of the hundred and fifty rustics who had been
engaged to assist in its construction had been
struck by a fragment of a shell, which carried
away his jaw. This ghastly wound, coupled with
some minor hurts that had been received, created
such a panic, that the entire body, except four,
had disappeared. And little wonder. They were
royalists, and their wages five farthings a day.

Our friend proposed to ascend the hill and have
a look at Capua and the positions. The enemy
had relaxed their efforts, and now fired, with the
most obliging regularity, every quarter of an
hour. You had only to glance at your watch, and
saunter under the most eligible cover. They
kept, however, a vigilant eye upon the hill, and
seemed ready to fire upon a crow, if it should
settle there. Ten people had been hit yesterday.
The officer in command would not advise
us to ascend.

The opportunity, however, was too tempting.
It was intensely hot. We had to climb the
whole distance, and it took us three-quarters of
an hour to reach the top, during which nine shells
came over us, but too high and wide to afford
us even the excitement of danger. The view
was magnificent, comprising the whole of our
lines and those of the enemy, divided by the
Volturno—a river in its general character, at
this place, not unlike the Thames at Henley—and
Capua, with its frowning walls, its domes and
towers, green quiet meadows, and woods of
almond and mulberry, so dense and widely spread
as almost to conceal the armies that lay below.

A little to the right of St. Angelo rises
another peak—St. Michaeli—and seeing a
small group of persons assembled there, we
went on. Scarcely had we ascended the height,
when Garibaldi himself appeared. He had
ridden half-way up the mountain path, and,
leaving his horses under cover, came up on foot
to his favourite look-out station. He was
accompanied by Cosenz (minister of war), Medici,
Bixio, Colonel De Abna (an American engineer
officer who had recently joined), and three or
four others. The hero wore his usual red frock,
with a beautiful gold chain, worn like a lady's,
a rich silk handkerchief over his shoulders,
hanging far down the back, and, in place of his
well-known hat, one of Spanish build turned
up all round. He looked worn and pale, and
also a little out of humour. It would seem
that some application he did not relish, had been
made to him; in continuance of a conversation
he had been holding with one of his staff,
he said, in his clear, magnificent tones:

"It is one of the disgraces (disgrazie) of
Italy, that she has too many commanders. If I
had but three officers, I should escape half the
difficulties with which I have to contend.
Surely, it is as honourable to fight for Italy with
a musket as with a sword."

The enemy of course had noticed the party,
and presently sent a shell so directly over
Garibaldi's head, that he looked up and smiled, as
though in acknowledgment of the accuracy of
the aim. The battery was so distant that the
smoke could scarcely be seen.

The general now walked on alone, and
remained at some distance, minutely examining
the enemy's positions; then he returned quickly,
called out "Acqua! acqua!" drank out of one of
those singular glass bottles which are about the
size of a well-grown child of three or four years
old, handed it to his staff, who followed his
example, and departed as he had come.

As it was pretty clear that nothing of moment
was likely to occur immediately, our friend and
I returned at night to Naples.  On the Tuesday
following, however (the ninth October), a
message importing the probability of "something"
on the morrow again enticed us to the front,
and again the neighbourhood of St. Angelo was
indicated as the theatre of action. During the
last three days our lines had been greatly
strengthened, and more guns (in all, eighteen)
were in position; but no siege artillery had
arrived, excepting a huge old Spanish piece which
looked as if it would be more at home in a
museum.

We found things a good deal changed at the
château Delia Corte. A portion of it had been
burned down, and the remainder so pounded by
the enemy, that our friends had been compelled
to abandon their comfortable apartments, and
take refuge in the little chapel (attached) in the
rear of the house.

A shell had entered the chamber of Captain
Hoffman, in which he, Colonel De Abna, and
two Italian officers were sleeping. Passing over
Hoffman's head, it bounded under the boards
which formed the bed of the Italians, and
exploded there, killing one and dangerously wounding
the other. The room itself was not the
picture of neatness. A number of other men
had been killed and wounded in and about the
building; and the batteries on the road and hill,
under the direction of Colonel Dowling, chief
of the artillery, an old Crimean officer, were at
this moment endeavouring to divert the attention
of the enemy.

My colonel, who knew the colonel, proposed
that we should pay him a visit in his battery,
each taking in his hand a bottle of Falernian,
to refresh the warriors. On climbing to the
spot, we were informed that he had gone down
to visit his guns in the road. Fate had
apparently ordained that I should shed a little blood
in the cause of Italy, for, in the act of quitting
the battery I slipped, fell, and, smashing my
bottle on the rock, lacerated my hand so
severely as to be obliged to go to the ambulance
for assistance.

Close by, there stood a little locanda, and
hither, presently, came many of those engaged
about this part of the line, to see what refreshment
might be had. It was a strange assemblage,
as various in language as in rank and
costume—French, English, Germans, Swedes,
and Scotchmen—a cook, a general, a doctor, a
runaway apprentice, and an Indian veteran.
Grades and business are very indefinite in
Garibaldi's army.

"What is your position here, sir, may I be
permitted to ask?" inquired a little man who