, held the pass against the
Garibaldians. M'Caskey was not long in explaining who he was, nor,
indeed, very modest in proclaiming his personal importance; and the
subaltern, with every show of deference to such greatness, detached a
corporal of his guard to accompany them to the General's quarters. The
General was asleep when they reached Mauro; he had been, they said, "up
all night," but they did not add it was in the celebration of an orgie,
in which the festivities were more classic than correct. M'Caskey,
however, learned that at about five miles in front, Garibaldi's
advanced guard was posted, and that Garibaldi himself had ridden up and
reconnoitred their position on the evening before.

"We expect to be attacked by noon," said the officer, in a tone the very
reverse of hopeful or encouraging.

"You can hold this pass against twenty thousand," said M'Caskey.

"We shall not try," said the other. "Why should we be the only men to
get cut to pieces?"

The ineffable scorn of the little Colonel as he turned away was not lost
on the other; but he made no reply to it, and retired. "We are to
have an escort as far as Ravello; after that we are to take care of
ourselves; and I own to you I think we shall be all the safer when we
get out of the reach of his Majesty's defenders."

"There," cried the Sergeant who acted as their guard,--"there, on that
rock yonder, are the Reds. I'll go no further."

And as they looked they saw a small group of red-shirted fellows lying
or lounging on a small cliff which rose abruptly over a stream crossed
by a wooden bridge. Attaching his handkerchief to his walking-stick,
M'Caskey stepped out boldly. Skeffy followed; they reached the bridge,
and crossed it, and stood within the lines of the Garibaldians. A very
young, almost boyish-looking, officer met them, heard their story,
and with much courtesy told them that he would send one of his men to
conduct them to head-quarters. "You will not find the General there,"
said he, smiling; "he's gone on in that direction;" and he pointed, as
he spoke, towards Naples.

Skeff asked eagerly if the young officer had ever heard of Tony Butler,
and described with ardor the handsome face and figure of his friend.
The other believed he had seen him. There was, he knew, a _giovane
Irlandese_ who was wounded at Melazzo, and, if he was not mistaken,
wounded again about four days back at Lauria. "All the wounded are at
Salerno, however," said he, carele