Bosco, a Neapolitan commander who had really made a fierce resistance, marched out, followed by his army. This must have been humiliation for the proud Bosco, who but very recently had referred to his enemies as "those ragged Garibaldians." Nast made sketches of this and other scenes of the day, and his pictures were used on both sides of the water, with pay from only one, though the New York News continued to boast of our own special artist with Garibaldi."

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At Milazzo many Neapolitans came over to the Garibaldian ranks-glad to be captured-glad to escape from that terrible citadel, where dead men lay unburied in the sun, and where the wells were as poison. A powder train was found laid to the magazine, ready for explosion, though Bosco denied all knowledge of this violation of the code of arms.

The Garibaldians now moved on to Messina, where the inhabitants, hardly knowing what to expect, had put out to sea, in boats of every descrip

tion.

But the Bourbon forces at Messina did not care to fight. The very name of Garibaldi, and the fact of his arrival, were sufficient for their conquest. Finding there was to be no battle, the citizens returned and pulled down all the Bourbon emblems, including a statue of Francis II. The streets were quickly filled with red costumes and dancing. The public square became a vast

ballroom. Nast made many sketches of these characteristic

scenes.

From this time on until the siege of Capua, on the Volturno, beyond Naples, the Garibaldian expedition has been termed a "military promenade." There was some sharp fighting at Reggio, just after crossing the straits, but for the most part the awe-stricken and half-starved Neapolitans were only too eager to lay down their arms and be taken into camp.

Support now came from all quarters. English recruitschiefly sportsmen who hoped to bag a few Neapolitans, pheasant shooting having been rather poor at home-were constantly arriving, while the English navy, under Admiral Mundy, was always lingering about to get in the enemy's way. When Mundy was absent and danger threatened, the American flag did good service. The champion of liberty was no longer the "Great Filibuster," but the "Commander of the Army of the South" with the three Ms-men, muskets and money-at his command. His forces numbered fully forty thousand men, well disciplined and well equipped. All his life long, against every obstacle, he had yearned and fought for this recognition. Now, at last, it had come to him. He was Dictator of Italy, with the victor's laurels within reach,

The march northward was not warfare, save as it may be presented in the opera bouffe. The Neapolitan troops literally fell over one another to surrender their arms and be safe. Heavy firing sometimes took place, but only for stage effect and at very long range. The cannon balls, when they did reach, came bounding along like baseballs, and were sometimes caught by the soldiers. At one point, Neapolitan officers who had not as yet had a chance to surrender, sent a messenger to apologize for the shots of the night before, offering as an excuse that the men were restive and difficult to control. Doubtless this was true. They were eager for the moment of surrender, and celebrating its approach.

The Garibaldian officers now travelled as rapidly as they pleased. Colonel Peard had been ordered to go ahead and spy out the promised land, and Nast accompanied him. Peard rode

a rather bony horse, while "Joe, the fat boy," was usually mounted on a small, but loud-lunged jackass, so that the two bore considerable resemblance to Don Quixote and his faithful squire. Now and again, weary with riding, the "fat boy " would nod, and Peard would call to him:

"Now, Joe, you're asleep again," or, "Don't go to sleep, Joe, you rascal!" And so they wiled away the long, hot Italian afternoons. Much of the time they were wholly unescorted; yet, in the midst of the enemy's country though they were, they did not feel especially afraid, for the Neapolitans had been awestricken by the name of the approaching Garibaldi, and were only too anxious to fire their last few shots in the air and come capering into their conqueror's camp.

Sometimes, at the villages, Peard was mistaken for Garibaldi, whom he slightly resembled, and the inhabitants flocked about, kissing his hand and calling him their preserver. Even the fat boy on the noisy donkey received attention.

This mistaking of Colonel Peard for Garibaldi resulted in certain incidents that should not be overlooked by the writers of opera bouffe. Arriving one afternoon at the crest of a hill, the advance guard of two suddenly found itself face to face with a large Neapolitan detachment. Quick volleys of handkerchiefs were fired, i. e., waved, on both sides. Then the pseudo Garibaldi and his loyal squire sallied down and accepted the joyful surrender of an army, with artillery and side-arms. Still farther on, when the advance guard had lain down in a vineyard for a brief siesta, it awoke to find itself surrounded by a Neapolitan army of seven thousand men. Peard promptly asked to be taken to the commander. This time he did not impersonate Garibaldi, but merely said,

"You are our prisoners-Garibaldi is close behind.”

The officer regarded him doubtfully-uncertain as to whether he was really their prisoner, or they his. Nast was despatched

to bring up the General and thus settle the matter. This he did without loss of time.

He found Garibaldi combing his hair sailor fashion, before a small mirror, while his soldiers rested.

"Tell them I'll be along to accept their surrender by the time they get the papers ready," he laughed.

Nast returned with the great commander's message, and a little later Garibaldi's appearance in person ended all dispute. Far

IN CALABRIA." A HALT AT A WAYSIDE HOSTELRY
(From pencil sketch)

ther along, Colonel Peard accomplished the evacuation of Salerno merely by sending a telegram over Garibaldi's signature. The English sportsmen who had come out to pot a few Neapolitans began to complain of their hard luck. They were to have their chance on the Volturno, where the Bourbon dynasty under Francis II. made its last stand. For the present, however, they grumbled at uneventful marches under the hot sun and through the miasmatic swamps that set their bones aching and filled their veins with fever.

But to return to our gallant pair of conquerors. Just before