would often entertain her friends by relating some of the mischievous pranks I was ever indulging in. Of one story she was especially fond. It happened one day that we had Don Michele, the cappellano of our church, visit us and take dinner at our table. After dinner all retired to the parlour. I was left at the table alone. While THE NOTARO'S HOME 19 there, it came into my head that I would like to drum, but there was nothing I could drum on. My ingenuity, however, supplied the article needed. Unfortunately it happened to be a beautiful crystal bowl, perfectly round and rather thin. It was the bowl from which my father the notaro drank his " vin di Chianti." I drew the bowl up, struck it lightly with my fingers, and was overjoyed with the clear ringing tone it gave out. Then for drum- sticks I took a knife in each hand. My heart was thrilled with the fine music I made. Soon I forgot myself and drummed so furiously that there was a crash, with the sound of broken glass flying all over the table. At the noise my father and mother rushed into the dining-room and saw what I had done. My father cried out in angry tones, " Tonio has broken my beautiful and costly drinking bowl," and made a move to lay his hands upon me. But instantly my mother had me in her arms, and started for the parlour, where sat the cappellano. The cappellano asked what was the trouble, and my father, still very angry, replied, " That bad boy has broken into a thousand fragments my glass drinking bowl. I did so enjoy drinking Chianti from it." Poor man, he felt really sad and when I saw it I went to my father, threw my arms around his neck, and said, " Papa, I am very sorry I broke your drinking bowl, but, papa, I will buy you an- other. I have yet that soldo you gave me when 20 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY you were writing the letter for Nita," and I handed the soldo to him. He had to smile at the childish idea that a penny could buy a bowl which cost five lire. The cappellano, a man of extremely dark com- plexion, did not like children, and lectured me on disobedience to parents. Among other things, he said that the children of Protestant parents were very disobedient. I, who had never heard the word " Protestant," asked who were the Protestants, and the cappellano answered, " Children of the devil." " Oh, Signor Cappellano," said I, " we have a pic- ture of the devil in our church and he looks very black, so his children of course must be black." This pleased the cappellano very much. But I went on, " Signor Cappellano, why do you look so black ? Are you a Protestant ? " This observation from a child made the cappel- lano very wroth and he pulled my ears, saying, " Do you talk so to me? You are a very bad boy." It might be of interest to explain why there were in Italy in my boyhood so many notari, or letter- writers. Illiteracy abounded, and few could read, or write. It was estimated that in Florence, the most cultured of all the cities in Italy, about eighty per cent, of its two hundred thousand population, were illiterate. Therefore, in those days notari were common; more so than lawyers in America to-day. Schools were few, and only those who intended to follow some profession attended them. THE NOTARO'S HOME 21 No educational provision was made for the masses. Therefore, multitudes depended on these notari to write letters and legal documents. Since tlie unity of Italy was effected in 1870, free schools, supported by the government, have been established in every city, town and hamlet, and parents are compelled by law to send their children to these schools a certain number of hours each day. This has wrought a real transformation of the people in the way of education. It is to be doubted if one can now find in Florence ten per cent, of the population that cannot read or write. The present generation is being educated, thanks to the wise action of the Italian government. Letter- writers have now entirely disappeared, except in some parts of southern Italy. In those days of darkness, the Church fully realized its cherished motto, " Ignorance is the mother of devotion," but should not have forgotten the fact that " Ignorance is the destroyer of the mental faculties." CHAPTER II THE LITTLE DRUMMER WHEN I was ten years old my father sold out his business in Florence and moved his family to the beautiful city of Barga, some forty miles away, a town of seven thousand people. He chose Barga for his future home because his two brothers lived there. The three brothers were the only members of the family that remained since it emigrated from Corsica, their original home. Barga is beautiful for situation, and is known throughout Italy as the " Queen of Panoramas," be- cause from its throne-like site an enchanting view of the surrounding beauties of her kingdom can be had. The city is built upon a high, round-topped hill. It is walled on three sides, north, west and south. On the east there is no need of a wall, for that entire side is bordered by a precipice called La Ripa, which descends five hundred feet to the valley below. The precipice is perpendicular, and, with the three walls, makes the town almost impreg- nable. It is the natural Gibraltar of Italy. At the top of the hill on the east side is a level plateau, about two acres in extent, and on this the 22 THE LITTLE DRUMMER 23 cathedral of Barga stands. From this plateau the city slopes gradually toward the north, west and south, with the appearance of gigantic steps. On these descending slopes the houses are built. The cathedral, or Duomo, deserves our attention, for its interior is very beautiful, being lined with alternate black and white blocks of marble. It looks as if draped in mourning, but the effect is pleasing to the eye. The pulpit is a marvel. It is built of the same material as the church, and its enclosure is supported by four marble columns. The two front columns rest upon the backs of full- sized figures of lions. Under the lion on the right side is a monster serpent, the head of which has been broken off, so that the design cannot now be understood. Under the lion on the left, between its forelegs, is the body of a man lying on his back. With one hand he holds the lower jaw of the beast and with the other the handle of a dagger, the blade of which he has plunged into the lion. On three sides of the pulpit are carved the figures of the twelve apostles, with their faces turned up- wards, as though listening to the preacher. In this church are to be seen masterpieces in terra cotta by Luca della Robbia. There is a large square in front of the church, and the panorama from this point, once seen, is never to be erased from the memory. Let us look carefully at it. At our feet lies the city with its many churches, palaces, squares, streets and houses. Beyond the wall 24 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY of the city we see the beautiful plain of Barga, which at first is about a mile in width, but spreads in fan shape until it reaches the river Serchio, four miles away, where it broadens to six miles. The soil of this plain is very fertile and as many as three crops are raised during the summer season. Vineyards, olive groves and fruit trees of all kinds abound. As we look to the south and west, beyond the plain, the gaze meets high mountains, rugged and wild, holding this beautiful plain and quaint city of Barga in their embrace. From the square as many as twenty-four towns and villages are to be seen, some of them on the plain, otliers nestling on the sides of the mountains, some even on the sum- mits, all doing homage to Barga. To the south we see Monte Ragno, so called because of its spider-like shape. This mountain is the home of millions of bees. The sides of the mountain are of solid rock, so nearly perpendicular that they cannot be easily scaled. There are multi- tudes of fissures in these rocks, which, as they ex- tend, grow larger and form caves of considerable size. These fissures serve as entrances for the bees, and in them immense quantities of honey are deposited. As the hot sun shines upon the rocks and they become heated, the honey in the caves melts and flows through the fissures down the face of the rocks. The contadini come with pails, and catch the delicious liquid as it drops and carry it home or to the market. Italy i^iight THE LITTLE DRUMMER 25 truly be called a land which flows with milk and honey. ■ As we look to the west from the square we see La Pania, a mountain so called because it is a bold, solid rock. From the base to its highest peak on the east side not a blade of grass or any tree or bush is visible. However, on this barren mountain with its rocky peaks the most remarkable freak of nature in the country is to be seen. It is the Natu- ral Bridge of Italy. This can be distinctly seen by the naked eye from the square before the Duomo twelve miles away. A peculiar phenomenon is caused by this natural bridge, giving the people of Barga an opportunity; of witnessing two sunsets in one day. When the sun has gone down behind the summit of the moun- tain, and the sunset has become twilight brooding over towns and plains, suddenly a great flood of light illumines the valley and brightens the entire' landscape. It is the sun behind the mountains, shin- 1 ing under and through the arch of the great bridge, | reminding one of an immense searchlight. This sec- I ond sunset lingers only long enough to say good- \ night to Barga. Then the departing sunbeam '^ creeps up the sides of the mountain from crag toj crag, until it has reached the highest summit and| disappears. On the other side of this mountaino stretches the blue Mediterranean. North and east of Barga is another range of the Apennines, covered by a fine growth of chestnut 26 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY trees. These are kept in good condition for the crop of nuts they produce, and to the Italians these are a great food commodity. Portions of the mountains and valleys where these trees abound are rented to tlie mountaineers, who in the fall of the year gather the nuts and put them into metati, for the purpose of drying them. The metato is a small building of stone covered with tiles. About four feet above the stone floor is a platform made of narrow beams, which are round and reach from wall to wall. These beams are so laid that there is a space of about a quarter of an inch between them to permit the heat from below to pass through. The nuts are placed on the plat- form, underneath which a fire is made in the centre of the stone floor and kept burning very low for forty days. At the end of this time the nuts have become dry and hard. The fire is then put out, some of the beams are removed, and the nuts fall upon the stone floor. They are then placed in a long bag, and threshed by being pounded upon a block of smooth, round wood. The outer shell is thus removed, the inside shell pulverized, and the whole is then winnowed, leaving the pure white meat of the nut, which has become almost as hard as stone. The nuts thus prepared are taken to the grist mill and ground into flour, then cooked into polenta, a chestnut mush, and prepared for eat- ing in various ways. Millions of Italians live upon this kind of food, which, because of its wholesome- THE LITTLE DRUMMER 27 ness and nutriment, gives health and strength. The people dread a failure of the chestnut crop more than anything else, for such a misfortune would cause poverty and distress in many parts of the land. In the city of Barga, surrounded by such charming scenery, I passed my boyhood. My passion for drumming seemed to grow stronger and stronger, keeping step with my physical growth as the years went by. No sooner was I settled in our new home than I went about the house seeking something to drum on. From room to room I would go, drumming on the doors, tables and windows, or anything that would respond with a sound. In the garret I found the barrels used for transporting the family goods from Florence, but even these were not satisfactory, I was about to leave the garret when I saw in the corner of the room a round object of the shape of a barrel about two feet high and made of a smooth, thin wood. In the side of it was a small opening. I struck it with a stick, and it made a noise very delightful to my ears. It seemed even pleasanter than the sound made by a real drum. I tried it again and again, and was so rejoiced at the treasure I had found that my heart beat in tune with it, " Now," said I, " I must have drumsticks," and I rushed out of the house into the garden, climbed a cherry tree, and broke off several branches covered with unripe cherries. Having found what I wanted I returned to the garret and used the sticks on the 28 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY improvised drum. Just as I was in the midst of my glory and full of delight, a big black cat rushed out of the hole in the side of the barrel, with blazing eyes, mewing and spitting furiously, and ran out of the room. I felt curious to look under the article on which I had been drumming; so I turned it over and found the under side open. As I looked in, my eyes were fixed and the drumsticks fell from my hands. I saw something I had never seen before. I was not frightened, and yet I could not stir. What was it? There were four beautiful black kittens, which had not yet opened their eyes. I took them up very tenderly and patted them, and waited for the cat to come and feed them, but after a while I put them down, for I heard my father's angry voice calling me to come down without delay. I obeyed. The notaro took hold of me in a not very gentle manner, led me into the garden to the cherry tree, and demanded in a stern voice, " Who has done this, I want to know? Do you hear?" As I had never heard the story of George Washington and the cherry tree, I assumed a very innocent ex- pression and looking into my father's face, said, " Father, I did not do it." " Boy, tell me the truth ! Your mother saw you with her own eyes." I felt compelled to admit my guilt, confessed my fault and received the severe punishment I de- served. The next day I went of course to the garret to THE LITTLE DRUMMER 29 the kittens; but to my great sorrow never again did I see either cat or kittens. On Christmas day of that year the notaro made me the present of a real drum. In the wide world that morning of general rejoicing there could not have been found a heart which contained more joy than mine. As my father handed me the present and I realized that it was a real drum, I was like one transfixed. All I could do was to dance around the idol of my heart. I am afraid I even forgot to thank my father for the gift. I looked at the brass bands and tried the cords. I took the sticks in my hands and very gently and carefully tapped the drumhead. The sound was more than I could bear, and I cried for very joy. My mother took me on her knees and said, " What is the matter, dear son ? " " Mother, I am too happy," I replied. The notaro was afterwards heard to say that if there was anything he regretted in his life, it was giving me the instrument, " for," said he, " he tor- ments the life of us all with his eternal drumming." There was no need to teach me to play, for I was a born drummer boy. My uncle, Pietro, who was a member of the town band, prevailed on the band- master to make me the tenor drummer, and for years I played with the band on all occasions. Those years were the happiest in my life. To have a drum and a uniform was the goal of my highest ambition. CHAPTER III THE LIBERTY POLE ONE day while I was amusing myself as I did most of the time playing on my acquired treasure, my uncle called to inform me that at two o'clock that afternoon, I must report at the band's headquarters. It ought to be remarked at this point that the peo- ple of Italy had been stirred up by the " Carbonari," or " Young Italy," a political society, to a pitch of revolt against the existing rulers of the land, which led to the revolution of 1848 and 1849. Once a week the people of Barga gathered in the largest square to hear the news read by Cavaliere Ber- tacchi, and this was the occasion at which the band was to appear on that day. At the appointed time, dressed in my uniform, I was there. On the way to headquarters I noticed that there was an un- usual commotion among the people, who seemed to be in a state of intense excitement, as if in anticipa- tion of something very unusual. All were dressed in their Sunday clothes, and were walking in the direction of Piazza Mordini. Soon an immense crowd had gathered to hear the news of the day. 30 THE LIBERTY POLE 31 All eyes were fixed on a balcony over the main en- trance of Palazzo Bertacchi. A stone stairway led from the square to the balcony. The door of the balcony opened and out walked Cavaliere Bertacchi with a newspaper in his hand. He was cheered by the crowd below, and, as soon as quiet was restored, he began to read the latest news to the people, who, with upturned faces, eagerly listened. It is a sad fact that in a city of six or seven thousand souls there was taken at that time but one copy of a newspaper, not because the people were unable to pay for more, but because illiteracy was so common in the land that ninety per cent. of the inhabitants could not read. To form an idea of the great lack of education, it may be stated without fear of contradiction that in the Dukedom of Tuscany, with a population of three millions, there was but one newspaper published, " II Giornale Toscano," printed by order of the government; and, what is still stranger, its circulation was so small that the government had to pay quite a subsidy to keep it going. However, since the unification of Italy and under the leadership of a wise and intelli- gent administration, free education is enjoyed by the people, and illiteracy has almost disappeared. The above mentioned journal was the paper from which Signor Bertacchi read to the crowd. The clear voice of the reader rang out, " News from Rome ! " and at these words all leaned forward, anxious not to miss any tidings from the Papal 32 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY Capital. Wliat made the news from Rome so im- portant was the election of a new pope. The reader continued : " Cardinal Mastai Ferretti has been elected by the Holy Ghost and proclaimed by the Holy Council Pope of the Apostolic Roman Catholic Church. As his Holiness gave the Apos- tolic benediction, in his address to the people he said that, first, he would give to the Papal States a new constitution in which he would grant many privileges never heretofore enjoyed by his subjects." Great cheering by the crowd, while " Viva a Pio Nono, il Mandato da Dio " (the one sent from God), came loud and clear from thousands of voices. The reader w'ent on : " The Pope expresses himself strongly in favour of Italian unity, and says that he would be the first to join the other rulers of the land in an effort to expel Austria from Italian soil : and third, He himself would take up arms against the foreigners." No more excitement could have been caused at these words had a bomb exploded in the midst of the crowd. The scene that followed is almost beyond description with its " vivas," glad shouts, wild gestures, the air darkened by thousands of hats flung up. Those who had no hats took the coats off their backs and threw them high into the air. The women waved their handkerchiefs, or, if they had none, their aprons. A woman, who had in her arms a beautiful baby, held it high in her hands above her head and turned the little fellow' round and round, which made the baby laugh heart- THE LIBERTY POLE 33 ily. The band joined in the vivas by playing the national air, at which the crowd, wild with joy, began to dance. Just at that moment four strong men rushed up the stairs into the balcony where stood Cavaliere Bertacchi, seized him and put him upon the shoul- ders of the strongest of the four, who carried him down into the square. Then a long procession of glad, cheering people followed the newspaper reader as he was carried on the men's shoulders to the Duomo. The priest was called, and the Te Deum was sung in honour of the Pope. If there was ever anything in the hearts of the Italians for which they longed with greatest in- tensity and most sincerely prayed, it was the unity of Italy; to have their beloved land freed from the potentates who kept the country in turmoil, and treated the people as though they were slaves. Sev- eral of these rulers were kept on their tottering thrones by Austrian bayonets, thus trampling upon the honour and prosperity of the land, and for this reason Austria was bitterly hated. The nation waited patiently and long for the new constitution, and for the fulfilment of the fine promises for the betterment of the nation made by the Pope. But these promises were not kept. The people had faith in the Vicar of Christ, and still believed that he would be true to his words. They loved him, they worshipped him, and said he was sent of God to free Italy from its tyrants. " Pio 34 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY Nono " was upon the lips of all. But after a period of weary waiting and disappointment it began to dawn upon the popular mind that the Pope had made those rosy promises simply to stay the hand of rebellion. He had seen, when he came into power, that the country was ripe for a revolution, that this was the case not only with the Papal States, but also with all the states in Italy. Hence, he had to resort to some measure to pacify them, and that was FRAUD. The Carbonari had been at work fomenting a spirit of rebellion and crying out for United Italy. Carlo Alberto, king of Sardinia, could no longer keep his people quiet. They clamoured that Austria should be driven out; and the king, gathering his small army together, was the first to march against the foe. None of the other Italian rulers joined him in fighting the enemies of Italy. The Pope, who had said that he would be first to march against the common enemy, did not move, did not say a single word; and it became evident that he was false to his promises; that he did not mean to give the people a new constitution, or do anything to better their condition. Carlo Alberto's army was defeated by the Aus- trians, whose army was three times larger than his. And thus Austria made itself even stronger and more secure. At this the Italian people could no longer repress their hatred for their tyrannical neighbours. The different rulers in their own land THE LIBERTY POLE 35 were equally despised, the Pope was no longer loved by his subjects, and instead of calling down upon him the blessings of Heaven, maledictions were heaped upon his head. The spirit of revolt came to fever heat in the month of January, 1849. It burst forth with fury throughout Italy. The people armed themselves, and made the land so hot that the several potentates fled from their shaking thrones to save their lives. The Pope was foremost to take flight, seeking refuge in the fortress of Gaeta, where he was guarded by a strong force of Bourbon soldiers. The cry of " Liberty for Italy! " was upon every lip, and was heard from the Adriatic to the Mediter- ranean, and from the Apennines to Sicily. Giuseppi Mazzini immediately called together some of the leading Carbonari, and formed a Tri- umvirate for the government of the republic. Rome, the Eternal City, for the first time since the days of Rienzi was declared free. Garibaldi was made commander-in-chief of the Army of the Italian Republic. The new Republic embraced Lom- bardy, Tuscany, Lucca, Parma, Medina, Venice and the Papal States. Garibaldi called upon the people to rally to the aid of the new government, and help drive the foreigners out of the country. The enemy, of course, were not idle. The Aus- trians sent a large army to put down the Republic, and were helped by the so-called Republic of France. The King of Naples also sent an army to reinstate 36 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY the Pope in his temporal power. Therefore, Gari- baldi had three great powers to fight. But his fol- lowers were brave, and everywhere companies of national soldiers were organized. In every town the Liberty pole with its red cap was erected. Barga was again thrown into a state of wild excitement. The people of the little city welcomed the new government with joy, and on the second day of February, 1849, the Liberty pole was erected in the Piazza del Mercato. The event was witnessed by an immense crowd, which made itself hoarse in shouting "Viva alia Rcpuhlica! " The band, of course, was present, and after the pole had been set in its place before the admiring gaze of the mul- titude, it was discovered that in the excitement they had neglected to place the red cap on its top. It was just before the band began to play that some one called out in a loud voice, " The red cap is not yet on the pole; is there any boy who will climb it and put the cap up there ? " A lad named Gigi, a little older than I, came forward and tried to climb the pole, which was over sixty feet high, but failed and gave it up. When I saw this I laid down my drum, took the red cap, put it on my head, and began the ascent. As I was a good climber and as agile as a cat, I got to the top, where the pole was so slender that it swayed to and fro in the wind, but I clung securely to it. The crowd below were breathless, dreading lest the pole should break. Some of the women put THE LIBERTY POLE 37 their hands before their eyes through fear of seeing me fall to the ground. I had nerve, however, and, while with one hand I held myself to the pole, with the other I took from my head the red cap and, by stretching myself a few inches, succeeded in reaching to the top and placing the cap upon it. Then I looked down at the cheering crowd while the pole was still swinging, kissed my hand to the people, and slowly descended. However, before I came within reach of any one, I paused and looked at the scene below me. All were cheering, the men throwing their hats and caps into the air, the ladies waving their handkerchiefs, and the band playing a triumphal march, without the drum. I continued my descent, but before I could touch the ground I was caught in the arms of the tallest man in the crowd, a Signor Cordial, whom some of the people called " the Protestant," and looked upon with con- tempt, but who was a good man and had many friends in Barga. In a few seconds he put me down, and the women almost kissed me to death. Gigi, who had failed to climb the pole, looked daggers at me. A few days later my mother and Gigi's were talking together about the great event. Gigi's mother remarked that she was glad that her boy had failed, for she would not for the world have had that Protestant take her boy in his arms as he did me, for, said she, " that is a sure sign he will become a heretic, and be excommunicated 38 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY by Holy Church. I am going to make a priest out of my boy, and yours will be a Protestant." At these words, my mother made the sign of the cross, and said, " Maria Santissima, forbid that my son should become a heretic and be lost! " A company of national guards was formed in Barga under the leadership of Captain Carrara. I and another boy of my age were chosen to be the drummers. My father was a corporal in the com- pany. On the last day of February, 1849, I said fare- well to my mother. Had I known then that for twenty-three years she would not see her son again, had I known the severe ordeals I should be compelled to undergo in those years, their hor- rors, sorrows, agonies of soul, and sufferings al- most beyond human endurance, I would never have left her, and this story would never have been written. With our company I marched from Barga to Pietra Santa, where there was an important fort overlooking the Mediterranean. We were sent there to guard that post. However, when news was received that the allied armies of Austria and France were marching on Rome from the north, and the Bourbons, led by the King of Naples, from the south, and as all the hundred men were not needed at Pietra Santa, it was decided to send fifty to meet the Nationals and join them at Leghorn. I accompanied this detachment. THE LIBERTY POLE 39 At Leghorn we joined the Tuscan National Guards, and soon marched to Rome, reaching there April 28, 1849. For the first time I saw the Eternal City, and the impression it made upon my mind was lasting. On that day the people of Rome gave the Tuscan volunteers a hearty welcome. General Garibaldi, at the head of the Roman troops, came to meet us, and while we were marching through the Corso, the Broadway of the Roman capital, I first saw him as he rode his spirited horse along that thor- oughfare, which was strewn with flowers. The Eternal City was made to shake with " Viva a Gari- baldi, the soldier of the people! " while the tricolour was everywhere displayed. Rome was full of joy and hope. Although Garibaldi was called by the enemies of freedom an adventurer, a brigand, yes, the anti-Christ, yet the people loved him, and in him alone had confidence. The populace and soldiers were all Roman Catholics, but it was not against the Pope, as head of the Church, that they took up arms : though they knew that the Pope was unfit to occupy St. Peter's chair, and felt that the priests were a cor- rupt class of men. Their reasoning was this : Be- cause they had a bad Pope and a corrupt priesthood, that will not make their religion bad. They were fighting against a tyrant to drive him out of their country. In fighting the head of the Church, they did not become atheists, nor Protestants. They re- 40 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY tained their faith, and simply rose up to set aside a clerical traitor for whom they had now no love. It is indeed remarkable that Italy did not plunge into an excess of unbelief. On the contrary every mother said her prayers as usual, and taught them to her children. The priests were allowed to go on unmolested with their religious ceremonies. Italian Roman Catholics do not act as many Protestants do, saying that because there are some bad men at the head of the Church, they will have nothing to do with it, and, if a church member does any wrong, stay away from their church and neglect all Chris- tian duties. Protestants who take this attitude are not as wise as are faithful Roman Catholics. CHAPTER IV THE SIEGE OF ROME THE Siege of Rome began the last day of April, 1849, and lasted until the third of July in the same year. The city was fiercely bombarded by the Vandals of the nineteenth cen- tury. Many historical monuments were destroyed, and masterpieces of the fine arts were greatly dam- aged. Day after day shells flew over Monte Janicolo and Porta San Pancrazio into that section of Rome known as the Trastavere, killing many of the inhabitants in their own homes. The citizens, as they became accustomed to the bombardment, would greet each projectile with derision, calling out, " Ecco un Pio Nono " (here comes another Pio Nono). This was said in recollection of the fine promises made by the Pope to the people a year before, when he called them his beloved chil- dren and gave them his blessing. Now he gave them bombshells. The shells came so thick into that part of the city that women and children would pick them up and throw them into the Tiber. After a heroic resistance of many weeks against the allied French, Austrians and Bourbons, seeing that to 41 42 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY oppose the enemy any longer would be but an un- necessary waste of Italian lives, Garibaldi issued orders to the soldiers to save themselves as best they could. He with many of his followers marched out of Porta San Giovanni into the Campagna and hence to the mountains, and then, having arrived at the Adriatic Sea, sailed for America. Others of Garibaldi's soldiers fled along the Appian Way, and hid themselves among the ruins or in the Catacombs. Then, under the cover of night, they fled to the mountains, thus escaping the foe. Some, however, were not so fortunate, and did not get away from the city before the enemy came in. Those who had the presence of mind to lay down their arms were arrested, not as prisoners of war, but as brigands and outlaws, and were afterwards sent to the Castle of St. Angelo, the well-known city prison of Rome. Those who still retained their arms were shot down without mercy. During the siege three thousand of the National Guard were kept in Trastavere as a reserve, while Garibaldi, with the main army, was on Monte Janicolo holding at bay the immensely superior force of the enemy, fighting the most desperate battles of his career. On the first of July, 1849, at midnight, five hundred of the reserve, among whom were myself and comrades from Barga, were ordered to march at double-quick to Piazza del Popolo. The word had been received that the Bourbons from Naples THE SIEGE OF ROME 43. had taken Ponte Molle and were approaching that point. We arrived there in the morning, and were stationed in the Piazza to guard the gate at that locahty. At five o'clock, while shells came thick and fast from the Neapolitan cannon into the square, I was hit by a piece of a bursting shell, which struck my upper lip and lodged in my jaw. This caused me great suffering and much loss of blood. Five hours afterwards the Bourbons approached the Piazza del Popolo, carrying with them the hated Austrian flag, at the sight of which my com- rades threw down their arms and unburdened them- selves of everything else that would prevent speedy flight. I was told to put down my drum and follow them. All ran to the Pincian Hill and into the Campagna beyond, thus making their escape. It was hard for me to leave my idol, that very drum my father had given me as a Christmas gift. But I laid it down very carefully, placing upon it the drumsticks covered with blood. I began to run after my comrades, who were some distance ahead of me, but I stopped to look back at my drum, and my love for it was so great that I could not resist going back. This I did, and as I took it up, a rough voice called, *' Halt, or I fire ! " and at the same time a strong hand was laid upon my shoulder. Looking back I saw a squad of the soldiers of King Bomba. I was then in my sixteenth year; I was 44 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY strong for my age, and yet a mere bambino. I was surrounded by seven soldiers fully armed, who immediately handcufifed me. The corporal, who looked to me more like a fiend than a human being, took my precious drum and smashed it with his beastly foot. He then said, " May the head of the arch brigand and his red-shirted devils be crushed as I have crushed this drum, in the name of the Holy Father! " As I saw my drum, the idol of my heart, being thus demolished, it seemed that all the evil in my nature overcame the better part of myself, for I was burning with desire to be re- venged. I was handcuffed and could not use my hands, I drew a little away from the man, and then, like an enraged tiger, rushed at the cor- poral, struck him a blow with my foot in a very tender part of his uncouth body, and sent him sprawling upon the ground. For a few moments, he writhed in pain and raved like a mad bull. He soon, however, regained his feet and I felt that my end had come. My lips were swollen and pained me greatly, but I fell upon my knees and prayed aloud, " Holy Mother of God, protect this bambino for the sake of thy Son, Jesus Christ, who was unmercifully murdered by savage men like this one who is going to murder me." Then I paused for a moment and looked at the man's blood-stained hands. I kept staring at those bloody hands, and exclaimed, " See innocent blood upon that man's hands!" Then, looking him straight in the eyes, THE SIEGE OF ROME 45 I said, "'Assassino dei bambini!" (Murderer of children!) The effect of that prayer was striking. The man was astounded. He looked at his hands and, seeing them stained with blood, he turned pale and seemed alarmed. He evidently wanted to say some- thing, but acted as though he had lost his power of speech. There was a struggle going on in his breast, but soon the little good that was in him was overcome by his brutish nature, for he gave a fiend- ish laugh, and said, " Ah, this is the way the arch- brigand Garibaldi taught you to play the drum, was it? (referring to the kick I gave him). Well, well, I am not through with you; I will teach you the right way to play the drum." I could not surmise what the man was going to do, but from the evil in his eyes I felt that it must be something horrible. Then he called two of his soldiers and told them to hold the boy up while he drummed. Even then I could not guess what was to come, but it was soon revealed. The brute took my drumsticks and began to drum furiously upon my bare head. Although it caused me great pain to move my lips I gave a piercing cry of agony, which was heard by a troop of French soldiers led by their captain. As the Piazza del Popolo is a large square, it took some seconds before they reached us. Oh ! the agony of that moment ! I continued to scream from pain, and soon began to be dizzy. Rome and the soldiers seemed to turn round and round. I 46 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY was delirious and about to fall, when the approach- ing French soldiers saw what the corporal was doing. Their captain cried out, " Stop that, you brute ! " The corporal then paused and explained, " I am punishing him because he resisted arrest." At this the French soldiers laughed in contempt, and the captain, who spoke Italian well, said, " What ! he resisted arrest, did he, and you have seven strong men and could not arrest a little boy who is more dead than alive? You cowards ! You pounded his head with the drumsticks because you are a brute and a scoundrel. You are a murderer, not of men, for you are too much of a coward; but of bambini." Then the captain said a few words to his soldiers in French which I did not understand, and my tormentor withdrew with his men. I was taken charge of by four French soldiers. They looked at me pityingly when they saw the blood oozing from my ears and nose, caused by the drumming on my head. They asked me questions, but as they spoke in French I could not answer them. Then one of the soldiers examined my wound, and seeing that it was not dangerous we started for the Castle of St. Angelo. I was in a fearful con- dition, being covered with blood and very weak, not only from the loss of blood, but also for want of nourishment. I made signs as if I were thirsty, and the soldiers gave me a little brandy, but I could not take it. The spectators along the way as THE SIEGE OF ROME 47 they saw my plight would say, " Poverino ! " (Poor boy!). We passed a fountain, where one of the soldiers washed the blood from my face, and then gently tied a handkerchief over my swollen mouth. When we reached the castle the keeper at its gate asked my name. He saw, however, that I could not speak and did not ask any further ques- tions. I was then taken into a large room where there were many Garibaldians, easily distinguished by their red shirts. I looked around to see if I knew any of them, but all were strangers. So I sat down on the cold stone floor, full of misery, pain and despair. Some of the other prisoners, seeing my pitiable condition, came and spoke words of sympathy, but I could not utter a sound. How- ever, I felt that I was among friends and that was a consolation. Toward evening my ration was brought, con- sisting of rye bread and a bowl of water. Although I was very hungry, not having tasted food for nearly two days, the raw condition of my mouth prevented my taking any nourishment. So my por- tion remained untouched. Then I surveyed the scene before me. The prisoners made a striking picture in their red shirts. The Garibaldian uniform consisted of blue trousers and a red woolen shirt of blouse shape and loose in the sleeves. A black leather belt and a blue berretta, or cap, completed the costume, which with its blue and red made a pretty effect. Amer- 48 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY ican ladies at one time assumed the fashion of wearing " Garibaldis," and I must say that I have never seen one of them look more charming than when attired in that costume. When night settled upon us, we found that there had been no provision made for our rest, no blankets given, no place assigned. Th.ere was no spot where we could lie down except the cold stone floor. It was midnight when a kind-hearted Garibaldian came to me and said, "My lad, are you alone? Have you no friends?" I attempted to move my lips to speak, but the pain was too great. Finally I managed to utter the one word, " Solo " (alone). Again the man asked where I had come from, and after many attempts I succeeded in saying, *' Barga." Seeing that my efforts to talk caused me great suffering, he sat down and examined my lip. He looked at my ears clotted with blood, felt my pulse and went away, but soon reappeared, accompanied by another, wdio I noticed was an official of rank. Afterwards I learned he was a surgeon in the army of Garibaldi. His name was Donato Mancini, and he was from the city of Siena, Tuscany. He spoke very kindly, and asked many questions, but I could not answer; all I could do was to nod or shake my head in response. The kind-hearted man then said, " You are a very sick boy, but if you are brave and patient, I will get you well in a few days." He laid his hand upon my head, saw that THE SIEGE OF ROME 49 it was a mass of wounds and swellings, and said to his companion, " Some one must have pounded his head, to have caused the blood to flow from his ears. This is more serious than the wound in his lip." I saw that the surgeon wanted to know how this had happened, and so I began to use my hands as if playing the drum. " Oh, I see," said he, " you are a drummer boy ; but where is your drum ? " The mention of this caused the tears to flow down my cheeks. A