The three conspirators whom Nicolino had addressed as Schipani, Manthonnet and Hector Caraffa successively entered the pale circle of light cast by the lamp. Each took off hat and mantle, placed pistols and dagger before him, and then began, not to deliberate, but to recount the various bits of news which each had been able to collect.

  From time to time the roll of distant thunder was heard, preceded by broad flashes of lightning. They split the dark mass of cloud from end to end and shed a fantastic momentary light on the black rocks of Capri, otherwise indistinguishable from the opaque clouds which rested on them. Frequent gusts of the dry, suffocating wind which brings the sand of the Libyan deserts even to Naples, came in squalls, causing a phosphorescent agitation on the sea, which became for an instant a lake of flame and then returned to its previous darkness,

  Suddenly at the point of Pausilippo appeared a reddish flame, quite different from the phosphorescence of the sea and the sulphurous flashes of the tempest. It seemed to be making straight for the palace of Queen Joanna. As if it had been a signal, a tremendous burst of thunder rolled across the Bay, the clouds above parted, shewing terrible abysses of gloom behind. Loud squalls of wind came rapidly from opposite points of the compass with a sound like a mighty trombone, the waves rose as if heaved up by a submarine eruption. The tempest was let loose and raged like a furious lion over the field of battle.

  Nicolino uttered a cry which roused the conspirators below. They rushed up the stairway, and arriving at the window, gazed out at the tempest. They saw that the little boat which was no doubt bringing the expected messenger had been caught by the tempest when halfway across. The little square sail she carried had been instantly taken in, and the boat was now endeavouring to make way by means of two vigorous rowers.

  As Hector Caraffa had said, nothing had hindered the young man with the iron heart whom they expected. As had been arranged, more for the safety of the conspirators than of the envoy, sufficiently protected by his French uniform, he had quitted the direct route at Santa Maria, had gone to the shore left his horse at Pozzuoli, averring that it was too tired to go further, and, partly by threats, partly by the offer of a large reward, had induced two fishermen to take him over notwithstanding the weather. They objected, but finally started in the midst of the tears and lamentations of their wives and children. Arrived at Nisida they wished to land their passenger and shelter behind the jetty, but the young man calmly presented his pistols at their heads and after one glance at his composed and resolute countenance they bent to their oars with renewed energy. Emerging from the little gulf of Pozzuoli into the wide Bay of Naples they were exposed to the full force of the tempest which seemed to concentrate its fury on the solitary bark which dared to oppose it.

  Hector Caraffa broke the anxious silence which prevailed. “Ropes, ropes, we must find a rope,” he cried, wiping the sweat-which covered his forehead.

  Nicolino sprang up, hastily replaced the plank, rushed over it, and ten minutes later reappeared with a rope taken from a public well. The tempest, meanwhile, seemed to have redoubled its fury, but it had driven on the boat to within a few cable lengths of the palace, and there appeared every chance of her going to pieces on the rock.

  By the light burning on the prow which every wave threatened to extinguish, the two mariners could be seen bending to their oars with anxious and terrified faces, while erect, firmly planted in the boat, stood a young man, his hair tossed by the wind, but with a scornful smile on his lips, and apparently inaccessible to fear. He shaded his eyes with his hand as if attempting to discern the outline of the ruin; a flash of lightning shewed him the old building and a group of five anxious men who cried, “Courage,” with one voice.

  At that instant a huge wave, recoiling from the rock, fell back upon the boat, and, extinguishing the light, seemed to have swallowed it up.

  The spectators held their breath, Hector grasped his hair with both hands, but a calm and powerful voice was heard above all the roar of the tempest crying, “A torch!”

  This time it was Hector’s turn to rush. There were torches stored in a hole in the wall for use on dark nights. Seizing one, he lit it at the lamp below, and appeared on the outer platform of rock holding out his resinous torch towards the boat, which now re-appeared as if from the depths of the sea only a few feet from the rock. The rowers had abandoned their oars, and holding up their arms to Heaven cried aloud to the Madonna and Saint Januarius.

