As to Mammone, he stayed at Capistrella, before Sora, between Lake Fucina and the Liri. He was told that an officer in French uniform, escorted by a guide, could be seen in the distance descending the source of the Liri.

  “Bring them both to me,” said Mammone.

  Five minutes later they were before him. Instead of leading the officer to General Lemoine to whom he was charged to transmit an order from General Championnet, the guide had treacherously brought him to Gaetano Mammone. He was an aide-de-camp of the Commander-in-Chief, named Claie.

  “You arrive opportunely,” said Mammone to him. “I am thirsty.” One knows with what kind of liquid Mammone used to quench his thirst.

  He had the aide-de-camp stripped of his coat, waistcoat, cravat and shirt, and ordered that his hands should be bound and that he should be tied to a tree. Then he put his finger on the carotid artery to make sure of its position, and feeling it throb, plunged in his dagger. The aide-de-camp had neither spoken, pleaded nor uttered a groan; he knew into the hands of what cannibal he had fallen, and, like the gladiator of old, had thought of one thing only, to die well. Mortally wounded, he uttered no cry, and let no sigh escape. The blood spurted from the wound in jets, as it bursts from an artery.

  Mammone set his lips to the aide-de-camp’s neck, and gorged himself voluptuously.

  After this, as his spies informed him that a small party of republicans, numbering twenty or thirty, was advancing by the Tagliacozza road, he ordered that arms should be concealed, flowers and olive branches plucked; that women should take the former, boys and men the latter, and that they should go to meet the detachment, and invite the officer in command to come with his men and take part in a feast that the village of Capistrello, composed of patriots, was giving as a sign of rejoicing at their happy advent.

  The messengers set out singing. Every house in the village opened its doors; a large table was set up on the square in front of the mayor’s office; and wine, bread, meat, hams and cheese were brought out. Another table was arranged for the officers in the mayor’s parlour, the windows of which looked out on the square.

  At a league’s distance from the town, the messengers met the little detachment commanded by Captain Tremeau. A guide, interpreter, and a traitor as usual, who was leading the detachment, explained to the republican captain what these men, children and women, coming with flowers and olive branches to meet him, wanted. Full of courage and loyalty, the captain had not even an idea of treason. He kissed the pretty girls who were offering their flowers, he ordered the sutler to empty her barrel of brandy; all drank to the health of General Championnet, to the spread of the French republic, and made their way arm in arm towards the village singing the Marseillaise.

  Gaetano Mammone, with all the rest of the inhabitants, was awaiting the French detachment at the gate into the village; it was welcomed by an immense ovation. Everyone fraternised once more, and amid cries of joy, proceeded to the mayor’s.

  There, as we have said, a table was set up; a plate was put for each soldier. The few officers dined, or rather were to have dined, with the magistrate, deputies and municipal body represented by Gaetano Mammone and the chief brigands enrolled under his orders. The soldiers, delighted with their reception, stacked their rifles at ten paces from the table prepared for them; the women took away their swords with which the children amused themselves playing at soldiers; then they sat down, bottles were uncorked and glasses filled.

  Captain Tremeau, a lieutenant and two sergeants, at the same time sat down in the lower hall.

  Mammone’s men glided between the table and the rifles that the captain had had loaded for greater precaution, on setting out; the officers were separated at the table within in such a way as to have three or four brigands between each of them.

  The signal for the massacre was to be given by Mammone; he would raise Claie’s skull full of wine at one of the windows and drink to the health of King Ferdinand. Everything happened as arranged. Mammone went to the window unobserved, filled with wine the still bleeding skull of the unhappy officer, took it by the hair as one lifts a goblet by its stem, and, appearing at the middle window, raised it to the toast agreed upon.

  The whole population immediately responded with the cry: “Death to the French!”

  The brigands threw themselves upon the stacked rifles; those who, pretending to serve them had surrounded the French, stepped back; firing burst out point blank, and the republicans fell under shots from their own weapons. Those who had escaped or who were only wounded had their throats cut by the women and children who had seized their swords.

  As to the officers inside the hall, wishing to rush to the aid of their men, they were each held in their places by five or six men.

  Mammone, triumphant, approached them, his bleeding cup in his hand, and offered them their lives if they would drink to the health of King Ferdinand in their compatriot’s skull.

  All four refused in horror.

  Then he had a hammer and nails brought, made the officers spread their hands on the table and nailed them to it. Then fagots and bundles of straw were thrown into the room, and, when they had been set alight, the doors and windows were shut.

  However, the torture of the republicans was shorter and less cruel than their tormentor had hoped. One of the sergeants was courageous enough to tear his hands free of the nails, and with Captain Tremeau’s sword he performed for his companions the terrible service of stabbing them, and he stabbed himself afterwards.

  The four heroes died crying: “Long live the Republic!”

  The news reached Naples where it rejoiced King Ferdinand, who, seeing himself so well seconded by his faithful subjects, resolved more firmly than ever not to leave Naples.

  Let us leave Mammone, Fra Diavolo and the Abbé Pronio to pursue their exploits, and let us see what was happening to the Queen, who, more firmly than ever, on the contrary, had resolved to quit the capital.