vessel of water was then brought, and the surgeon proceeded to wash my head and ears, rubbing into the scalp some kind of oil which partly relieved the soreness. Then he took his in- struments, pried open my mouth, and put into it another instrument with which he kept it open. The pain was very severe, but I bore it. The tears flowed down my cheeks thick and fast. Many Garibaldians had gathered around us, and they looked upon me with tenderness and compassion, saying, " Poverino." Some asked, "Who is he?" and others of the lookers-on when they saw the ex- pression of intense suffering upon my face would say, " Be easy, Signor Surgeon." I noticed one kind-hearted man who kept his snuff-box in his hands, and whenever he saw the tears begin to flow from my eyes he would take a pinch of snuff and pass the box around. It almost made me laugh to see this good-natured soul, who seemed so inter- ested in the operation that he forgot all else, and 50 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY when he took a pinch of snuff, instead of carrying it to his nose, would sometimes put it into his mouth, which made him cough and choke. The surgeon finally said to those around, " I have taken a piece of shell from his upper jaw. The wound has been thoroughly washed with a preparation of carbolic acid, and there is now no danger of blood poisoning. The boy will be all right in a few days. He needs nourishment badly, and we must get something he can eat." Another man cried out, " The lad must not lie on the cold stone floor. Let us make a bed of our Garibaldis. Here goes mine ! " and he took his Garibaldi off and laid it on the floor. No sooner had he done this than there were quite a number of red shirts piled upon the floor, which made a comfortable bed. When the man with the snuff-box had added his to the pile, he came up holding his snuff-box, and said, " Here, my boy, take a pinch of snuff, it will do you good." I smiled, meaning, " Thank you," but shook my head. Lying on the bed of Garibaldi shirts I soon fell into a sound sleep that lasted until morning, although at times I was fever- ish and delirious, not from the effects of the wound in my jaw, but because of the pounding given me on the head by that cruel corporal. The surgeon, who came in the morning, gave me medicine, washed my wound, and then asked, " Has anything to eat been given the lad ? " Just then the warden came to see how many he would have to provide THE SIEGE OF ROME 51 breakfast for. The surgeon took the occasion to speak to him when he reached us, saying, " Signer Custode, please look at this lad and see how swollen his mouth is. He cannot eat the food you provide; can you not get the poor boy a bowl of brodo (beef tea) ? " The jailer did not even look at me, but replied, " Even the bread given you is much too good. Nothing should be wasted upon such brigands and rebels as you are." " Well, then," retorted the kind surgeon, " I would rather be a brigand than an assassin. For if you refuse the proper kind of food to this lad, it is the same as murdering him. But come, you are a father, for I saw a beautiful boy about your knees yesterday. I am a father and I have a boy about the age of this sick child, and my father's heart goes out in pity for his suffering. This lad no doubt has a father and mother who love him as you love your own boy. We do not know who he is, because he cannot talk on account of the swollen condition of his mouth. For the sake of the blessed Mother of Christ, send the poor, forlorn lad a bowl of brodo." The jailer, who had kept his eyes upon the sur- geon while he was speaking, cried out in a sneering tone, "Away with you, you red-shirted devils! If you were all dead, our Father, the Pope, would never have been subjected to such base humiliation as to be compelled to flee from the Holy See of 5J GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY, St. Peter's. No mercy for you rebels ! " and he walked off. As the surgeon spoke of my parents, for the first time since I was wounded I thought of my home, and as he said, " No doubt he has a mother who loves him," all my mother's kindness rushed into my mind. Oh ! how I longed, in my sad condition, for my mother's tender care. I remembered how when I was sick she would hold me in her lap and smooth my black hair and bathe my fevered head with cold water, soothing me by singing in her sweet voice; how she would cook my favourite eggs for me in the embers on the hearth, and how anxiously she watched day and night round my bed. " Oh ! mother, if you could only see your Tonio now, but I fear " and I sobbed as if my heart would break. While I was thus musing a man came bearing a large bowl of brodo, which he said was for me, giving it to the doctor, who was still holding my hand in his. It was evident that in spite of the jailer's severe words, his heart had been touched by my plight, for while the doctor was feeding me, with the aid of a syringe, the ctistode passed by, and I noticed that his face had a pleased ex- pression. I was fed by the kind-hearted doctor until he thought I had enough. Then he put the bowl near my head on the stone floor, and covered it over with his handkerchief. The food made me feel better, and while I lay there more at ease THE SIEGE OF ROME 53 I watched my fellow-prisoners eat their poor por- tion of hard rye bread. Some of them to make the bread more palatable would dip it in water. For their dessert the man with a snuff-box passed that around, and they all took a pinch of snuff. The Italians are very fond of this, many being slaves to the habit. Just as I was about to drop into a sound slumber toward night, two turnkeys came to where I was and said, " We are to take you away, little boy." My friend, the surgeon, asked them where I was to be taken, but they refused to answer. The doc- tor, seeing that it would be useless to question them further, said to me, " Can't you bear a little pain and tell us your name?" "Do tell us," all cried out, and by making a tremendous effort, I man- aged to say " Anto " but could not go further. "Oh!" exclaimed the doctor, "Antonio?" I nodded my head. They then asked me where I came from, and the man who had first questioned me interposed and said, " From Barga," and again I nodded my head. I was obliged to leave my comfortable bed of Garibaldi shirts, and as I was about to be led away the kind-hearted Garibaldians, full of sympathy, said, " God bless you ! " The surgeon kissed my forehead, and said, " Good-bye, my son." I shook hands with all, and my snuff-box friend offered me a parting pinch of snuff, which I did not take. The fact that I am living to-day is due to the 54 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY efforts of that kind-hearted surgeon, whose memory will never be erased from my mind and heart. I walked between the two turnkeys, who were kind enough to let me walk as slowly as I wished. I gave many a parting backward glance at my com- rades until they were no longer in sight. We soon came to a long winding stair which we began to ascend. The climb was a hard one, and from ex- haustion I was compelled to stop several times and rest; but the turnkeys never urged me to go on until I felt able to resume the climb. At the head of the stairs there was a large corridor. I saw through the windows that we were at the top of the Castle of St. Angelo. From the windows a splendid view of all Rome could be had. At the end of the corridor the turnkeys opened a door which led into a large hall in which there were many beds, some containing sick people. It was the prison hospital. I was taken to a man who seemed to be an officer. When he started to question me the turnkeys informed him I could not speak on account of my wound. " But," said the officer, " I shall have to make an entry. However, as he is nothing but a bambino, I will enter him as such, and put him down as Bambino No. i." I was afterwards known by that title. A bed was assigned me near a window, from which I had a fine view of St. Peter's and the Vatican. This room was a paradise compared with THE SIEGE OF ROME 55 the cold and gloomy place from which I had been taken. It was bright, cheerful and full of sunshine. The nurses were all monks, some of whom were cheery and even jolly; but through the excessive use of snuff their beards, faces and clothes had become very dirty. I was put to bed by one of these monks, who, when he saw my Garibaldi uni- form, said, " Oh ! you are one of the little chickens hatched by that devil called Signor Garibaldi. Never mind, little boy, we will soon take the spirit] of rebellion out of you." Just then the hospital surgeon and another monk, who seemed kind and fatherly, approached my bed. The dirty monk was sent away. The surgeon made a thorough examination of my condition, and praised highly the skilful work done by the medical prisoner. The monk and the surgeon talked to- gether, but what they said I could not hear. They treated my head and wounded lip very carefully, and when I bore the pain with courage the surgeon patted me on the shoulder, and said, " Poverino, so your name is // Bambino No. i." Then he went away, but the good monk remained and sat down by my bed talking to me as if I had been his own child. I soon closed my eyes and slept soundly. Next morning the monk was still there, ready to give me my medicine. He seemed to have become proud of his charge. Toward evening I closed my eyes again, and would have gone into a sweet slumber but for the fact that I heard the monk, 56 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY \vho was at my bedside, talk to himself, in the form of prayer. " Dear Father in Heaven," he said, " look with pitying eyes upon this Thy child who is sick, and, if it is Thy will, restore him to health. Thou know- est there are hearts that love this lad, aching because they do not know what has become of him. Thy servant knows the agony he felt when he lost the little boy Thou gavest him. I confess that my Beata and I sinned; but we loved each other so deeply, so sincerely, that we disregarded the law of the Church, and we lived together faith- fully as husband and wife. A beautiful boy was given us. For fourteen years he was our only joy. Oh ! how w^e loved that child ! When the cholera came and swept away thousands and thou- sands of people in Rome and took away my Beata and little Gianni, I was left broken-hearted. Now, this lad is the picture of my own boy. No one knows his name or where he came from. Father, grant that the heart of Thy servant may be cheered and gladdened by taking this child as his own and bringing him up for Thee." Then the poor monk sobbed, and sighed deeply again and again. I was touched by his sorrow, and laid my hand upon his bowed head. In a moment he was upon his feet and looked at me with tear- stained eyes in such tenderness that it thrilled me, and we immediately became fast friends. That night Rome was ablaze with illumination. THE SIEGE OF ROME 57 St. Peter's and the Vatican looked like a sea of light. I have never witnessed anything more beautiful. It was glorious. The monk helped me stand on the bed, so that I had an enchanting view of all Rome. What made the illumination appear strange was that only the churches and public buildings were illuminated. This was done in honour of the Pope, who that day had returned from the fortress of Gaeta. I was well taken care of by my friend, Fra Do- menico, who would call me " II mio Gianni " (my Johnnie). It seemed queer that he would ask neither my name nor my home, even though I was now able to talk. One day Fra Domenico and an- other monk were talking, and I heard him say, " Now that Gianni is well, I will ask the authorities to let me have him as my own son, for I love him dearly, and will bring him up for God and the Church. As to his being a Garibaldian, I will fix that with the Secretary of State to-morrow, when I hope to have an audience with him." As Fra Domenico turned away I saw upon the face of the other monk a sinister expression which probably meant, " A good chance for me to become the head nurse of the hospital." Then he shrugged his shoulders in Italian fashion and disappeared. I had been in the hospital for over six weeks, and was now as strong as ever. I still wore my Garibaldian uniform. My hair, which had been cut close, was now curly and thick, and I looked 58 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY well in every way. Next morning Fra Domenico said, '' Gianni, my boy, I am going away to-day, and shall be gone perhaps also to-morrow. I am going to see a great man, and shall endeavour to have him use his influence that I may take you away from the hospital." He kissed me, and that was the last I ever saw of that good friend. I waited anxiously for his return all that day, and hoped that the next would bring him back, but on the morning of the second day I was awakened by two Papal guards who told me to get up. My Garibaldian uniform was taken away, and I was commanded to put on the clothes they had brought. The suit was made of woolen cloth, and its design was yellow and black in stripes that ran around it. It fitted me very tightly. The guards then cut my hair close to the scalp, and told me to move on with them. I questioned them as to why I was dressed in so ugly a uniform, and one of them replied : *' Because you have been sentenced to be a galeotto." I asked, *' What is a galeotto? " The answer was, " Poor fellow, you will find that out soon enough ! " I was then taken into a large room where I found many men dressed in a garb similar to my own. Without further ceremony we were all marched to the railway station, handcuffed, and sur- rounded by a strong guard of Papal troops. THE SIEGE OF ROME 59 The train carried us to Civita Vecchia, a seaport about sixty miles northwest of Rome. Having arrived there we were put into a large building called the Galera. I did not then realize the awful sentence passed upon me. Youth and inexperience hid from my imagination the fearfulness of the penalty allotted me. The Papal authorities did not look upon the Gari- baldians as prisoners of war, but as rebels and out- laws, and so we were condemned to live the lives of galley-slaves. A more forlorn and dejected set of men than my companions I have never seen. They looked as if they had been condemned to death. Perhaps I was the most cheerful of all, not having a full realization of what was before me. Note : ' ' The restored Papacy, under the guidance of Antonelli (Secretary of State), followed no longer the half-liberal policy of Pio Nono's first years, but the old clerical regime of the former popes. Every vestige of representative government, every trace of institutions securing person and property against abso- lute power, was swept away ; the Liberal press was again si- lenced ; the spies, lay and clerical, were again let loose on the people ; the prisons and galleys were filled with those who had consented to serve the Republic." —From "Garibaldi's Defence of the Roman Republic in 1849," page 235, by C. M. Trevelyan. CHAPTER V THE drummer's MOTHER WE must now return to the Piazza del Popolo where I fell into the hands of the foe, while my comrades were fleeing in the direction of the Pincian Hill, Some of my com- panions looking back saw me surrounded by the enemy. They perceived that I had been taken prisoner by the Bourbon soldiers, and to express their grief and sympathy, exclaimed, "Poverino!" and continued their flight across the country. Villa Borghese was soon reached, and they found it de- serted. Knowing that it would take all day and perhaps all night to reach a town where food could be obtained, they foraged in the Villa, helping them- selves to what provisions they could find. The Campagna once crossed, they arrived in the town of Viterbo, about a hundred miles from Rome. There they took the railroad to Florence, where a grand reception was given to the Tuscan National Guards, in honour of their having escaped from the hands of the enemy. From Florence my comrades were sent to Barga. My father had returned from Pietra Santa, where 60 THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER 6r he had been stationed. The first intimation my mother had that I had been sent to Rome was when her husband returned home. He endeavoured to assure her that I was safe, and that I would soon be back sound and well, but the poor woman had great misgivings, and felt that it was not well with her child. Her motherly instinct gave her terrible forebodings. She would often tell him that she feared her idol would never return. One day my father came to her and said that he had great news. " Tonio's comrades were in Flor- ence. To-day they are to arrive at Lucca, and to-morrow evening they will reach Barga." The poor woman gave a sigh of relief, and said, " Will my boy be among them ? " " Well," replied the notaro, "we shall soon know his fate; let us hope for the best." That night the anxious mother could not close her eyes. She thought of the mor- row, asking herself again and again, " Will it bring good news? Will my Tonio come back to me?" Then she would leave her bed and kneel at its side, praying, ''Madonna mia, bring my boy back, and I will serve thee all my life." Then she would take off her wedding ring and make the vow, " Madonna Santissima, if my child comes back to-morrow, I will lay this ring upon thine altar, and it shall be thine." Anxiously she waited during the next day for the moment to arrive when the soldiers were expected. Three hours before the time 62 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY she said to my father, " Let us go and meet them." " Yes," he assented. " We will go to the Villa Carrara, for from there we can have a clear view of the road for a long distance." So they went to the villa, and my mother kept her eyes fixed on the way by which the soldics were to come. The road was soon crowded with town folk, for the people of Barga were anxious to do their best to give their soldier boys a royal welcome. After some time suddenly there was a cry, " They come, they come ! " My mother stood up, and strained her eyes in their direction, listening in- tently meanwhile to hear the drum. But no such sound reached her ears. The soldiers advanced until they were quite near. She cried out and said, " I do not hear the drum : there is no drummer boy," and she began to sob wildly. Captain Car- rara, seeing the great sorrow of the mother, called two of the soldiers to him and brought them before the sorrowing woman. As my mother saw them, she asked in anguish, " Where is my boy ? What has become of him ? Oh ! tell me all ! " They told her how they had seen Tonio sur- rounded by the Bourbon soldiers, and that they be- lieved he had been taken prisoner. One of them said to her, " I told the lad to leave his drum and follow us, and I saw him lay it down and run after us; but after running a while I looked back to see if he was following, and to my amazement saw THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER 63 that he was going back for his drum. I cried to him to leave it alone and save himself. But it was too late. As I came to the top of a hill, I saw the poor fellow in the hands of the enemy." " Do you think my boy is alive? " she said. " I firmly believe he is, for who would be so heartless as to do harm to such a lad ? " was the answer, and she seemed to be resigned. There was great rejoicing among the people, and many vivas went up for the brave soldier boys who had fought for the unity of Italy. Every member of the company had returned with the exception of myself. My mother could not stay to enjoy the festivities at the return of the soldiers, though she believed now that her boy was alive. The thought that he was a prisoner made her sad beyond expression, and she said to my father, " I cannot stay here, I must go home and think about my poor child; you can stay if you wish." But the notaro took his wife by the arm, and both returned to their desolate home. As soon as they were in the house, I learned afterwards, my mother went to the cupboard and took out two fine eggs, saying to my father, " Be- fore we left the house I made a good fire, so that I would have plently of hot ashes to cook these eggs in for our boy. You know how fond he was of them; but he did not come," and she gave way to un- controllable grief. My father tried to cheer her by 64 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY saying that on that very day he would write to his friend, Notaro Pierotti in Rome, to ask him to try and find some trace of the boy; and he added, " I will do all within my power to find him. But you know it is not safe for me to go to Rome, since I am a proscript, having taken up arms against the Holy Father, so that I dare not put my feet on Papal soil." When my mother became calm she and my father began to discuss means of hearing from me. I could not read or write, for my education had been deferred until I should be fifteen years of age, when my father intended to put me through a course of study that would fit me to take his own place as letter-writer. The neighbours came to my afilicted mother and offered their sympathy, trying to encourage her with kind words in her great sorrow, and persuade her to believe that her son would return. Among these was Gigi's mother and Gigi himself, the lad who had failed to climb the Liberty pole. She did not look upon my mother with very sympathetic eyes, but rather seemed to rejoice at her sorrow. Before she left her she said proudly that her boy, Gigi, was destined to occupy a high position in life, for he was under the protection of the saints, and would in time become a priest of the Holy Catholic Church; whereas Tonio was but a proscript, because he had taken up arms against the Holy Father at Rome. " But," she continued, " I really hope he THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER 65 will be restored to you. Keep up a cheerful heart," and she left the house. A month later my father received a letter from his friend Pierotti in Rome, but it contained nothing of an encouraging nature. Pierotti had sent a friend to the Castle, who made inquiries there for Tonio of Barga; but the boy's name could not be found among the prisoners. " I would like," said he, " to go to the Secretary of State and make inquiries, but I should have to tell him that the lad was a Gari- baldian drummer, and that would put me in danger of becoming a suspect, because of corresponding with the rebels." Month after month passed with no tidings of their son. The lawyer Salvi, a man who stood high in the Church, wrote a letter to his Eminence, the Secretary of State, and an answer came saying that no such name was found among the rebels. My poor mother was much changed. Her hair had grown whiter, and her voice, always sweet, now had in it a very pathetic tone. Only her tenderness seemed deeper and stronger than ever. Whenever she met a lad of her acquaintance she would reveal her love for the lost one by her tender affection. Almost a year had passed since they heard any news of me. With the exception of my mother, all had given me up as dead. She hoped against hope. She went to church every day and heard mass said, not for the repose of her boy's soul, but to intercede 66 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY with the great Father above to bring him back to her. One day my father, the notaro, told my mother that he should be obliged to leave her for a few days, for he had been called to Siena to attend to some important business. The next morning he journeyed on the diligenna to Lucca, from there to Florence, and by rail to Siena. He made his head- quarters at the hotel Stella d' Italia. One day, while taking his dinner, he noticed a boy sitting at the same table with him. The more the notaro looked at the lad, the more forcibly was the idea brought to his mind that he resembled his lost son. The boy was about my age, possibly a little younger. The anxious father could not take his eyes from him. When the boy noticed that the notaro con- tinually looked at him, he asked, " Sir, why is it that you keep your eyes directed at me ? Do I look like any one you know ? " My father answered, " I beg your pardon, but you do look very much like my poor son, Tonio." " Why did you not bring him with you, so that I might have some one to play with ? " said the boy. " Oh ! " my father sadly answered, " I fear he is no more." " Is he dead ? " asked the boy with a tone of sym- pathy. The notaro told him the story of Tonio, the tamburino in the army of Garibaldi. The boy's eyes sparkled as he listened to the nar- THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER (>7 rative, and exclaimed, " Oh ! how I wish I had a drum and a uniform ! " My father then explained to the lad that his son had been at the siege of Rome, was there taken prisoner, and, although a year had passed, nothing had been heard of him. "Poverino!" said the boy; "it makes me feel bad, so bad. How dreadfully would my parents feel should I be lost! They love me so dearly that I know it would kill father. " And you cannot hear from your boy ? How sad ! Don't you think you will ever see him again ? " My father replied to the boy's eager questions, and said that he feared he would never again hear from him, but it gave him great pleasure to look upon one who so resembled his son. " What is your name?" he asked. "I would like to tell Tonio's mother when I return to my home that I have seen a boy looked much like our dear child." " My name is Peppe, and my father's name is Donato Mancini. My father is a surgeon, and he keeps this hotel." Just then a gentleman entered the room and, as Peppe saw him coming, said, " There is my father," and ran to him and threw his arms around his neck. Boy-like he exclaimed, " Oh ! papa, come and see this gentleman. He had a boy who looked like me, who was a drummer in Garibaldi's army, and the poor fellow is lost, father. They cannot hear from him. It is a year now, and not a word have 68 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY they had from their boy, and, father, his name is Antonio." All this was said in a breathless rush of words. Peppe's father reproved the boy. " I am afraid that you have been bothering this gentleman," he said. The notaro exclaimed, " No, quite the contrary. It has given me great pleasure to talk with such an intelligent, bright lad. He so reminds me of my son that I could not refrain from looking at him constantly, and I am to blame for starting the con- versation with him. I was telling Peppe how my boy served as a drummer under Garibaldi, that he was with the great hero at the siege of Rome in the summer of 1849, and that when the city was taken some of my boy's comrades who returned to Barga " " Barga, — Barga? " interrupted the surgeon. " It seems to me that I have heard that name in the same connection." Then he paused for a mo- ment and seemed deep in thought. Soon he said, " Please go on; your story interests me deeply." My father continued : " Some of my boy's com- rades said that the last they saw of him he was surrounded by Bourbon soldiers; therefore, they supposed he had been taken prisoner. That is all we know of his fate." Signor Mancini was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear the last words of the notaro. He was repeating to himself the names *' Barga " THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER 69 and " Antonio." He paused a moment and then exclaimed, " I have it, yes, I have it. The boy I treated in the Castle of St. Angelo, who had been wounded in the upper lip, must be the same one." And then he said to the notaro, " This narra- tive interests me immensely, for I was a surgeon in the same army with your son. I was taken prisoner, I suppose, on the same day as your boy, and was sent to the same prison." My father was now all attention. He listened eagerly, almost fearing to breathe lest he might lose some of the surgeon's words. " I remember," continued the surgeon, " that one of my men came to me a little before midnight, and said that there was a boy in the prison who he supposed must have been a drummer, for he wore the red shirt. The lad had been badly wounded in the upper lip, and his lips were so swollen that he could not speak. Without waiting to be asked I took my surgical instruments and followed the man. I made an examination and saw that there was no time to lose. First, his head was to be treated, for it was covered with a mass of bruises; and then I extracted from his upper jaw a small piece of shell. I did my best to prevent blood poisoning. The condition of his head made me feel uneasy, for I feared brain fever. I asked the lad how it hap- pened that his head had been so fearfully bruised. In a feeble way he began to drum with his hands, meaning that somebody had used his head for a 70 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY drum. I then examined his body and found no other hurts. The poor boy was very weak, and sometimes delirious. I gave him a good rub with alcohol, and as he needed rest a bed was made of Garibaldian shirts which our comrades kindly sup- plied, and he was laid upon it. He soon fell into a slumber and slept well all night. I was with him till morning, for I was afraid to leave him alone. I spoke to the custodian of the prison, telling him that the boy was very sick. Then an order was given to take him to the prison hospital. Before he left us, I asked his name, and the poor fellow said ' Anto ' but could add no more on account of the pain it caused him to open his mouth. How- ever, I knew he meant ' Antonio.' Then I asked him where he came from, and some one replied, * From Barga.' " At this point the notaro was so affected that he could keep silent no longer, and in a voice trembling with emotion exclaimed, " That was my Tonio, my lost boy." Then he broke down, for he could not control his emotion. When he finally calmed himself, he said, " I have no doubt that the lad to whom you refer, and to whom you showed such great kindness, was my son. If he is living it is due to your skill and your fatherly care of him. I now see that I have been led by a kind Providence to this city, and to this house. My heart is filled with deep gratitude to you. My wife, who has suffered so much, will re- THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER 71 joice to hear of your kindness to her child. May I ask you to kindly give me what other information you may have? Do you think my son is still living?" At this point, little Peppe, who was attentively listening to all that had been said, and feeling deeply interested in the welfare of Tonio, said, " Surely he is living, for he was taken to the hospital, and you remember, papa, when mother had that bad spell of sickness, she was taken to the hospital, and she came out well and sound." The simplicity and sincerity with which this re- mark was made touched my father's heart. The surgeon then said, *' Well — well, Signor ?" " Luca, a no^aro from Barga, Tuscany." " I was going to say, Signor Notaro," continued the surgeon, " that it is probable your son is alive. After the boy was taken to the hospital, I made application to the jailer for permission to visit him, but it was refused, and I did not see or hear of him until some six weeks afterwards. One morn- ing about ten o'clock a monk by the name of Padre Domenico came to that part of the prison where the prisoners were whose cases had not yet been disposed of, but were still under consideration. The monk asked for Signor Donato Mancini. I re- sponded to the call and was permitted to go outside into the corridor with the monk, who said, when we were alone, ' I have been told by a turnkey that ^2 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY you, as surgeon, treated a boy who had been wounded in his upper lip. You will remember that he was placed in the hospital ward of the prison? I am the head nurse there, and had nursed that lad for six weeks. From the first day I saw the lad I loved him, and under my care he got well and strong.' " The notaro cried out with great joy, " Thank God, Tonio still lives!" " The monk added," he went on, " ' I had a — I mean my sister had a boy whom we called Gianni. My sister and Gianni died during the fearful scourge of cholera we had some years ago in Rome. I w^anted to adopt this drummer boy as my son. I never asked his name, for I wished him to forget it. Therefore I called him Gianni. Some few^ days ago I made up my mind that I would visit the prison authorities and see if Gianni could not be given to me, as the child was apparently alone in the world. I made known to my assistant, Padre Francesco, my intention of adopting the boy. He said nothing in reply. On the day I left the prison to attend to this affair, I said to my assistant that I would not return for two or three days, and asked him to take good care of Gianni. He simply bowed, and I went away. The man betrayed me. He informed the custode of my intentions, he in turn reported me to the Cancelleria, and I have been dismissed for befriending rebels. When I returned to the hospital, not finding the boy there, I asked Padre THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER yz Francesco what had become of him. He repHed, with a sneer on his face, that on the day after I left, the Papal guards came and took him away, saying that he had been condemned to the galleys, and was then a galeotto.' " "Merciful Heaven!" exclaimed the notaro, and covered his eyes with his hands. Little Peppe, who had become deeply interested in the story, cried out, " Has Tonio been killed, papa? What is a galeotto? " The kind surgeon, seeing the distress of the no- taro, said, " Signor Notaro, have courage; perhaps it is not as bad as we think. I have a few words more, and my story will be ended. The monk con- tinued : ' At the word galeotto, I lost control of myself. I was enraged. I roared out, " Frate cane! (dog of a monk) this is your fiendish work, and you shall pay for it." Like a tiger leaping after its prey, I made for the monk, and seized him by the throat. I got him down on his knees and would have choked him to death had it not been for the other nurses, who separated us. Afterwards I learned from another nurse that Gianni had been sent by train to Civita Vecchia that very morning. I came to you, Signor Mancini, to tell you the fate of this unfortunate lad, and to say that if you know the name and address of his parents, who must be greatly distressed about him, I will write to them, and let them know where the poor lad is to be found.' I replied that all I knew was that his name was An- 74 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY tonio, and that he came from Barga. The monk continued, ' He was a bright, intelHgent lad, and I remember how sweetly he sang to soothe the patients in the hospital when they were groaning with pain. He would sing " Santa Maria," and it had a most quieting effect upon the sick. It breaks my heart to think that he has been sen- tenced to such a life, which is worse than death.' " As the surgeon was finishing the monk's story, his wife came into the room, and Peppe quickly ran to her, saying, " Mamma, come and hear the story of Tonio, the drummer boy, who was wounded at Rome, and got lost. Here is his father." Of course the surgeon briefly related to her the sad narrative, telling her that the notaro's son had been condemned to be a galley-slave, and she ejacu- lated, "Horrible!" My father sat in silence for a while; then he asked the surgeon to tell him how it happened that he himself was set free. " You ask my lady and she will tell you all," he replied. The doctor's wife then said that she got her hus- band out of the Castle of St. Angelo by giving up all she had. " The fortune, which my father left me, all that I possessed, and the money that my husband had made as a surgeon, all went to appease the greed of that avaricious man, the Secretary of State. After he had drawn the last drop of blood from our veins and brought ruin upon us, he finally THE DRUMMER'S MOTHER 75 consented to have my husband taken to the boundary of the States of the Church and there go free, but, as a proscript, never to set foot again on Roman soil. *' That unmerciful man said that the Church and the Holy Father had been outraged by those rebels and outlaws, and demanded that everything be given up to the State to atone for the wrong done the Holy See. I got men of influence to plead our cause, but to no purpose; so I finally assented to his demands, and we were left in utter poverty. But, thank God, I got back my husband. We opened this hotel and are doing well. My husband is kept pretty busy, and although the sacrifice was great, we are happy and contented. I wish you could get your boy out of the dreadful life he is now leading. It will be terrible for your wife to hear of the awful sentence passed on her son. I fear she will break down. You have our deepest sym- pathy. Peppe, say good-bye to the gentleman," and Peppe went over to the notaro, shook hands with him, and said, " When Tonio comes back, bring him up here, for I want to see him." Next morning, as my father took his leave of Signor Mancini, he asked, " Do you think it would be safe for me to go to Rome? " The gentleman replied, '' I think it would be a risk, as you have been in the army, and hence are a proscript. Better have some one intercede for you, but keep out of the Papal States." 76 GARIBALDI'S DRUMMER BOY They then shook each other warmly by the hand and said, "A rivcdcrci." As soon as possible the notaro reached his home in Barga. The first thing he said to his wife was, " I have news of our boy. I have heard a great deal, but nothing very encouraging." " Is he still living?" eagerly questioned Angiola. " Yes, but he is a galeotto! " " Miscricordia. Maria Santissima! " exclaimed the mother. " My boy a galley-slave ! It is worse than death," and she was overcome with anguish. Soon it was noised in the town that the notaro had returned from Siena, and that he had learned the terrible fate of his boy from a fellow-prisoner. The mother was almost overwhelmed by her great sorrow, and the neighbours came in to console her with kind and sympathetic words. By and by she became resigned, hoping against hope to see her beloved child again. PART II o The Galley-Slave of Civita Vecchia CHAPTER VI " VA IN GALERA ! " " J /^^ ^^ Galera!" is one of the most offensive M/ expressions in the Itahan language. Al- though the Galera was abolished many- years ago, the expression has remained, and is a part of the common speech of Italy. If you say to an Italian, " Va all' Inferno! " he will not resent it much; but say to him '' Va in Galera!" and his hand will fly to the hip pocket for the stiletto or the revolver. The Galera was a place where political offenders and criminals of high degree were imprisoned, and made to live a life of unspeakable suffer- ing. The horrors of that life were bad enough inside the Galera, for it was a living hell ; but when the galley-slaves were taken outside the prison- house they were compelled to undergo yet worse miseries. Two by two they walked, chained together at the ankles, and, under the cruel lashes of slave- driving guards, they were compelled to do the most disgusting and repulsive work, work unfit to be described. If they did not move rapidly enough to suit the cruel guards, down would descend the heavy 79 8o THE GALLEY-SLAVE whip-lash upon their shoulders. But the hardest of all was the fact that, although surrounded by human beings, there was no one to pity them, for no one dared to say a good word or do an act of kindness to them. Any attention to a galley-slave, no matter how slight, was a crime. One kind of work which some of the unfortunates were compelled to perform was to operate tread- mills, such as were to be seen in all seaport towns of Italy. In one of these I toiled for a number of years. As soon as we entered the Galera we were marched into a large corridor where we were com- manded to halt. Then we were ordered to stand in single file with our backs to the wall. Our hands were manacled by the guards, and shackles were put on our feet. In this condition we were com- pelled to stand for more than an hour, when I saw a man who seemed to be a doctor or a surgeon care- fully examining each of the prisoners, to see if any had contagious diseases. As this man drew nearer and I had a better chance to look at him, what was my surprise and delight, when I recognized in him the very man who had treated my wound the first three weeks I was in the prison hospital in Castle St. Angelo. As he came to where I stood, and looked at me, he seemed to hesitate for a moment, then in horror threw up his hands and cried, "Gianni! (using the name given me by Fra Domenico) is it you, or do my eyes deceive me?" "VA IN GALERA!" 