  “A rope!” cried the young man.

  Nicolino climbed on to the window-sill, Manthonnet held him firmly round the waist, while, carefully measuring the distance he flung one end of the rope into the boat; Schipani and Cirillo holding tight on to the other end.

  Scarcely had they heard the sound of the rope striking the wood than another enormous wave dashed the boat with irresistible force upon the rock. A great crash was heard, followed by a cry of anguish, and boat, mariners and passenger had all disappeared.

  But Schipani and Cirillo both exclaimed: “He holds it! he has got it!” and they pulled hard at the rope.

  In another moment the sea at the foot of the rock parted, and by the light of Hector’s torch they saw the young officer appear. Aided by the rope he climbed the rock, seized the hand held out to him, mounted the platform, and while Hector clasped him in his arms, looked up at his deliverers, and calm and serene as ever, uttered the one phrase:

  “I thank you!”

  As he said it a flash of lightning appeared to illuminate the whole building, while a terrific peal of thunder shook it to its base, and the sea with a tremendous roar dashed round the two young men’s knees.

  Hector Caraffa, with all the enthusiasm of the South, lifted his torch in defiance. “Howl, O thunder!” he cried, “blaze, ye lightnings! let the tempest do its worst! We are of the race of the Greeks who burnt Troy and he,” — placing his hand on his friend’s shoulder — ” he is the descendant of Ajax son of Oïleus, he will escape in spite of the Gods!”

  Of the two poor fishermen, whom the shattering of their boat had plunged into the abyss, our five conspirators, superior men though they were, thought not at all as they sprang forward to greet the rescued man now advancing on the arm of his friend the Count di Ruvo. It is always so — though little indeed to the honour of humanity — those who play the chief roles, those from whom great things are expected, hold all our interest and attention while the inferior beings, useful though they may have been, are swallowed up in the gulf. But for the fishermen the envoy could never have reached the castle of Queen Joanna, yet they perished in the waves unheeded, even while the first greetings were being exchanged between the six men.

  Though his curly black hair and his republican uniform (Hoche, Marceau and Klèber have familiarised us with its heroic and elegant appearance) were saturated and dripping, the envoy, as he stood in the centre of the group, looked a very hero. Why? Perhaps because his eyes, which were set in a pale handsome face beneath arched dark brows, flashed so finely. Certainly they were remarkable. Then one noticed that his face was strangely calm for that of a man who had just escaped death, and that his head and form were of classic mould. He scarcely looked his age — five-and-twenty — but no one who saw him would have doubted his ability to hold any position however responsible and dangerous. That he wore a republican uniform was, of course, an act of imprudence. The conspirators knew, however, that when he had left Rome forty-eight hours ago, neither General Championnet nor he had the least idea of the events which had caused Garat to quit Naples. When the envoy donned his uniform it was for the purpose of presenting himself before the French Ambassador and the Neapolitans would have been obliged to treat it with respect. Now the wearing of it might be construed as an act of defiance; moreover, it would undoubtedly compromise the patriots to whom the first visits were to be paid. Emmanuel di Deo, Galiani and Vitalino had been hung on the mere suspicion of connivance with the French — a warning not to take risks with a Government whose bad faith in modern days recalled that of Carthage in those of antiquity.

  The conspirators pressed round Salvato Palmieri — their southern excited gestures and voices contrasting strangely with the calmness of the young man. One would have thought it was they who had just escaped death; he seemed already to have forgotten the waves which thundered a few steps away and scattered their foam and spray over the group. Anxious as the five men were to hear the envoy’s news, they insisted on his accepting from Nicolino Caracciolo (he had a house close to the castle of Queen Joanna) a complete change of costume. When the young man stood before them again his appearance was transformed, for Caracciolo was a leader of fashion in Naples, and the envoy in Nicolino’s clothes might himself have passed as such.