  CHAPTER XX.

  THE UNDERGROUND PASSAGE.

  CARACCIOLO had spoken truly. It suited the English policy that, driven from their capital on terra -firma, Ferdinand and Caroline should take refuge in Sicily, where they had nothing further to expect from their troops or their subjects, but only from English ships and sailors.

  That is why Nelson, Sir William and Lady Hamilton urged the Queen to flight, which, besides, her personal fears energetically counselled. The Queen knew herself to be indeed so hated that in the event of a republican outburst she was certain, that just as her husband would be defended by the people, so on the contrary the people would abandon her to a prison or even to death!

  The spectre of her sister Antoinette, her head, with hair turned white in one night, bowed in her hands, was day and night before her.

  Now, ten days after the King’s return, that is, on the 18th December, the Queen, Acton and Emma Hamilton were snugly together in the Queen’s bedchamber.

  It was eight o’clock in the evening. A terrible wind was beating with its wild wing against the windows of the royal palace, and the roar of the sea was heard breaking against the Spanish towers of the Castello Novo. A single lamp lit the room, and shed its light on a plan of the palace upon which the Queen and Acton appeared to be eagerly seeking some detail which escaped them.

  In a corner of the room one could make out, in the

  shadows, a motionless and dumb silhouette, which, with the impassiveness of a statue, seemed to be awaiting an order in readiness to carry it out.

  The Queen made an impatient movement.

  “Yet this secret passage exists,” said she. “I am sure of it, although for a long time it has been out of use.”

  “And Your Majesty thinks this secret passage necessary to you?”

  “Indispensable!” said the Queen. “Tradition assures one that it opens on to the military port, and by this passage only, without being seen, we can transport on board the English vessels our jewels, our gold, and the precious objects of art we wish to take away with us. If the people suspect our departure, and if they see us remove a single trunk on board the Vanguard, they will be suspicious; that will cause a disturbance, and there will be no further chance of going. It is absolutely necessary therefore for us to find this passage.”

  And the Queen, with the help of a magnifying glass, again began to look for the pencil marks which would indicate the underground passage in which she put all her hope.

  Acton, seeing the Queen’s pre-occupation, looked up, sought for the shade in the room which we have indicated, and having found it: “Dick!” said he. The young man started, as if he had not expected to be called, and especially as if his thought, sovereign mistress of his body, had transported him a thousand leagues from the spot where he stood. “Come here, Dick,” said Acton. “You are something of an architect, I believe?”

  “I studied architecture for two years,” said this intelligent and passive servant, approaching.

  “Well then, look, seek; perhaps you will discover what we cannot find. There should be in the cellars an underground passage, a secret tunnel leading from the palace interior to the military port.”

  Acton left the table and gave up his place to his secretary, who leaned over the plan; then, rising immediately:

  “I think it’s no good looking for it,” he said.

  “Why?”

  “If the architect of the palace has made a secret passage in the foundations, he will have taken care not to show it on the plan.”

  “Why so?” asked the Queen with her usual impatience.

  “Because, madame, from the moment the passage is shown on the plan it is no longer a secret passage, since it will be known to everyone who looks at it.”

  The Queen laughed. “What your secretary says is logical enough, you know, General?”

  “So logical that I am ashamed not to have thought of it,” answered Acton.

  “Well, now, Mr. Dick,” said Emma Hamilton, “help us to find this underground way. Once found, I feel quite disposed to explore it like a heroine of Anne Radcliffe’s, and to come and give the Queen an account of my exploration.”

  Before replying, Richard looked at General Acton as if to ask permission. “I believe,” said he, “that the first thing to do is to explore all that part of the palace foundations that looks on to the wet dock. However well concealed the door may be, it is impossible that no trace should be found.”

  “Then we must wait till tomorrow,” said the Queen, “and that is a night lost.”

  Dick went to the window. “But why, madame?” said he. “The sky is cloudy, but there is a full moon. Each time it comes from behind a cloud it will give me sufficient light for my search. I should only need the watchword so that I could move freely about within the port.”

  “Nothing simpler,” said Acton. “We will go together to the governor of the castle; not only will he give you the watchword, but he will tell the sentries not to bother about you, but to let you do in peace all you require.”

  “Then, General, as Her Majesty said, let us lose no time.”

  “Go, General, go,” said the Queen. “And you, sir, try to do honour to our good opinion of you.”

  “I shall do my best, madame,” said the young man, and having bowed respectfully, he went out behind the Captain-General.

  At the end of ten minutes Acton returned alone.

  “Well?” asked the Queen.

  “Well,” returned he, “our hound is on the track, and I shall be much surprised if he comes back, as His Majesty says, after having made a hollow draw.”

  Indeed, furnished with the watchword, Dick had begun his search, and in an angle of the wall had discovered a grille with crossbars, covered with rust and spiders’ webs, before which, without taking any notice of it, everyone passed with the carelessness of habit. Convinced that he had found one of the ends of the secret passage, Dick now occupied himself only with finding the other.

  He re-entered the castle, enquired who was the oldest servant among all the domestics swarming in the lower floors, and heard that it was the father of the butler, who, after having had that office for forty years, had relinquished it to his son for twenty years past.