8i "Signer Chirurgo (surgeon)," I replied, "yes, I am the unfortunate boy. This place is horrible." " I wish I had the power to set you free," said the surgeon. " I would gladly use it, but I can do nothing. Be a brave boy, and I will speak with the head keeper of the prison and ask him not to put you into the dungeon, ' Notte d'Inferno ' (the Night of Hell), for I fear you would never come out alive. What became of Fra Domenico, who seemed so fond of you, and was going to adopt you ? Could he not prevent your being sent to this dreadful place?" I replied, " Day before yesterday, Fra Domenico said, ' Gianni, I am going away for a couple of days, but will be back soon, I want to see a man high in authority and see if he will give me per- mission to take you away from the hospital. Be of good cheer. Addio,' and that was the last I saw of that good man." " It is strange, very strange," said the surgeon. " I will use all the influence I have with the custode, that he may show kindness to you." Having said this, he went on with his duties, and I saw him no more. When the surgeon had finished his work, the shackles were taken from our feet, and we were marched into a large room called by the galley- slaves, " Gabbia del Diavolo " (The Devil's Cage). This room was about seventy-five feet long and about fifty feet wide. The cage was inside of this 82 THE GALLEY-SLAVE room, occupying all of it with the exception of about four feet between the east and west walls and the bars of the cage. The sides of it were of iron bars, set about three inches apart and running the length of the room from wall to wall, fastened securely into the brick floor and reaching up to the ceiling. These bars were covered with sharp iron prongs, making it impossible for any one to come in contact with them without feeling their keen edges, thus preventing all attempts of the galley- slaves to break through. The ceiling was about ten feet high, and a tall man could reach it with his hands. In the space between the iron bars and the walls of the room armed guards constantly paced up and down, keeping a vigilant eye through the bars upon the prisoners, day and night. On the east and west sides of the room were large windows which admitted light and air. There were two small gates about midway in the long line of iron bars, one on the east side, and one on the west. There were also small spaces between the iron bars, through which the prisoners received rations of hard, black rye bread, with water once a day, ex- cepting Sunday, when they received a small piece of meat and a bowl of bean soup. As we passed through the iron gates into the prison cage the manacles were taken off our hands. At night each one of us was provided with a single army blanket, which we wrapped around us, and then laid down on the brick floor to sleep. We soon "VA IN GALERA!" 83 got accustomed to this and slept soundly. There were no benches on which we could sit, nothing to rest on but the hard brick floor. We were kept in the Gabbia del Diavolo for three weeks, when some of the galley-slaves were led out to work, chained together two by two. It was the prison rule that none were to be taken out to work unless they had passed twenty-four hours in the dungeon, called Notte d'Inferno. The long hours spent in this " Night of Hell " were full of the most abominable tortures man has ever been called upon to undergo. This cell was many feet underground, in size about six feet by ten, and entirely dark. From the ceiling drops of water constantly fell upon the victims. The walls were damp and slimy, and the bare feet of the prisoner rested upon a stone floor which felt as though it had been covered with the lather of soap. If one attempted to move, his feet would slip from under him, and down he would go. To make the place still more horrible, live eels were put into the dungeon, and when the tortured victim came in contact with these slimy creatures he would scream with fright, as he could not know what it was. He would leap up into the air, and coming down again sprawl on the slippery floor. His at- tempts to rise would only result in repeated falls. The more he tried to stand upright, the more his frantic efforts would result in his falling, and often in striking his head against the walls of the cell. Now he would be on his back, now on his stomach, 84 THE GALLEY-SLAVE now on his side. He would continue to struggle until he was exhausted, and tried to rest by sitting down. Then he would catch the eels, and mad- dened with fear, tear them in pieces with his teeth. By and by the poor unfortunate would become de- lirious, and see in that dungeon all the horrors of hell. After being there some fifteen hours he would burn with high fever, suffering more than the agony of death. At the termination of the twenty-four hours when taken out his condition can hardly be imagined. It would take hours before he could talk in an intelligible manner and be himself again, yet what he had felt and seen could never be blotted out of his memory. The design in putting political offenders into the Notte d'Inferno was to destroy the spirit of revolt, and make them obedient to the laws of the State. Whenever any of the galley- slaves committed an act of insubordination the guard would whisper in his ears, " Notte d'In- ferno!" and at these words the offender would become as mild as a lamb. During the time of my stay in that cage I do not remember any disorder or misbehaviour on the part of a galley- slave. I believe that, although I never again met the kind-hearted surgeon, it was through his influence I was spared being buried alive in that horrible dungeon; for in my condition I could never have pulled through. I knew of three galley-slaves who were taken out of it dead. Though not compelled "VA IN GALERA!" 85 to spend twenty- four hours in that cell, I got an inside view of it which I have never forgotten. One day I was taken out of the Gabbia del Diavolo, and bid to follow a Papal guard who stood by my side. After walking some distance along a narrow corridor, we came to a door which looked like the entrance to a vault, heavy and yet narrow, it being just large enough for a single person to pass through. This door was opened, and beyond it nothing but darkness met the gaze. The guard lighted a lantern, and its dim rays revealed a wind- ing stairway extending downward from the door, which appeared to descend into the very heart of the earth. I do not know how many steps we went down, but it seemed as though we should never reach the bottom. When we finally reached there another door like the one above confronted us. This was also opened, and then we saw dimly a long corridor, and as we passed through it I saw many small cells, all empty. Each cell contained a bed built of bricks, which served the double purpose of bed and seat. There the poor galley-slaves were formerly kept. This, however, was before my time. When we reached the end of this corridor we came to another vault-like door, which when opened per- mitted a volume of damp, chilly air to come out, laden with such an awful stench that it was almost overpowering. The guard hung the lantern on a nail by the door. By the light of it I could see the interior and knew at once that it was the dreaded 86 THE GALLEY-SLAVE dungeon Notte d'Inferno. From tlie ceiling" dirty water was dripping down and on the walls there seemed to be a brownish moss of a damp and slimy appearance. The floor, which looked smooth and greasy, was covered with a greenish water and, to my great dismay, I saw what I thought to be black snakes creeping over it. As I stood upon the entrance of that horrible place, I shuddered as if with a chill. I turned around to flee from the place, but the guard seized hold of me, and pushed me into the cell. The instant my feet touched the wet floor down I went, but as I fell, I threw my arms around his legs and caused him to fall over me, and we lay at full length in the centre of the cell. The guard quickly regained his feet, and as he took his place at the entrance of the cell he was a sight to behold, for his uniform was covered with greenish, greasy slime. In an instant I was upon my knees and with the strength of desperation seized hold of the guard's coat and clung to it. He tried to free himself, but could not. Then I begged the man to kill me, for death would have been a blessing compared with being shut up in that loath- ^ some and horrible place. I feared that he would kill me, but he was good-natured, for he said that he was very sorry for what had happened, but that It was not his fault, as he had received an order from the custode to have me stand inside of the dungeon for a moment, that the law might be ful- filled; since every galley-slave, good or bad, must "VA IN GALERA!" 87 go into it, and pass a full night and day there. I suppose the custode did this so that if the higher authority should ask him if I had been in the cell, he could answer " yes." The guard then closed the door of that hideous dungeon and we returned to the Gabbia del Diavolo. All penal institutions in Italy go now under the sweet name of " Bagni penali," — baths of punish- ment, — I suppose so called in honour of that hideous dungeon, " Night of Hell," in which the poor galley- slaves of my day were compelled to take a bath of twenty- four hours' duration. I had been in the Galera nearly six months, hav- ing nothing to do but eat my rye bread and drink the water given me. Yet I had grown to be quite strong and robust. I used to walk up and down that large room for hours, often singing to pass the time, for my voice had become strong and sweet, and the galley-slaves were delighted with it. The soldiers would stop pacing their beat to listen to my songs. I was called by my fellow-prisoners, " II rosignuolo nella Gabbia del Diavolo " (the nightingale in the devil's cage). My singing had attracted the attention of Fra Cipolla (Brother Onion). He was thus named because he was so fat that his double chin gave the head the appear- ance of a round, flat onion. He belonged to the Carmelite order. These monks wore a gown of cream-white wool. This particular frate came to see me one day, and asked if I would not on the 88 THE GALLEY-SLAVE coming Sunday sing from the gallery at mass the beautiful melody of " Santa Maria." It was arranged that before the elevation of the Host I should sing. Fra Cipolla was the chaplain of the Galera, so that he was well known among the galeotti. In connection with the Galera there was a beauti- ful church. The audience room was very large, and located on the ground floor. This part was open to all who lived outside the Galera, and at high mass it was crowded with worshippers. There was a gallery on three sides of the building, elevated about twenty feet from the floor. At the edge of the gallery were iron bars which reached to the ceiling of the church. These bars were far enough apart so that, if one's head was not large, it could slip through them from behind and one could view the people below. We all stood during the service. In the middle of the wall at the end of the church there was a beautiful altar of solid marble, and upon this was a full-sized statue of the Virgin Mary with the infant Jesus in her arms. This statue was surrounded by a multitude of candles which when lighted produced an enchanting effect. The gallery was called " Gabbia del Paradiso " (Cage of Paradise). On each side of the altar a line of armed soldiers stood during the service facing the gallery. They were stationed there to keep order, and at any sign of violence were ready to fire upon the galley-slaves. But this gallery cage " VA IN GALERA ! " 89 was a real heaven compared with the other in which were passed all the days of the week. Fra Cipolla was a good man, but he was so un- clean! He was a slave to the habit of snuff-taking. Some of the snuff would fall upon his cream-white gown, giving him a very slovenly appearance. I have seen him at times stop in the midst of the service, take out his snuff-box and extract from it a pinch of the snuff, making so great a noise when he sniffed it up his nose that he could be heard all over the building. He would then pass the box to his assistant priest, who would follow the ex- ample of his senior, and then both go on with the service. There was another monk, who belonged to the same order, whose duty it was to visit the galeotti. He was also of unclean appearance on account of the nasty snuff-taking habit, and was called by the galley-slaves, " Fra Sonnacchioso " (the sleeping monk). Like many others of his brethren he was quite fat and could not resist for any length of time the desire to slumber. Even while one was talking with him he would often fall asleep. In the church he sat directly under the edge of the gallery. Being in a plumb line with it, his drowsy head would rest on the back of his seat with face upturned and mouth wide open, and oh, how he snored ! That sonorous sound, like a deep bass voice, could be heard throughout the church. An amusing thing happened during one of 90 THE GALLEY-SLAVE the Sunday morning services. Fra Sonnacchioso had fallen into a deep slumber, and was snoring at a furious rate. As I took my place at the end of the gallery nearest the altar, my attention was drawn to a sailor who had recently been placed in the Galera for committing a revolting crime. The night before he had spent in the Notte d'ln- ferno, but he seemed none the worse for having passed twenty-four hours in that fearful hole. He was a man whom nothing seemed to frighten. On that Sunday morning he had taken his place at the very edge of the gallery, and, as he was rather slight, he easily slipped his head between the bars while the priest at the altar was saying mass. I noticed that the sailor was intently watching Fra Son- nacchioso, who was directly below him. From the mischievous expression on the sailor's face it was evident that some funny prank had occurred to him. I saw he was chewing tobacco at a furious rate, his eyes still upon the sleeping form of the monk. By and by he put his fingers into his mouth, drew out some of the well-chewed tobacco, and made of it a small ball. Then holding this between the fingers of his right hand, and clos- ing one of his eyes he carefully took aim. He fixed his hand in line above the sleeping face of Fra Sonnacchioso and assured himself that it was in exact line with the opened mouth; then he let fall the little ball of tobacco, and it lodged in the ex- posed throat. The monk, even before he could open "VA IN GALERA!" 91 his eyes, jumped to his feet, coughed with a strong spasm which forced the ball out of his mouth with violence. Instantly his fingers went into his mouth and finding nothing there he came to the conclusion that the devil had entered into him; for in a dazed manner he cried out, " The devil has jumped into my mouth, and has entered into my body ! " Saying this he ran out of the church, knocking down the people who were in his way, and quickly disap- peared. We never saw him again. He may have died from fright. There was great confusion in the church. The priest turned toward the congre- gation, not knowing v/hat had happened. The sol- diers had their guns levelled at the gallery, await- ing their commander's order to fire. But he was laughing heartily, for he had seen all. Order was soon restored, and the priest went on with the service. Next morning the poor sailor was taken from the cage in irons, and was led away to be punished. The Sunday came when for the first time I was to appear before an audience as a singer. On that morning I cleaned myself as well as I could. I brushed my black and yellow striped suit, using my hand as a brush, and the striped garment looked a little brighter. My allowance of w^ater was used up in giving myself a partial ablution. One of my fellow-prisoners had a piece of cheese-cloth, and when I asked him for a bit of it he gave me all. I made of it what I thought a nice necktie, and put 92 THE GALLEY-SLAVE it around my neck in place of a collar. It did some- what improve my appearance, and, as it was white, I must have looked a trifle like a parson. I took my place in the gallery of the church, and waited for the great moment to come. ]\Iy place was at the very end of the gallery, and when Fra Cipolla gave the signal I came out from behind the bars with one hand holding firmly to them. Making a polite bow to the congregation, I opened my mouth, my voice came out clear and sweet, and I sang the " Santa Maria " with much feeling. It made a lively impression. The people seemed to hold their breath, striving not to miss a single note or word. There is a refrain at the end of each verse which runs thus : " Mother of Jesus, Mother of Jesus, pray for me." When I sang this after the last verse, I lowered my voice until it was little louder than a whisper. I knelt down, spread out my hands in the attitude of prayer, and put into these expressive words all the feeling of my soul, at the same time retaining the simplicity of a child. The effect was wonderful. There was not a dry eye in the congregation. Fra Cipolla had to resort to his snuff-box to keep his dignity. When I finished there was a kind of repressed murmur of approval. I had made a real hit. But it was a bad one for Fra Cipolla, as well as for myself. It was reported to the Superior of "VA IN GALERA!" 93 the order of Carmelites that a galeotto had been permitted to sing at high mass, and, moreover, one who had taken part in the revolution of 1849. Fra Cipolla was summoned before this high official and severely reproved. He was told that he had brought disgrace upon the order as well as upon himself. " I shall have to punish you severely," said the functionary. " Father," pleaded Fra Cipolla with deep humil- ity, " I implore your forgiveness. I meant no wrong." " No wrong," exclaimed the father, " no wrong, when you elevated a rebel to such honour in the service of our Holy Church, one who took part in driving into exile our Holy Father, the Pope ! Had this galeotto committed murder, it would not have been half so bad as lifting his hand against the head of Holy Church, which is the worst crime a desperate soul can commit." " But, your reverence, this galley-slave is but a mere youth, I might say a bambino. He was too young to realize what he was doing when he enlisted with Garibaldi " " Stop, stop ! " roared the now enraged father, " I believe you are a rebel yourself. You take upon your lips the name of a man whom the Church re- gards as anti-Christ. You have committed an abominable sin by speaking that name, and I will have to inflict upon you a heavy penance." 94 THE GALLEY-SLAVE " Your reverence," said the monk, *' I was not pleading for myself. You may punish me severely for my sins; but the good done by that hymn sung by the poor lad will never be lost. Your reverence, as the boy got upon his knees and sang * Dolcissima Maria, Madre di Dio,' there was not a dry eye in the church, and the effect upon the galley-slaves was marked." Then with real eloquence the monk continued, " I assure your reverence that the song was the most powerful sermon for good that has been delivered to those people." " I tell you, monk," said the Father Superior, still enraged, " that when you invited that rebel to sing, you made the greatest mistake of your life. You seem to believe that God is going to convert the world by inviting the devil to do our work for us. I tell you, that if we show mercy and kindness to the rebels we are committing a great sin, and thereby retarding the progress of Holy Church. Now, leave my presence! I dismiss you as chaplain of the Galera, and command you to go into retreat, and there for six months do penance for your sins. Go ! " and he dismissed the monk with a wave of his hand. This was related to me by Fra Cipolla before he left the Galera. It was said that Count Malsano was in the con- gregation and heard the " Rosignuolo " sing. The Count was the questore of the city, an office that corresponds to our modern position of police com- missioner, but with somewhat higher authority in the "VA IN GALERA!" 95 affairs of the municipality, since all the penal institu- tions were under his care, and all officials in these various institutions were responsible to him. The Count called to him the custode of the Galera and asked him how it was that a galeotto was allowed to sing at a public church service, a thing which would highly displease the Holy Father at Rome, should he hear of it. The custode said that he was not aware that the galeotto was to sing until he heard him in the church. " The chaplain is the only person to blame, for he invited the boy to sing." *' Is he not a mere boy?" asked the Count. " How did he happen to become a galley- slave?" " He was a drummer boy in the army of the rebels in '49 and was taken prisoner." " You should say, arrested as an outlaw," cor- rected the Count. " Yes, your honour, arrested as an outlaw, and condemned by his Eminency, the Secretary of State, to be a galley-slave." " And so young," put in the Count with evident pity. "If he had committed some other crime it would not have been so bad. Mercy could have been exercised towards the lad ; but to take up arms against the Holy Father, there is no mercy for such a crime. Send him to the miilino (tread-mill) and do not let your chicken heart be moved by his beautiful face and sweet song, — yet I would have you treat the boy kindly." 96 THE GALLEY-SLAVE " You shall be fully obeyed," responded the cus- tode, and the two parted. The galley-slaves were compelled to do all kinds of hard work. I was sent to the tread-mill as a punishment for my singing in church, because it was the hardest labour a galley-slave could do. But the work was clean, and, being out on the sea, it was healthful. Many of the galley-slaves were compelled to toil in the sulphur mines near the city; many more were made to clean the streets of the town; and others spent the night doing a kind of labour not fit to mention. But no matter what kind of work they did, they were always chained two by two, and watched by a strong guard of soldiers. CHAPTER VII THE slave's work THE life of any slave is sad indeed, but that of a galley-slave is doubly so. The prison was well named " The Devil's Cage," for such it was. Yet, even under the painful conditions, we became resigned and had at times some comforts. Little happenings in the prison, so insignificant that they would not be noticed by free persons, brought amusement to the poor galley-slaves. When we were free from all other duties, we passed the time amusing ourselves in any way that would bring some kind of pleasure with no one to interfere. We had foot-races; we wrestled; we played leap- frog; sometimes we would dance, keeping time by striking our hands together. We had many kinds of games, cards excepted, because nobody would provide us with these. The most common game, and one of great popularity, was that known as La Mora. This is played by two persons, each trying to guess the number of fingers the other would throw out from the closed hand. For example, if one of the players holds out two fingers, and the other three, the one who says " five " has won a 97 98 THE GALLEY-SLAVE point. The one who first attains a certain total wins the game. The fingers of both players must be thrown out simultaneously and the number called at the same instant. If both the players guess the right number, it does not count for either. La Mora players must play very carefully, and give their undivided attention to watching each other's hand, for when the movement is made the players have to speak the number before the fingers are fully seen. A very interesting and useful way in which we passed part of our time was that called impro- visatori. Two persons agree to improvise on any subject selected, to see which of the two will best treat it. The subject would probably be the beauties of nature, or heaven, or beautiful women, or great men. This improvising is done in verse suggested by the inspiration of the moment. The verses are often quite good, and the poetry under other cir- cumstances might sometimes make a bid for excel- lence. This practice gives an idea of the poetic nature of the Italian language. It has been called the language of flowers and poetry, and the impro- visatori fully prove this. Although our life was mostly bitter, yet now and then it had in it a dash of the sweet. One thing I may mention was that there was no fighting or disorder among the galley-slaves; not because they were especially good, but because, whenever the guards would see the slightest tendency towards THE SLAVE'S WORK 99 disorder, they would cry out " La Notte d'Inferno ! " and order would be quickly restored. The day after the Count had this conversation with the custode of La Galera, sixteen prisoners, of whom I was one, were taken out of the prison early in the morning, and led from the Gabbia del Diavolo to the street. We were accompanied by a strong guard and were told to march along a nar- row street outside the prison wall. We were going in a westerly direction, and, as we got almost to the west end of the prison, I happened to look up and, at an open window on the third floor, I saw a picture which I have never forgotten. It was that of a girl about fourteen years of age, as beautiful as a Madonna. Her hair was golden, her eyes were blue as the sky above, her head was perfectly shaped. Pier eyebrows and eyelashes were jet black, shading the deep blue eyes with an expression of sympathy and tenderness which was irresistible. Her nose and chin were so perfect that they might have been formed by an artist's hand. Her lips were as red as the roses called " American Beauties," and curved with an alluring smile which had a power of attraction not to be resisted. Her neck was rather long, but broadened down to her shoul- ders in perfect symmetry, which in whiteness cor- responded to that of her lovely face. I was so carried away with the beauty of the picture that I acted like a person dreaming, until one of the guards gave me a punch in the ribs that brought me back loo THE GALLEY-SLAVE to the realities of the place, and I was reminded that I must not dream, but walk. As we marched I tried to recollect where I had seen this beautiful girl before. It flashed upon my mind that I had seen her in the church the morning I sang. I now remembered that she sat near the custode, and, therefore, I supposed she was his daughter. As we marched along the narrow, tortuous streets I seemed to attract attention, for I would hear the people say, " What ! that boy, so young and so small, a galeotto! He must have committed some great crime, and yet he does not look like a criminal. He seems harmless, poverino ! " We soon arrived at a point where a street branched from Via Toscana, which was on the ridge of a hill. The street which branched off was Via Marina, going in the same direction but down tlie hill. Both streets ran in a westerly direction. On the south side of Via Toscana, and along the hill, there was a stone wall about three feet high, which served as a parapet, on which I saw many people sitting and looking at the galley-slaves in the street below. About two hundred yards from the place where the two streets diverged was a stone stair, which led from Via Marina up to Via Toscana. I mention this, for we shall have to refer to it farther on in the story. Via Marina led to the seaport of Civita Vecchia. Having arrived at the end of this street, we came to a small wharf. There we were put on small THE SLAVE'S WORK loi flat-boats and rowed to the entrance of the port. This was a narrow neck of water through which all vessels that came into the harbour would have to pass. There seemed to be at this point a strong under-current which caused the sand to accumulate so much as to make the entrance difficult to navigate. It was, therefore, necessary to keep the dredging machine constantly busy at this entrance in order to render it navigable. These dredging machines were operated by tread-mills. There were two of these dredgers in the port. The tread-mill was a round wheel some fifty feet in circumference and eight feet wide. This wheel was encased with iron bars, making it like a cage. On the inside was a curving stairway with steps all around the inner circumference. This wheel was on a large flat-boat, and on each side of the boat and in the middle were two large upright supports with sockets on their upper ends. Between these iron supports, with an end fastened in each socket, extended a large iron rod, and this passed through the centre of the wheel. Close to the flat-boat on which the tread-mill stood, was the dredging machine, and this was surrounded by small flat-boats. Fastened to the machine was a long and strong iron chain, and to this chain a large scoop shovel. Sixteen of the galley-slaves were put into the tread-mill wheel, four abreast but each separated from the others by an iron rod which extended around the wheel. When we were inside 102 THE GALLEY-SLAVE the wheel our first duty was to watch the shovel go down into the water, and, as soon as we saw that it touched bottom, to start the wheel which wound up the chain and brought the shovel to the surface. This was accomplished by our stepping down with all our might on the stair-like arrange- ment inside the wheel, and continuing the movement as if walking rapidly upstairs. As the shovel went into the sand or other substance at the bottom of the channel, it was only with a great effort that the wheel was made to revolve, and, in order to do this, we had to use not only the weight of our body, but also the strength of our hands. We grasped the iron rod and pulled until every muscle was strained to the utmost. We would keep re- volving the wheel until the dredging shovel was raised out of the water and swung over the flat- boats, into which its contents were dumped. Then we were commanded to stop the wheel. We re- mained still until the shovel was emptied and re- turned to the bottom, when we would again start the wheel. In this way, we spent the day climbing an interminable stairway. So exhausting was the labour that at night we were more dead than alive. In fact, the first day at noon, when we had an hour to rest and eat our black bread and drink our water, I dropped down exhausted. Outside of the wheel were stationed cruel guards, each one having a long stick with a sharp point at its end. When the wheel THE SLAVE'S WORK 103 started again, the motion made me sick, and, because I could not .move fast enough, I was prodded on the shoulders by the merciless slave- driver with the sharp stick so that it made the blood flow. My companions in the wheel, see- ing this, uttered hard words against him, saying that he was an assassin, and that the devil was a saint compared to him, but he struck at those who befriended me. I did not cry audibly, but the tears ran down my cheeks thick and fast. That wheel was baptized " the cage of tears." God only knows our misery. It is said that He will put our tears into His bottles, but if all the tears shed by the poor galley-slaves while in that awful tread-mill were put into a bottle, it would have to be a large one. My sufferings were so great that I was led to believe there was no mercy in the natural man, but that he is always cruel. Since I have been per- mitted to enjoy the sweet comforts of the Christian religion, I am confirmed in this belief. Look at our Saviour in the judgment hall and on the cross. What insults, what cruelty, what undeserved suffer- ings were meted out to Him, and by those whom He had come only to benefit and save! H the Saviour was thus treated. He who was pure and holy, how is it possible for sinful men to treat mer- cifully those whom they look upon as criminals and outlaws, when the real criminal sits on the throne? At night we were taken back to the Gabbia del Diavolo. I must have looked pale and exhausted, I04 THE GALLEY-SLAVE for many on the street gazed at me pitifully. I was so down-hearted that I forgot about the beauti- ful vision I had seen that morning. My fellow- prisoners gathered around me, expressed their sym- pathy and tried to encourage me, urging me to keep up a good heart. The custode came to the cage and looked me over very carefully, but said nothing and then went away. I soon sought my blanket and lay down, but could sleep very little as I was feverish and rest- less. The next morning I was told I should not be taken to the cage of tears that day, but only every other day until I became accustomed to it. I found later that we were not kept at this dredging work in the tread-mill continually, but that the work de- pended upon the accumulation of the sand; and so it was that occasionally for a whole month we were not required to operate the tread-mill. After I be- came accustomed to the work, it was more bearable, and I found some compensation in enjoying the pure air of the sea. The unpleasant part of it was the extreme cruelty of the drivers. Our work was going upstairs from morning until night under their merciless prodding. The next day I felt much better, and went with the rest to the cage of tears. As we marched along I noticed one thing that gave me much pleasure. I was not chained to any one else, and my hands were free from bonds. I was put at the head of the THE SLAVE'S WORK 105 gang, probably that the guards might keep their eyes on me. As we passed by the west end of the prison I looked up at the same window, but there was no one there, and I was sadly disappointed. We had to perform the same routine of work day after day, year after year, only that instead of being rowed to the tread-mill by the guards, we had to row them. The tread-mill was not protected from the weather. Sometimes the intense rays of the sun shone directly upon us, so that the heat was most distressing; and then when it rained we were drenched. But the rain always proved a blessing, for that was the only way in which we could have a bath. In the winter we suffered greatly from the cold winds. At times the sea would become very rough, and the rocking of the wheel would make us seasick. Thus I passed my first week in the cage of tears. On Sunday I attended mass as usual, and looked for the angel face I had seen at the window; but it was not there. The custode was present, and by his side sat a young lady much older than the one I had seen from the street. Yet she strongly resembled my ideal of a beautiful girl, with the ex- ception that while she was pale the girl at the win- dow had rosy cheeks. There was also a difference in the expression on their faces. I concluded, how- ever, that they must be sisters. On the 14th of July occurred one of the greatest of feast days, that of the anniversary of St. Vincent io6 THE GALLEY-SLAVE de Paul, who was the patron saint of the galeotti, for the saint himself had been a galley-slave in the sixteenth century. After he obtained his free- dom from that life of intolerable sufferings, he de- voted himself to improving the condition of galley- slaves by mission work. Through the influence of St. Vincent and his missionaries, many reforms were brought about in the treatment of these un- fortunate beings. Yet in reading the life of this great and good man, and comparing the condition of galley-slaves in his time with that of my time, I found that the sufferings and cruelties we were called upon to endure were just as extreme as then. The lasting good that St. Vincent accomplished was in the way of better food and greater care in case of sickness, for we had hospital treatment and visits from the missionaries. On this gala day we were taken to the church, placed in the gallery of course, and an address was delivered to us by some great person on the life of the saint. On this occasion Count Malsano was the speaker. There was music furnished by the band, and other interesting exercises, all for the benefit of the galeotti. The exercises were carried on in the body of the church below the gallery. The custode requested that I should sing the song which I had sung many times before, " Rondinella pellegrina " (The Pilgrim Swallow), a song which describes the loneliness of a forsaken swallow, with- out home or resting-place. A very touching song THE SLAVE'S WORK 107 it was, which only a galley-slave could sing with fitting expression. After the exercises we had a dinner in the Gabbia del Diavolo. This grand repast we had but once a year, on this special festival. It consisted of bean soup made with sea water, I suppose to save salt; also two ounces of corned beef, cabbages with olive oil, black bread and plenty of water to wash it down. The great day, the 14th of July, came, and at ten o'clock we were led to the gallery to hear mass celebrated by our new chaplain, after which we re- turned to the Gabbia. Four o'clock struck. The church was crowded with citizens who came to hear the questore. In front of the altar a platform had been erected for the speaker. The usual line of armed soldiers was stationed in the church. On one side of the platform was the band, which played several selections before the address was delivered. Count Malsano mounted the platform, and gave a fine address. Before he concluded, he said, " Now we will have a song from the boy called ' II Rosignuolo,' " and then sat down. I came forward to a place between two of the iron bars of the *' Heavenly Cage," made a bow, and sang as I had never sung before. The impression the song made was marked. One could have heard a pin drop. I looked around to see if my idol was there. I saw the custode with his wife and daughter, but she was not to be seen. Alas! I io8 THE GALLEY-SLAVE wanted so much that she should hear me sing. However, I was delighted to see the mother, for she was the mature picture of the girl I had seen at the window. The band played again, and we returned to the Gabbia del Diavolo. It was indeed a joyous day for us, and after dinner we had various games and sang familiar songs. The custode came to see me. He said that his little girl, Olina, wanted to thank me for that beautiful song in the church. "His little girl!" It could not be the one I had seen at church, for she was a young lady. Certainly he would not call her his hambina! Who then could Olina be? I thought of her and had hef" name on my lips as I fell asleep that night. Next morning, on our way to the tread-mill, when I looked up at the window, I felt as if my heart would leap out of my throat, for there at the same window was that dear, sweet girl. I thought she seemed a trifle paler than she did the first time I saw her beautiful face. I could see only the upper part of her figure. She appeared to be seated upon something, but what it was I could not see. As our eyes met I felt that my cheeks were afire. I must have blushed to my ears. I saw, too, a little tinge of red creeping over her face and she quickly lowered her eyes, but she looked at me again, and this time we smiled at each other. Then she drew away from the window, and I went on my way with my heart beating so fast and so loud that I felt the guard at my side must surely hear THE SLAVE'S WORK 109 it. What was it that made me feel so? I could not understand the new sensation which had come over me. But one thing I knew and was certain of. There was some one who thought of me. There was a heart beating in unison with mine. How happy that thought made me! About four o'clock that afternoon, we had a fear- ful squall from the sea which almost wrecked our wheel, and we were in great danger of being thrown into the water, wheel and all. The storm lasted about an hour, during which time we were tossed violently about. One of the dredging macliines was a total wreck, some of the flat-boats were badly damaged, and others completely demolished. But finally we were taken from our perilous situation and escorted back to the Galera. For several weeks after the storm, we were not compelled to go to the mulino. CHAPTER VIII OLINA CIVITA VECCHIA is a strongly fortified town of twelve thousand inhabitants. It is a walled city, but the walls are so poor that even a small cannon could send a ball through them. Its main strength is in its citadel, which is a real fort, designed and built by Michael Angelo. It guards the entrance of the port and has a sweeping command of the city. At the time of our story it was in the hands of the French soldiers. Near the harbour is a lighthouse, also the work of the great artist. The original name of Civita Vecchia was Cento Celle (one hundred hills). There were along the shores a hundred hills which were in the form of cells, hence the name. The name of the city was changed to Civita Vecchia for the following reason : The water supply of the city is very plentiful, but so impregnated with sulphur that it has a pecu- liar effect on the people. It gives them an early appearance of old age, and this is noted even in children. Therefore the city was named Civita Vecchia, — " the city of old people." So I was in- OLINA III formed, although the literal meaning is " the old city." This place has had from time immemorial its Galera and its galeotti, the number of whom some- times exceeded five thousand. Near the city are mines of various kinds, the richest of w^hich are the sulphur mines; hence it is that there is so much sulphur in the w^ater. These mines are worked by the galeotti. Almost every morning, in company with the other galley-slaves, I trudged along Via Zulfo (Sulphur Street), and, arrived at the west end of the Galera, would look up to the third floor to get a smile from my living ideal of an angel. On one of these mornings as I gazed up at the now familiar window I missed the face I had so often seen there; but, as I looked again, there at the very same window was the most beautiful picture I had ever beheld. It was the same dear girl dressed in a white robe. Her golden hair hung loose over her perfect neck, and as a gentle breeze parted her hair her lovely shoulders could be seen. As she brushed her hair away from her face, the bare arms were exposed. I was so charmed that I forgot to move. I forgot that galley-slaves have no right to look at anything that would bring pleasure, and of this I was re- minded when I felt the lash of the slave-driver come across my shoulders. This wrung from me such a sudden scream of pain that it made the sweet girl at the window turn pale. It seems that she 112 T?IE GALLEY-SLAVE had overslept herself, and when she heard the tramp of the galeotti she had quickly rushed to the win- dow as she was. I felt the smart of the lash all day long as I worked in the tread-mill, and my heart was full of bitter, vengeful thoughts against the slave-driver. But I had occasion to change the bitterness into sweetness, for that very evening when 1 entered the Galera the custode detained me and said, " Follow me." We went up two flights of stairs to the third floor, and, as we stood before a closed door, I had the following conversation with my guide. " Now," said the custode, " I am going to tell you why I have brought you up here, but I want you to make a solemn promise that you will never say anything of it to any one; for you know, my boy, it is a crime to show kindness to a galley-slave. I am exposing myself to great danger, but I have confidence in you, and am doing this for the sake of Olina, who is an invalid." " I swear to you that not a living soul shall hear a word from my lips about this," I said most earnestly. My sincerity seemed so evi- dent that the custode was persuaded to believe me. " Well," he said, " you know what happened this morning as you were going to the mulino, how the guard struck you with the lash. Olina saw it, and she has been so grieved by the event that she has been weeping all day. She feels that she is to blame OLINA 113 for this, and has requested me to bring you to her as she wishes to ask your forgiveness." " Why, Signor Custode," I said, " no one is to blame but myself. Yes, I alone was in fault, for what right has a galley-slave to look into such a pure and beautiful face. I am the one to ask for- giveness." The custode opened a door, and we entered a well- furnished apartment, for a warden in Italy is always a man of rank. The mother and daughter gave me a hearty welcome. Then we went into an adjoining room, where the young girl sat in an invalid's chair. She received me with a sweet smile, and, as I took her proffered hand, I said, " It hurts me greatly to hear that you blame yourself for what happened this morning. The blame is mine, and mine alone. I ask you to forgive me." Then I fell upon my knees, and waited for her forgiveness. Soon I felt a hand laid upon my head which thrilled me through and through, and a gentle voice full of sympathy said, " I have requested father to bring you here that I might ask forgive- ness for my thoughtless ways, for I was the one to blame." Without raising my head, I cried, " Oh ! it breaks my heart to hear you speak so." Then the mother of the girl said, " Neither of you is to be blamed ; it so happened. Now, my dear children, talk of something else, and drive this un- fortunate affair from your minds." 