“But the danger,” said Uncle John. “What do you think of the wisdom of our staying here? Is it safe to keep my girls in Naples during this eruption?”
“Ah! Why not? This very morning the mountain asunder burst, and we who love our people dread the news of devastation we shall hear. From the observatory, where His Majesty’s faithful servant still remains, come telegrams that the great pebbles — what we call scoria — have ruined Ottajano and San Guiseppe. Perhaps they are overwhelmed. But the beast has vomited; he will feel better now, and ever become more quiet.”
“I suppose,” remarked Mr. Merrick, thoughtfully, “that no one knows exactly what the blamed hill may do next. I don’t like to take chances with three girls on my hands. They are a valuable lot, Colonel, and worth saving.”
The boyish Italian instantly looked grave. Then he led Uncle John away from the others, although doubtless he was the only officer present able to speak or understand English, and said to him:
“Where are you living?”
“At the hotel named after your sick mountain — the Vesuve.”
“Very good. In the bay, not distant from your hotel, lies a government launch that is under my command. At my home in the Viala Elena are a wife and two children, who, should danger that is serious arise, will be put by my soldiers on the launch, to carry them to safety. Admirable, is it not?”
“Very good arrangement,” said Uncle John.
“It renders me content to know that in any difficulty they cannot be hurt. I am not scare, myself, but it is pleasant to know I have what you call the side that is safe. From my American wife I have many of your excellent speech figures. But now! The launch is big. Remain happy in Naples — happy as Vesuvio will let you — and watch his vast, his gigantic exhibition. If danger come, you all enter my launch and be saved. If no danger, you have a marvelous experience.” The serious look glided from his face, and was replaced by a smile as bright as before.
“Thank you very much,” responded Uncle John, gratefully. “I shall go back to the girls well satisfied.”
“Make the signorini stay in to-day,” warned the colonel. “It is bad, just now, and so black one can nothing at all observe. To-morrow it will be better, and all can go without. I will see you myself, then, and tell you what to do.”
Then he insisted that Uncle John clear his parched throat with a glass of vermouth — a harmless drink of which all Italians are very fond — and sent him away much refreshed in body and mind.
He made his way through the ashy rain back to the hotel. People were holding umbrellas over their heads and plodding through the dust with seeming unconcern. At one corner a street singer was warbling, stopping frequently to cough the lava dust from his throat or shake it from his beloved mandolin. A procession of peasants passed, chanting slowly and solemnly a religious hymn. At the head of the column was borne aloft a gilded statuette of the Virgin, and although Uncle John did not know it, these simple folks were trusting in the sacred image to avert further disaster from the angry mountain.
On arriving home Mr. Merrick told the girls with great elation of his new friend, and how they were to be taken aboard the launch in case of emergency.
“But how will we know when danger threatens?” asked Louise.
While Uncle John tried to think of an answer to this puzzling query someone knocked upon the door. The concierge was standing in the passage and beside him was a soldier in uniform, a natty cock’s plume upon his beaver hat and a short carbine over his arm.
“A guard from Colonel Angeli, Signor,” said the concierge, respectfully — the first respectful tone he had yet employed.
The soldier took off his hat with a flourish, and bowed low.
“He is to remain in the hotel, sir, yet will not disturb you in any way,” continued the whiskered one. “But should he approach you at any time and beckon you to follow him, do so at once, and without hesitation. It is Colonel Angeli’s wish. You are in the charge of this brave man, who will watch over your welfare.”
“That settles it, my dears,” said Uncle John, cheerfully, when the soldier and the concierge had withdrawn. “This Italian friend doesn’t do things by halves, and I take it we are perfectly safe from this time on.”
CHAPTER VIII
ACROSS THE BAY
Tom Horton called an hour later. He was in despair because his party had decided to leave Naples for Rome, and he feared Beth would be engulfed by the volcano unless he was present to protect her.
“Mr. Merrick,” said the boy, earnestly, “you’ll take good care of Miss De Graf, sir, won’t you? We both live in Ohio, you know, and we’ve just got acquainted; and — and I’d like to see her again, some time, if she escapes.”
Uncle John’s eyes twinkled, but he drew a long face.
“My dear Tom,” he said, “don’t ask me to take care of anyone — please don’t! I brought these girls along to take care of me — three of ‘em, sir — and they’ve got to do their duty. Don’t you worry about the girls; just you worry about me.”
That was not much consolation for the poor fellow, but he could do nothing more than wring their hands — Beth’s twice, by mistake — and wish them good luck before he hurried away to rejoin his family.
“I’m sorry to see him go,” said Beth, honestly. “Tom is a nice boy.”
“Quite right,” agreed Uncle John. “I hope we shall meet no worse fellows than Tom Horton.”
At noon they were served a modest luncheon in their rooms, for Signor Floriano, having sent his important papers to a place of safety, had resolved to stick to his hotel and do his duty by any guests that chose to remain with him in defiance of the existent conditions. He had succeeded in retaining a few servants who had more courage than those that had stampeded at the first alarm, and while the hotel service for the next few days was very inadequate, no one was liable to suffer any great privation.
