mong the people, rousing that strange
mixture of curiosity and horror that draws the common throng to the
scene of every accident or crime. But amongst the very first the King
was on the spot with half-a-dozen superior officers, and in the
briefest possible time the search for dead and wounded began. The
story of Giovanni's splendid presence of mind and heroic courage ran
from mouth to mouth. The junior officers and the men whom he had sent
in all directions came in and reported themselves to the officer who
had taken charge of everything for the time being. Only one man was
missing--only one man and Giovanni himself. A few casualties amongst
the peasants were reported, but not a life had been lost and hardly a
bone was broken. Yet Giovanni was missing.

With the confidence of men who understood that the magazine must have
been so entirely destroyed at once as to annihilate all further danger
in an instant, the searchers went up to the ruin of the outer wall and
peered into the great dusty pit out of which the foundations of the
magazine had been hurled hundreds of feet into the air. Something of
the outline of the enclosure could still be traced, and the sentinels
whom Giovanni had warned from their post had already told their story.
They found, too, that the missing man himself had been one of the
sentries, and the inference was clear: their commanding officer had
been killed before he had reached the last post.

For a long time they searched in vain. Great masses of masonry had
shot through the outer wall and had rolled on or been stopped by the
inequalities of the ground. Most of the wall itself was fallen and its
direction could only be traced by a heap of ruins. Twilight had turned
to darkness, and the search grew more and more difficult as a fine
rain began to fall. Below, the multitude was already ebbing back to
Rome; it was dark, it was wet, hardly any one had been hurt, and there
was nothing to see: the best thing to be done was to go home.

It was late when a squad of four artillerymen heard a low moan that
came from under a heap of stones close by them. In an instant they
were at work with the pickaxes and spades they had borrowed from the
peasants' houses, foreseeing what their work would be. From time to
time they paused a moment and listened. Before long they recognised
their comrade's voice.

'Easy, brothers! Don't crack my skull with your pickaxes, for Heaven's
sake!'

'Is the Captain there?' aske