ntry, and their King--the refugee monarch of Naples--one
could espouse their cause without exactly laying one's self open to the
charge of being a bandit; but it was notorious in point of fact that the
bands cared for neither the Pope nor the exiled King nor their annexed
country, but committed the most abominable atrocities in the names of all
the three, for the simple purpose of filling their pockets. I foresaw
not only extreme difficulty in being accepted as a member of the
fraternity, more especially as I had hitherto been identified with the
Garibaldians; but also the probability of finding myself compromised by
acts from which my conscience would revolt, and for which my life would
in all likelihood pay the forfeit. On the other hand, I could think of
no friend among the officers of the Bersaglieri and cavalry regiments,
then engaged in brigand-hunting in the Capitanata and Basilicata, to whom
I could apply for an invitation to join them.

Under these circumstances, I determined to trust to the chapter of
accidents; and armed with a knapsack, a sketch-book, and an air-gun, took
my seat one morning in the Foggia diligence, with the vague idea of
getting as near the scene of operations as possible, and seeing what
would turn up. The air-gun was not so much a weapon of offence or
defence as a means of introduction to the inhabitants. It had the
innocent appearance of rather a thick walking-cane, with a little brass
trigger projecting; and in the afternoon I would join the group sitting
in front of the chemist's, which, for some reason or other, is generally
a sort of open-air club in a small Neapolitan town, or stroll into the
single modest _cafe_ of which it might possibly boast, and toy
abstractedly with the trigger. This, together with my personal
appearance--for do what I would, I could never make myself look like a
Neapolitan--would be certain to attract attention, and some one bolder
than the rest would make himself the spokesman, and politely ask me
whether the cane in my hand was an umbrella or a fishing-rod; on which I
would amiably reply that it was a gun, and that I should have much
pleasure in exhibiting my skill and the method of its operation to the
assembled company. Then the whole party would follow me to an open
space, and I would call for a pack of cards, and possibly--for I was a
good shot in those days--pink the ace of hearts at fifteen paces. At any
rate my performances usually called forth