During the afternoon the gloom grew denser than before, while thicker than ever fell the rain of ashes. This was the worst day Naples experienced during the great eruption, and Uncle John and his nieces were content to keep their rooms and live in the glare of electric lights. Owing to their wise precautions to keep out the heavily laden air they breathed as little lava dust into their lungs as any people, perhaps, in the city; but to escape all was impossible. Their eyes and throats became more or less inflamed by the floating atoms, and the girls declared they felt as if they were sealed up in a tomb.
“Well, my chickens, how do you like being abroad, and actually in Europe?” enquired Uncle John, cheerfully.
Beth and Patsy smiled at him, but Louise looked up from the Baedecker she was studying and replied:
“It’s simply delightful, Uncle, and I’m glad we happened here during this splendid eruption of Vesuvius. Only — only — ”
“Only what, my dear?”
“Only it is such hard work to keep clean,” answered his dainty niece. “Even the water is full of lava, and I’m sure my face looks like a chimney-sweep’s.”
“And you, Beth?”
“I don’t like it, Uncle. I’m sure I’d prefer Naples in sunshine, although this is an experience we can brag about when we get home.”
“That is the idea, exactly,” said Louise, “and the only thing that reconciles me to the discomforts. Thousands see Naples in sunshine, but few can boast seeing Vesuvius in eruption. It will give us considerable prestige when we return home.”
“Ah, that is why I selected this time to bring you here,” declared Uncle John, with a comical wink. “I ordered the eruption before I left home, and I must say they’ve been very prompt about it, and done the thing up brown. Eh, Patsy?”
“Right you are, Uncle. But you might tell ‘em to turn off the eruption now, because we’ve had enough.”
“Don’t like Eu-rope, eh?”
“Why, if I thought all Europe was surrounded by volcanoes, I’d go home at once, if I had to walk. But the geographies don’t mention many of these spouters, so we may as we
ll stick out our present experience and hope the rest of the continent will behave better. The Major’ll be worried to death when he hears of this.”
“I’ve sent him a cable,” said Uncle John.
“What did you say?” asked Patsy, eagerly.
“‘All safe and well and enjoying the fireworks.’“
“I’m glad you did that,” replied the girl, deeply grateful at this evidence of thoughtfulness. “It’s bad enough for the Major to have me away, without making him worry, into the bargain.”
“Well, no one is likely to worry about me,” said Beth, philosophically.
“Mother seldom reads the papers, except to get the society news,” remarked Louise. “I doubt if she’ll hear of the eruption, unless the Major happens to tell her.”
“I’ve cabled them all,” said Uncle John. “They’re entitled to know that their kidiwinkles are in good shape.”
The evening was a tedious one, although they tried to enliven it with a game of bridge, in which Uncle John and Louise were quite proficient and the others dreadfully incompetent. Once in a while the volcano thundered a deep detonation that caused the windows to shiver, but the Americans were getting used to the sound and paid little heed to it.
In the morning the wind had shifted, and although the air was still full of dust all near-by objects were clearly visible and even the outline of Vesuvius could be seen sending skyward its pillar of black smoke.
Colonel Angeli appeared soon after breakfast, his uniform fresh and bright and his boyish face beaming as pleasantly as ever.
“Vesuvio is better,” said he, “but the rascal has badly acted and done much harm to our poor people. Like Herculaneum, our Boscatrecase is covered with lava; like Pompeii our Ottajano is buried in ashes. Let me advise you. To-day go to Sorrento, and there stay for a time, until we can the dust brush from our streets and prepare to welcome you with the comfort more serene. I must myself ride to the villages that are suffering. My men are already gone, with the Red-Cross corps, to succor whom they can. I will send to you word when you may return. Just now, should you stay, you will be able to see nothing at all.”
“I believe that is wise counsel,” replied Uncle John.
“Sorrento has no ashes,” continued the Colonel, “and from there you may watch the volcano better than from Naples. To-day come the Duke and Duchess d’Aosta to render assistance to the homeless and hungry; to-morrow His Majesty the King will be here to discover what damage has been caused. Alas! we have no sackcloth, but we are in ashes. I trust you will pardon my poor Naples for her present inhospitality.”
“Sure thing,” said Uncle John. “The city may be under a cloud, but her people are the right stuff, and we are greatly obliged to you for all your kindness to us.”
“But that is so little!” said the colonel, deprecatingly.
They decided to leave their heavy baggage at the Hotel du Vesuve, and carried only their suit-cases and light luggage aboard the little steamer that was bound across the bay for Sorrento. The decks were thronged with people as eager to get away from the stricken city as were our friends, and Uncle John was only enabled to secure seats for his girls by bribing a steward so heavily that even that modern brigand was amazed at his good fortune.
The ride was short but very interesting, for they passed under the shadow of the smoking mountain and came into a fresh, sweet atmosphere that was guiltless of a speck of the disagreeable lava dust that had so long annoyed them. The high bluffs of Sorrento, with their picturesque villas and big hotels, seemed traced in burnished silver by the strong sunshine, and every member of Uncle John’s party was glad that Colonel Angeli had suggested this pleasant change of condition.
