"These are Lucchesi, the most hideous provincials of Italy; those wanderers who spread over all Europe with organs and monkeys," whispered Ortensia, as we passed through the court, which was crowded with the most savage-looking fellows imaginable. Many were half naked, or clad only in the skins of sheep and lynxes, beneath which might be seen the remains of a ragged shirt, a tattered vest, or breeches, once red or yellow; their legs and feet were bare; some had old battered hats, or red slouched caps: but the greater number had only their shock heads of hair, bleached by the weather till it was coarse as a charger’s mane, and overhanging their gaunt ferocious visages, grim with starvation and misery: which ever accompanied French invasion. A few wore the gallant bandit costume of the south, and all were carousing, and filling the hollow towers, the dark arcades, and echoing corridors with bursts of brutal laughter to lighten their work: for all were busy, polishing rifle and pistol locks, and grinding the blades of sabres, poniards, and pikes. My fair companions shrank with dismay from the hall windows when they viewed the assemblage below, and even I did not feel quite at ease; especially after seeing about two hundred stand of _French_ arms and accoutrements ranged along the vestibule. "Signor Barone, you keep a strong garrison here," said I, smiling, while we surveyed the motley crew of ruffians from a lofty oriel; "do you expect Massena to pass the Amato soon?" "That would be superb!" replied he, with a grin, which revealed his ample and wolfish jaws. "No, no, ’t is only my good friend Scarolla, the valiant captain of four hundred free companions, who is here with his band: we are bound on a little piece of service together. Ha! ha! if that fool Belcastro had not poisoned himself instead of the Maltese Knight, he would have been here too." At that moment Scarolla approached: I attentively surveyed the celebrated bandit-chief, whose name, in the annals of Italian ferocity, stands second only to that of Mammone, "the blood-quaffer." He was above six feet high, and moulded like a Hercules; dark as that of a Negro, his mean visage announced him a Lucchese; long black hair hung down his back, and a thick beard fringed his chin. The band of his ample beaver, his velvet jacket and mantello were covered with the richest embroidery, and a silver hilted poniard glittered in his waist-belt. His brows were knit and lowering, his eyes keen and sinister: the ladies trembled beneath the bold scrutiny of his glance, and shrank close to my side for protection while the withered little barone introduced us. "Signor Inglese, the valiant Capitano Scarolla; brave men ought to know each other: you are both captains, remember." "Serving under different leaders," I replied, while bowing, and repressing a scornful smile.