reaching Salerno, they were informed that some gendarmes were coming in that direction, seeking trouble. Here was a real danger. The gendarmes were Neapolitan police and under no obligations to surrender. Peard drew his sword and Nast his trusty cheese knife. Then they secluded themselves in the brush and waited for the squad to pass. This was humiliating, of course, after accepting the surrender of thousands, but the thousands had been in a surrendering mood. They lay in breathless silence, praying fervently that the donkey would restrain any ambition he might have to voice his feelings. Perhaps he was alive to the situation, for he merely wagged his ears in silence, and the danger passed.

After Salerno, donkeys, horses and even carriages were no longer needed.

Here Gari

baldi and his

faithful ones

took the train

for Naples.

But it was a

train that

moved at a snail's pace.

On either side was a vast cavalcade of cheering, waving men and

women. At

times, the

engineer was

obliged to halt, to avoid

(From pencil sketch)

THE TRIUMPHAL ENTRY OF GARIBALDI ITO NAPLES
(From a drawing by Nast in the New York Illustrated News)

crushing the eager ones who crowded upon the track ahead. At every station, a throng swarmed over the coaches and filled the engine.

Arrived at Naples, the guard kept a semblance of order in the station but just outside pandemonium had broken loose. Crowds shouted and sang and danced in a perfect delirium of joy. "Viva Garibaldi! Viva Vittorio Emmanuele! Viva l'Italia!" was on every lip. Only at the gloomy garrison of St. Elmo were those-Bourbon officers and gunners-who as yet took no part in the triumph. Their guns were trained on the carriage of Garibaldi and his staff. And Garibaldi knew that they were there-that the guns were shotted-that the gunners stood by with lighted fuse.

"Drive slower," he said to the nervous coachman. "Stop! and the carriage halted directly before the guns.

"Fire!" commanded the Bourbon officers. "Fire! Fire!" But Garibaldi had risen in his carriage and was looking directly at the artillerymen. And then, all at once, the gunners threw away their fuses, and flinging their caps high in the air shouted with the multitude,

"Viva Garibaldi! Viva Vittorio Emmanuele! Viva l'Italia! "

Now came riotous days of rejoicing at Naples, and voting for the annexation of Naples and Sicily to Piedmont, with Victor Emmanuel as king. The result was almost unanimous for union, and the beginning of the great end for which Garibaldi had struggled and fought was at hand. Nast made sketches of the election, of the streets and of whatever appealed to him as picturesque or important; also, a number of characteristic watercolor paintings-striking bits of Italian life and scenery-four of which are still preserved. He accompanied Garibaldi to the shrine of Piedigrotta, and of this made a large drawing for the London News. September 27th being the artist's birthday, his military friends gave him a feast to be remembered.

On October 1st began the fighting before Capua and along the Volturno, where Francis II., with forty thousand adherents, made a final determined stand. Here, at length, was genuine warfare. Nast climbed Santa Maria Hill for a view of the field. At first there seemed to be panic among the Garibaldians. Then the great commander himself arrived and the troops rallied. Yet it seemed to the observer that vast confusion reigned below. Runaway horses tore through the ranks. Fallen men were all about, and scores of wounded were dragging themselves from the fray. The English sportsmen had found amusement at last. Presently a shell exploded not far away.

"Pretty close," said an officer who stood near.

Another shell passed still closer, and fell a few yards distant. "On your faces!" shouted the officer, and the spectators

rolled over like automatons. "All right! She's dead!" called the spokesman a moment later, and once more, though rather reluctantly, the audience sat up.

"Guess I've got sketches enough," said Nast.

Presently there was a little sally of infantry up the hill, to

capture the spectators. It was a futile attempt. The spectators were not handicapped with arms. Even the artist, short and fat and laden with a sketch book, escaped. He decided that he had seen enough war, and returned to Naples that night.

A few days later, at Caserta, Garibaldi, victor over all, sat to him for his portrait. The great general-foremost figure in the public eye, lauded to the skies, besieged and beset for favors by thousands of men and women of all nations-was patient and polite during the sketching, and left, as usual, the impression of being the gentle-hearted patriot that he was.

And so the war ended. King Francis had retired to the citadel of Gaeta, and Garibaldi at last confronted the Army of the North,

commanded by Victor Emmanuel, king of Italy united. On a morning early, each at the head of his army, these two metthe sovereign and the fisherman's son who had won for him at crown. It was the supreme moment of Garibaldi's life. The vast concourse looking on were for an instant silent. Then, as, leaning from their horses, king and soldier clasped hands, there arose once more the oft-repeated shout that told of Italy free. The conqueror's mission was accomplished. He had defeated the invader, he had united a nation, he had crowned a king. Alas, that nations are not always just, nor kings often grateful!

A few days later the Liberator bade good-by to his friends and followers. Among his soldiers he distributed medals. His voice failed as he took leave of them, while they, in turn, wept at the parting. Then, penniless as he had begun the struggle, having borrowed a few pounds with which to pay his debts, he set out for his home, Caprera, a small barren island off the Sardinian coast. In return for his great gifts to Italy and her king, he had accepted only the assurance that his army should be cared for-a promise readily made, and never fulfilled. Nast saw him for the last time on board the English flagship Hannibal," where Garibaldi bade farewell to Admiral Mundy, who had rendered him faithful service.

66

It was the "Liberator's " final word of good-by. The steamship Washington was waiting for him, and a little later was hull-down on the horizon, leaving a free and united Italy behind.