  Salvato Palmieri had now for some time been aide-decamp to General Championnet, then commanding at Rome, to whom Hector Caraffa had written, enquiring whether a revolution in Naples, if it took place, could count on the support of both the French troops and the French Government. Championnet was then about thirty-six, possessing boundless energy and courage combined with the courteous and attractive manners of a man of the world. He was the natural son of a high official who had settled a small estate upon him of which he took the name, and in early youth had shewn his courage by breaking in all the most restive horses he could find.

  At eighteen he began the pursuit of the two phantoms known as “Glory” and “Fortune,” and joined the Italian troops in Spain. Encountering a Breton regiment in which he found some of his early friends, he obtained leave from his Colonel to join it as a volunteer. Peace brought him back to France, but, in 1789, the cannon of August 10th roused France, and each Department furnished its Volunteer Brigade. Championnet was named chief of that raised by the Drome and stationed at Besançon. Here he was found by Pichegru, who had known him when both were -Volunteers, and who granted his request to be placed on active service.

  After this his name deserves to be quoted along with those of Joubert, Hoche, Klèber, Bernadotte and others whose friend he was and under whom he served. They knew him so well, that whenever anything extra difficult, or apparently impossible had to be done, they said with one accord: “Oh, send Champiorinet!”

  His constant success was rewarded by his becoming first a general of brigade, then of a division guarding the sea coast from Dunkirk to Flushing, until the Peace of Campo Formio sent him back to Paris, where of all his military household he retained only one young aide-de-camp.

  Championnet had noticed particularly a young officer as excelling in valour, and as having performed some brilliant action in every engagement which took place. If a town were taken he was first on the rampart. Had a river to be crossed, he found a ford while under fire. At Laubach he had taken a standard. At the head of three hundred men he attacked fifteen hundred English, but when a desperate charge made by the Prince of Wales’s regiment forced his men back he disdained to retire along with them.

  Championnet, who was watching, saw him disappear in a crowd of enemies. He rallied a hundred men and charged to support him. He found the young officer still erect, his foot on the breast of the English general, whose thigh he had broken with a pistol shot, and surrounded by the dead, but with three bayonet wounds. Championnet got him off the field and sent his own surgeon to him, and when he recovered made him his aide-de-camp.

  When he gave his name as Salvato Palmieri, Championnet was considerably astonished, for besides speaking French like a native, he had heard him interrogating both English and German prisoners with equal facility. Salvato explained that having been taken to France as an infant and having finished his education in England and Germany, it was not wonderful that he should speak all three languages as well as his own. Championnet, realizing how extremely useful such a young man might be, retained him when he dismissed the rest and brought him to Paris.

  When Bonaparte went to Egypt, Championnet was anxious to follow him, but Barras, to whom he had applied, answered:

  “Stay with us, citizen general, we shall need you on this continent.”

  And, Joubert succeeding Bonaparte as commander in Italy, desired to have Championnet as general of the army in Rome, which was intended to watch, and if necessary, to threaten Naples.

  And this time Barras, who took a special interest in Championnet, remarked, when giving him his instructions:

  “Should war break out again you will be the first Republican general commissioned to dethrone a king.”

  “The orders of the Directory will be carried out,” replied Championnet with true Spartan simplicity.

  And, strangely enough, the promise was to be realized.

  The general departed for Italy with Salvato, and being already able to speak Italian, but wanting practice, from that time he spoke nothing else with his aide-decamp, and even with great foresight applied himself to acquire the Neapolitan patois which Salvato had picked up from his father.

  At Milan, Salvato became acquainted with Hector Caraffa, the Comte de Ruvo, whom he introduced to his general as one of the great nobles and most ardent patriots of Naples. The story of Hector’s life, which is widely known, sufficed to obtain permission for him to join the staff without any official duty. Both accompanied Championnet to Rome, where the course prescribed by the Directory was as follows. He was to “Repulse any hostile attack aimed against the independence of the Roman Republic, and to make war upon Naples, should the King attempt to carry out the invasion he had so often threatened.”

