' saying that he would not have that
published: 'I respect the nobility, and never dream of being higher
than they. I am a poor man of the people, and such I will always
remain.'

When the siege came, Ciceruacchio was invaluable in providing the
troops with forage, horses, and even victuals, which he procured by
making private sorties on his own account during the night; his
intimate knowledge of every path enabling him to go unobserved. He
planned the earthworks, at which he laboured with his hands, and when
fighting was going on, he shouldered a musket and ran with his two
sons, one of them a mere child, to wherever the noise of guns directed
him. No picture of Rome in 1849 would be complete without the burly
figure and jocund face of Angelo Brunetti.

The republican government found Rome with a mere shadow of an army;
the efforts to create one had been too spasmodic to do anything but
make confusion worse confounded by changes and experiments soon
abandoned. Perseverance and intelligence now had a different result,
and the little army, called into existence by the republic, proved
admirable in discipline, various and fantastic as were its components.

Towards the end of April, Garibaldi, who had been stationed at Rieti,
was ordered to bring his legion to Rome. Those who witnessed the
arrival saw one of the strangest scenes ever beheld in the Eternal
City. The men wore pointed hats with black, waving plumes; thin and
gaunt, their faces dark as copper, with naked legs, long beards and
wild dark hair hanging down their backs, they looked like a company of
Salvator Rosa's brigands. Beautiful as a statue amidst his
extraordinary host rode the Chief, mounted on a white horse, which he
sat like a centaur. 'He was quite a show, everyone stopping to look at
him,' adds the sculptor Gibson, to whom these details are owed.
'Probably,' writes another Englishman, 'a human face so like a lion,
and still retaining the humanity nearest the image of its Maker, was
never seen.' Garibaldi wore the historic red shirt, and a small cap
ornamented with gold.

The origin of the red shirt might have remained in poetic uncertainty
had it not been mentioned a few years ago in a volume of reminiscences
published by an English naval officer. The men employed in the
Saladeros or great slaughtering and salting establishments for cattle
in the Argentine provinces wore scarlet woollen shirts; owing to the
blockade of Buenos Ayres, a merchant at