  Dick had himself taken to the butler. He found the whole family of twelve persons at table. The grandfather, who had come with Charles III. as butler from Spain, was a handsome old man, upright, still vigorous, and seeming to have lost none of his intelligence.

  Dick addressed him in Spanish. “The Queen asks for you,” said he.

  The old man started; no one had spoken to him in his own tongue for forty years. All the guests rose from their seats as if moved by a spring.

  “The Queen asks for you,” Dick repeated.

  “Is Your Excellency quite sure?”

  “Sure.”

  “And when?”

  “Immediately.”

  “But I cannot appear like this before Her Majesty.’’

  “She asks for you just as you are; she is waiting.”

  The old man got up, more perturbed than flattered by the invitation, and looked at his son with some uneasiness.

  “Tell your son the locksmith not to go to bed,” continued Dick in Spanish, “the Queen will probably need him tonight.”

  The old man transmitted the order to his son in Neapolitan. “I am at Your Excellency’s service,” said he, and with a step almost as firm, though weightier than that of his guide, he went up the servants’ staircase with Dick and through the corridors. Dick signed to the ushers not to rise, and knocked gently at the Queen’s door.

  “Come in,” said Caroline’s imperious voice. “Well?” she continued, as he entered, leaving the old man in the ante-room, “what have you discovered?”

  “What Your Majesty seeks — at least, I hope so. One of the doors of the secret passage, and I hope to bring to Your Majesty the man who will find the other.”

  “The man who will find the other?”

  “The former butler of King Charles III., an old man of eighty-two.”

  “Have you questioned him?”

  “I did not think myself authorised, madame, and I have left this task for you.”

  The old man was then called in.

  “Ah! Ah! It is you, Pachecho,” said the Queen, who recognised him as having waited upon her for fifteen or twenty years. “I was not aware that you were still among us. I am glad to see you alive and well. You can, precisely, because of your great age, do me a service.”

  “I am at Your Majesty’s disposal.”

  “You ought, in the time of the late King Charles III. — God keep his soul! — you ought to have known or to have heard of a secret passage leading from the castle cellars on to the wet dock or the military port?”

  The old man put his hand to his forehead.

  “Yes,” said he; “I do remember something of the kind, but,” he shook his head, “I am old; at eighty-two memory fails. Am I allowed to consult my sons?”

  “What are your sons?” enquired the Queen.

  “The eldest, aged fifty, has succeeded me as butler, Your Majesty, the other, aged forty-eight, is locksmith.”

  “Locksmith! Your Majesty hears that,” said Richard. “To open the door one will be needed.”

  “Very good,” the Queen said; “go and consult your sons, but them only, not the women.”

  “May God be always with Your Majesty,” the old man said, bowing as he withdrew.

  “Follow that man, Mr. Dick,” said the Queen, “and come back as soon as possible to give me the result of the conference.”

  Dick saluted and followed Pachecho. After a quarter of an hour he returned.

  “The passage is found,” said he, “and the locksmith is ready to open the door on Your Majesty’s order.”

  “General,” the Queen remarked, “in Mr. Richard you have a valuable man, and some day or other I shall probably ask you for him.”

  “On that day, madame,” replied Acton, “his dearest wishes and mine will be fulfilled. What are Your Majesty’s commands meanwhile?”

  “Come,” said the Queen to Emma Hamilton, “there are certain things one must see with one’s own eyes.”

  Time, however, was running on in its remorseless way, and, although harassed on all sides by the bands of Pronio, Gaetano Mammone and Fra Diavolo, the French army, unmoved as time, followed its triple road through the Abruzzi, the Terra di Lavoro, and that part of the Campagna of which the Tyrhennian sea washes the shore.

  All the movements of the Republicans being-known at Naples, it had not escaped attention that from the 20th the chief body, that commanded by Championnet in person, had encamped on the evening of the 18th at San Germano, and was advancing upon Capua by Nignano and Calvi.

  On the 20th, at eight o’clock in the morning, the Prince of Maliterno and the Duke of Rocca Romana, each at the head of a regiment of volunteers recruited among the noble or wealthy youth of Naples and its neighbourhood, had come to take leave of the Queen, and had set out on their march to meet the Republicans. The nearer the danger approached, the more the King’s party and the Queen’s party separated into two camps.

  The King’s party was composed of Cardinal Ruffo, Admiral Caracciolo, the Minister of War, Ariola, and of all those who, clinging to the honour of the Neapolitan name, desired resistance at all price and the defence of Naples pushed to the last extremity.

  The Queen’s party, composed of Sir William and Lady Hamilton, Nelson, Acton, Castelcicala, Vanni and Guidobaldi, desired the abandonment of Naples, and a prompt flight.

  Then, amid all this, the Queen was extremely agitated with the fear of Ferrari’s return at any moment. The King, seeing himself insolently deceived, knowing in short whom to blame for all the disasters overwhelming the kingdom, might, as weak natures do, have a moment’s energy and escape for ever from the pressure put upon him for twenty years by a minister he had never liked and a spouse he no longer loved.