As soon as I could ride, I ordered out Cartouche, and, accompanied by Castelermo, rode over to Reggio, in faint hope of beholding that famous phenomenon, the Fata Morgana—the sea fairy, as our padrona called her—who, according to the Calabrese tradition, is a mermaid dwelling in the Straits of Messina, above the waves of which she displays her palaces of shell and coral, to lure young men to destruction: but there are fairies in all the cities of Italy, whose lures are more dangerous than those of the poor mermaid in the fable.
Castelermo informed me that he had been hearing mass at a chapel of San Bartolemmeo, among the hills, where he had solemnly returned thanks to the great patron of his order, for his narrow escape at Scylla.
"And San Bartolemmeo, who was he?" I asked.
"A most blessed saint, signor. To-day is the anniversary of his martyrdom: he was flayed alive by order of Astiages, the Armenian. But my escape—maladetto! ’t was a narrow one: when my hold relaxed and I fell from the broken battlement, I thought myself gone for ever. Yes, signor, but for St. John of Malta, and the beatified Madonna, I must have been dashed to pieces on those stone-flags, which received me so softly: in all my campaigns under the cardinal, in all my fighting under the winged-horse at Rome, and the Maltese flag, I never encountered an adventure equal to it!"
"Under the Maltese flag? Against the Turks, I presume?"
"Basta! ay, and Corsairs of Barbary, pirates of Greece, and, lastly, Frenchmen. You are aware that three months after the soldiers of Napoleon captured that solitary rock, where the banner of the true faith had waved so long, the hereditary vassals of the order, irritated by the tyranny of his general, Vaubois, rose in arms: with a few knights of the old Italian langue, I hastened to put myself at their head, and assist in the expulsion of those irreligious invaders. Ha! then we had something like war. The gates of Valetta, and the other cities of the isle, were shut, and their blockaded garrison reduced to the utmost famine and distress. Then ensued that long and bloody siege which lasted for two years; during which time more than twenty thousand soldiers perished by the sword or starvation. As the great master spirit of those military operations, I was in my glory; and was full of fervour, rapture, and extasy at the prospect of once more establishing my order. No pilgrim, on first beholding the holy city from afar, ever experienced the glow of indescribable feeling which possessed me, when the fleet of Portugal, sent by Lord Nelson to our assistance, burst joyously on my gaze; as the gallant ships, with their frowning tiers of artillery, their standards streaming, and white canvass swelling in the breeze, steered round the promontory, and opened their broadsides against the castle of St. Elmo. O, hour of joy! I kissed my sword, and raised my hands to the blue sky above me, in thankfulness. Lastly came the fleets of Britain and Sicily; after which the fortresses surrendered, and the soldiers of Vaubois, marching to the sea-shore, threw down their arms. All the treasured hopes, the glowing thoughts of years, were about to be accomplished: I stepped forward to receive the sword of the general; judge of my wrath, when Lord Nelson anticipated me; bowing low, Vaubois presented his sword by the hilt, and the admiral immediately handed it to a short squat fellow, a sailor, who stood behind; and who, with the most provoking indifference and sang froid, put it under his arm with those of other officers, as he received them in succession."