114 THE GALLEY-SLAVE " You have said well, my dear," remarked the custode. " You have a special gift for getting peo- ple out of difficulties." I then stood up and saw that the girl was now all smiles and sunshine. She again gave me her hand and as I held it for a moment, she said, " I know they call you the Rosignuolo, but what is your real name? " *' I am generally called Tonio, an abbreviation of Antonio; and what is your name?" " Olina." As spoken by the lovely girl the word sounded like angelic music. *' What a sweet name," I said. " I have heard your father mention it, but I did not know whether it was your name or your sister's." *' No, my sister's name is Mica. Papa's name is, like yours, Antonio, and mamma's is like mine, only we call her Lina." " Then," I said, " I may have been named after the custode. Do I look like him?" " I would not like to say that," replied Olina, " for my papa is a very handsome man," which remark pleased the custode very much. " But I must not stay," I said in a tone which meant that I wanted to linger. *' I see you are growing tired, and, having worried about the miser- able affair of this morning, you must need rest." " Oh, no," quickly answered the girl, " I am not tired. I do not rise from my seat because I cannot. Mamma, please tell Tonio why." OLINA 115 But before the mother began to speak, I ex- claimed, " Oh ! how sweetly you say ' Tonio.' It reminds me of my mother, for it sounds just as she used to speak it." Her mother now said, " After you sang the first time in the church, Olina fell downstairs, and seri- ously injured her hip bone and spine so that she has not been able to walk since then. We have done all in our power for her; we have had the most skilful surgeon from Rome, and we hope that she may get well again." " God grant that she may, and soon ! " My voice showed how deeply I sympathized with the dear girl. After a few more w^ords had passed, Olina asked me if I would sing before I left. So I sang "La Fiorina " in a very soft tone. The song is indeed a sweet one, and suited the occasion well. As I was about to leave, Olina asked me to come again, and I replied, *' I should be quite happy if I could pass all my time with such good and dear people. If I can do anything that will in any way bring comfort to this sweet child I am at your service. Good-night." I lay down that night thinking of Olina's beauti- ful face, and I said to myself, " Yet with all her beauty, her life is somewhat like mine, miserable and hampered. Poor Olina! After all, what is human life! " I saw Olina quite often after that. Once I asked ii6 THE GALLEY-SLAVE her how it happened that she heard me sing on St. Vincent's day when I knew she was not in the church. She rephed by pointing to a closed door at the end of the room, saying, " Please open that door." I did so, and to my surprise saw a small balcony outside the door, from which one could have a view of the gallery and of the interior of the church. As I went back to her she said, " When papa knew that I could not go down into the church he had that door cut in the wall, and built that little balcony so that I could sit there and hear mass, and from there I heard you sing. Not only that (and she blushed a little), but also look at you." Quickly I exclaimed, " Which gave you the most pleasure, to hear me sing, or to look at me ? " " Well," she replied, " that is asking too much. Suppose I were you and you were me, how would you answer that question?" " I should say with all my heart to look at you." And then she said very softly, " That is the way I feel." For six months I was an almost daily visitor to the custode's apartments. My visits were of much comfort to Olina. She looked more cheerful, and at times we thought she was improving. She desired greatly to see me in citizen's clothes. So she begged her father to bring me dressed in ordinary clothing. The custode secured a suit, and one Sunday, while in his private office, had me put OLINA 117 it on. The clothes looked well and fitted me nicely. As we entered the apartment, the custode said to Olina : " Daughter, here is the Rosignuolo out of the Gabbia del Dia\'olo, and now he will sing for you." When Olina saw the Rosignuolo she clapped her hands, full of merriment. Then she said, " The bird would really be handsome, papa, if it were not for the hair, which is cut after the fashion of the galeotti," and she gave a merry laugh. But when none of the others was near, she said, " Tonio, I wish you could wear those clothes always, for you are really good-looking in them." One day the custode received word that Count Malsano wanted to see him. At this he felt some- what uneasy and feared that in some way the questore might have heard how he had treated the galley-slave boy. But as he entered the office of the questore, he saw a pleasant smile on the face of the Count, and this reassured him. When he was seated, the ques- tore said, " I have just returned from Rome, where I had a talk with the Secretary of State. I spoke to him in reference to the boy galley-slave, and told him how obedient he is, how he was known all over the city on account of his sweet voice and beautiful singing, how he is called the Rosignuolo, and I further said that I thought something ought to be done for the poor lad. The cardinal replied ii8 THE GALLEY-SLAVE in a sharp tone, * I suppose your request would be to set him free. I fear, if that boy were to be at liberty, he would become dangerous to both Church and State. I have, dear Count, investigated the antecedents of his family, and I find that the boy at Civita Vecchia is a cousin of the Duke of Casa- nova, a native of Corsica. That man was a general in the army of the despoiler of the Church, Napo- leon the First. For bravery, or rather I should say for butchery, Napoleon raised him to the ducal rank, and, by taking possession of the lands belong- ing to the Bishop of Casanova, made him assume that title. When Napoleon fell, the possessions were restored to the Church, The so-called Duke of Casanova still lives in Corsica. From the bap- tismal records of the galley-slave's town he was named after the Duke. The boy is bold and fear- less, and should be carefully guarded !' This I got from the cardinal. I have a great deal of sympathy for the lad myself, for to me he seems to be harm- less, though very intelligent. I do not want you to put any severe restraint upon the lad, but I beg of you to be wise. Before we can do anything for him we must first take from him the spirit of re- bellion. This is the reason I sent for you. Addio, Signor Custode." For the past two months Olina had become more feeble, and her strength seemed nearly gone. The family felt extremely anxious. She was very thin, and each time I saw her, I felt that her time was OLINA 119 growing short. One day, as we were talking, she said: " Tonio, do you beheve we shall know each other in the other world? I am going there very soon, and when you come, though it may be a long time after I am gone, and perhaps you may " " Please do not say that," I cried with sorrow overwhelming my heart. " To forget you, would be forgetting myself." " I know your noble spirit," she replied, " and feel that I shall not be forgotten by one who has given me the only sunshine I have ever had in my life. What I was going to say is that when you come up into Paradise you will make inquiry for me. Do you not want to meet Olina there before you see anybody else ? " I answered, " Is there any one else whom I should desire to see but Olina ? " vShe responded, " There is Jesus who died for our sins, and there is the mother of Jesus, the Holy Madonna. If you ask them where I may be found, they will take you straight to where I am. Oh! I shall be so happy to meet you there," and then she paused for a moment, and said, " Do you believe that on the day ' Di Tutti i Morti ' (All Souls' Day) our departed friends will come at night to see us? Fra Cipolla, our chaplain, used to tell me when I was a little girl that on that night the dead would come and visit their friends; but he said they would not come unless we prepared for I20 THE GALLEY-SLAVE them some roasted chestnuts. Will you on All Soul's Night prepare the roasted chestnuts for me? I do so want to come and see you." " Oh ! dear Olina, you must not think of going. I will not let you go unless you take me with you." " Yes, oh yes, carino, but I must go, for last night I saw La Madonna del Serpente, and she said I must come to her, for she was waiting for me! Then I asked her if I could take Tonio along with me, and she said, * No, he must bide his time.' " Olina talked so sweetly of heaven that I felt as though an angel were before me. The mother and the sister, who listened to our conversation, were moved to tears. Before I left I sang in a very low voice " Dolce Speranza," but my heart was so full of sadness that I broke down before I could finish the song. An explanation, before we go any further in our story, concerning the " Madonna del Serpente " would be interesting. About three miles east of Civita Vecchia is a mountain, in which is an immense cave called " La Grotta del Serpente." The people who lived near this mountain were greatly troubled by a monster serpent. It would make nightly excursions around the country, killing poultry and young pigs, and doing great damage to all kinds of crops with its saw-like tail. It could be seen at night from a long distance, for it emitted flames from its eyes and nostrils, and a fearful hissing came from its mouth. OLINA 121 The people were terrorized, and did not know what to do. So they made an appeal to their parish priest. He said to them, " This is a punishment upon you, because for years you have neglected your paraco (parish priest) ; no eggs or poultry have been brought to me. But do your duty, and I will pray the blessed Madonna to destroy this terrible serpent. Sure enough, the next night, during a terrific storm, as the people looked toward the mountain they saw flames and smoke coming from the Grotta, and heard explosions like the firing of cannon. When the smoke cleared away, they saw the blessed Madonna standing at the entrance of the cave, with her right foot on the crushed head of the serpent, and the Most Holy Child in her arms. The people believed that a great miracle had been performed by the mother of Christ, through the prayers of their pastor. After that night the ser- pent was never seen again. A supply of eggs and poultry never failed afterwards to be brought by the people to the priest. It is said that he ate nothing but eggs and poultry, and became so fat that he died of heart failure, surrounded by chickens and eggs. Olina was a great devotee of La Madonna del Serpente. She had a small altar in her room with an image of this Madonna on it, before which she kept a larnp burning night and day as a sign of her devotion. The cave in the mountain is there yet, and in it are mines rich in various minerals. Several springs of water flow from it, excellent for 122 THE GALLEY-SLAVE the health. But the most important of the mines are those of salt and sulphur. From ancient times this mountain and cave have been the property of the government. Formerly the mines were operated by the galley-slaves. The present Italian govern- ment has taken possession of them, and they are now worked by common labourers. The above story of the serpent and its conquering Madonna is the product of superstition, and, like many other stories of saints and madonnas in Italy, Oliria believed it to be true. So did I at the time. It requires very little common sense, however, to see how false and irrational are such tales. All that night and the next day I could see in my imagination Olina feverish and restless, always looking at me. As I went up and down the tread- mill I suffered greatly, for I was afraid that I should not see her again before she passed away. To increase my sorrow that evening the custode did not come after me as he had done almost every night before. I did not lie down at all that night, and did nothing but nurse my woe. About midnight the custode came and said, " Olina is dying, and she wishes to see you." I followed him to the room where the dying girl was. As she saw me, she stretched her arms to- wards me and said, " Tonio, I am going. Look up; see how beautiful is the Glory Land. See the shining angels. They are beckoning me to come and they say, ' The golden gates are wide open.' " OLINA 123 Then she made a sign for us all to draw close to her, and with very feeble voice she said, " Look up! In yonder Glory Land, see La Madonna del Serpente seated on a throne of splendour. Above the throne is a rainbow, whose many colours are more resplendent than the sun itself. In that rain- bow I see a scroll and written on it in letters of pure gold are these words, Figlia mia, ti do il benvenuto (My daughter, I bid thee welcome). Around the throne I see the celestial choir singing a song of greeting. Under the throne I see a black serpent with the right foot of the Madonna resting upon its crushed head. Before the throne a great multitude of angels and archangels do homage to her who is seated upon it. As I look I see every- where the words shining star-like, ' Welcome, wel- come/ I must go; hold me not back." Then she closed her eyes. We watched her with great anxiety and palpitating hearts. We felt that she had now gone. But soon her lips moved, and again, as she looked up at us, she smiled and whis- pered, "La Madre di Dio calls me; I must go. Addio, papa — addio, mamma — addio, Mica." Then all was still. Nothing could be heard in that cham- ber of death but the sobs of those around her bed. There was an expression of peace and eternal rest upon her face. She looked as if drawing her last breath, when we saw her lips parting, and she very softly and sweetly said, " Tonio, addio." Then she rested for a moment, and with a heavenly smile said, 124 THE GALLEY-SLAVE " lo v' aspetto tutti lassu " (I shall wait for you all over yonder). Then her hands gently fell to a resting-place on either side of her body, her head sank down a little, and, without a struggle, as a child goes to sleep, still retaining upon her face that celeste soriso (heavenly smile), Olina passed away to a happy life beyond. As with breaking hearts we gazed upon that beautiful but lifeless body, we felt that she was exactly as she looked, not dead, but sleeping. I said in my heart as I returned to the Gabbia del Diavolo, " Yes, she is sleeping, and will wake again on the day of eternal glory, when I shall again see my Olina of Civita Vecchia." The death-scene of Olina was indeed remarkable. She was brought up by religious and devoted people who inculcated in her simple and pure mind all the piety and devotion of a saintly life. When she died she was not quite sixteen years of age, and her child-like soul went naturally into religious ecstasy and joyous faith. She loved with all her heart La Madonna del Serpente, so that her vision on that occasion was the product of her strong belief and the spiritual desire to be with the object she so dearly loved. Hence her welcome and the descrip- tion of the " Glory Land " were visionary; but who can say that she did not realize the substance of her aspirations? CHAPTER IX THE ESCAPE THE galley-slave went back to the Gabbia del Diavolo sad and down-hearted. The world, which yesterday was full of sunshine, had suddenly been plunged into utter darkness. He felt as we should if we were to realize that we were nevermore to see the sunshine. What would remain to cheer and brighten this world? My sun was Olina, and she was no more. After all, I reasoned, life is made of ups and downs. It is like the tread- mill in which I am working. One moment we are up, and the next we are down. But why should Heaven, which is all light and glory, why should it rob me of the only sunshine I have ever had in my sad existence? Yet I see that her trial was permitted in order to remove my Olina from pain and grief, and make her more beautiful, more an- gelic. It was for her happiness, and I kiss the hand which has crushed my heart, and say, " Thy will be done," patiently waiting for my time to come. I saw the custode some four weeks after Olina died, and inquired where she had been buried. " In 125 126 THE GALLEY-SLAVE her native town of Corneto," was the answer. Then the custode said, " I am sorry to say that I have resigned my position as custode of this prison. My wife and daughter could not bear to Hve in a place so full of sad memories. It was here that our be- loved child fell down the stairs, and that was the cause of her death. We loved her so dearly that living here would only add to our sorrow. I have been appointed custode of the prison at Ancona on the shores of the Adriatic." "And where is that, Signor Custode?" I in- quired. " It is on the east side of the peninsula, about two hundred miles from here," he replied. " Count Malsano got the position for me. By the way, the Count is very much interested in you. I have spoken to him about you, and he assures me that he will urge the new custode to treat you well. The Count would do more for you, but he is a near re- lation of the Secretary of State, and he was warned by him to keep a close watch on you. The car- dinal regards you as dangerous because of your relationship to the Duke of Casanova." " Would it not be possible for me to be trans- ferred to the prison where you are going?" I eagerly asked. " I wish it were possible; nothing else would give me so much pleasure," said the custode. " We shall never forget the great comfort you were to our dear child. How much sunshine you THE ESCAPE 127 brought into her life! God bless you, my dear boy. Addio!" It was the custom of the jailers whenever they appeared in public to wear a bunch of keys, so that the official position of the man might be known. The next Sunday, when I attended mass in the church, I looked for the new custode, and soon saw him coming with his bunch of keys. But I was greatly disappointed in the appearance of the man. He was coarse and stout, and of very dark complexion. His hair was curly and black, and the way he combed it made him look as though he had a flat horn on each side of his forehead. He had a ferocious black moustache. His eyes were round and projecting, his mouth was large, his nose flat, and his chin came out half an inch in front of his mouth. He was bull-like in appearance and in character, ready to gore anything that might come across his path. He was soon baptized by the galley- slaves " II Toro " (the Bull). I was very miserable for several days. Asked to sing, I could not. As soon as I began a song my eyes would fill with tears, and my emotions overcame me. One day I told the new custode that I would like to see Fra Angelico, the new chaplain of the prison. The custode asked me why I wanted to see the monk. I answered that I wanted to confess to the good man. "Confess your crimes, eh?" 128 THE GALLEY-SLAVE " I have committed no crimes," I replied with spirit. "If I am here, it is because I love my country, because I love my people and wish them free and united." " Oh, you are a rebel, and you think that taking up arms against the Holy Father is no crime." Then with a sneer on his face he said, " Oh, you are a brave boy, indeed." "Yes," I retorted with increasing warmth; "any one who fights against tyrants and tyranny, any one who gives his life to break the chain of slavery from the hands of his fellowmen, any one who gives his blood to maintain the honour of his coun- try, any one who loves justice, peace and truth, — yes, any one whose heart is loyal to his native land and beats in sympathy with his own people, and, seeing the heavy burdens which injustice lays upon them, fights against the oppressors, he is not only brave, but he is a liberator." " Young man," said the custode, " what makes you so bold ? " " Because I speak the truth and I have all true Italian hearts with me." " Be careful, be careful, or you will end your life upon the scaffold." I replied, " It is more honourable to die upon the scaffold for the love of one's country, than to be a hireling of the oppressors." At this last remark, the custode gave me a vicious look and went away. THE ESCAPE 129 I know that I ought not to have spoken in that way to an official of the government, but my heart was so full of sorrow that I cared not what I said. I did not care what happened to me. Life had be- come a burden which I could no longer bear. But Fra Angelico came the next day, and I unburdened my heart to him. The good man talked so sympa- thetically that I felt much better. Before the priest left, I said, " Padre Angelico, I want to die. I want to go to heaven. Can't I die? " " My dear son," replied Padre Angelico, " you must wait your time, when God will surely call you. We have no right to take our life, for it is not ours; it belongs to God." " But," I insisted, " you have power to give per- mission to any one who truly desires to go to heaven to die if he wants to, for when you are at the altar celebrating mass, you assume to be God, or to stand in God's stead. So it seems to me that you can give permission to any one to die and go to heaven." *' Oh no, my son, we are only doing what He has given us to do, namely, repeat the sacrifice of His beloved Son, Jesus Christ, upon the cross. But we are sinners, and have no right to give or to take life. We are only the servants of God, and, at that, very unworthy, for we often fall short of doing our duty. But why do you want to die, my dear child?" " Oh, that is a secret which I cannot divulge." I30 THE GALLEY-SLAVE Then there was a pause. *' Padre AngeHco," I continued, " will you kindly buy me half a dozen roasted chestnuts? I will tell you why I ask this great favour. Next week will occur the day of Tutti i Morti, and I am expecting a dear departed friend to visit me. But she will not come, you know, unless I have some roasted chestnuts to put on the table." The monk smiled at my simplicity, and inquired, " Who told you such a story? " Hurt at the question, I replied, *' A girl who I know could not tell an untruth." The monk, seeing my sadness because of this doubt, said, " My son, I do not for a moment question the veracity of your informant, but please tell me who made her believe such an absurd myth." " She told me," I replied, " when I doubted her story that Fra Cipolla had told her that the dead come to visit their friends during that night, and would eat roasted chestnuts. Do you not believe this to be true? " The monk answered, " No, I do not. I know that people in this part of Italy have an idea that the dead will come back on the night of Tutti i Morti; but the dead, good or bad, do not return. Somebody, centuries ago, circulated the story that he had received a visit that night from his dead wife, and she was so hungry that she ate a bushel of roasted chestnuts which he set before her; thus THE ESCAPE 131 it happens that ever since then people have been fooHng each other with the yarn. They bring the nuts, put them on the table, and at the hour of mid- night they leave the room. When they are gone away, they think the dead will come back. But, instead of the departed, some mischievous person comes and both eats the chestnuts and drinks the wine provided." " It is too bad," I said, " because Olina wanted to come back and make me a visit." " Oh, then you knew Olina ! " exclaimed the monk with a knowing smile. At this I blushed and hung my head for an answer. The monk then said that Olina was a lovely girl, " On the morning she died, as I was going up to see her I saw you coming down. I know about you and Olina, for the custode told me all. You remember, my son, she told you to be patient and do your duty, for you will see her again. Did she not say, ' V aspetto tutti lassu ' ? " Thus ended the confession. For three years and two months I had been a galley-slave. I had now entered my nineteenth year. I was strong, robust, and in every way prepared for hardships. The new custode proved to be a tyrant. Every- body hated him because he was cruel beyond reason. He had an ill feeling towards me in particular, and 132 THE GALLEY-SLAVE on the festival of St. Vincent, although the Rosignu- olo was requested to sing, the custode forbade it. I was weary of such a life, and if it had not been for what Padre Angelico had said, that I must be patient and wait my time, I would surely have thrown myself into the sea. I was as cross as a bear. I wanted to get away from my earthly prison. " But," I said to myself, " I must wait my time. God will provide a way out of this horrible place." As I was thus reasoning, I had no idea that the time was near at hand when I should again be free. Yet as I look back and recall the experiences I had to go through to get to freedom, it makes me shudder. But I see now it all was for the best. One morning about the middle of April, 1855, as we left the Galera and journeyed toward the harbour to go to work on the tread-mill, when we arrived at the place where Via Marina forked off from Via Tos- ' cana, and had proceeded along it for about two hun- dred yards, the cry suddenly came to our ears, " A runaway, a runaway!" We had no time to get out of the road before a heavy horse dragging a large cart dashed right into the gang of galley- slaves. Two of them were knocked down and seri- ously hurt. One of the guards who attempted to stop the horse was dragged by the animal, and crushed against the stone wall, killing him outright. At this time of day Via Toscana was full of people and carts. All was confusion among the people as THE ESCAPE 133 they looked down into Via Marina and saw what had happened. The leader of the guards lost his head and knew not what to do. All eyes were on the dead guard and the two galley-slaves. No one thought of the danger that a galeotto might escape, for the galley-slaves were chained two by two. But I was unshackled and at the head of the gang. I stood at the foot of the stairs which led from Via Marina up to Via Toscana. I saw a chance to escape. I was desperate, and did not think of the chances I was taking. One of my feet was already on the first of the stairs, then I took a few leaps, and was in Via Toscana in a moment. There, right be- fore my eyes, stood a large four-wheeled cart loaded with stable concime (manure) of decayed straw and hay which extended over the side of the waggon and hung down several inches, thus preventing pas- sers-by from looking under the cart unless they stooped low. The cart was standing still, and har- nessed to it were a yoke of oxen. I hurriedly crept under the body of the cart. There I saw a sacco ^ (bag) made of ropes, fastened to the bed of the waggon and hanging down in hammock shape. The bag was about five feet long and two feet wide, and hung right under the middle of the cart. It came to a point near the front where all the ropes running in a straight line drew together, and formed the mouth of the bag. There these ropes were gathered into a single rope, by which the bag could be raised or lowered at will. This rope ran into a pulley at 134 THE GALLEY-SLAVE the front of the cart. I saw that the bag was empty and I quickly crept into it with my head towards the front, and then pulled myself up as near the bed of the waggon as possible. While thus hiding I heard a great commotion, and the cry was raised, *' A galley-slave has es- caped ! " Then the guards came up into Via Tus- cana, where a crowd had quickly collected, and ordered the people to disperse. My heart was beat- ing like a trip-hammer, and I was impatient for the cart to move on. Very soon the driver, who had no doubt stopped his oxen at that point to see what was happening in Via Marina below, ordered his oxen to start, and the cart began to move, but at such a snail-like pace that it was maddening. If only I had had a sharp-pointed stick long enough to reach the cattle, I would have used it most vigor- ously. How I trembled lest anybody should look under the cart! I was in a tight fix, and also in a most uncomfortable position. I had drawn the netted bag so close to the bed of the cart that with every movement I felt that my body was being crushed. I was indeed suffering not a little, and the only thing that gave me courage to bear it all was the thought of liberty. Soldiers with their long swords drawn passed and repassed the cart; but they never for a moment thought that any one would hide under a cart full of concime drawn at such a slow gait by oxen. But on we went and soon rolled through the Porta Livorno out into the open THE ESCAPE 135 country. Then I felt that possibly I might escape. The driver never looked under his cart, but tramped on by the side of the oxen. It must have been noon-time when he stopped near a fountain to feed them. The cart was near a large stone, the top of which was on a level with the hub of the wheel. The driver sat down on this stone and with his back against the wheel took out of his giitbba (coat) a big loaf of bread and some salami (a prepared meat) which he ate ravenously. When he had satisfied his hunger, he went to the fountain for a drink. I saw that he had left some of the meat and bread on the stone. It was so near me and I was so hungry that I could not resist stretching out my hand and helping myself. I was able to reach the meat but not the bread. When the driver re- turned to the stone he was much surprised to find that his meat had disappeared. He looked around, but could not discover how it had hap- pened. Just then a dog happened to run by on the other side of the waggon, and the driver evi- dently took the dog to be the thief, for he cried out, ''Cane maledetto!" and threw a stone after the cur. We soon started again, and I was by that time so covered with dust that I must have looked like a negro. Whither I was going I did not know, but decided that when we reached the driver's destina- tion, I would show myself to him and plead for my life. But the cart continued on and on, until 136 THE GALLEY-SLAVE I felt that I could not bear the pain of my cramped position any longer. As night began to fall we entered a small town about twelve miles from Civita Vecchia. In a few minutes we reached an inn, into the yard of which the driver turned his oxen and cart and stopped near one of the open doors. I lowered myself so that I could look into the room, but as I loosened the rope it made a slight noise which caused the driver to look around. But instead of looking under the cart he began to examine the horns of the oxen. He then unhitched them and took them to the stall. Soon he returned and entered the public room of the inn, and sat down at a table with two other men. They began to talk and I listened attentively to their conversation, since they talked loud after the Italian fashion, so I heard every word they said. The men at the table greeted the driver as // Contadino, and welcomed him. Then the innkeeper came in, and supper was ordered for all. The contadino (countryman) said, " And how is my friend the baker, and you the blacksmith, how have you spent the day ? " *' I," replied the baker, " have been kneading bread all day so that it would be ready for the oven in the early morning." " And I," said the blacksmith, " have been at the forge all day beating iron into horse-shoes. As you have just returned from Civita Vecchia, what news have you from the city? " THE ESCAPE 137 " Great news, great excitement," said the con- tadino. " This morning we had a runaway acci- dent." I was so anxious to hear what was said that I lowered myself a little more, and to my dismay the pulley again made a noise which caused them all to look towards the cart. But they evidently did not see anything to arouse their suspicions, for the contadino continued, " As I was driving along Via Toscana, I heard a great cry among the people, ' A runaway, a runaway ! ' I stopped my oxen and looked down on Via Marina, where I saw a power- ful horse with a cart running at full speed into a gang of galley-slaves who were going to the mulino. Two of the galley-slaves were seriously injured, but the saddest thing was the fate of a poor guard who tried to stop the runaway, but was dragged by the maddened animal against the wall and killed outright. The people, for there was a great crowd on Via Toscana, were horrified, women fainted, and children screamed. And to add to the excite- ment of the moment, the guards cried out, ' A galley-slave has escaped! People, it is your duty to the Holy Father to try and catch him. Look out for the galley-slave ! ' " I was now in a tremble, and perspiration flowed from every pore of my body. Who can describe how I felt? " But," continued the contadino, " I did not be- lieve that, for how was it possible for one galley- 138 THE GALLEY-SLAVE slave to escape when they are chained together two by two? Soon we were ordered by the guards to move on." Just then a gentleman entered the room. He was quite young, and had a kindly appearance. He was evidently well known by those in the room, for as he entered they stood up and welcomed him heartily, they called him Captain, and I soon learned that he was captain of a vessel in the harbour of Civita Vecchia. He had come by the diligence which had left the city about two hours before. It must have been nine o'clock as he entered the inn. He sat down at the table, and the innkeeper served him with his best wine. After he had refreshed himself he asked if they had heard the news from the city. " Oh, about the runaway horse ? " " Yes ; but more especially about the rtmaway galley-slave." At these words I felt the blood rush through my veins at a fearful rate. My first thought was to lower myself and run for dear life; but as I pre- sented such a dreadful appearance because of my filthy condition, and as I had on the conspicuous garb of a galley-slave, I hesitated and was trying to decide what to do when I heard the newcomer say, "Yes; this galeotto has created more excite- ment in the city than anything else that has hap- pened in that town for years. He was held in high esteem by all, and Count Malsano, who is a near THE ESCAPE 139 relation of the Secretary of State, thought a great deal of the boy. The Count is questore of the city, and is held responsible for his escape. Indeed, it will go hard with the Count, as he had received special orders from the Secretary of State to keep a close watch over the lad, since he is regarded by the Vatican as dangerous on account of his rela- tionship to the Duke of Casanova. However," added the newcomer, " in the eyes of the law II Toro (the warden) is the responsible person. But he had received orders from the questore to let the boy go unchained, and to treat him kindly, and that will save his neck, for it would have been death to him if he had been guilty. I was told by a guard who travelled in the same diligenza that when II Toro received the news that the boy had fled, he acted like a madman. He called the guards into his office and promised to give any one five hundred scudi if they would bring the slave to him, either alive or dead. Then he said, ' I told Count Mal- sano, when he gave orders to let the little devil go unchained, that he was a dangerous character, that he was a rebel at heart; that he was deceitful and ought to have no privileges, but be treated like the rest. The dog of a galeotto is gone, but he will be caught again. Then there is for him La Notte dTnferno, not for one night only, but until his bones shall rot. Ho ! men, I say, go and hunt high and low for him ! Don't let me see your faces again unless you bring the rebel back. If I could only I40 THE GALLEY-SLAVE lay my hands on the rascal, I should be the happiest man in the world, for I will have my vendetta. I will make the rebel realize his own words, — " It is more honourable to die upon the scaffold for the love of one's country than to be a hireling of the oppressor." — He shall die upon the scaffold! ' " The contadino here remarked, " But, Signor Capi- tano, how was it possible for one of the galley- slaves to run away, when they are chained two by two?" " Ah," replied the captain, " this is what will be hard for the Count to explain. Who was it gave instructions to the custode to leave him unchained ? I learned before I left that the Count feels very uneasy. He issued orders for a company of Papal soldiers to scour the city, and to search especially throughout the sliipping in the harbour, for it is the general opinion that the boy hid himself in some one of the vessels, and hopes thus to make his escape. Just before I left my ship soldiers came on board, but could find no runaway there. Even if he had been there I would have made sure that they should not find him." " Bravo ! " I cried out, and I unintentionally uttered the words so loud that all at the table heard the sound and looked at each other in surprise, though nothing was said. The captain continued, " The boy has not com- mitted any crime. He was only a drummer in the army of Garibaldi at the siege of Rome, when THE ESCAPE 141 not quite sixteen years of age, and was taken pris- oner a mere bambino. Yet our men sitting on the throne of justice condemned the lad to a Hfe worse than death itself, simply because he loved his coun- try. Oh ! where is justice to be found in the land? " " You are right," all answered. The captain con- tinued, " All Civita Vecchia loved the boy, for he was known throughout the city as the Nightingale, on account of his beautiful voice. But the bird has taken flight, and I, for one, sincerely hope that he will never be taken back to the Gabbia del Diavolo." Before I had time to say " Bravo " again, all the rest exclaimed in concert, " We sincerely hope the same." I then let the rope go, and the pulley in turning made such a racket that the attention of all was drawn to the cart. In the twinkling of an eye I was on my feet, and made a rush into the room. I must have presented a frightful appearance, for the blacksmith took hold of a chair, ready to defend himself. The contadino got down on his knees ready to recommend his soul to the protection of the saints, and the baker hid himself behind the door. The only man who did not seem to be fright- ened was the captain. I fell on my knees and cried out, " I am the runaway galley-slave. I appeal to your noble, generous hearts! In the name of the mother of Christ, whom we love and respect; in the name of your own mothers whom you love as I do my own dear mother, I appeal to you, sirs. Yes ! 