Small boats took them ashore and an elevator carried them swiftly to the top of the cliff and deposited them on the terrace of the Victoria, a beautiful inn that nestled in a garden brilliant with splendid flowers and shrubbery. Here they speedily established themselves, preparing to enjoy their first real experience of “Sunny Italy.”
CHAPTER IX
COUNT FERRALTI
At dinner it was announced that the famous Tarantella would be danced in the lower hall of the hotel at nine o’clock, and the girls told Uncle John that they must not miss this famous sight, which is one of the most unique in Sorrento, or indeed in all Italy.
As they entered the pretty, circular hall devoted to the dance Louise gave a start of surprise. A goodly audience had already assembled in the room, and among them the girl seemed to recognize an acquaintance, for after a brief hesitation she advanced and placed her hand in that of a gentleman who had risen on her entrance and hastened toward her.
He was a nice looking young fellow, Beth thought, and had a foreign and quite distinguished air.
Presently Louise turned with cheeks somewhat flushed and brought the gentleman to her party, introducing him to Uncle John and her cousins as Count Ferralti, whom she had once met in New York while he was on a visit to America.
The Count twirled his small and slender moustaches in a way that Patsy thought affected, and said in excellent English:
“It delights me to meet Mr. Merrick and the young ladies. May I express a hope that you are pleased with my beautiful country?”
“Are you Italian?” asked Uncle John, regarding the young man critically.
“Surely, Mr. Merrick. But I have resided much in New York, and may well claim to be an adopted son of your great city.”
“New York adopts a good many,” said Uncle John, drily. “It has even been thoughtless enough to adopt me.”
The dancers entered at that moment and the Americans were forced to seat themselves hastily so as not to obstruct the view of others. Count Ferralti found a place beside Louise, but seemed to have little to say to her during the course of the entertainment.
The dances were unique and graceful, being executed by a troup of laughing peasants dressed in native costume, who seemed very proud of their accomplishment and anxious to please the throng of tourists present. The Tarantella originated in Ischia, but Sorrento and Capri have the best dancers.
Afterward Uncle John and his nieces stood upon the terrace and watched the volcano rolling its dense clouds, mingled with sparks of red-hot scoria, toward the sky. The Count clung to Louise’s side, but also tried to make himself agreeable to her cousins. In their rooms that night Patsy told Beth that the young foreigner was “too highfalutin’ to suit her,” and Beth replied that his manners were so like those of their Cousin Louise that the two ought to get along nicely together.
Uncle John liked his nieces to make friends, and encouraged young men generally to meet them; but there was something in the appearance of this callow Italian nobleman that stamped his character as artificial and insincere. He resolved to find out something about his antecedents before he permitted the young fellow to establish friendly relations with his girls.
Next morning after breakfast he wandered through the lobby and paused at the little office, where he discovered that the proprietor of this hotel was a brother of that Floriano who managed the Hotel du Vesuve. That gave him an excuse to talk with the man, who spoke very good English and was exceedingly courteous to his guests — especially when they were American.
“I see you have Count Ferralti with you,” remarked Uncle John.
“Whom, sir?”
“Ferralti — Count Ferralti. The young man standing by the window, yonder.”
“I — I did not know,” he said, hesitatingly. “The gentleman arrived last evening, and I had not yet learned his name. Let me see,” he turned to his list of guests, who register by card and not in a book, and continued: “Ah, yes; he has given his name as Ferralti, but added no title. A count, did you say?”
“Yes,” replied Uncle John.
The proprietor looked curiously toward the young man, whose back only was visible. Then he remarked that the eruption of Vesuvius was waning and the trouble nearly over for this time.
“Are the Ferraltis a good family?” asked Unc
le John, abruptly.
“That I cannot tell you, Signor Merrick.”
“Oh. Perhaps you know little about the nobility of your country.”
“I! I know little of the nobility!” answered Floriano, indignantly. “My dear signor, there is no man better posted as to our nobility in all Italy.”
“Yet you say you don’t know the Ferralti family.”
The proprietor reached for a book that lay above his desk.
“Observe, signor. Here is our record of nobility. It is the same as the ‘Blue Book’ or the ‘Peerage’ of England. Either fortunately or unfortunately — I cannot say — you have no need of such a book in America.”
He turned the pages and ran his finger down the line of “Fs.”
“Find me, if you can, a Count Ferralti in the list.”
Uncle John looked. He put on his glasses and looked again. The name of Ferralti was no place in the record.
“Then there is no such count, Signor Floriano.”
“And no such noble family, Signor Merrick.”
Uncle John whistled softly and walked away to the window. The young man greeted him with a smile and a bow.
“I misunderstood your name last evening,” he said. “I thought you were Count Ferralti.”
“And that is right, sir,” was the prompt reply. “Allow me to offer you my card.”
Uncle John took the card and read:
“CONTE LEONARDI FERRALTI,
Milano, Italia.”
He carefully placed the card in his pocket-book.
“Thank you,” said he. “It’s a fine morning, Count.”
“Charming, Mr. Merrick.”
Uncle John walked away. He was glad that he had not suspected the young man unjustly. When an imposture is unmasked it is no longer dangerous.
Complete Works of L. Frank Baum Page 403