athy for the Red Shirts; until, at last, these
cries arose to shouts, and the shouts arose wild and high,
penetrating to that upper room where the assailants confronted their
cool antagonists. The cries had an ominous sound.

"_Viva la Liberia_!" "_Viva la Republica_!" "_Viva Garibaldi_!" At
the name _Garibaldi_, a wild yell of applause resounded wide and
high--a long, shrill yell, and the name was taken up in a kind of mad
fervor till the shout rose to a frenzy, and nothing was heard but the
confused outcries of a thousand discordant voices, all uttering that
one grand name, "_Garibaldi_!" "_Garibaldi_!" "_Garibaldi_!"

The Americans heard it. What connection there was between themselves
and Garibaldi they did not then see, but they saw that somehow the
people of Salerno had associated them with the hero of Italy, and
were sympathizing with them. Obed Chute himself saw this, and
understood this, as that cry came thundering to his ears. He turned
to his friends.

"Boys," said he, "we came here for a dinner and a night's rest. We've
got the dinner, but the night's rest seems to be a little remote.
There's such an infernal row going on all around that, if we want to
sleep this blessed night, we'll have to take to the yacht again, and
turn in there, sailor fashion. So I move that we adjourn to that
place, and put out to sea."

His proposal was at once accepted without hesitation.

"Very well," said Obed. "Now follow me. March!"

With his revolver in his extended hand, Obed strode toward the door,
followed by the others. The dragoons drew back and allowed them to
pass out without resistance. They descended the stairs into the hall.
As they appeared at the doorway they were recognized by the crowd,
and a wild shout of triumph arose, in which nothing was conspicuous
but the name of Garibaldi. The mounted dragoons outside did not
attempt to resist them. They looked away, and did not seem to see
them at all. The crowd had it all their own way.

Through the crowd Obed advanced, followed by his friends, and led the
way toward the yacht. The crowd followed. They cheered; they shouted;
they yelled out defiance at the king; they threw aside all restraint,
and sang the Italian version of the "Marseillaise." A wild enthusiasm
pervaded all, as though some great victory had been won, or some
signal triumph achieved. But amidst all their shouts and cries and
applause and songs one word was pre-eminent, and that one word was
the