142 THE GALLEY-SLAVE in the name of Jesus who came to this world and gave His life to make us free, I beg of you do not give me up to the authorities, and have me sent back to the Galera! I have never committed any crime, and yet have been sent to the Galera because of my love to our country, because I have been obedient to the call of that love to defend my people from tyrants and oppression, and you know that is not a crime." The landlord, who had been present meanwhile, and all the rest cried out with warmth, " You are right; we will stand by you and defend you even with our lives." Again I said, to make doubly sure, " Gentlemen, it is within your power to destroy my life or to save it. Which shall it be? " " To save, to save ! " was the answer. They looked at me in surprise and wonder, and said : "How did you get here?" But the innkeeper interrupted, saying, " We must do something for this lad," and he left the room, soon returning with a basin of water and a towel that I might wash my face and hands. The blacksmith took a comb out of his pocket and combed my hair. The contadino and the baker brushed off my clothes and removed as much dirt as possible. When all this had been done the captain remarked, " What a change a little cleaning up makes! Now you look more like a human being, and not a bad-looking one at that." I took this occasion to draw their attention to a THE ESCAPE 143 very important fact and an immediate necessity, say- ing, " I should look much better if this garb of a galley-slave were taken from me and destroyed." The captain saw the point, had the door closed so that no one could look in, and said, " Yes, it will not do for you to be seen with that uniform on. It must be disposed of, but how can we do it? " The innkeeper replied, " I think my wife can fix that. I am going to her now, and will tell her about the escaped galeotto, for we must take her into our confidence." In a few seconds a woman came into the room with a very kind, motherly expression which re- minded me of my own mother. She looked me over from head to foot, and said to her husband, " I think the suit we made for our dear boy, Cecco, will fit the lad." I learned afterwards that their son had been drowned some two years before while bathing in a stream near the town. She brought the suit, and I went into another room, where her husband helped me put it on. It fitted well, and all wondered at the transformation it wrought in my appearance. Supper was given me, and as I had not for nearly four years tasted any kind of food worthy the name, I ate like one in a starving condition. CHAPTER X IN THE MAREMME 1WAS very happy in my new estate. I looked at my suit of frustagno, and felt the great difference between it and the galeotto's garb. Frustagno meant freedom, while the black and yel- low stripes of my former suit meant slavery. One was the symbol of purity and innocence, and the other of crime and evil. With frustagno as my clothing I found myself surrounded by kind friends, while, when I wore the black and yellow stripes, I was surrounded by armed soldiers and cruel slave- drivers ready to inflict punishment on the slightest pretext. I felt as though transported from a life of infernal misery to the highest heaven. Fru- stagno is a fabric made of hemp and cotton, two weak materials, but when combined they become a cloth of the strongest and most durable quality. The name is derived from the words frusta, a whip, and stagno, a dye. The hemp and cotton are woven closely together, and thoroughly soaked in water. Then the cloth is laid upon a smooth square stone and beaten with stout sticks until it is perfectly dry. It is then dyed a dark green, and becomes ready for use. There is no wearing out a suit of 144 IN THE MAREMME 145 frustagno. That which gives the cloth such strength and durabihty is the thrashing it receives; and is this not true of human Hfe? Man is made strong and self-dependent by having passed under the hard knocks of experience. It sometimes takes almost as severe treatment as the cloth receives to knock out self-conceit and make men useful to society. A kernel of wheat does not become part of the staff of life until it has gone through threshing and grinding. The knocks and grindings I have received were indeed severe, but they were all for my good, to prepare me for life's battle. The name of the small village in which I recov- ered my freedom I never learned. No one ventured to say a word to me, for I ate like a starved animal. When every crumb had disappeared I threw back my head, and gave a deep sigh as though to say, "Satisfied!" The captain then questioned me kindly, " Have you had enough, my lad? " " Gentlemen," I said with emphasis, " it is the first good meal I have had since I left my home in Barga. I have no words at command to express my gratitude to the kind host and his noble wife. I thank you all for your sympathy. You have saved me from a life of untold woe. I call upon the saints to reward you richly. I drink now to the health of you all." " Bravo, bravo ! We wish you the same," they cried in concert. 146 THE GALLEY-SLAVE The captain then asked me to tell them how I managed to make my escape under the four-wheeled cart. I then told them how in the confusion of the moment I saw a possible chance of escape. I knew that twenty steps up the stairway from Via Marina would take me into Via Toscana. There I saw the cart. When a little boy I used to play hide-and- seek. I often hid myself in the netted bag under the waggon in the yard, so that when I saw in Via Toscana a cart with just such a bag underneath it you can imagine I lost no time in secreting myself in the bag. " You succeeded in getting the authorities en- tirely off the track," said the captain, " for the general opinion in the city is that the lost galley- slave made his way to the harbour, and is now hiding somewhere among the shipping. This be- lief is strengthened by the fact that he was well acquainted with the harbour, having worked in the tread-mill for some years. An order has been issued by Count Malsano that every outgoing craft shall be most carefully searched; also orders have been sent out to all the police departments to seek for the youth. It is the public opinion that the questore is to be blamed for the boy's escape, for it was through him that he enjoyed the privilege of not being chained to another. The questore feels very uneasy, for it might cost him his position ; and were it not for the fact that he is a near relative of IN THE MAREMME 147 the Secretary of State, he would not escape severe punishment." The contadino was amazed, and could not under- stand how the lad was able to stay in the bag all day long and not make himself known, since to remain in that cramped up position must have been distressing. " Just as I started the oxen," he said, " and the cart moved onward, many excited Papal guards passed and repassed the waggon. They looked into the hallways and narrow streets, and many times were within ten feet of the boy, but they did not even glance at my cart. Surely he could not have found a more secure place, for who would suspect that a galeotto would risk his life under a cart drawn by oxen going at a snail's pace ? The concime in the waggon had a great deal to do with deceiving them and concealing the runaway." The blacksmith gave his opinion that I had plainly been led by divine Providence. " Very true," said the captain, " for our God is a just God and a Protector of the innocent." The cartman asked me, " Why did you not make yourself known, and tell me your story, for I should have protected you even with my own life. Once I thought I heard a noise underneath the cart, and I felt inclined to look there. That was when I ate my lunch at the fountain of St. Giacomo. My salame had disappeared, and I thought that possibly the thief was under the wag- 148 THE GALLEY-SLAVE gon; but I saw a dog hurrying away on the other side and concluded that he was the culprit." I blushed. I saw that my embarrassment was noticed by my new-found friends, and frankly ad- mitted that I, not the dog, was the thief, and asked the kind-hearted contadino to forgive me. " I was so hungry," I added. The contadino asked, " Why did you not take the bread also ? " " I could not reach it," I replied, at which all laughed. " Now, my friends," said the captain, " what can we do towards putting the lad on his way to a com- plete deliverance from the clutches of the Papal power; for, so long as he remains in the States of the Church, he is in great danger? I have no doubt that spies have been sent everywhere, and I fear that before long a price will be set upon his head. We must be quick. Is there any one who will suggest a plan? How would it do to put him at once on Tuscan soil ? " The baker thought that it would be dangerous for me to go anywhere without a passport. " You know," he said, " that one cannot go a mile from his home without that. The guards have the right to ask any one for his passport, and, if it is not shown, to arrest that person as a suspect." " Our friend is right," said the captain, " because to-day, as I passed through the city gates, one of the guards demanded my passport. I should hate IN THE MAREMME 149 to see this young man fall into the hands of the police. If we only had some way of getting him into Tuscany, he would be quite safe there. That is, if he keeps away from the priests, for we all know how they hate Garibaldi. They would with- out hesitation denounce to the authorities any one who had anything to do with the great general." For a few moments there was silence among them. Then the contadino clapped his hands and said, " Gentlemen, I have a plan. Yes, and a good one. My farm is on the boundary line of the Tuscan territory. It is on the banks of the river Ombrone, which is the boundary between the Papal States and Tuscany. Now I propose to our friend, the galley-slave, to take another ride under the bed of my cart. If we leave before sunrise to-morrow, we shall reach my farm in the early part of the evening. He can pass the night at my house, and on the following morning I will row him in my harchetta across the river, and put him on the road that leads to the city of Grosseto." "Bravo, bravo!" they all exclaimed. "This is the best plan." The innkeeper suggested that I should be ques- tioned as to where I wished to go, and where my home was. I answered their inquiry, " My home is in Barga, Tuscany, and I would love to go there to see my parents. But the priest would soon notify the Church authorities, and I should be in great danger of being secretly put into the hands I50 THE GALLEY-SLyWE of my enemies. I feel that my town is not a safe place. I would like to go to America, if I could work my way there. America is the only safe place for me." Then the captain, with a smile on his face, said, " The idea is excellent and the way is easy. I have a brother who is captain of the brigantine Balena, now in the harbour of Leghorn, and he is to sail for America the latter part of May. The boy has plenty of time to get there before the ship sails. I will write a letter to Captain Costa, my brother, and recommend the lad to him as cabin-boy. Thus he will be able to work his w^ay across the ocean to the New World. Ink, paper and pen ! " Soon the letter was in my hands, making me happy indeed. I felt greater joy at the thought of going to " the land of the free and the home of the brave " than I had ever experienced before, and all rejoiced with me. Every one seemed to be de- lighted with the plan. The innkeeper said that it would be a hard job for me to cross the Maremma at that season of the year, for it was now entirely deserted. " It would be a journey of nearly two hundred miles, the air is malarial, and there would be danger of contracting the fatal fever, febbre maremana; but the boy is strong, and I believe he will get through all right." I was penniless, of course; so those kind friends made up a purse of nearly five scudi for me, quite a sum in Italian money. IN THE MAREMME 151 At four o'clock the next morning I was wakened from sound slumber, and within fifteen minutes was ready for the journey. The host and hostess were up, and the hostess put into my giubba a big loaf of bread and two salami. After brief partings had been exchanged the oxen began to move. I was already in the netted bag, but in a far more comfortable position than my first ride. I soon fell asleep and did not wake up until noon, when the driver stopped to feed his oxen. The contadino then related what had happened while they were on the way. " It must have been about an hour ago that two mounted Papal guards came up and asked if I did not come from Civita Vecchia. I said, * Yes, I left the city yesterday morning before sunrise.' They then in- quired if I had seen the runaway horse on Via Marina. ' Why, no,' I replied, ' what happened ? Any one hurt ? ' They replied that one man was killed, and two galley-slaves badly hurt; but the most serious part of the affair was that a galley- slave escaped. He was a young fellow who was permitted to go unchained to another galley- slave. In the confusion of the moment he disap- peared, unseen by any one, and no trace of him can be found. It was said yesterday that a small vessel left the port for Altomonte, and we have been sent to that place to look out for him.' " * Well,' I said, ' you are on the wrong road if you want to go to Altomonte. You should have 152 THE GALLEY-SLAVE turned to the right about two miles back. I advise you to be quick, or else you will miss your man.' " I wish you could have seen them spur on their horses. I laughed heartily at their mistake. But, I tell you, all the time they were here, I was nervous enough with the fear that they might look under the waggon; also I was afraid that you might snore and thus call their attention to you." It was about sundown when the contadino drove into an open field. There he left his load of con- cime, and with me went up to a detached house of one story with a roof of straw. We were met by four children half naked and exceedingly dirty. The housekeeper was a slovenly woman who had a sleepy look that led me to believe she was indolent. In the house, sharing it with the rest of the family, were a goat, two sheep, half a dozen hens and a lazy dog. The house was on the banks of the river Ombrone, a sluggish stream. The supper which all partook of consisted of a polcntone. I seated myself on a stool and drew up to the table. The polenta, or cold mush, was cut by a thread into small pieces, and each one helped him- self. There was neither knife nor fork. I ate my bread and sausage, and shared part of it among the children, for they considered it quite a luxury. Very little was said, for they talked in a dialect I found hard to understand. All slept in the same room, including the animals with the exception of the dog, who seemed to be the only well-bred mem- IN THE MAREMME 153 ber of the household, since he preferred to sleep outside by himself. In the morning I was awakened by the cackling of a hen which had laid an egg close by me. She was looking at me as though to say, " There, I laid an egg for your breakfast ; take it and eat it." I took the egg and swallowed it still hot. In the meantime the contadino woke up, and, without disturbing any of the others, we quietly made our way to the river. The barchetta was loosed from its mooring, and we were soon on the other side of the stream. The contadino gave me instructions as to how I could reach Grosseto, a city about forty miles away. He cautioned me not to leave the main road, and, when I had passed through a forest, to go on as quickly and as quietly as possible, not to attract the notice of any wild animal. The forests of the maremme are infested by wild beasts and poisonous snakes, hence the warning. I felt really sorry to part with that kind-hearted man. We said farewell to each other forever. I commenced my long tramp through the ma- remme of Tuscany on the 12th of May, at the time when they are deserted, since very few people can live there in the summer. Although the soil is rich no crops are raised at any season of the year, except in the heart of winter. Contadini and montanari (mountain people) go there in the winter and find plenty of work. The maremme are marshlands near the sea, not unlike American 154 THE GALLEY-SLAVE salt marshes. In some of the maremme of Tus- cany there is a great deal of timber, generally con- sisting of pine trees. To cross these marshes at that season is attended with much danger and hard- ship. I was young, and felt fully able to walk the entire distance of nearly two hundred miles in a few days. I made up my mind to make at least forty miles each day, and did walk that distance the first day. The things that troubled me most were the intense heat and the want of water fit to drink. I crossed a number of streams, but they were either salty or in such condition that I was afraid to drink from them. When I arrived in Grosseto, I was so thirsty that I rushed to the first public fountain and drank to my full satis- faction. The next morning I started very early, as I was told I must cross the most desolate and dangerous part of the Maremma from Grosseto to the town of Cecina, called the " Bad Land." It was said that a good walker could make the distance through it in about two days. I provided myself with some water in a flask. The first day I got along fairly well, but the desolation of the whole region op- pressed me heavily. Not a soul did I meet. At night I took refuge in a deserted hut, for there were many such along the way, people living in them only during the winter. Next morning, the third day of my journey, I began my solitary tramp with sore feet and a sore heart. My supply of IN THE MAREMME 155 water had been exhausted, and a very queer feehng had taken possession of me. I had a premonition that something dreadful was about to take place. The day was clear and sunshiny, but so hot! If nothing happened I hoped to reach Cecina that night. The terrific heat of the sun was some- Avhat modified by the breeze which came from the direction of the sea, and which so refreshed me that I was enabled to continue the journey. I had been walking about three hours, when the feeling of thirst began to be intense. As I looked around I could see nothing but endless marshes, with water in abundance but too salty to drink. Once I took a mouthful, and it made my thirst much more severe. After a while I came to a large pine grove. There I left the road and went among the trees in search of water; but the search was fruitless, and for fear of wild beasts and snakes I returned to the road once more. Towards noon the desire to drink was so great that it seemed to me I should have to tear my tongue out of my mouth. I cried in my intense suffering, " A whole world for a drink of water! " At this point a very queer feeling came over me. I thought I was on fire. As I passed a stretch of woodland I saw before me a beautiful meadow. The grass was of a rich, deep green and looked cool and inviting. It fascinated me, and I was greatly tempted to leave the road and lie down on that carpet of soft verdure. But I continued my tramp. 156 THE GALLEY-SLAVE and the thirst doubled. Awful indeed is the feeling produced by the intense desire for water. I felt I could not endure it any longer. It was now high noon. I looked again at the meadow and it seemed more beautiful and inviting than ever. I gazed towards the Mediterranean, and there, in the dis- tance beyond the green meadow, I saw a river of pure, limpid water flowing seaward. How cool and refreshing it looked ! At first I thought it was the working of my fevered brain, but as I looked again at the banks of the sparkling stream I saw trees, their foliage shading many restful nooks. Flowers of exquisite tints were grouped together there in pillow-like masses for the tired head of the weary pilgrim. Angels dressed in shining white walked about in all directions, bending gracefully over the banks and dipping their hands deep down into the water, then holding them high over the flowers, when each finger would become a fountain of crystal water. Beautiful maidens with flowing hair and dressed in pure white danced as they came out of the river, bearing in their hands golden goblets full of this refreshing beverage. Thirsty men kneeled before them, and then down their parched throats the beautiful maidens would pour the water from the golden goblets. As I looked I became so bewitched with the enchanting scene that I could not move. It seemed that I must be going mad. My brain was ablaze. The men who had drunk of that water seemed IN THE MAREMME 157 so happy, and I was utterly miserable ! My craving for the water was so great, my thirst so intense, and everything seemed so real, that before I knew it I found myself walking, as I thought, on that flowery carpet, making my way towards the spark- ling river and saying within myself, " Soon, very soon, my thirst will be slaked, my suffering will pass away, and I shall be as happy as those men, for I too shall drink from those golden goblets." But I had not gone a hundred yards from the road when I felt the ground giving way under my feet. I took a few more steps and then began to sink. No longer could I get my feet out of the mire. I turned this v/ay and that, and struggled desperately; but the more I struggled the faster I sank. I did not realize that I had fallen into a quagmire, but it seemed as though something was pulling me down, down. I felt that if I continued to sink I should be buried alive. I began to realize that I was in great danger. I ceased struggling, and while standing still became aware that the sinking was hardly perceptible. I looked for the beautiful meadow, the river, the angels, the golden goblets, the maidens, the men, but all had disap- peared. In place of the lovely meadow which I had seen, now appeared a kind of wet, low, brown- ish moss, which after a little turned into shallow, greenish water, and in the distance I saw the blue waters of the Mediterranean. I was puzzled beyond measure. I could not understand why those things 158 THE GALLEY-SLAVE which seemed so real to my fevered mind should so suddenly vanish. It was that false vision which had led me into this dangerous condition. Then I recalled to mind that I had been told that this part of the Maremma was called the Bad Land, and the idea was forced on me that it was the working of the devil to destroy me soul and body. I gave way to utter despair, and trembled at the thought that soon I should fall into the hand of the Evil One, for I was superstitious, and absolutely believed that such would be my fate. Hence it added in- tensity to my suffering. As I thought of those things the desire to drink had fled, and I no longer suffered the pangs of thirst. I imagined that the devil had hold of my feet and was pulling me down, and how could I resist him ? I had been taught that if I would cross myself and invoke the aid of the saints the devil would flee from me; but instead it now seemed as though I could hear him laugh at my shouts for aid. I looked along the highway to see if any one might happen to pass that way. All day .long I had travelled without meeting a living soul, so that I had no hope of seeing anything to cheer or help me. In looking north along the highway I saw some- thing mound-shaped, and beyond this could see the tops of pine trees. The mound must have been somewhat more than half a mile away. This, how- ever, brought me no comfort, and I said to myself. IN THE MAREMME 159 " Oh, my God ! must I be buried alive, with no one to know of my burial place?" As I thought thus, I began to feel cold, and shivered so that it made me sink more rapidly. But soon I felt as though I was on fire. I had had a severe chill. I cried aloud and said, " What am I to do, what am I to do ? " Then the idea came to my mind of doing what I often had seen the shep- herds do while attending their flocks on the hill- sides near my home. One shepherd would be on one hill, and half a mile or so away another shep- herd upon another hillside; and when they wished to call each other they would put their hands to their mouths in the fashion of a megaphone and then make a peculiar sound which would be carried a long distance. This I had often imitated in my younger days, and now I put the thought into action, and made as powerful a shout as I could, at the same time giving it a tone of distress. I continued this until my voice gave out, but no help came. Must I die thus ? As a natural consequence, when one realizes that his end is approaching, as a last resort, which should always be first, he prays. I thought of my patron saint, San Cristofano, and prayed to him most earnestly. No help. Then I appealed to the most miraculous Madonna I had ever heard of; but no comfort came to my despair- ing soul. I was still slowly sinking. I looked toward the west, and saw that within an hour the sun would take his nightly bath in the i6o THE GALLEY-SLAVE waters of the Mediterranean, and then darkness would settle all over this miserable Maremma. It seemed that my heart would cease beating at thought of the darkness. No one can describe the horror of knowing that he is being buried alive, slowly, inch by inch. The thought was almost be- yond human endurance. I put my hand to my throat; the strong impulse was to end my suffering at once. But Olina, with her angel-like sweetness, seemed to stand before me, and as I recalled her dying words, " lo v' aspetto tutti lassu," my hand dropped to my side. I then thought of God. I knew that He was called by the Italians, " II Padrone d' ogni cosa " (Master of everything), and I hoped that He might save me. I said, " O God ! Thou seest all things. Thou art everywhere, and Thou alone wilt be witness of my burial. It is said that Thou art rich in mercy. Oh! let a crumb of Thy rich mercy fall upon this suffering child, and save him from horrible death, for the sake of Thy beloved Son, Jesus Christ. Oh ! save me. Oh ! save, me ! " Then I thought that I must pray to the Son as well as to the Father, and that if I did so, my prayer would be more efficacious. So I said, " Jesus, son of Mary, Thy mother was with Thee when Thou didst die upon the cross. She was present at Thy burial, and saw the place where they laid Thy body. O Christ! this unhappy boy has a mother, and she loves him as much as Thy mother loved Thee, but she will never know the sad end IN THE MAREMME i6i of her child, nor his burial place. For the sake of that sorrowing mother save her boy from this awful end! Do not let that kind-hearted mother go through life carrying this crushing burden upon her heart ! " I was now resigned to fate. I bowed my head, waiting for the end. Hark ! what did I hear ! Was it the working of my fevered brain? Was I de- ceived? Listen! listen! It was the barking of a dog, and sweeter music I never heard. It brought hope into the darkness of despair, and I cried, " Praised be God, I am saved ! " As I looked in the direction from which the sound came, I saw coming around the bend of the road a large shepherd dog, barking furiously, and running at full speed to- wards me. As he drew near I looked beyond him, hoping to see some man, but not seeing anybody concluded that the dog was alone. At this thought my heart sank, yet I was cheered by the presence of the animal, and felt more resigned to die. At least there would be one living thing near when the last moment came. I had sunk down above my hips. The dog was now near me, but on firmer ground, for he seemed to know the character of the land. As I looked at him his eyes appeared full of sympathy, and he wagged his tail as though to show it, for a dog has no other way to show his sympathy and friendship. The kindly creature whined and fretted pitifully. He seemed to know that I was in great danger and I said, " O Fedele! 1 62 THE GALLEY-SLAVE can you not save me? Go and bring your master." The dog was working all the while. I could see that he would feel the ground with his paws. I watched him eagerly, and perceived that when he found a place where the soil seemed solid near me, he gave a bark to attract my attention, and then he would lie down with his hind paws under him rest- ing on solid ground. Then he would stretch his forepaws towards me as intelligently as if he said, " Take hold of these, and I will pull you out." I tried to reach his paws, but came short by several feet. When the dog realized this, he seemed as much disappointed as I was. He barked and whined and tried again. I noticed that as he barked, instead of looking me in the face, he kept his eyes fixed on my coat. Like a flash of lightning there came into my mind what he meant, and I said, " Fedele, you want me to take off my coat and use it in place of a rope?" He surely seemed to understand what I said, for as I took off my coat he barked loudly. I held a sleeve of the coat firmly while I flung the other end of the garment towards the dog. He tried to seize it with his paws and mouth, but failed. I tried again, but he could not catch hold of the coat with his teeth. I saw that there was no time to lose, for my violent motions made me sink more rapidly, and I was down to my waist in the mire. I made a great effort to reach over as far as I pos- sibly could, and flung the coat towards Fedele. This almost caused me to go under, but the noble IN THE MAREMME 163 creature got hold of the other sleeve with his teeth and began to pull. Yes ! I felt that I was rising. The dog was pulling steadily and trying to get the whole of his body on firm ground. After a great struggle he succeeded, and I felt myself steadily drawn out of the quagmire. I soon found a pur- chase for one foot on firmer soil, and was enabled to pull myself up on the more solid land. Oh, the joy of that moment! What gratitude came into my heart, as I cried, " Saved at last ! by an angel whose name is Fedele." My agony had been so great that after I had taken a few steps I lost con- sciousness and fell down at the feet of the dog. I do not know how long I was in that condition, but when I came to myself I felt that some one was rubbing m}^ hands and face. When I opened my eyes I saw Fedele licking my face and hands. Will there be dogs in heaven? What is heaven but a home of sanctified intelligence; and if animals use their intelligence for doing good there may be dogs in Paradise. If you had been present at the time Fedele saved me from being buried alive, you would have seen an expression of real joy in his eyes. He frolicked around me, licked my feet, and laid down, wagging his tail all the while. It was now quite dark, and Fedele seemed anxious that we should be moving. I followed him, and was delighted when I saw that he was going in the direction from which he had come. At first I was compelled to walk very slowly i64 THE GALLEY-SLAVE on account of my weak condition, but gradually my strength came back, and I could walk faster, which seemed to please the dog. We soon came to the hill or mound which I have mentioned, and there, where the road took a turn, was a gully fifteen feet deep. On the other side of this were pine trees. Along the edge of this gully was a footpath which Fedele took. We had not gone more than a hundred yards when on the opposite side I saw a hut with its door open. Inside was a man with long, flowing beard as white as snow. He stood in the open door; his face seemed kind and benevolent. He received me cordially, and said " Benvenuto ! " (Welcome). The dog en- tered the hut and lay down at the feet of his mas- ter. There was but little furniture in the room, for it was the home of a hermit. Night was coming on, and nothing could be clearly seen outside. The hermit lighted a candle, made a fire, and had me sit by it so that my clothes might dry. He gave me some polenta for my supper, but I was not hungry and could not eat. The hermit asked me what had happened. Then I told him of the exhausting tramp I had had through the maremme, what I had suffered, and how his dog had saved my life. The old man said, " About an hour ago, while Fedele was lying at my feet, all at once he began to sniff in the air and look toward the west. He seemed to be much excited, and barked and whined, meanwhile looking IN THE MAREMME 165 at me. I knew what he meant by such action. He wanted me to say * Go ! ' As I spoke the word, Fedele started at full speed towards the road to Grosseto. I had before noticed that he acted in the same way when he wanted to hunt a rabbit for my supper. Therefore, I paid no special attention to him. Had I known that you, my poor boy, were in such danger, I should have followed him; but praised be God that He saved you from a horrible death. Let us return thanks to Him." He then gave me a rosary, and we knelt and re- peated the prayer which is generally said to Mary. Even then I thought it strange that a prayer ad- dressed to a woman should be offered to God. After we had prayed I related to the hermit the beautiful vision I had before sinking in the quag- mire, and told him I could not understand why it disappeared so suddenly. The hermit said that it was a phenomenon called Fata Morgana, and is generally the product of a feverish brain. Just then I began to feel very cold, and had another chill. When the good man saw this, he took the candle and went out, but soon returned with an armful of dark green leaves, put them into a pot, and made a tea of which he had me drink a large portion while it was hot. At first I felt as though I should lose my senses; but instead of that I was soon in a deep sleep, from which I did not awake until the next forenoon. I was wet with per- spiration, and felt so weak that I could not raise i66 THE GALLEY-SLAVE my hand. As soon as I awoke, the good hermit gave me something to drink which was very refresh- ing. By and by he brought me an egg cooked in the hot ashes. I looked at the egg, and then at the man. What memories it awoke in my mind. I thought I saw my mother bending over me when very sick, and saying, " Here, Tonio dear, eat this egg. I cooked it for you." As I said " Thank you," a tear dropped on the egg shell, which w^as still hot, making a little steam rise from it. I felt that to be like incense going up to God in thankfulness. The hermit was watch- ing me closely and said, " My son, you seemed much moved at the sight of that egg; what is the reason? Ah ! I know all about it, my boy. You dreamed all night about your mother. In your dream you were sick, and she would bring you an egg cooked in the hot embers ; so I thought that an egg thus cooked would be the best thing I could give you for break- fast." The tea he had prepared entirely broke up the fever called marcmana, a malady which w^astes the body away little by little. In a few hours I felt quite well and told the hermit that I would continue my journey. He said, however, that it would not be wise to undertake anything until the next morn- ing, and advised me to remain. I took a short walk with Fedele and his master through the woods. There was a well-beaten path going in a northerly direction which we followed and we soon arrived IN THE MAREMME 167 at a place where there was a good road which the hermit said was the highway from Siena to Leg- horn and much travelled. He advised me to take this road on the morrow. At the point where the path ended was a sign-board with a hand painted on it pointing towards the hermit's hut; but as I could not read the marks on it, I asked the hermit to tell me what the words meant. He answered, " To the hermit's hut, the refuge of pilgrims.'' He explained to me that on a high hill near the city of Leghorn there is a sacred and renowned shrine called La Madonna di Montenero, known all over Italy, which at that season is visited by great numbers of pilgrims going from the south to Leghorn by the Siena road, while at the same time none would venture to go by the Grosseto route because of the malaria. The two roads met about three miles from where we stood. Just then ten of these pilgrims passed us. As they saw the hermit they all bowed down at his feet and he blessed them, wishing them a happy journey to the shrine of Montenero. After this we returned to the hut. Before dark a terrific storm came up from the sea. It was something of a cyclone. The door of the hut was blown open, and we feared that the wind would sweep away the weak hut itself, which very likely would have happened, had we not combined our strength and managed to hold i68 THE GALLEY-SLAVE the door in its place. The rain came down in tor- rents, the wind shrieked, and the lightning flashes W'ere almost blinding, while the thunder roared in- cessantly. We heard the crashing of trees, and it seemed that the whole forest of pines would be swept away. The gully which Fedele and I had crossed the day before was now a raging torrent. But as suddenly as the storm had come, it passed away. Had it been of an hour's duration it is probable we should have perished, carried away by the torrent. As soon as the storm stopped, the door was opened and we saw about us a scene of devastation, for some of the trees had been up- rooted and others broken by the gale. The water in the gully was not more than ten feet from us. As it was growing dark we repaired the door of the hut, which had been damaged by the force of the wind, and closing it we fell upon our knees to thank our Father in Heaven. While we were pray- ing, Fedele seemed to be greatly excited and barked furiously. The hermit told the dog to keep quiet. But at the same time we heard a human voice out- side the cabin imploring help. It sounded as though it came from some person in great distress. The door was immediately opened, and out rushed Fedele. We followed him, and a short distance away we found a man prostrate on the ground. He seemed to be in a dying condition, but we managed to lift him into the cabin and laid him on the floor. The hermit made an examination of the injured IN THE MAREMME 169 man, and found that his chest was crushed in. There was no doubt that the poor fellow would soon die. Stimulants revived him and gave him some strength, so that he was able to open his eyes and smile on us. As soon as he could speak, he said, " I am a pilgrim from Naples. My name is Antonio Malafronte. I was on my way to the Madonna of Montenero, and when the storm came I was at the beginning of the path which leads to this cabin. I read the words upon the sign and made haste towards this place. I ran at full speed, as I saw that the storm would be irresistible. I had not covered half the distance when I was struck by a falling tree and pinned to the earth. I felt as though my ribs were broken and my chest crushed. I knew I could not last long and struggled desperately to free myself, even though every move- ment caused me intense pain. I succeeded, and as well as I could made my way to this cabin. Here I am before this man of God to whom I wish to make confession of all my sins." But at this point the poor man became so exhausted that he had to stop. More stimulant was given him, and he was enabled to proceed. He said, " Padre Eremita, I am a great sinner. In my life I have committed many grievous sins, some of them horrible crimes. I have murdered two innocent children, and my soul is stained with their blood. I was about to murder a third when divine Providence interfered. This led me to see how great was my guilt before I70 THE GALLEY-SLAVE God, and how horrible were my crimes. I was a soldier under King Bomba of Naples, and was in Rome in the summer of 1849 " At these words I began to feel alarmed, I looked intently at the man, but his face was so bruised and so covered with blood that I could not tell if I had ever seen him before. I listened most earnestly to his narrative. He continued : " The Holy Father had been driven from St. Peter's chair by the rebels. When we entered the city I was doing duty with some of my men as patrol in the Piazza del Popolo." When I heard these words, my feelings can be better imagined than described. I knew what was coming next, for the man said, " We came upon a boy who wore the hated Garibaldi red shirt. He carried on his arm a drum which he seemed to prize very highly. I seized it and with my foot smashed it to pieces. Then I laid hands upon the boy, and as I did so he seemed to know that I was about to take his life, for he knelt down and said, ' Maria Santissima, have mercy upon this man, for he belongs to that class of unmerciful beings who murdered thy Son Jesus and nailed Him upon the cross. Oh, Madre Santa, he is going to murder me, for I see it in his eyes.' Then he stood up and looked at my hands, and saw them stained with blood. Then he fastened his eyes full of fire into mine, and cried out, * Thou art the assassino dei bambini* (the murderer of children). That voice and those words have followed me for more than IN THE MAREMME 171 three years. I hear them now; I see that boy stand- ing before me with his black curly hair, and with his beautiful sweet voice, crying out, * Assassino dei bambini ! ' " I have fought bravely to erase from my memory that boy as he stood before me in the Piazza del Popolo. Oh! how I wanted to forget his words. How hard I have struggled to blot out of my mind the prayer that he there offered. But all, all in vain. I have gone to church to pray for forgive- ness and peace, but as I stood at the entrance of the sacred temple, I seemed to see written over the entrance in letters of blood, ' L' assassino dei bam- bini.' Then in despair I would flee away, and while walking along the country roads I would come to a place where stood the cross with the infant Saviour on it, I would kneel before it, but as I looked up to the Christ, I seemed to see the blood flowing from His hands and feet, forming itself into the words, ' L' assassino dei bambini.' At night I could not rest, for as I laid down on my bed I seemed to see children dressed in white, holding up over me their pure and innocent hands and, as they passed by, saying ' L' assassino dei bambini.' At times I felt as if I should go mad. I wanted to die, but I was afraid to die without forgiveness. Oh! the thought is horrible that I should be sent to the ' Inferno ' for all eternity. Padre Eremita, for years I have had no peace. I have suffered the agonies of hell. Padre, is there any forgive- 172 THE GALLEY-SLAVE ness for me? Oh! speak, speak absolution to my guilty soul ! " He closed his eyes, and we tliought that he was dead. How I wished that I had spoken to him to say, " I forgive you." But I dared not reveal myself, as I knew full well that the hermit was an enemy of the great Garibaldi, for when his name was mentioned the padre crossed himself. Then the man spoke again in a very feeble voice and said, " Padre, I was told by a good man that if I would make a pilgrimage to the Madonna of Montenero, I should find rest, but no rest has come to my soul. Padre, pronounce the words of absolution, and I shall die a peaceful death." The good hermit went through the ceremony of giving absolution to the dying. But there was no sign of peace on the man's face. After a while he exclaimed, " He belongs to the same class of men who murdered thy Son Jesus Christ." Then he paused, but soon raised his head and looked straight at me for a moment. I felt uneasy. I feared that he might tell my story, but he dropped his head, closed his eyes, and breathed his last. I prayed in my heart, " God have mercy and save his soul." It is said that before the soul leaves the body all things done in life are in a moment's time brought in review before the mind, and that may have been his experience. The above coincidence was strange indeed. Therefore, at this point we will note an important IN THE MAREMME 173 fact. At the period of our story pilgrimages were