According to the fashion of many large Italian houses, the stables formed a part of the principal building; and so in the present emergency it was lucky that the horses were at hand. Santugo’s black Barbary horse, with its red quivering nostrils, eyes sparkling fire, and its mane bristling at the noise of the musketry, was led by the Greek chasseur through a long corridor to a saloon which overlooked the grottoes by the sea-shore. The saddled steed was an unusual visitor in that noble apartment; where statues, vases, pictures, and sofas, were piled up in confusion to form barricades before six tall windows which faced the straits. One was open, revealing the bright sky, the sparkling sea, Sicilia’s coast and the sailing fleet; while ten Calabri, with their bayonets at the charge, stood by to guard the aperture. The brave young noble mounted, and stooping as he passed out, guided his horse along a ledge of slippery rock, and the casement was immediately secured behind him. We watched him with equal anxiety and admiration, as he rode along the perilous path, where one false step of the Barbary would have plunged him in the whirlpool, which roared and sucked in the foaming eddies, beneath the villa walls. The instant he passed the angle of the building which was swept by the fire of the assailants, there burst from them a simultaneous yell; which was answered by a shout of reckless defiance from the daring Santugo, who driving spurs into his fleet horse, compelled it to clear the high balustraded terrace by a flying leap. Then his long sword flashed in the moonlight as he slashed right and left, crying—"Viva Carolina! Ferdinando nostra e la Santa Fede!" cutting his way through the yelling mass, escaping bullet and steel as if he had a charmed life, he passed through them and was free; and I had no doubt would gain the village (where the boats lay) safely and rapidly. Enraged at his escape, the revolters pressed on with renewed fury, but changed their mode of attack. A cloud now passed over the moon involving the scenery in comparative darkness; but it was soon to be illuminated in a manner I little expected. There flashed forth a sudden glare of light, revealing the sea of ferocious visages and glancing arms of the enemy, the bloody terrace heaped with dead, the dark arcades, carved cornices, and lofty portico of the villa: a lurid glare shone over everything, and a man advanced to the terrace holding aloft an Indian sky-rocket; a terrible species of firework often used by the French. Its yellow blaze fell full upon the face of the bearer, in whom I recognised the villainous engineer, Navarre; I snatched a musket from the hand of a dead soldier, but ere it was aimed the traitor had shot the fiery missile from his hand and disappeared.