  Salvato was charged to explain the present miserable condition of the Roman Republic to the Neapolitan patriots. Championnet had begun by turning out all the fiscal officers and was applying any money he could get which was due to the Directory to the immediate needs of the town and the army. The condition of the latter was no better than that of the Republic. Upon paper it amounted to thirty-two thousand men, in reality to eight thousand, who for three months had not received a farthing of pay, who were destitute of shoes, clothes, and bread, and were practically surrounded by the Neapolitan army, which consisted of sixty thousand men, well clothed, well shod, and regularly paid. By way of munitions, the French army possessed 180,000 cartridges — fifteen shots for each man, and the scarcity of powder was such that at Civita-Vecchia they had actually been unable to fire at a Barbary pirate, which carried off a fishing smack within half-range of the guns of the fort. In all, they had only nine pieces of ordnance, all the artillery had been melted for copper coinage. Some fortresses, indeed, had cannons, but whether by treachery or negligence, no cannon-balls fitted them, and some had no balls at all. The arsenals were as destitute as the forts; they had vainly tried to find guns for two battalions of National Guards, and that in a country in which every man carried a gun on his shoulder if on foot, or slung on his saddle if on horseback.

  But Championnet wrote to Joubert, who promised to send him a million cartridges, and a train of ten pieces of artillery. As to cannon balls he had established a foundry which turned out four or five thousand per day. So Salvato, as Championnet’s aide-de-camp, was” to beg the patriots not to hurry things as the General wanted a month in which to become fit, — not to invade Naples, but to defend himself.

  Salvato had also a letter for the French Ambassador explaining the position, and begging him at all hazards to avoid a rupture between the two Courts. This letter, fortunately enclosed in a waterproofed portfolio, had escaped damage from the water. Salvato knew the contents, and could have repeated them word for word, but he required the letter as a guarantee of his good faith.

  “What are we to do?” demanded Hector, when the facts had been sufficiently explained.

  “We must follow the General’s instructions,” replied Cirillo.

  “And, in order to do so,” said Salvato, “I will go to the Ambassador this very moment.”

  “You will have to make haste then,” said a voice from the head of the stairs, which made everyone start, even Salvato himself. “From what I hear the Ambassador leaves for Paris this very night, or to-morrow morning.”

  “Velasco!” exclaimed Nicolino and Manthonnet together.

  Then Nicolino continued:

  “It is our sixth friend, Signor Palmieri, whom we were expecting, and who, by my unpardonable carelessness, has been able to cross the plank which I forgot to remove, both when I brought the rope and the clothes.”

  “Nicolino! Nicolino!” said Manthonnet, “you will bring us all to the scaffold.”

  “I have already said so,” answered Nicolino indifferently. “But there, why do you join in conspiracy with a fool?”

  If Velasco’s news was correct, there was not a moment to lose, for the Ambassador’s departure, tantamount to a declaration of war, might be disastrous to Championnet, and was exactly what Salvato was bound to prevent. Everyone wished to accompany him to the Embassy, but he refused absolutely. Once his mission were known, anyone seen with him would be lost, either seized by the police, or a mark for the daggers of the Government emissaries.

  There was no risk of his losing his way, he had only to follow the coast, keeping the sea on his right hand, and he could not fail to arrive at the Embassy, easily recognised by the tricolour flag, and the fasces sustaining the cap of Liberty.

  However, as much for the sake of friendship as of safety, he exchanged his own wet pistols for Nicolino’s, and then buckled on his sword under his cloak, hanging it from his carbine holder so that it might not attract notice by striking the ground. It was agreed that he should start first, the others following one by one ten minutes later; each going home separately by detours among the labyrinth of streets and lanes more puzzling than that of Crete.

  Nicolino conducted the newcomer as far as the road, and shewing him the slope of Pausilippo and the few lights yet unextinguished in Mergellina.