regarded as special means of grace for men whose consciences were troubled on account of some great sin or crime, and to secure peace of mind they were often advised to make pilgrimages to some holy and miraculous shrine. At that time a shrine near the city of Leghorn, dedicated to the Madonna di Montenero, had gained much fame throughout Italy by the wonderful miracles there said to be per- formed. So during the spring of that year pil- grims in great numbers flocked to Leghorn from all parts of the country. The duty of forsaking the world was proclaimed from all pulpits of the Catholic Church, the preachers painting in high colours the religious ben- efits gained by leading a life of solitude. Convents were crowded with religious men, and, as there was no room in them for others, many would lead the solitary life of a hermit. Hermits were to be found in many desolate places. They stationed themselves either on the mountains or in the desert, away from all habitations, and especially where it was known that pilgrims would pass. Mala f route, the wicked man just gone to his reward, had been touched and his conscience awakened by the simple prayer of a child. Realizing the guilt of his many crimes he sought peace by becoming a pilgrim, with his mind bordering on religious insanity. Hence the strange meeting in the Maremma. In the morning the hermit told me that, as I was 174 THE GALLEY-SLAVE anxious to go on to Leghorn, I had better start then, for he would be obliged to go to the town of Salonica, about three miles distant, to inform the questore of the man's death, and if I were found present I might possibly be detained as witness, and thus delayed for several days. So I took my farewell of the good man. After some difficulty, I succeeded in getting to the main road, for the way was literally blocked with fallen trees. It was fortunate that I was not obliged to cross the gully, for that was still a foaming torrent. The road also was almost im- passable on account of the wreckage of the storm. As I travelled I passed many villas and met many people, had a ride for ten miles on a cart, and in the course of two days reached Leghorn. There was no trouble in finding the brigantine Balena, and I was received by Captain Costa most kindly, and installed in the ship as cabin-boy. We stayed some ten days longer in Leghorn, and on the 25th of May, 1855, sailed for America. It was sad indeed to leave my native country with- out seeing my parents, or being able to write them a word. But so it was to be. I had been thoroughly trained by sad experience to take things as God ordained them. • Soon I made myself useful to the captain of the vessel and to all on board. I sang to them when we had no duties to perform. The first mate was my best friend. He took a deep interest in me, and when he learned that I could IN THE MAREMME 175 not read or write he set himself to teach me those important arts. By the time we arrived I could both read and write fairly well. Our voyage was pleasant, and on the 14th of July, 1855, we landed at the port of New York.» As we passed through the Narrows and saw the beauties of the bay, the multitude of ships with their sailors, and the fine villas along the shores which were teeming with people full of life and activity, I realized that I was indeed in the New World. We soon made fast at a pier on the Brooklyn side of the harbour, and I stepped on the shore of America ! - PART III o A Herald of the Cross in America and Italy CHAPTER XI THE LAND OF THE FREE I REMAINED on the Balcna a week after its arrival, during which time I helped the sailors unload the vessel. Plans were made at the end of the week to take me to a place where immi- grants were received. Meanwhile I had a talk with the first mate as to what I could do for a living. The mate suggested that, as I had a good voice, I should go about the streets of New York singing some of my Italian songs, for in this way I could realize considerable money by passing my hat among the crowd. " Comb your hair nicely," said the mate, " and let your curly hair hang down loosely upon your shoulders. Your coat of frustagno looks well enough. When you have made a little money get a new pair of shoes, with some fancy things to put round your neck, and you will make a pretty pic- ture that will charm the young ladies of the city." I liked his plan, for I loved to sing; but there was one thing in it very hard for me to do, and that was to pass my hat around for money. Still I must do something until I had learned the language. During the week I stayed on the Balena, I had 179 i8o IN ITALY AND AMERICA learned one of the most common phrases in the English language, " Hurry up ! " for while I was at work unloading the ship the sailors used that ex- pression so often that I could not help but remember it. I got the idea that " hurry up " would express almost everything in English. One night while in my bunk I heard one of the sailors say to another in Italian, " Stop your infernal snoring," and, in English, "hurry up!" These words seemed to have a magic power over the snorer, for no sooner were they spoken than the snoring ceased, and I thought that if saying "hurry up " had the power to stop that noise, the words must be able to accom- plish almost anything else. By making too free use of the expression it afterwards led me into no little trouble. On the morning of July 21st I was put into a dory belonging to the ship and taken to Castle Garden. When at the entrance the sailor who rowed me said, '* Go through that door, for that is the entrance into the New World. Hurry up, and good-bye," and then returned to the ship. I was rather dazed, and did not know what to do. There I stood contemplating the doorman, and thinking what I could say if any questions were asked me. The functionary who stood there in Uncle Sam's stead to welcome immigrants into the land of the free, seeing that I did not move, said in a rough manner, " Hurry up ! " and three other words which I did not understand. But I did THE LAND OF THE FREE i8i hasten through the -golden gate which admitted aliens into freedom. Then I was pointed by the doorkeeper to a bench, and supposed that I was told to sit down. There were many people in the large round hall, and several were sitting on the same bench with me. Although I sat there until sundown no one spoke to me. I felt sad and gloomy; besides, I was tormented by the pangs of hunger. Towards evening I saw that the people were all going away. I noticed a man who went about the room putting things to rights. This man came to me and said something which I did not understand. Then he took hold of the bench on which I was seated and tried to throw me from it, but I was strong and could not be unseated. When the man saw that he could not make me move, he shook his fist in my face and roared out, " Hurry up ! " At these words I jumped to my feet as though I had been shot, and made for the nearest open door. Before I got outside I looked back, and saw the man carrying away the bench, laughing heartily. It was the hour when people were hurrying home from shops, stores and factories. Crowds of men, women and children were seen going in all direc- tions, hustling against one another to make way through the throng. I could not understand what it meant; I had never seen such confusion, or heard such a hubbub. The sidewalks were a mass of human beings. The streets were so crowded with all kinds of vehicles that it was dangerous to cross i82 IN ITALY AND AMERICA them. In those days transit was either by omnibus or on foot. Much is said about the congested con- dition of the city at present, and the want of more transportation to carry people to their homes; but at that time the sidewalks on Broadway were almost as crowded all day long as the entrance to the Brooklyn Bridge is now during the rush hours. If the conditions of transit were to-day what they were then, it would take half the night for a broker in Wall Street to reach his mansion near Central Park. However, this is not a history of the city of New York, but the story of Tonio, Garibaldi's Drummer Boy, Tonio, the Galley-Slave, and An- tonio the Preacher. I was carried along by the crowd in spite of myself. I could not turn back, nor could I pass any one in front. I must go on, and on I went for two long hours. It was now quite dark, and the multitude had thinned out so that I could breathe more freely. I found myself on a broad thorough- fare which must have been Canal Street. I was walking leisurely along and came to a place where in a room I saw many tables, with people eating at them. When I saw this I felt like rushing in, for I had not tasted food since morning. As I looked I made up my mind that it was an osteria, or restaurant. I entered the room, and at a table where a number of men sat was a vacant chair. I sat down, waiting for results. As I sat there, a man came up to me and laid THE LAND OF THE FREE 183 before me a piece of pasteboard with many words printed on it which I could not read. I looked at the man and then at the pasteboard. I pointed to my mouth, and then to the pasteboard, meaning to ask, "Must I eat that?" Then I called the attention of the waiter to the many dishes on the table and said, "Ho fame" (I am hungry), and in a loud voice added, " Hurry up ! " At these words the waiter took hold of my coat by the collar, and was going to put me out of the door, saying several times, " Get out, get out ! " So I was able to add two more words to my English vocabulary. I faced the waiter and resisted him, which made him angry, and again he said, " Get out, hurry up ! " The scene was so ridiculous that it set all in the room to laughing. Finally a gentleman came up to the waiter, and said something which I did not understand, but I suppose told him what I wanted, for the waiter let me sit down at the table. He again shoved the pasteboard under my eyes and pointed with his finger to the things printed on it. I put two of my fingers into my mouth, and acted as if I would chew them, and said, "Hurry up, get out!" He did hurry up and soon came back with a plate full of beef stew. At the same time he held a twenty- five cent piece in his hand, and would not let me eat until I paid him a like piece of money, which I did, and was then permitted to eat in peace. I ate my beef stew with such gusto that those around i84 IN ITALY AND AMERICA must have seen that I was starving, for when I finished they filled my empty plate with pieces of beef and other articles from their own plates, and I ate until I could eat no more. I then said " Grazie " (thanks), bowed to them gracefully, and went out into the street. While tramping the sidewalks I was thinking where I should pass the night. The weather was quite hot, the sky clear and full of bright stars. I lay down upon the steps of a fine house, and, while I was wondering if those stars were the same I used to gaze at in Italy, some one from the win- dow hallooed " Get out ! " and I went. I walked on until I came to a narrow street where I saw many empty waggons on one side near the kerb, left there for the night. I thought I might use one of these for my resting-place. I climbed up into it, laid down upon the hard boards, and was soon sleep- ing peacefully. How long I slept I do not know, but it seemed a very short time, when I was awak- ened by a fearful racket, as though the powers of the infernal regions were holding carnival in the streets of the city. Men and women having on long white gowns were running hither and thither, mothers with babies in their arms, fathers carrying children on their shoulders, some entirely naked. Others were carrying bundles and trunks and other household goods, all screaming at the top of their voices one word which I had not yet fixed in my mind. The confusion and the shouts were inde- THE LAND OF THE FREE 185 scribable. Soon I heard the ringing of the church bells, and by and by I saw what seemed to be an army of men attired in rubber coats with a helmet of queer shape on their heads. At the head of this army were a few men on horseback, shouting instructions through a silver trumpet to the men who were dragging a peculiar looking vehicle, and crying " Hurry up ! " The vehicle looked like a bar- rel lying on four wheels, and from the centre of the barrel something arose which resembled a chimney, on the top of which was an eagle that seemed to be made of gold. Its wings were spread out and its bill was wide open, as if ready to shriek out, " Hurry up ! Hurry up ! " Under the eagle was a bell which some one was madly ringing. On each side of this queer barrel-shaped aiffair were poles about six feet long, lying lengthwise with it and fastened toi it in such a manner that it gave the vehicle the appearance of a cradle. Some leather coils, looking like black snakes, were attached to a part of the barrel. When the vehicle came to a stop men rushed to it, took hold of the poles, and at once were rocking the cradle furiously, shouting to each other, " Hurry up ! " The noise and confusion — who can describe it? Behind the funny looking vehicle, I saw waggons carrying long ladders, and at the head of each was a man with a trumpet shouting through it, ''Men, hurry up, hurry up!" This was fol- lowed by the word which had greeted my ears so i86 IN ITALY AND AMERICA often and of which I was now master, "Fire! fire ! " So, I had learned in one day three phrases, '" hurry up," " get out," and " fire." Soon the men with rubber coats and helmets came very near me and pushed my waggon out of the way to make room for the black snakes which they were now dragging along the street. One of the men took hold of an end of the coil, and I was surprised to see a stream of water coming out of it. He lifted the end of the coil and made the water go up to the roof of the next house from where I was. I did not know what it all meant, but soon the mystery was revealed, for I saw flames bursting from the windows of the top floor, and then from the win- dows of the second floor. I had never seen anything of the kind, and was enjoying the spectacle im- mensely. It amused me greatly to watch the fire- men; but while thus deeply interested one of the black snakes burst, and I was drenched from head to foot. I could not understand why the water was thrown on me, and I looked myself over to see if I were on fire. I soon realized that that was not the place for me, and so I jumped out of the waggon and ran down the street as fast as my legs would carry me. I did not stop to look back, for I had had all I wanted of that fire. After a while I came to an open place which looked like a park; for there were trees, flowers, plots of grass, and some big buildings around it. It was City Hall Park. While roaming about THE LAND OF THE FREE 187 there I found seats long enough for a man to he down on and sleep. I thought I would make one of these seats my bed for the rest of the night. It was near daylight, but no sooner had I touched the bench than I fell into a sound, refreshing sleep. While thus sleeping I felt the blow of a heavy club on the soles of my feet. I must have jumped three feet into the air. When I came down and looked around, there before me stood a man with fiery red hair, and a nose redder than the hair. His eyes were blood-shot, his mouth was an exact type of the bully, and looked hard and cruel. The fellow was laughing at my trouble, and held the club in the air, ready to strike a second time. A crowd had by this time gathered around, all looking at me sympathetically. I did not know how to take the insult, so I spit out what English I knew, and said, " Hurry up, get out, fire ! " At hearing these words the bully struck me again. As I fell to the ground, I heard a murmur from the crowd and knew nothing more. When I came to myself I was in a large room, where there were a number of men all dressed in blue coats of blouse shape, blue trousers and leather helmets. A man in citizen's clothes stood by me. He had a kind and sympathetic face, and was working over me. I guessed him to be a physician. My face was covered with perspiration, and it seemed to me that my shoulders must be broken. As I looked around and saw those police- men with the queer leather helmets, which gave i88 IN ITALY AND AMERICA them the name of " leather heads," I was reminded of the galley-slave drivers. They seemed unmerci- ful and looked hard. The only one in the room who had a kind face was the physician. In about two hours I was taken upstairs into a very large room, where there were many people. I was in court and before the judge. Anxious thoughts came to my mind just then. I feared it had been found out that I was a runaway galley- slave. I trembled at the idea of being sent back to Italy, yet I did not see how that could be, as my name was not known. When I entered Castle Garden no question had been asked. All I did was to stay on a bench until driven away. There were no stringent laws as to immigration in those days. Any one could come to America and be welcomed, even if he had been a galley-slave. Although now we have many laws on the subject, it is still easy for criminals to enter the United States. The great mistake is that the government looks for criminals among the steerage immigrants, whereas they oftener come as first-class passengers, and of these no questions are asked. I was worried because there was no one to de- fend me. I could not speak English, and knew that the man who arrested me would say the worst things against the prisoner. I was led before the judge, and the officer said to him certain things which I did not understand. In the meantime I made up my mind to defend myself by using the THE LAND OF THE FREE 189 few English words that I knew. The judge turned and looked at me kindly and began to ask ques- tions, probably as to my name and address, and where I came from. Then he paused and waited for an answer, but I opened not my mouth. I was simply looking around the room. The judge spoke again, this time in a rather stern manner; but as I did not understand what he said, I concluded it was time for me to make my defence, and, in an excited tone I shouted, " Hurry up ! Get out ! Fire ! " The effect was marvellous. The judge rose to his feet, and looked amazed. All in the room jumped up and made for the door, repeating the cry of " Fire ! " as they went. The policemen searched for the fire, and when they found none everybody in the room began to laugh except the judge, who took hold of a wooden hammer and rapped on the table several times. When order was restored I looked at the judge and saw that he was puzzled, not comprehending why I should say some words in English and yet not be able to understand what he said to me. He continued talking, and finally it came to my mind that he wanted to know my nationality, so I cried out, " Italiano," and those near the judge said, " Italian, Italian." Then the judge called an officer and gave him some instruction. The officer left the room, but in a few minutes returned, accom- panied by another man. When the newcomer stood before the judge he called him Signor Pasini. I 190 IN ITALY AND AMERICA knew at once that he was an Italian, and rushed up to him, threw my arms around him, and kissed him just as if he had been my own father. My eyes were filled with tears of joy, and I said, *' God has sent you to save and defend an innocent youth." Then the judge said, '' Signor Pasini, I have called you here to interpret for this young man, for he does not understand our language, and I want to do him justice. But before we proceed with the trial, ask him why he answered my questions in English as he did." I replied to the interpreter, " Because those words were the only ones I knew of the Eng- lish tongue, and I thought they could express almost anything in that language." Then the judge called the officer to state what the charges were against the prisoner. " Your Honour," said the officer, " sleeping in the park, re- sisting arrest, and using insulting words to an officer of the law." Then the judge turned to me and said, " What have you to say against these charges ? Guilty, or not guilty ? " As I was going to answer through the interpreter, " not guilty," the physician who had been with me all the time went up to the judge and said, " Your Honour, I was present when this boy was cruelly clubbed, and as an eyewitness I can give you a correct account of the shameful affair." The judge said, " Speak on." " This morning at about eight o'clock," said the gentleman, " I was crossing City Hall Park. I THE LAND OF THE FREE 191 saw this boy, the prisoner, sleeping on one of the benches along one of the walks in the park. At the same time I saw this officer on the opposite side walking on tiptoe towards the sleeping lad. When he got to where the lad was lying, the officer took his club and without saying a word struck a terrific blow on the soles of his feet. The boy jumped about three feet into the air, gave a scream of pain, and as he opened his eyes I noticed he was bewil- dered; but he faced the officer, who was standing before the youth and laughing at his misery. The lad stared at the officer and then said in English, " Hurry up, get out, fire ! " At these words the officer struck the boy with his club a second blow, which knocked him senseless to the ground. As a physician I ran to the spot. The officer told me I had no business to touch him, but he cooled down when he saw the crowd around and heard them cry out, * Shame, shame, lynch the brute ! ' I noticed that the crowd was pressing hard against the officer; therefore, fearing trouble of a serious nature, I stood up and said aloud, * I am a physician, and the boy is all right, for he is not seriously hurt. Will some one help me carry him to the nearest station house ? ' We brought the senseless lad there. As we laid him down he regained consciousness. I made an examination of his feet and shoulders, but found no bones broken. But the poor youth suffered much pain, and I gave him a stimulant which relieved his suffering. I stayed with him 192 IN ITALY AND AMERICA until he was brought before your Honour. There are three men in this court who are ready to testify to the truth of the facts I have stated. I have volunteered my testimony in this case because I know your Honour desires above all things to do justice, and because the boy is alone and feels that he has been unjustly dealt with. My office is at 95 John Street, this city." " I thank you, doctor," said the judge, " for your kindness. However, this case, which is a serious one, is out of my jurisdiction. It belongs to the district attorney, and he must settle it. My duty is to discharge the prisoner, and commit the officer to the city prison." Then I was told that I was free to go. I asked Signor Pasini to thank the court. The judge said, " It is very kind of you to think of returning thanks to the court, but I want you to understand that this is a free country, and that justice is dispensed to all alike. It makes me blush to think that an officer of the law should so forget himself as to commit such an outrage and thus disgrace our land, as well as break the laws we are trying to uphold. Mr. Pasini, please ask the young man if he has any friends in America, or any way by which he can make a living." I answered through the inter- preter, " I am alone, but if it is desired I can show this honourable court how I can make my liveli- hood." I then sang that beautiful patriotic song, " Voi Regina delle Genti." When I got through THE LAND OF THE FREE 193 there was a shower of applause. The judge rapped for order, but I saw that he was pleased, and he said, " With such a voice there is no fear that the boy will starve or become a charge upon the govern- ment. Mr. Pasini, will you see to the lad ? I com- mend him to your kindness." " 1 will do my best," said the interpreter and we left the courtroom together. My introduction into free America was peculiar, and entirely contrary to the expected spirit of free- dom. I could not understand how a country which did not even allow men to sleep peacefully could be called the Land of the Free. Not only that, but how can it be the Home of the Brave when a fellow- being is unjustly clubbed in a cowardly and brutal manner ? CHAPTER XII THE GREATER LIBERTY MR. PASINI kept a plaster of Paris orna- mental store at 345 Broadway, and made statuary of that material. Hence his place was a kind of rendezvous for the few Italians who were then in New York. The Italian colony could not have contained more than three hundred of the sons of Italy. The greater part of these were plaster of Paris toy vendors, or were employed in this kind of ornamental work. This gave me a splendid opportunity to become acquainted with my countrymen. I sang several times in the Pasini establishment, and all agreed that I could make money by the use of my voice on the streets. There were few street musicians in the city at that time, but to go about singing and then pass my hat was utterly repulsive to me. I could not bear to be classed among mendicants. " Let me work," I would say to my friends, " and earn my bread by the sweat of my brow and I shall be content. Music is the ruling passion of my nature, but street singing and being paid by charity is opposed to my idea of an honourable living. God has not given 194 THE GREATER LIBERTY 195 me this voice to encourage mendicancy, but to lead my fellow-countrymen to a better way of self- support." Some thought that my being unable to speak the language of the country was against me, and they could not see what else I could do but sing on the streets. However, . it was suggested by others that as I was young and strong, I might associate myself with some of the plaster of Paris toy ven- dors, and thus be able honestly to make a living. I liked the idea, for that would throw me entirely among English-speaking people, and hence I would have a better chance to learn the language. So I became a vendor of the beautiful. During those days the American people, espe- cially those living in the country, had but a faint idea of ornamentation. Their homes contained little to beautify them. In their parlours almost nothing of an ornamental nature was to be seen, except some articles of necessary furniture, and I saw my opportunity. Whenever I went into a home and saw no ornaments of any kind on the mantlepiece, I would put on it some of my plaster of Paris works, perhaps a flower-pot in the centre, and on each side of this statuettes and other artistic objects. The household would be delighted, the children would shout for pleasure, and all would say, " How beauti- ful it makes the room look ! " I discovered that I was doing a work which tended to diffuse among the people a love for the beautiful and a desire to 196 IN ITALY AND AMERICA embellish their homes; and not only this, but the plaster of Paris toys would gladden the hearts of the little ones. The children would dance at the sight of these simple playthings. It made me for- get the hardships I endured in tramping from place to place, sometimes walking from twenty to forty miles a day in a country which was then thinly settled and with bad roads, fording streams and carrying a load of these toys from fifty to seventy pounds in weight. At times I went all day with- out anything to eat, and then slept in the open air. Yet I was well repaid when I saw the pleasure which my presence and the toys gave the children. Families then generally lived in log cabins, for most of my time in this business was spent in western Illinois and Iowa. Some had an idea that the work of selling plaster of Paris toys was degrading; but my experience tells me that it was both honourable and useful. In this spirit a partnership was soon formed between myself and three of my countrymen to enter heart- ily into the business, each to have an equal share of the profits. We went from New York City to Mansfield, Ohio, where we opened a small store and sold toys and ornamental works. In the meantime I had written to my parents of my escape, and my arrival in free America. This news greatly cheered the heart of my dear mother, who had believed that I was dead, for no news of me had been carried to my parents for over two THE GREATER LIBERTY 197 years. They had not been notified of my escape, although strange men had been to Barga to make inquiry about me. My father suspected that they were spies. One thing now prevented my mother from being completely happy, and this was that so long as the ruling government existed I could not return to my native land, for I was a proscript. But I firmly believed that the happy day was not far distant when w^e should see a united Italy, free and powerful. This was accomplished, thanks to a merciful God, in 1870, when the Papacy as a tem- poral power w^as utterly destroyed, with its galley- slave system and its Galera. In Mansfield we did at first a flourishing business. As the town was small we soon supplied all the homes with the beautiful in our line. Then each of us would take a load of these toys and go out into the country. We found good customers among the farmers. I would go to a house and cry out, " Figurine belle, very cheap ! " and as these two words were about all I could say in English I would stay until the people bought something. They talked to me in English, and sometimes would get angry, but, as I did not understand them, I would not move an inch. So they had to buy something to get rid of me. I w-as sorry when I had learned the language, because I could not do so well in my business. Once I had quite an experience when night came on. I did not know how to ask for a night's lodg- 198 IN ITALY AND AMERICA ing. It was growing dark when in the distance I saw a log cabin with a porch before it, and seated on this porch were several persons, among them three young ladies. Evidently they had been work- ing all day and were now enjoying the evening breeze. I made up my mind that I would ask in Italian, in a very polite manner, for a night's lodg- ing. As I came to the cabin I laid down my load of toys, and by way of introduction I said, " Figurine belle, very cheap." They all shook their heads and said, " No." Then, not knowing how to make my wants understood, I thought of the following plan. As there was space enough on the porch floor, I laid down and stretched myself at full length; then, closing my eyes, I snored as loud as I could, be- lieving that by my so doing they would under- stand what I wanted. When I put the thought into action, and they saw me in that position and heard me snore, they burst into a hearty laugh. The young ladies ran into the house, laughing loudly. It was indeed a scene to cause even a judge on the bench to smile. When I got up I saw that I was not fully understood; so I closed my eyes again and pointed to the house. Finally my actions were comprehended, for my load of toys was taken inside the cabin, a chair was given me, and I sat down on the porch with the rest. I thought that a song would please them and gain their good will. So, while they were talking and still laughing, I broke out in singing that THE GREATER LIBERTY 199 beautiful song, *' Ronclinella pellegrina " (The Pil- grim Swallow). At the first note there was perfect silence, and when I got through they all came around me and gave me a hearty shake of the hand. I was taken inside the cabin and made to sit down, for the first time in my life, at an American table. I had never shared American hospitality, and I found it as profuse as the country is great, and as sincere as big hearts could make manifest. That table was covered with everything imaginable. There were set before me all kinds of preserves, blackberries, strawberries, raspberries, currants, apple butter, peaches, pears, plums, and I know not what else. Meats there were of various kinds, hot biscuits, cakes, milk, butter, cheese, eggs (not cooked, however, in hot ashes), and everything an American palate could wish. The young ladies did not eat till I was helped, for they were bent on serv- ing me, and they kept my plate full of the good things. After supper we went again on the porch, and had not been sitting there half an hour when two of the young men who had been present when I sang, came back, accompanied by a number of farmers, old and young. I could not make out where all these people had come from, for I did not see any habitations around. I was asked to sing again, and sang, " The Flower Girl of Borgo Pitti," which delighted those kind-hearted people. The load of toys was again brought out to the porch. 200 IN ITALY AND AMERICA and every piece I had was sold. I sang once more, and those who had come returned to their homes. Then I was taken by one of the young men to a small room where there was a neat, clean bed, and I was soon sleeping soundly. In the morning I was called to breakfast, but none were there except the housekeeper and the three young ladies. After breakfast one of the young ladies gave me a pen and made signs for me to write. So I wrote my full name and that of the town of Barga. I then took leave of these kind-hearted people and re- turned to Mansfield with my pockets full of money. Thus my first journey's experience ended in the pleasant and profitable occupation of educating people to appreciate the beautiful in art, even if its form came in the material of plaster of Paris. We stayed in that town a few weeks longer, then moved farther west, and afterwards kept moving in the same manner until we reached Des Moines, Iowa, which was at that time a place of but two thousand inhabitants. It was while in this town that for the first time in my life I entered a Protestant church. It was Sunday evening, and passing a frame building I saw people entering it, and thought that it might be a concert hall, for it did not look like a church. Had I known that it was a Protestant church no amount of money would have induced me to enter. As I stood before the door and heard the people sing, I walked in and took a seat. After a few THE GREATER LIBERTY 20i minutes a man stood up and read from a large book. He stopped reading, repeated several times the words, " I am the bread of life," and then began to talk about them. I understood much that he said, for it was a sermon about Christ as the true bread of life. When I made inquiry I was told that it was a Methodist church, and I trembled at tlie thought that I had committed a tnortal sin, for this I had been taught to believe would be the fact if I should enter a Protestant church. When the service was over I skipped out of the building with a guilty conscience, saying to myself, "After this I will see to it that the devil shall not lead me again into that trap." We soon moved to Fairfield, Iowa, and while there we gave up the business of selling plaster of Paris images, and established a meat market. This town is to me more interesting than any other in the world, for here I was made a new man in Christ Jesus. Fairfield was then the terminus of the Bur- lington Railroad. It was alive with business. The hotels and boarding houses were crowded and there was a large force of men working on the railroad. We had several thousand dollars which we had made in our former occupation and so could buy cattle for cash, and sell the meat on credit. As long as the money lasted, we had a heavy trade, but when we came to collect our bills we found it hard work, and could not get enough money to keep up the business. In less than a year we failed, and 202 IN ITALY AND AMERICA lost nearly all we had. We had nearly four thou- sand dollars when we went into the meat market; when we settled our accounts the amount that came to me was only $172.00. However, I fully believe that it was so ordained that I might be led into the Christian ministry, to which God had called me from the beginning. In fact everything that has happened in my life, sad, hard, or pleasing, tends to show how divine Providence brought me into the blessed service of preaching the Gospel to my dear countrymen. When we came to Fairfield, as I now spoke and understood English pretty well, it was decided that I should stay in the meat market and wait on cus- tomers. This enabled me to become acquainted with many people. My most intimate friend was Cyrus E. Carpenter, a harness maker, with whom I lodged in Fairfield. I used to call him Simon the Tanner, with whom the Apostle Peter lodged in Joppa, for, like Simon, he was full of Christian zeal, hospital- ity, and in all he said, he exemplified the spirit of his Master and Saviour. The only thing that made me shy of him was that he belonged to the hated sect of Protestants. What made me specially like him was his beautiful voice. He sang most sweetly tlie hymns of his church. We soon loved each other like brothers, and became inseparable. He was one of those Christians who are full of re- ligious zeal bordering on asceticism, yet he was very prudent in talking to me about religion. He did THE GREATER LIBERTY 203 not bring up the subject unless the occasion was opportune, or I had spoken of it myself. It so happened that in the Methodist church, under the pastorate of the Rev. Peter Halzinser, there was a powerful revival of the grace of God. My friend, who was a member of that church, would tell me of the wonderful conversions that took place, how some men who were slaves to strong drink, and because of it would neglect their families, had be- come sober, and provided well for their wives and children; and how some who were in the habit of making free use of profane language had been re- formed. This touched me in a very tender spot, for, I am sorry to say, I was like most foreigners who come to America, since among the first words they acquire of the English language are profanity and coarse speech. As I listened to him I began to wish that he would invite me to attend the revival meetings. Once when he returned from the church I said, " Brother Simon, what should I do to get religion? " The answer was brief but to the point. He said, *' Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ, and thou shalt be saved," and added, " If you had been at church to-night you would have heard a great discourse. Our pastor preached a wonderful ser- mon on Christ as our Great High Priest, to whom we should make confession of our sins." " What! " I said, " do you have a priest in your church to whom you confess? " " Certainly," was the reply, " we have Jesus Christ as our High Priest, and He 204 IN ITALY AND A^IERICA is the only priest to whom confession is to be made." This made a profound impression upon me. I had not " confessed " since I left the Galera, where we were compelled to confess to the chaplain once a month. Therefore I felt the need of real con- fession. So on that night I began to examine myself, and soon saw that my sins were so numer- ous that I could not recall them all to mind. I felt that I could not wait any longer, and the next night determined to go to church with my friend. When evening came I said, " My dear brother, I should like to go to your church." " Oh ! I shall be delighted to have you go with me," was the reply, and we went there together. My friend wished me to go to the front part of the church, but as I was a stranger I preferred to sit near the door. So he left me there and went to sit near the pulpit. While I sat there I was charmed with the impressive singing of the congregation. I had never heard hymns sung with such spirit and with such earnest feeling as by that large congrega- tion. It fairly made the large building tremble. Such singing is not to be heard in many Methodist churches to-day, either with or without a vested choir. The pastor preached a second sermon upon Christ as our High Priest and at the close invited all who felt the need of absolution to come to the altar and pray to Christ. I knew what " absolu- tion " meant, for that was the word used by Italian THE GREATER LIBERTY 205 priests at the end of the confession, and as I saw my friend coming to me, I said, " Dear Simon, I would like to make a confession to the Great His:h Priest, about whom I have heard so much to-night." " Praise be to God! " said he; " come with me." When we arrived in front of the altar, I saw before it a long seat called the " mourner's bench," a thing which has practically ceased to exist in the church. Of course I knew of no other way by which I could make confession to the invisible High Priest, but to do as when I confessed to the priest. That is, I must acknowledge the particular sin I had committed, and state, as near as I could re- member, the number of times it had been committed by me. HI had used any sinful word, I was to repeat the same, for I had an impression that the Great High Priest must be somewhere near so that He could hear me. I knelt, therefore, at that bench where there were already many penitents, and I began in a loud voice to repeat all the profane words I had said. Those around me were greatly scandal- ized to see a man kneel there and make use of such language, and they looked at me in great surprise. However, when I said loud enough to be heard all over the church, " I have said more than fifty times. Go to the devil ! " a man with snow-white, flowing beard laid his hands upon my shoulders and said, " Young man, why do you use such language in the house of God? You must stop that at once, or I shall have to put you out." 2o6 IN ITALY AND AMERICA I looked up at him, astonished that he should interrupt me in my confession, and said, " I am making confession." " Oh," he said quickly, " I see. You are a Roman Catholic. I was one myself, and used to make confession much as you are doing; but I have learned that God knows all things, and knows how many sins we have committed. All he wants us to do is to repent. I believe now that it is an insult to God to tell Him our sins one by one, for in so doing we deny one of His great attributes, His omniscience." I saw at once that the oral confession to the priest was, often at least, nothing but mockery to God. While " Father Wilson " was thus reasoning with me my friend came up, and asked me how I felt. I answered, " All right, thank God." Then he said, " Blessed be God ! You have got religion ; stand up and praise God." I did as I was told. While I stood I began to do what I saw others doing. I threw my arms this way and that, shout- ing at the same time, " Glory to God ! Hallelujah ! " My friend grew very much excited, and could not control his feelings. He believed that I was truly converted, and his emotion was so great that he soon began to throw up his arms and clap his hands. A tremor passed over his frame, and then he fell down upon the floor like one dead. When I saw that, I ceased shouting, for I was afraid that I might get into the same condition myself. It took all the shouting tendency out of me. I asked if my THE GREATER LIBERTY 207 friend was dead, and was told that he had been overpowered by the Holy Ghost, that he had simply gone into a trance, and that he would soon come to himself again. We watched around him for about two hours, when with a shout he stood up, and said, " Glory to God ! " All repeated the same expression, and then we went home. He never re- ferred to what had happened, but that night Simon talked to me simply, and in a way that made me feel what it is to be a Christian. I was led in an intelligent manner to realize my real condition before God. I saw how without reason I had offended a just and perfectly pure God. I felt that I w^as lost and undone, and, by what my friend said, was led to believe upon Christ as my Saviour and my all. As I threw myself on the mercies of God and accepted Jesus as my Great High Priest who had given His life to save me, oh, what sweet peace came to my troubled heart! Joy like a river flowed into my redeemed soul. It seemed as if everything around me had been trans- formed into all that was pure and angelic. The happiness of that moment will never, never be for- gotten. The first thought that came to my mind, as soon as I realized the great change through which I had passed, was of my dear parents. How I wished that my dear mother could experience the same happiness; and the second thought was that I must prepare myself to go back to my native land 2o8 IN ITALY AND AMERICA and preach the Gospel to my people. At the time of my conversion, in 1858, Italy was closed to the Bible. It was just then that the Madai family in Florence were put into prison because a little Bible was found in their home. Preaching the Gospel, as well as reading the Bible, was then prohibited by law. But I felt that soon the day would come when we should have a free and united Italy, and that, by the time the door would open and religious freedom be enjoyed by all the people of that land, I should be prepared to preach. In 1870, just as I graduated from the Boston Seminary, the army of Victor Immanuel made a breach in the Porta Pia and entered the Eternal City. Thus the temporal power of the Pope was crushed, never again to disgrace civilization. The Almighty had willed that the Iowa Annual Conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church should meet that very fall in the town of Fairfield. I believe it was so ordained that the way might be opened for me to prepare for the Christian ministry. It is customary for every Annual Conference of that Church to have a " love feast " on Sunday during its session, which service is open to every- body. I was present at it, and at a certain point I stood up before that body of more than two hun- dred Christian ministers, and in a simple way gave the history of my conversion. In closing I said, " Brethren, I feel that God has called me to go back to my native land to preach to my people THE GREATER LIBERTY 209 Christ, and Christ crucified for our sins." There was great shouting all over the church, and every- where the expression, " Glory to God ! Hallelujah ! " was heard. I continued, " Brethren, you all know that to-day Italy is closed to the preaching of the Gospel, but I predict that the time is soon coming when we shall have religious toleration in that land; yes, when we shall have an Italian Conference of the Methodist Church with sessions held under the eaves of the Vatican, and I shall be a member of that Conference." The people could no longer keep back their pent-up feeling. It burst forth like a storm. The preachers jumped to their feet all over the house. Nothing else could be heard for more than a few minutes but the shouts, "Amen, hal- lelujah! glory to our great Master, the Lord Jesus Christ!" It was said afterwards that the Con- ference had been set on fire with religious zeal by this incident. At the close of the service a venerable man came up to me with eyes still wet with tears of joy, and said, " My dear brother, I am most happy to meet you. I am not an Italian, but I love Italy dearly, and have often prayed that God would open the way for the Gospel to be proclaimed in that beauti- ful land. Since I heard you speak, I believe that you have been called to the Christian ministry, and to carry the good news to your own people. I am an Irishman, and I have been like yourself a Roman Catholic, but now I enjoy this free religion, and 2IO IN ITALY AND AMERICA hold the true Christian faith. I am the president of the Iowa Wesleyan University at Mt. Pleasant. Our school opens Monday of next week. I should be glad to have you come, and we will do all we can to help you prepare for your future work." The speaker was the Rev. Charles Elliott, D.D., LL.D., author of " Delineations of Roman Catholi- cism." Arrangements were made for me to go to Mt. Pleasant at once. The only drawback was that I must leave my good brother who had led me to Christ. I am no prophet, but all that I predicted at that love feast came true. Not only an Italian Methodist Episcopal Conference was organized in Rome, but in that very city I was ordained to the Christian ministry by that noble servant of the Lord, Bishop Matthew Simpson, and was probably the first Prot- estant minister ever ordained in the city of Rome. God be praised for His great mercy and loving kindness ! CHAPTER XIII THE STUDENT 1WAS converted during the winter of 1858, and in the fall of the same year entered the Iowa Wesleyan University. My education having been sadly neglected, all that I claimed to know was how to read and write my own language, and some- thing of English. Now began my struggle to climb the hill of learning. Poverty beset me on every side, for all the money I had when I entered college was $65.75, ^ small sum with which to pursue a course ot studies for eight years. But my faith in God made me feel confident that in some way or other I would be provided with all things needed. When I went to Mt. Pleasant the first thing I did was to find a room in which to study and make my home. Over a grocery store not far from the college was a garret room which I rented, paying two dollars a month. So for room rent and all fur- nishings, I spent $12.15. For three months I lived " the simple life," which no man would care to live in this age of high living. My breakfast was bread and milk, minus butter; dinner, bread and boiled potatoes with salt; supper, bread and water, as I 212 IN ITALY AND AMERICA could not afford to have milk twice a day. So I lived the real simple life, and so simple it was, that I slept well, and was never troubled with the nightmare. When thus settled I began to study. First came English grammar, that I might become better ac- quainted with the English language. My studies here were all of a preparatory nature. The needed books were provided free by the college, and so was my tuition. I was very ambitious and studied hard, even going beyond my strength. The difficulties were indeed great. However, "where there ii a will there is a way." I had the will and Christ Jesus opened my way. Whether it was because of hard study or the poor food one day I began to feel very dizzy, and when I went home I threw myself down on my bed of straw. Next morning I made an attempt to rise, but, as I did so, everything about the room seemed to whirl and I fell upon the bed. I lay there for a long time, unable to move, or hardly to lift my hand. It was growing dark, there was no fire in the stove, and it was quite cold. I was able to draw up my overcoat, although soon I did not feel the cold. I felt as if on fire. Before long the grocer closed his store and went home. I was alone in the little building. How I dreaded to pass the long hours of the night in that cheerless room; all around me was still as death. If there had been a clock so I could hear it tick, or if little mice were running about the floor, it would have brought comfort to my desolate heart. THE STUDENT 213 There was no fire, no light; only the reflection of the white snow outside faintly illumined the place. It was mid-winter and very cold, but I did not know it, for I was burning with high fever. Oh ! how I prayed for the precious and blessed daylight to come. At last the grocer came and opened the store. I could hear him from the garret room, and tried to make some sound that he would hear, but that horrid dizziness prevented. There I lay alone for two long days on that bed suffering and restless. I said to myself, " Must this be the end of my great desire to preach the good news of salvation to my own people? Am I to die here? Oh! blessed Master, Thou hast called me, Thou hast been very kind to me, for Thou hast spoken peace to my troubled heart: Thy will be done." It was growing dark again, and I dreaded unspeakably to pass another night in that condition. " God, be merciful ! " I said, and, as I uttered these words, I heard the door of the garret room open and in walked a good friend and fellow-student. He asked what was the matter, but I was so ex- hausted that when I attempted to answer the dizzi- ness came on, and I knew nothing more until the next day, when I found myself in a beautiful room, on a nice, comfortable bed, surrounded by sympa- thizing friends. I had been carried to the home of a Mr. Gray near by. It seemed that one of the professors, having missed me for two days in the class, asked the students if any one had seen the 214 IN ITALY AND AMERICA student from Italy. No answer came, and tlien the professor asked Mr. Jacoby to call at my room, and see what was the cause of my absence. The latter at once saw my condition, went downstairs, told the grocer that he thought I w'as in a dying condition, and asked him to go quickly for a doctor. I was informed that the physician watched by my bed all night. When I regained consciousness there were three physicians present. On its becoming known in the town what had happened, many came with offers of help. In a few days, when taken back to my garret, there was a great surprise awaiting me. The walls of the room had been papered, a new stove had been bought, and a double bed was there. My kind classmate had become my room-mate. Carpet was on the floor, and plenty of dishes were in the cupboard, with everything to make that room comfortable. It looked beautiful in my eyes, and we spent many happy days in that garret room. After four weeks I was strong enough to go on with my studies. Also able to do jobs for the town folks, such as sawing and splitting wood, and whatsoever Providence would put into my hands. I had a standing job with the president of the col- lege. I was to go to his residence, clean his stable, attend to his horse, then to sit down at his table and have a good breakfast. Thus I was able to work out my education with fear and trembling. I believe that an education thus acquired is highly appreciated and its great value better understood. THE STUDENT 215 Yes ! with King David, I could say, " It is to be de- sired more than gold; yea, than much fine gold." The cause of my severe sickness was lack of proper nourishment. On the whole I made rapid progress in the study of English, and before the scholastic year closed I had begun the various studies for my preparation to enter college. From my frequently taking part in church meet- ings the officials saw that I could do good work as an evangelist. They came to the conclusion that if I attended the various camp meetings during the summer I might be useful, and at the same time receive help to enable me to continue my studies at the college the ensuing year. When the arrangements were made for Com- mencement day. President Elliott asked me if I would not make a speech in Italian. I said, " I will gladly do so, doctor," and so was called on at the right time in the programme. There was probably not a single person in the audience who understood a word I said. I spoke for about ten minutes, and by my enthusiastic delivery and the musical flow of the Italian language that great audience seemed spellbound. When I had finished my address, with- out any one suspecting what I was going to do, I broke out into an Italian song which set the assembly wild. It was the Garibaldi war song. I had no idea that the American people could be so easily moved, but when I got through the whole audience stood up and cheered and encored. I sat down, but 2i6 IN ITALY AND AMERICA all kept standing and applauding until I consented to sing the same melody again. Being then in the prime of youth my voice must have been at its best. At the close of the exercises I received a little too much Western handshaking, for my hand was swollen and sore after it. This was the first time I had sung before an American audience, and it 'made a real hit. Just then I received a letter which crushed me almost to the earth. It was from my dear parents. I had written them about the happy change wrought in my heart by the Spirit of God; how I had found the Saviour precious to my soul, and that Christ was my all and in all. My letter to them was full of good wishes, and expressed a strong desire that they also might enjoy the same blessing, and know the power of Christ to save from sin. My parents did not understand fully what I had written, so they carried the letter to their parish priest, who was none other than my old enemy, Gigi. Gigi and his mother never forgave me the humili- ation I had brought upon him and his family when he attempted to climb the Liberty pole and failed. My letter gave them an opportunity to be revenged. The mother of Gigi had predicted that I would become a Protestant, and her son a priest of the Holy Catholic Church, and so it had happened. When the priest read my letter to my parents, he fairly gloated over it. He threw it upon the floor, put his foot upon it, and said, " Do you not under- THE STUDENT 217 stand this letter? I fear not. I will tell you what it means. It says that your son, the galley-slave who ran away to America, has become what my mother predicted years ago, a Protestant, and is now a castaway from the Church, an excom- municated heretic, and forever lost." At these words my poor mother acted as if she would lose her reasoning and went about the house moan- ing, "My poor boy, he is lost; yes, forever lost. I shall never see him again in this world." Gigi added in a malignant tone of voice, " or in the world to come." He said to my parents, " It is your duty as faithful members of the Holy Catholic Church to heap maledictions upon your renegade son. He is no longer your son, but a heretic, and as such a child of the devil." Then, seeing that my mother was broken-hearted, the priest con- cluded, "But be of good courage; there is still hope; the Church has made provision to receive back into her fold any who sincerely recant the error of their way." Then he paused, and said: " Signor Notaro, it is your duty to do all in your power to win back the erring boy. Use your authority as his father; write him and entreat him for the sake of his sorrowing mother to come back to the religion in which he was baptized. In a case like this you have the right to use severe measures, yea, even to take his life." Just at this moment Gigi's mother came into the room. First, she looked 2i8 IN ITALY AND AMERICA at her son, saw tliat he was much excited, and noticed that under his foot was a letter. She said to him in a tone of command, " What is that thing on which you hold your foot?" The priest an- swered, " It is a letter from the heretic boy Tonio, the son of these dear people." Then the woman with a dry laugh snatched the letter from under the priest's foot, and holding it up cried out, " This is the fruit of your love for that renegade boy of yours. I knew from the beginning that he would end by giving his body to the heretics and his soul to the devil." Then she threw the letter at her feet, stamped on it three times like an enraged tiger, and said: "In the name of Mary, mother of God; in the name of Jesus, her beloved son; and in the name of God himself, may the head of that rebellious son of yours be crushed as I have trampled on this letter!" At these words my mother fled from the room, so shocked was she at the heartless language used by that woman, and at the hatred she manifested towards her child. When Gigi's mother saw how grieved my mother was, and how the tears poured down her cheeks, she said, " Signor Notaro, I sympathize with you in this great sorrow, and my son, I know, will do all he can to advise you how to win back your boy to our holy religion." Then she went away and Gigi urged my father THE STUDENT 219 to use his authority and compel the young man to recant. " He will have to do penance for a couple of years, but the Church will take him back," said the priest. My father went home and found mother incon- solable. He immediately wrote me a letter, part of which read as follows : " As we did not fully understand the purport of your letter we took it to our parish priest, whom you know. When he read it, the saddest news ever received in our lives was conveyed to us; that you, by forsaking our holy religion, had become a heretic, a castaway from the Church, and a vaga- bond in the world. He made us understand that, unless you recant the errors of your way, your soul is lost, forever lost. It almost broke the heart of your mother; we thought that she would lose her mind, for she went about the house moaning all the while, saying, ' My poor boy is lost. I shall never see him in this world, or the next ! ' Your mother has suffered agonies untold on your account. For what she has gone through heretofore you are not to be blamed ; but this time, you, and you alone, are the cause of our great sorrow. Now, for the sake of your mother who has idolized you, I com- mand you to come back into the bosom of the mother Church. It is your duty to obey. If you rebel against my authority, I have the right even to take your life. I must be obeyed, or else I shall go to 220 IN ITALY AND AMERICA the full extent of my power. I shall wait for your proper answer. Again, think that your disobedi- ence to the laws of our Holy Church has brought upon us this terrible sorrow which has crushed our hearts." As I read this I could not resist the feeling that I was the real cause of bringing so much pain to the heart of the kindest and most affectionate of mothers. How I wished I could have been there to tell her of the wonderful change wrought in my soul by the power of the Holy Spirit, and how happy I had been since I believed in Christ as my Saviour. I wTote a long letter to my parents full of love and kind thoughts. I explained to them that I not only believed in Christ, but I loved Him above all else, and that my service to Him came from the heart. I wrote also that I believed in Mary as the mother of our Lord, also that I now respected her as never before my conversion; for then, like most Italian Roman Catholics, I used to do what they did, repeating the vile words which I heard everywhere spoken against the mother of Jesus. They were such expressions that whenever I think of them, they cause me to blush; words which no decent man would utter against a woman of the street. The most common sin in Italy is the insulting language used about " La Madonna." Often had I heard Gigi, in our boyhood days when we were at play, make use of that too common expression in Italian, " P. O. R. C. A. Madonna," THE STUDENT 221 which is the result of having put the Virgin Mary upon the altar for the adoration of the people. My letter would have been a great comfort to my dear parents if Gigi had never seen it, for it was the priest who poisoned their minds with his falsehoods. It was he who prevailed on my father and mother to take the unnatural step to disinherit their child, for I was formally disowned at law for disobedience to the will of my parents, and also by the Church as a heretic. The ceremony of disinheritance in the Church was gone through with by Gigi, who had my par- ents stand up at the close of the service and repeat the following words : " In the name of the Holy Church we declare before this congregation that our son now in Amer- ica, having abjured our holy faith, no longer be- longs to our family and we regard him as dead and buried. We will never repeat his name, and we recall from him our affection. So God help us ! " In the centre of the church was a coffin surrounded with wax candles, and after the priest had read over it the burial ceremony of the Catholic Church, and sprinkled holy water upon it, four persons took it up and, followed by a large concourse of people, it was taken to the cemetery and interred. The coffin represented the disinherited son, and was typical of his banishment from his home and the fellowship of the church. For the legal disinheritance I cared little or 222 IN ITALY AND AMERICA nothing, but I did feel bitterly the banishment from parents and home. It almost broke my heart to think that my affectionate mother had barred me from her heart. In the Bible I read, " Children, obey your parents," and the words came with dread- ful force to me. But Christ seemed to stand before me and say, " Unless ye forsake father, mother, brother for my sake, ye are not worthy of me." I received strength from Him to bear the trial. The following lines were suggested at the time when this heavy trouble was laid upon me. A sweet melody was set to the words by a friend of mine. Professor Manelli, and published by Ditson & Com- pany. DISOWNED BY MY MOTHER. "When my father and my mother forsake me then the Lord will take me up." — Ps. 27 : 10. Twilight shades are deepening, mother, Glowing sunbeams swiftly flee, And the breeze is wafting, mother, Tender thoughts of Heaven and thee. Oh, how longs this heart, my mother, With its kindred ones to be In some vale of peace, dear mother, There to dream of Heaven and thee. Wandering now I weep, my mother. Since I roam disowned by thee ; Yet I trust, though distant, mother, Thou dost think of Heaven and me. From the hearth-stone banished, mother. For the Gospel full and free, Though thou wilt not own me, mother, Ever will I pray for thee. THE STUDENT 223 Thou art growing old, my mother; Let me take thee by the hand, Lead thee to the blest land, mother, Guide thee to its golden strand. No more sorrow there, dear mother, Tears shall never dim thine eye; Oh, I know thou'lt join me, mother, When life's storms are all gone by. This the thought that cheers me, mother, When our life on earth is past We may meet our dear ones, mother. In the bright, sweet land of rest. In this land of strangers, mother. Far from Italy and thee, Stronger grows my heart, dear mother. While I bend to pray for thee. I wrote these lines while in the schoolroom at Mt. Pleasant. My mother was ever in my mind and heart, and that day I could not set my thoughts upon the lesson. I could not constrain my mind to listen to the professor, and soon was thinking and writing of her. I kept on at this work, when the sonorous voice of Professor Spaulding greeted my ear, " Will our friend from Italy give us his atten- tion, and stop his writing. It is not very pleasant for the class and myself to see one of the scholars so forgetful of his teacher and his fellow-students." I had just begun the first line of the fifth verse when I was thus reproved. It knocked the inspira- tion out of me, and after that there was no more verse-writing. But as to my beloved parents, and especially my mother, I felt that she did not mean 224 IN ITALY AND AMERICA what she was compelled by the priest to say. I knew that she was my loving mother, still the same at heart. But I must speak of my summer work at camp meetings. Pastor Hare asked me to assist him at the district camp-meeting in Mt. Pleasant, in conducting prayer meetings, and also to watch the grounds and see that everything was done in a proper manner. I had never attended such a meet- ing, but soon got well acquainted with its methods. It was held in a grove about six miles from the town. People came in all kinds of vehicles, so that there was a large concourse of farmers dressed in every style and fashion. We had a great deal of religious excitement, many were converted, and there was a continued performance in the way of thanking the Lord and shouting His praises. One Sunday afternoon the ardour of the people was so great that many of those who " got religion " would jump to their feet, shouting and throwing their arms in every direction with great force. In going among the mourners I was struck on the head by a blow which almost knocked me down. I noticed a young lady and a young man near each other, wildly throwing their arms this way and that. I was afraid that some one might be hurt and so went up to the young man, called his attention to the young lady near him, and said, " Brother, see that girl how she throws her arms so violently in every direc- tion. I am afraid she will do some one harm. Will I THE STUDENT 225 you kindly go to her, and hold her hands so that she will not hit any one? No sooner had I said the words than the young man did as he was told, and they both seemed well pleased with the arrange- ment ! There was no more shouting on their part, but they kept as quiet as two contented little mice. I am no match-maker, but that young man and young woman became so well acquainted with each other that one day in the fall Pastor Hare called me to his house to be present at the wedding of a couple who desired that I should be there. What was my surprise to see the two young people about whom I have spoken above. Of course I could not marry them, for I was not yet ordained; but they divided the fee. Five dollars were given to Mr. Hare, and five to me. During my second year I succeeded in making ends meet by great economy and frugal living, and my progress in study was satisfactory to all con- cerned. By the time vacation came I had prepared a lecture on " Life in Italy " to deliver during vaca- tion. After that I had no more trouble in securing money enough to keep me in school throughout the year. I would sing during the lecture one or more songs in Italian and also in English, which made it interesting. The first time I delivered the lecture on " Life in Italy " was in the summer of i860 at Blooming- ton, Illinois. The following notice of the event was printed in the Bloomington Daily Tribune: 226 IN ITALY AND AMERICA " The audience last night at the Second Presby- terian Church, to hear Mr. Antonio Arrighi lecture on ' Life in Italy,' was composed of the most intel- ligent people of Bloomington and Normal. The house was literally packed, the gallery, isles and pulpit being filled." An interesting incident happened the day after my lecture. Abraham Lincoln, who had been nom- inated for the presidency of the United States, was in the city, and a friend insisted that I should make his acquaintance. I was introduced to Mr. Lincoln by my friend, and as I stood before him I felt that I was in the presence of a noble man and a true American. He said that he admired that hero of two worlds, Garibaldi, but he had great admira- tion also for Mazzini, and remarked, " Italy will never be great again unless united and one, but united upon the terms of Mazzini, ' a free Church in a free State.' " At the lecture there sat in the pulpit the pioneer hero of the Methodist Church, Peter Cartwright, who was then the presiding elder of the Jacksonville district. I was invited to go with him to the Jack- sonville camp meeting. I felt proud indeed to be in the company of the old warrior of Methodism, who had boldly fought against prevailing sin, and frankly condemned wrong of all sorts. On one occasion, while there were many penitents at the mourner's bench, a number of young ladies stood upon the benches which were used as seats, and were enjoy- THE STUDENT 227 ing themselves in a too lively manner. The old gentleman said in a loud voice, "If those young girls who are standing upon the benches knew that they have holes in their stockings, they would get down quickly." Not a single girl, or anybody else, stood upon the seats during the rest of that camp meeting. A brother minister who heard the above remark said to Mr. Cartwright, " Dear brother, how did you know that those girls had holes in their stockings ? " He looked the minister in the eye, and said, " How could they put them on, unless they had holes?" This good old brother was so well pleased with my work that he gave me a letter of recommenda- tion, which I will copy. "Jacksonville, July 23rd, i860, " I very cordially and earnestly would recommend to all the friends of humanity the bearer, Antonio Arrighi, a poor young Italian lately converted from Popery, who is striving for an education to qualify himself to return and preach the Grospel to his benighted nation. (Signed) "Peter Cartwright." CHAPTER XIV HOME AGAIN I WAS successful in gathering enough money, by means of my lecture and my singing, to keep me at school during that year. This made me happy and thankful, and I entered upon my studies that fall with redoubled vigour. Dr. Elliott, the president of the University, had a conversation with me about my future plans. The Doctor thought that in 1861 I would be quali- fied to enter the Freshman year. *' But," said he, " you had better go to Delaware, Ohio, where the Ohio Wesleyan University is located. They have better opportunities and more means to give you a complete education than we have here. Our college is new and poorly equipped for a thorough course. 1 will give you a letter of transfer, and recommend you to the kindness of Dr. Merrick, the acting pres- ident of the institution." In October, i860, I appeared before Judge War- wick of the county court in Henry County and became an American citizen. When the day of election came, I put on a new suit which I had bought for the purpose, for I felt HOME AGAIN 229 as though I were gomg to my own wedding. I did not rejoice because I was a son of Italy, or because I had been a drummer boy in Garibaldi's army, or because I had been unjustly sent to the Galera and escaped ; but because I had been declared by the laws of the land an American citwcn. I have two documents w^hich I regard as sacred. The first and the most important is the one which authorized me to preach the Gospel, which certifies that as a Chris- tian minister I belong to Christ's kingdom. The other document is my naturalization paper. In the spring of 1861 the black cloud of war began to spread desolation over this happy country. Civil war was declared between the North and the South, and for four years brother fought against brother, while the land was plunged into the deepest sorrow which can ever fall to the lot of any nation. President Lincoln, for whom I had voted, called for 75,000 volunteers to defend and uphold the national government. Although I had been an American citizen only a few months, I did not wait long to have my loyalty to my adopted country proven, for I was one of the first to respond to the call. In Mt. Pleasant a company was formed under the leadership of Captain Daniel Wise. It was Company F, First Iowa Regiment of Volunteers, Colonel Bates, commander. My love for America and the American people was so great that in time of need I forgot all else but my duty to my adopted ft-' l^. 230 IN ITALY AND AMERICA country. I cannot go into the details of my soldier life. It is enough to record that I was present at the battle of Wilson's Creek, Missouri, under General Lyon, who was killed during that fight. The Union army was defeated and compelled to retreat until a junction was made with the force under General Sigel, who formed the famous square that saved the Army of the West. From our company one was killed, and a young man, named Hamilton, who stood next to me, was wounded in the shoulder. The battle of Wilson's Creek was fought in the early morning of August lo, 1861. I served my time out, and, being anxious to make money for the coming school year, I began a lecturing tour before entering the Ohio Wesleyan University. After having been examined, Presi- dent Merrick gave me the card of matriculation. This admitted me to the Freshman year of the University. I had the misfortune while in the army to contract chills and ague, and on account of this I was often interrupted in my studies, which made progress rather slow. But by hard work I got through the Freshman year, and was able to enter the Sophomore year still followed by the same trouble. At the close of this year a friend who knew the state of my health suggested that I be transferred to Dickinson College, at Carlisle, Penn- sylvania, it being in a mountainous country, and so it was arranged. I entered the Junior class of that HOME AGAIN 231 college, and spent also a part of the Senior year there. I grew worse, and my physician advised me to give up study for the time being. This was in the spring of 1865. As I could not fix my mind upon my studies, I began to think about something else, much better than Greek and Latin. While in Delaware, Ohio, I became acquainted with the best young lady in the town. Miss Emma Vining, daughter of the sheriff of Delaware County. We had known each other for four years, and I felt that God had guided me to that place to find there my companion for life. I was not mistaken, for our married life has been happy indeed. Her wise counsels have been a great help to me in my work. I began to feel so well and strong that I made up my mind to enter the Boston Theological Sem- inary that fall, and when the time came, my wife and I started for Boston. I must say that I never had better success in my studies than in that school. In three years I graduated, and was then prepared to begin my life work. Italy was now open to the preaching of Christ's Gospel, and my heart was burning with intense longing to go there as the herald of a free salvation. It was my desire to work in connection with a native church, for I have al- ways been of the opinion that such a church would be more successful in evangelizing the Italians than an imported one under the control of an im- ported superintendent. No one can understand the 232 IN ITALY AND AMERICA Italian character as well as an Italian. I decided to go myself and look over the field, to see where I could be most useful in the cause of Christ. After having provided for my family, I sailed for my native land in the spring of 1871. Although I had received no news directly from my parents after they declared their son disinherited, I knew from other sources that they were alive and well. I did not inform them of my intention to make them a visit, for I knew that the priest would be informed of it, and of course he would do all in his power to induce them not to receive me. My first resting-place in Italy was Bologna, the city of towers. When I set foot on Italian soil my feelings cannot easily be described. I had been an exile for many years, tossed hither and thither by various fate, and had suffered much. Italy was no longer the country of tyranny and slavery. It was not now divided into small States, over each of which a more or less imbecile potentate ruled. Neither was it longer the land of universal illiteracy, but free and united under the liberal dynasty of the House of Savoy. Italian commerce had doubled. The land was no more wholly priest- ridden. The great saying of Mazzini and Cavour had been fully realized, " A free Church in a free State." I was no longer a proscript, but " a free white person from Tuscany in Italy," free to go anywhere I wished, and stay as long as I might HOME AGAIN 233 desire, without fear of being molested by priestly spies or agents of the government. I went to Bologna because the superintendent of the Methodist Episcopal Church Mission in Italy resided there. I spent the Sabbath at the Italian mission in that city, and for the first time heard the Gospel of our blessed Saviour in my own sweet tongue. The name of Jesus never sounded more precious than it did on that occasion. I should have remained in Bologna longer, but an irrepressible desire to see my dear and honoured parents would not allow me to linger, I must make haste and go to them. I knew not what my reception would be, for I had received no news from them since they had publicly stated that my name should never be mentioned in the family. My desire to see my par- ents was so strong that it overcame all other con- siderations. " Come what may," I said, " I will go. There is nothing in all Italy I want to see so much as the faces of my father and mother." The only thing that made me feel uneasy was the influence of my old enemy, the priest Gigi, the man who had buried me in effigy. But I knew that my parents were still mine, and that was enough. So, one Monday morning I took the train from Bologna to Pracchia, a town about twelve miles from Barga, where my parents resided. Pracchia is a summer resort, almost on the brow of the Apennines. There I stayed over night, and the next morning started on foot for the house of my loved ones. After a 234 IN ITALY AND AMERICA tramp of a mile or more, I reached a high point from which the view was simply glorious. To the south I could see the Mediterranean, the cities of Pisa and Leghorn, the plain of the Arno, and a great number of towns and villages. To the north the cities of Modena and Parma were at my feet, although twenty miles away. It was early morning. The air was so clear that everything was sharply defined. There are no trees on the top of the Apennines. Nothing but grass grows there, and in summer it is the grazing ground for multitudes of sheep. I was now passing through one of the most interesting parts of Italy. The varied scenery along these twelve miles from the brow of the mountain to Barga my hand cannot depict. Wild mountains rise on each side of the road, so steep, so rugged, and so lofty that as you look up they seem to come together and form a dome, through which the sunbeams seldom penetrate. Immense boulders and jagged rocks are thrown around in such confusion that the idea is suggested that at some period nature was there convulsed by super- human power. In some places the wild stream which rushes swiftly down is so hemmed in between the mountains that there is not room for a human foot, and a tunnel has been cut through the moun- tain-side to enable travellers to continue their journey. I was now going down on the west side of the mountains, and at some places the way is so steep HOME AGAIN 235 that I could not hold myself back, but had to go at full speed. I was on the banks of the beauti- ful river Serchio, the Juniata of Italy. After a short walk upstream I found myself before one of the most wonderful structures in all the land. It is a stone bridge of only one arch, having the extraor- nary length of two hundred feet and the height of a hundred feet above the water. Here we will make a diversion from the story, so that we may give the reader a correct idea of this wonderful bridge. As to who designed and built it there is no record. There is, however, a gen- eral belief in that region that it was designed and constructed by the devil himself, for it is called II Ponte del Diavolo. The peculiarity of the bridge is the great span of its one arch, and also the fact that its keystone or highest point is not in the centre, but is twenty- five feet east of the centre. Either end of this great arch rests on rocks which form the banks of the river. The grade from the west is gradual, but on the east it is very steep. The roadway is about two and a half feet wide, and, therefore, can be used only by travellers on foot. The puzzle is to know how a bridge so unevenly proportioned could bear its immense weight and not fall. The legend popular with the people in that part of the country, as to the origin of the bridge, is as follows : The townfolk of Borgo a Mozzano were much inconvenienced because there was no way by which 236 IN ITALY AND AMERICA the river could be crossed, there being no bridge at that point, and the raging torrent, in which were many rocks, made crossing extremely perilous. The parish priest of the town advised the people to pray to their patron saint, San Rocco, who per- haps would do the needed work by a miracle. Therefore a day was appointed when the image of San Rocco would be taken in procession through the streets, and this was done in a splendid manner. The people dressed themselves in their best finery, there was music, there was dancing before the saint, and at night there was a torch-light parade, the town itself being illuminated. But they waited in vain; no response was made to their prayers, no bridge came into being. Finally, the wise men of Borgo met in council at the town-hall to devise some plan whereby the bridge could be built; but after much deliberation they gave up in despair. At the meeting the baker, an influential man and one highly respected, was elected president of the council. In his opening address he said, " Fellow citizens, methinks the building of a bridge over the boiling torrent of our river is an utter impossibility to human power. To build a bridge across this stream requires an engineer greater than the saints, whose cunning, skill and power are more than human. Therefore, I move you that we ask the devil to help us." The motion was seconded by the cobbler, but strongly opposed by the parish priest. However, it was carried, and at that same moment HOME AGAIN 237 the door of the hall was opened and there stood a stranger. He was a queer-looking man. His complexion was almost black. He was dressed in the fashion of the lower region from which he had come. Over his forehead were two small horns; his eyes blazed with an infernal flame, and from his nostrils breathed out steam, so laden with the fumes of brimstone that they filled the hall and made every one cough and sneeze. At his heels the forked end of a tail was visible. At the sight of such an apparition the councilmen turned pale and trembled with fear. They franti- cally crossed themselves in the hope that the sign of the cross would make the devil flee. Instead it made him laugh in derision. One of the men who stood next the parish priest, seeing that the devil did not fear the sign of the cross, nudged the priest and said, "Where is your crucifix?" The priest, acting upon the suggestion, gathered enough courage to take the crucifix from his bosom and, waving it above him, stepped falteringly toward the stranger. But Signor Diabolus, instead of fleeing, moved towards the priest. He, overcome with terror, hastily dropped the crucifix and shrank away under a table. Confusion reigned supreme, and many of the councilmen followed the priest into his refuge. In the council was a very wicked man, the blacksmith. Believing that the devil was espe- cially after him, he risked his life by leaping through an open window to the ground, twenty 238 IN ITALY AND AMERICA feet below, and one of his legs was broken. Diabo- lus, seeing such a state of affairs and that the coun- cilmen were alarmed at his presence, spoke very soothingly and with cunning: " Friends, my friends, hear me, and come out of your hiding places. Shame on you. Christians, to. confide in the sign of the cross, instead of having real faith in Him who died on it! It is not the cross that frightens me, but the sacrifice made thereon. Look at me (and he picked up the crucifix the priest had dropped). See, I hold it high, but it has no life. You trust in a mere symbol; yes, you worship an idol, and at the same time you neglect Him whose name you bear. The people I fear are those who have true faith in the atoning blood of the Christus. You say I hate the cross. I have too much common sense to hate a thing without life and power. I have not come to do you any bodily harm. I am here to build you a bridge, so come and let us reason." At these words the coun- cilmen ventured to peep out from under the table. They took courage and left their hiding places. At this manifestation of confidence, Diabolus assumed a familiar tone and said, " Come, shake hands," but when the men saw his long, claw-like fingers, they kept at a respectful distance. Diabolus concealed his disappointment, and re- marked, " Well, gentlemen of this honourable coun- cil, as you voted to invoke my aid, I am all ready to build the bridge which will be one of the wonders HOME AGAIN 239 of the world, a bridge that no flood can ever de- stroy. However," said he, " I will build it only on one condition, and that is this : the first soul to cross the bridge shall be mine ! " The councilmen looked at each other uneasily, and asked themselves, " Whose soul shall it be ? " At the thought of personal risk the sweat rolled down their faces, in anticipation of the heated region from which Diabolus had come. They finally agreed, however, to acquiesce in the demand. The parish priest, whose wits now began work- ing, spoke out and said, " Now, gentlemen of this honourable council, as our esteemed friend " (at which the devil made a sour face, and muttered, "Hear that hypocrite calling me 'esteemed'! Bah!") "is about to confer upon our quiet and peaceful city the greatest favour it has ever enjoyed, I move you, sirs, that the best man in the town be requested to be the first to cross the bridge, and that it be the sentiment of all here that our president, the baker, be the chosen one." At this there was a broad smile on the faces of all present, with the exception of the baker, whose face first turned pale, then scarlet, and then settled into a greenish hue. His wrath had no bounds, and bringing his fist down with great force on the table, he roared out, " Perdio I " at which Diabolus, with a scandalized look, said, " No profane lan- guage in my presence ! You may swear in your 240 IN ITALY AND AMERICA churches, but in the presence of Satan cursing is forbidden." The president, still greatly enraged at what the priest had done, exclaimed, " Well, you all know, gentlemen of the council, that without me you would starve, for who would bake your bread and make your macaroni ? " Here he paused. Then he spoke again, in tones of distress, as though his heart would break, " You all know, my fellow-cit- izens, that I have a large family, and if I am taken away, who will provide for my poor children? They will have to beg, or starve in the streets." At this point a bright idea came into the mind of the president, and he continued, " But as we are no longer worshippers of the saints, and as it is clear that we have turned worshippers of the great King of Darkness, therefore, the services of our worthy priest are no longer needed. Gentlemen, I move you then, that the priest enjoy the great honour of being the first to cross this marvellous bridge." The priest was about to reply, when the devil spoke up and said, " Gentlemen, my time is short, for I am a busy person, but I will be generous with you. You agree to give me the first soul that shall go over the bridge. I have no choice in the matter so long as it is a soul. In the morning when you open your eyes, you will see the bridge complete." These words said, the devil disappeared. The councilmen then went silently and seriously to their HOME AGAIN 241 homes, to dream whose soul should fall into the clutches of Diabolus. It is said that the priest had a frightful nightmare. Sure enough, in the morning the bridge stood there in its glory. The townspeople passed and re- passed along the river bank, admiring the struc- ture; but no one would venture to cross it. About noon when Diabolus was fast losing his patience, waiting for his expected victim, the parish priest stood at the entrance of the bridge with an expression of vengeance on his face. He remem- bered with bitterness how ridiculous the devil had made him appear the night before at the council. Just then a yellow dog happened to come near the priest, and instantly he formed his plan. Accord- ing to the people of that district dogs have souls, and the priest seized the animal, quickly thrust it on the bridge, and, giving the creature a sharp blow with his cane, caused the yelping dog to run over it. He then shouted the one word, " Re- venged! " The yellow dog never turned back, for fear of receiving another blow from the priest's cane, and soon arrived at the place where Diabolus stood. The devil quickly saw that he had been fooled by the priest, who had called him " esteemed friend ! " Diabolus raged like the fiend he was, and cried out, *' Henceforth and forevermore no priest shall live to enter the infernal regions. I care not where they go, or what becames of them. I have done a good 242 IN ITALY AND AMERICA thing for these people and my reward is only a yellow dog. It is more than the devil can stand ! " As Diabolus said these words he frothed at the mouth, and clouds of hissing steam, mixed with fire, shot from his nostrils. The people who saw him thought that they were gazing into a fiery furnace. Diabolus was so incensed at having been easily deceived that he took the dog by its hind legs and swung it round and round until it looked like a revolving wheel. Then hissing a defiance to the God of the priest, he tossed the dog high into the air, with the intent that when it came down it should strike the keystone of the bridge and cause the whole structure to collapse and fall into the river. In a few seconds the dog came swiftly down and struck that very stone, but, instead of dislodg- ing it, the poor canine went through the stone, leav- ing a circular hole in it the size of his body, and then, striking the water beneath the bridge, dis- appeared forever. At the sight of this, the ravings of Diabolus had no limit. He thundered out a word which rever- berated from mountain to mountain up and down the valley. It was heard by all living in the region, " Fooled ! " Then he disappeared. The people gathered in the church and sang the " Te Deum " as a thanksgiving for the great vic- tory won by the cunning device of the parish priest. There is an old saying in that part of the country HOME AGAIN 243 that the cunning of a priest is greater than that of the devil. If any of our readers should have doubts as to the truth of this legend, we advise them to go and see this wonderful bridge. Take the railroad that now runs from Lucca to the Baths of Lucca, stop at the station called Borgo a Mozzano, and there, before your eyes, stands the bridge. If you walk over it, you will see at its highest point the very hole made by the fall of the unfortunate dog. I now leave Borgo a Mozzano, with its marvel- lous bridge and amusing legend, and journey to- wards the Baths of Lucca, where, from time im- memorial, kings, emperors and great men have en- joyed the refreshing virtues of its water, and the beneficial medicinal properties it contains. These baths are located midway between the base and sum- mit of the mountain and are fully twenty yards underground. They are reached by a stairway which seems to lead one into the very heart of the mountains. The scenery in the vicinity is of great variety, and both interesting and grand. No- where else in Italy can more perfect rest be had. One feels as though in dreamland, and the quietude has a subduing yet invigorating effect upon the whole system. You are in the real " Valle Ombrosa," more fascinating than the one near Florence, of which Mrs. Browning wrote in her matchless poem. The dense shadow (onibra) is produced by the dark green foliage of the chestnut 244 IN ITALY AND AMERICA trees with which the mountains and valleys are thickly covered. After a walk of four hours I found myself be- fore the old walls of the city of Barga, the home of my childhood. Near the Porta del Pallone stands the principal inn of the town, and many peo- ple were going into it. Looking into the large dining- room I saw there quite a company of men and women. They seemed to be waiting for some one. I asked a young man what was going on, and he said that a party of pilgrims was about to start for a pilgrimage to the shrine of San Pellegrino high up on the mountains, and they were waiting at the inn for the priest to bless them. Just then a priest in his robes, having in his hand a kind of hair brush, and followed by a little boy carrying a silver bowl full of holy water, entered the inn. All the people bowed down before him. At the same time the priest noticed that there was a rather well-dressed stranger at the inn door. Supposing that he was a person of some distinction he smiled very afifably, and made a graceful bow to him. The stranger did the same. Then the priest dipped the hairbrush, called " asperges," into the bowl and sprinkled the whole crowd, at the same time saying a prayer in Latin which no one could understand, even if he himself understood it. I noticed that he seemed anxious that the stranger should get more of the water than any one else. After this he raised three fingers of his right hand HOME AGAIN 245 and blessed every one present, including myself. At this point in the ceremony I went out, and asked a little girl who stood near the door who the priest was. " His name," answered the child, " is Gigi, and he is the cappellano of our church." " What," I said to myself, " the priest in whose church years ago my funeral service was held, and who said prayers to keep my soul out of heaven, sprinkled holy water over the coffin which represented my poor self, and had it buried? Now the same man and the same hand shower blessing and sprinkle holy water over my very body. Wonderful! " But the case would have been quite different had the priest known who the stranger was. However, I soon forgot the inci- dent, and walked rapidly towards my father's house. As I stood before the door one thought after another rushed into my mind. I was bewildered, not knowing vvhat to do. I asked myself the ques- tion, " Shall I ring the bell and make myself known? And what shall I say? Or shall I do what I used to do in childhood when I came home tired out from play, and rushed straight into the sitting- room, knowing my mother was there? And will she receive me now with the same glad smile of twenty-three years ago ? " Think as I would, I did just what I used to do in that long ago time. I opened the door and, childlike, ran into the sitting- room. There she was in her accustomed place by the window, her hair perfectly white, but with the 246 IN ITALY AND AMERICA same sweet features. When she looked up I saw on her face an expression of alarm as though about to ask how I dared enter the house without making myself known, or stating what I wanted. We looked at each other for a moment, and at last I gave way and said, " Mother, do you not " That was enough. It does not take long for a mother to recognize her child, after however great an absence. All he has to do is to utter the beauti- ful word, " mother." That is the password to her heart. She did not allow me to finish my sentence, but ran to me, threw her arms around my neck, pressed me to her bosom, saying, " Tonio ! My Tonio has come," and swooned away. My sis- ter Mena, who was in the next room, heard the cry and ran into the room. Seeing the condition her mother was in, and not knowing me, she came to the conclusion that something was wrong, and that my intentions were bad. As quick as thought she rushed from the room, and in a moment w^as back again with an axe in her hand. I saw in her eyes a furious look, and at once apprehended what it meant. I spoke to her and said, " Mena, your brother Antonio!" At these words she dropped the axe, began to sob, and said that I had killed her mother. Our mother, however, soon came to herself and pressed me to her heart, calling me her " dear Tonio." I was now so overcome by the scene that I began HOME AGAIN 247 to weep like a child, not because of grief, but rather because my cup of joy was overflowing. My father was not at home, but some one went and told him that I had arrived. He would not believe it, and said that I would not dare return. He was told to come and see. He came at last, and the first sight that met his gaze as he entered the room was myself and mother holding each other in a very affectionate embrace. He looked at me and I at him, but before long I saw the tears streaming down his face. That was the signal. I disengaged myself, ran to my father, threw my arms around his neck, and covered his face with kisses. I would like to tell how my other relatives re- ceived me, and w^ould like to write of the great change that came over my parents, who were numbered among my people in Florence, and they knelt at our family altar converted to our holy faith, for they believed the Gospel. If in this world there is one thing man cannot do, it is to destroy a mother's affection for her child. You can prevail on her to make an un- natural vow, to say that she will never utter the name of her own son, but it is one matter to make such a vow and quite another to erase from a mother's heart the love for her offspring. There was great rejoicing at my return, among all my relatives and the friends of my father's family. When Gigi, the priest, was informed that 248 IN ITALY AND AMERICA the notaro's son had returned from America, that his parents had received him with great rejoicing, and that the man he had so profusely sprinkled with holy water at the inn was none other than Tonio, the heretic, it is said that he raved like a mad man, shut himself up in his sagrcstia, and would see no one. The next day he was seen walking rapidly towards the questore's (the chief of police) office. Those who met him say that there was on his face an expression as of a black cloud ready to burst into a storm. He carried a bottle of acqua vita, or brandy, a beverage of which he knew the questore to be very fond. He walked so rapidly that when he got into the presence of that functionary he was out of breath, and without a "Good-morning!" broke out: " Signor Questore, are you aware that in our town to-day there is a criminal, a runaway galeotto ? He escaped from the Galera at Civita Vecchia some years ago. He is a dangerous character, and should not be allowed to go at large." " And what do you want me to do, Signor Cap- pellano ? " asked the questore. " Do you wish me to arrest the man ? " " Yes," replied the priest, " that is the reason I called on you." Here the priest handed the questore the bottle of acqua vita. The police officer took a good drink of it and said, " Well, but what crime has the young man committed? You know that I cannot lay HOME AGAIN 249 hands on him unless some offence has been com- mitted against the law, and I am not aware that our worthy notaro's son has done anything whereby I have the right to arrest him." ''Done nothing, nothing wrong? Why, he is a renegade from our holy religion, and a rebel against the government of our Holy Father, the Pope," said the priest with an aggrieved tone, as he saw that the questore was slow in giving command for the arrest of the heretic. The official observed this, and very leisurely took another drink of the acqua vita, and then said, " Signor Cappellano, are you not aware that we have now a united Italy, and that we are no longer under the Papal government ? You know that the Inquisi- tion, thank God, has been abolished. Do you want me to do to the young man what was done to Savonarola, — burn him at the stake? I know that you priests would shout for joy if that thing could be done to heretics to-day, but you must learn the lesson you do not like, that in Italy we have re- ligious toleration, and every man is free to hold and express his religious convictions." " But, Signor Questore, he is sowing the seeds of discord among our people," said the priest. " You have the right to sow the seeds of your religion, you can invite him to the confessional, and he has the right to come if he wishes to. I think you can in this way win him back to the mother Church, but I cannot arrest him. It is my duty 250 IN ITALY AND AMERICA to do justice to all, to Catholics and Protestants alike. Would you have me do a great wrong to an honourable family? Your mother, before she died two years ago, used to be a great friend to both the notaro and his wife. Why now this shame- ful spirit of vendetta on your part? What wrong has the young man ever done you? The notaro and his son called on me yesterday, for they wanted to see that document which you prevailed on them to execute, the legal disinheritance. Your name is affixed to it as a witness to the transaction. When the notaro's son saw your name he paused a mo- ment, and then with all sincerity said, ' God forgive Gigi for this cruel and unchristian act. God knows that I have never had any ill feelings towards the priest. It was very unnatural in him to cause par- ents to despise their offspring, to fill their hearts with evil thoughts toward their own child, and make them cast him out of their home and their affection. I hope it was not malice that induced Gigi to do this. I cannot believe that, but it must have been zeal for his Church ! ' I said, ' No, it was malice as deep and hot as the Inferno.' " At this point the questore took another drink of acqua vita, and then said, " I was born a Catholic and I hope to die such, but really I see a better Christian spirit in the so-called heretic than in you priests and Jesuits. Now, Signor Cappellano, what do you think of your old friend Tonio?" This the questore said very sarcastically. HOME AGAIN 251 The priest answered in a voice that plainly in- dicated what he meant. " I think that he should be imprisoned and then driven away, never again to set foot in this quiet town, for he is a disturber of the peace." Here followed another drink of acqua vita, and the eyes of the official began to shine somewhat unnaturally. Then the questore said with a peculiar ring in his voice which denoted that he meant what he declared. " You are the man who should be imprisoned and driven away from this town, for instead of going into the homes of your parishioners to bring peace and comfort as is your duty, you went into the home of our worthy notaro to sow the seeds of discord, and through your Jesuitical arts you broke up the peace of an honourable family. You set father and mother against their own son, who was by them greatly beloved. You are guilty of disturbing the peace, and it is in my power to punish you. You may thank this acqua vita if I do not call one of my men, and put you where you would have time to reflect over your evil ways." Again another drink. " You brought me this brandy," said the questore, " with an evil intent. I accept the gift, for I am very fond of it, but I spurn the motive. Now I will drink again to your health," and then he laid back in his chair, and was soon soundly sleeping. The questore, in relating to me the above incident, said further, " I have since surmised that as the 252 IN ITALY AND AMERICA priest saw me in that condition he must have formulated a plan for revenge, for the way he acted and from the confusion I saw on his face he must have thought of something unusual. It seemed to me that I could almost hear him say, * Yes, I will do it, and then I shall have my ven- detta. I will look for the document of disinherit- ance while the questore is sleeping. I know where it is, and I will take it to the notaro's house to-night and put it into the renegade's valise, for I know how to get into his room. Then I will accuse the heretic of theft. I will do it; yes, I will! That will put him in prison.' " The priest then arose from his seat and must have walked carefully to a pigeon-hole in my desk; likely he did not notice the bottle of acqua vita which was on the floor near the desk. The priest's foot knocked the bottle down. There was a crash, and the brandy ran all over the floor. The noise made by the breaking of the bottle caused me to open my eyes. I gazed at the broken bottle. Then I looked at the priest, saw how confused he was, and noticed on his face a guilty expression. It occurred to me that the bottle had been broken out of revenge, and my eyes flashed with indigna- tion. I glared at the culprit in such a way that it caused the poor man to tremble from head to foot. Then I cried out, with all the passion of my Italian nature, and said, ' Prete maledetto! you broke the bottle out of malice. You brought me the acqua HOME AGAIN 253 vita with an evil purpose. You wanted me to do a great wrong to a respectable person, but, as you did not succeed, you thought you would be revenged on me.' " I was under the influence of the brandy and could not control myself. I rose from my seat, and, like a mad bull, roared out, ' Prete maledetto ! ' and taking the trembling priest, threw him bodily out of the door. " Poor Gigi was obliged to walk home without his hat, for he did not dare come back into my office for it." Thus ended my connection with Gigi, the priest. I met him many times on the street, but he would not even look at me. Before I left the town, I had gained many warm and sincere friends, but the best one outside of my family was the questore. CHAPTER XV THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE A FTER a pleasant stay of three months in this j\ quaint old town I returned to Bologna. My parents were loath to part with me, but, knowing that I was only going to America to bring my family to Italy, they were quite resigned. In Bologna I held a conversation with the super- intendent of the Methodist Mission, and agreed with him to open a station in the city of Florence, and to work in that city as a native evangelist, not as one sent from America. I took my family there at my own expense, choosing to do this in order that I might be free to leave the mission whenever I wished. When we arrived in Florence my first duty was to provide a home for my family, which I had no trouble in doing, and then to find a location suitable for a chapel which I could throw open to the public. Although Florence has been regarded as the most intelligent and liberal of all Italian cities, yet I had hard work to rent a house for the purpose. Finally I had to go outside the city walls to secure such a place. This shows that even among some who re- 254 THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE 255 gard themselves as highly cultured, superstition and bigotry are to be found. In Piazza Madonna there was a large store to be let which was just what I needed. I called on the agent and said that I should like to rent the store. He asked what kind of business I intended to carry on, as the owner must know what was being done in all her houses. I stated that I wished to open a mission, and preach the Gospel. " Well," answered the agent, " I have no objection myself, but you will have to go to Madame la Marchesa. If she is willing, come back to me and we will make out the papers." The family to which Madame la Marchesa be- longed was one of the oldest and most respected in Florence. I called on the lady at once. At the entrance of her palace was the porter, and I showed him the card given me by the agent. He took it without delay to Madame la Marchesa. In a short time the porter came back, and led me into the reception room, where the lady was wait- ing. As soon as I came into her presence, she said, " My agent tells me that you desire to rent my store in Piazza Madonna, and that you will state to me the purpose for which you want it." I said, " My purpose is of the best kind, for it is that only of doing good." " Well," said the Marchesa, " please tell me what you mean by that." I answered, " To do the work of Christ, to preach His blessed Gospel." 256 IN ITALY AND AMERICA The old lady looked at me sharply, and said, " You are not a priest, nor are you a monk; I do not understand what you mean. What are you? " I replied, " I am a Protestant, and I preach Christ crucified." At these words she stood up, crossed herself, and cried out at the top of her voice, "Michele! Michele ! " The porter soon made his appearance. Then she exclaimed, " Michele, do not touch that man, for he is a Protestant; but put him out! Maria San- tissima, have mercy on us ! " She again made the sign of the cross, and disappeared. Michele then said, " Please leave the house, and excuse my lady, the Marchesa. She is devoted to her Church, and her mind does not act rightly on religious matters. I feel sorry that she has treated you in so unladylike a way; you have my sympathy." Some weeks later I had occasion to pass by the same house. The porter, who was standing near the door, saw me, and spoke to me very politely. I asked him about the Marchesa's health. He an- swered, " Quite well, sir. She was thoroughly frightened when you called on her, and after you had gone she sent me for her priest, who came to the house, and my lady told him that on that very day a Protestant had called upon her, and wanted to rent the store in the Piazza Madonna and there preach the religion of that hated sect. * Padre THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE 257 Donato,' said La Marchesa, ' he was in this very room, and sat on the very same chair in which you are now.' The sentence was not finished, for when the priest heard these words he jumped up from the chair as if he had been shot, ' madre bene- detta! ' he exclaimed, * evil spirits are in this room. This house has been contaminated, and it has to be purified. Michele [speaking to me], go to the sacristy of San Lorenzo and bring me the holy water and the asperges, for the evil spirits must be driven out of this house.' I brought the things ordered to Padre Donato, who was still in the same room but seated in another chair. He took the holy water and the asperges, and began to say mysterious words over the chair on which you had been sitting. Then he made the sign of the cross over that chair many times, and sprinkled it with holy water until the cushion was fairly soaked. Then he sprinkled water over the floor where he thought you probably stepped as you came in and went out; and, to be assured that all the evil spirits were driven away, he sprinkled the whole room. Then he asked me if I had touched the vile heretic, and I lied, for fear I might have my clothes spoiled with the holy water, for it was not very clean, and so I said, ' No,' and went into the next room. While there I heard Padre Donato say to Madame la Marchesa, ' This has cost me a great deal of trouble. It was hard work to drive those evil spirits from the room, but I have sue- 258 IN ITALY AND AMERICA ceeded, and I will have to charge you one hundred lire for the job.' " "Of course," I remarked, " she paid the bill, although she ought to have known that the motive of the priest was not that of purifying the room, for he no more believed that there were evil spirits in it than I did; but he saw a good chance to make some money." " You are right," replied the porter, " for as the priest passed by me he was all smiles. I could al- most imagine him saying, ' God bless the Protest- ants ! ' But what surprises me is the fact that Ma- dame la Marchesa, who is so highly cultured and intelligent, and who is regarded in the city as a great business woman, could let herself be — well — bamboozled. I am an ignorant man, and cannot read or write, but no priest could fool me so easily as that." " Who is the priest ? " I asked. " I heard you call him Padre Donato, but where is his church ? " " Why, he is the cappellano of San Marco Vec- chio, outside the gate of San Gallo; but I must go," and, as he offered me his hand, I said to him, " Are you not afraid to shake hands with me ? " In an- swer he laughed heartily. After much tribulation I secured a large room that had been used as a cafe in Piazza delle Cure outside of Porta San Gallo. It had a seating capac- ity for two hundred people. Two large doors opened on the square, and a small one on Via THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE 259 Fiesolana. The door which oi>ened on the square near this street was made the entrance into the room, and was kept open during the service, so that those who did not care to stay during the whole time could go out whenever they wished. When prepared and ready for service, it made a pretty little chapel. The pulpit was at the south side of the room, and directly faced the small door on Via Fiesolana. I mention this door because it plays an important part in our story. My first public service was held Sunday after- noon at three o'clock, and the chapel was full, many standing at the entrance. These would stay for a while and then go away, but soon others would take their place. It was a coming and going crowd of restless people. However, those inside the chapel remained until the exercises were over. Nothing unusual happened at this service. My next service was held on Tuesday night at half-past seven, and again a large number came into the chapel; but I noticed that the temper of the people was not favourable. I heard some one say as he went away, " These heretics have come to disturb our peace." I paid no attention to the words, and gave notice that there would be another service on Friday night at the same hour. Friday came, the weather was rainy, and I thought there would be but few present. As I en- tered the chapel I was surprised to see it full, mostly of young people. There was not a single woman 26o IN ITALY AND AMERICA present, but I supposed it must be on account of the weather. As I took my place there was a great deal of noise among the young men. I spoke to them and asked them to have respect for the house of God. They laughed at me. Then I said kindly, " If you do not respect the house of God, please leave it." No sooner had I said these words than the whole congregation rose and marched out of the chapel. As they went out I noticed a young man standing by the open door and holding the knob in his hand. When all the people had gone he drew the door to and closed it, and I was left alone. The crowd outside began to shout, " Down with the heretic, kill him, drive the Protestant out of Florence! Long live the Pope! " I soon realized that it was a mob sent there to do me harm, or to take my life. They howled and shouted, " Down with the heretic ! " and acted like rabid wolves. Soon the crowd went round to the narrow street. Via Fiesolana. It was quite dark there, and it would have been difficult to tell one man from another in the gloom. The mob began to pound on the door with clubs and stones, and I surmised that it was the intention to batter it down, and then in the darkness to stone the heretic, or shoot him. I concluded that it was their purpose to take my life. There was no way of escape. I did not care to go out, for then I should throw myself into the hands of the mob. My situa- tion was critical, and I thought of my dear wife THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE 261 and my three children. What will become of them ? Must I be taken away just as I have entered this work which has been the dream of my life? Must I be murdered by this mob? '' O God, protect my family, and, if it be Thy will, save me! " As I thought of these things, the Bible lay open upon the little pulpit and involuntarily I cast my eyes upon it, and saw the following blessed words, " Be of good cheer, it is I, be not afraid! " I be- came somewhat resigned to my fate. The mob had already broken the upper panels of the door, and would soon have battered it down. Just then the door which was used as the entrance was opened, and two young men walked in. They came towards me, and I noticed that they had long stilettos. I could see the blades glittering in the lamplight. I felt that the end had come. Oh! if I could only see my family once more, I could die happy. In expectation I was suffering the agony of death, and must have been very pale. When the young men came to me and saw how pale I was, they said, " Do not be afraid, we are your friends. We have come to save you, if it is possible. We have been among the crowd and have heard that they want to take your life, because you are a Protestant; but we felt how unjust and cowardly it would be to take the life of a human being because he does not believe as we do. Don't be alarmed; we will walk over the dead body of any one who tries to lay a hand on you." 262 IN ITALY AND AMERICA I had never seen these young men, but I felt that they were my friends, and told them that I was ready to trust myself to their hands. They placed me between them, one on the right hand and the other on the left, holding their stilettos ready to do sharp work if necessary. Whether it was because the mob was intent on seeing the door fall, or whether God blinded their eyes, I cannot say, but we crossed the square without being seen. A few steps away was the custom house of Porta San Gallo, since at each gate of every walled Italian city is the dogana where city duties are collected on all articles subject to them. I was taken into the office there. Armed soldiers were on duty as collectors. They had heard and seen the mob, yet, I was told, under no circumstances were they allowed to leave their post, " but here no one will dare touch you." The two young men went away and notified the commissioner of public safety. A company of soldiers was sent at once, but when they arrived the mob had dispersed. How- ever, they did not go before they had battered the little door down and entered the chapel, breaking chairs and lamps, and cutting to pieces many of the Bibles and hymn-books. Much damage was done by them. Next morning, three young men, the leaders of the mob, were arrested, and, when they were brought before the judge, I was called upon to identify them. I picked out the one who held the THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE 263 knob of the door when the people left the chapel, and told the judge what he did. After some ques- tioning the young men made the following con- fession. " We had been called to his residence by Padre Donato, the parish priest of San Marco Vecchio. He gave us cakes to eat and wine to drink, and then said to us, ' In Piazza delle Cure a Protestant mis- sion has been opened for the purpose of spreading heretical doctrines, thus leading our people to hell. Now, young men, I want you to go there to-night and drive the heretic out of Florence, by breaking up his meeting. If you do not succeed in this, break his neck.' " The judge held the young men for trial. When the case came up, the priest, as well as myself, had to appear before the judge. Before the trial com- menced, I had a good look at this priest who made Madame la Marchesa believe that I had brought evil spirits into her house, and prevailed on her to have the room where I had been seated blessed and sprinkled with holy water, for which performance he charged her one hundred lire, or twenty dollars. I have no doubt that it was his scheme, in sending the young men to drive me out of Florence, to make some more money in the same way. He might easily have persuaded the owner that he could not let the building again because it had been contam- inated by my occupancy, and hence it must be puri- fied and blessed. 264 IN ITALY AND AMERICA As Padre Donato stood before the judge I had a fine view of him. His expression was hostile and avaricious. He would have made a Shylock with- out the makeup. He was a thin, dried-up old man. His eyes were grey, and he kept them half closed. His mouth was broad and his chin was of the fashion of Punch and Judy. It was turned up a little, and looked as if it had been put there to catch the crumbs that might fall from his mouth when he ate his bread. His nose was thin and sharp, and the end turned in like a hook. A lawyer accompan- ied him, and tried to defend him, but made a failure. The lawyer asserted before the judge, *' Padre Donato is a faithful priest He was not moved by malice or premeditation, but was transported by zeal for his Church. I trust that the court will take that into consideration." The judge said, " The duty of this court is to find out whether or not the law has been broken. The law on religious toleration protects Protestants and Catholics alike. A mob was incited against a man while in the discharge of his religious duties, and his life was threatened by that mob sent there by the priest. A crime has been committed, and the guilty must be punished." Then I was called before the judge and asked if I had anything to say. " Your Honour, I deplore the act," I said, " but I beg this honourable court to pass no sentence upon these young men, for they have been sinned against more than they have THE CHURCH IN FLORENCE 265 sinned. All I desire is that the reverend priest pay the damage done by the mob to the chapel," and then the judge discharged the prisoners. He appointed one of the court officers to investigate the injury done to the chapel, and sentenced the priest to pay whatever the damage might be. The only daily paper in Florence at that time, La Nazione, gave a report of the affair and of the trial, which afforded me a splendid advertisement. When I reopened the chapel half of the throng who tried to enter could not get in. With the priest's money I v/as able to have more chairs, more Bibles and more hymn-books, and I had the chapel handsomely decorated. Thus the evil that the enemy intended proved the greatest benefit that could have befallen the work. The two young men who saved my life became faithful members of my church, and I had the privilege of marrying one of them, and of baptizing his firstborn. I stayed in that place two years, and when it became too small to accommodate those who attended, I found a commodious hall at the junction of Via del Giglio and Melarance, where I laboured until our return to America. The Free Italian Church, founded by Gavazzi, to which I then belonged, sent me to the United States as a delegate to the Pan-Presbyterian Council, which met in Philadelphia in 1880. While there, a committee of the New York City Mission and Tract Society, composed of the lamented Morris 266 IN ITALY AND AMERICA K. Jesup, Roswell Smith and Mr. Jackson, called on me and asked if I would take up the work of evangelizing the Italians in this great city. I gladly- accepted the call, and established a preaching service in the beautiful chapel of the Five Points House of Industry, preaching my first sermon there on the 2ist of June, 1881. In this place I laboured fourteen years. On ac- count of its unsafe condition the chapel was taken down to make room for a more secure building, and in the meantime our congregation moved into the Broome Street Tabernacle, where we have been carrying on the work ever since. The whole build- ing is devoted to the Italian work. It would add interest to this little volume if an account could be given of the success of this Italian enterprise, of the tens of thousands who have heard the glad news of free salvation for the first time in this Italian church; of the thousands who have here found the Saviour precious to their souls; of the many thou- sands of children who have been gathered into the Sunday-school. Only on the day when God shall make up His jewels will it be known how much good has been accomplished by the Italian Evangelical Church of New York City, which is the mother of all missions for Italians in the United States of America. To Him who has given us the victory be the glory and the honour, world without end. Amen. PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA University of California Library Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 4"' ^ % { r-'riuii^ B ■< fPi Jlj .i*^' %A/>4 s "^i ;>> r' r ^' o r b-yiy m fftClLITV_