43 G

LIFE OF COLONEL MACERONI.

king’s favourite saddle horses, which was being taken outto air by a grooiu. My friend Rambaud, the paymaster-general, had for his quarters a small house, elevated abouttwo hundred feet from the surface of the sea, just below themain camp. One day, the 16th September, at about threeo’clock, I was with him at dinner, the whole party con-sisting of about a dozen. The soup and maccar'oni werebeginning to be discussed, the whole repast was on thetable, when in came a groom to tell us that the big “ farogun,” as it was called, had begun to fire. We well knewthat a slight diminution in its charge of powder, or of itselevation, or even the dampness of the day, would cause itsshot to fall short of their usual destination,—the tents aboveus,—and make us liable to receive the favours intended for“our betters.” Scarcely had the man announced the fact,when in came a forty-eight pounder shot just over the door-way, and passing over our heads, went out on the other sideof tire room. But, alas! in its entrance it had covered ourtable, our soup, maccaroni, fish, and flesh with a barrow-fullof mortar and rubbish from the wall. Our dinner wasapparently spoiled; but being re-consigned to the care ofRambaud’s excellent cook, the greater portion of it was putinto a fit condition for gastronomic application. The actualrange of this gun was, at least, three miles and a half. Ihave never met with any British officer who could tell meanything about the management of this piece, although Ihave known some who were aware of one of the king’shorses having been killed. That horse was not killed byany shot from the sea, but from this very gun on the oppo-site Sicilian shore.

A novel writer might concoct numerous scenes of war-like strife, with all the glowing colours of fiction appliedto real facts, had he been present on this memorableoccasion, on this most uniquely beautiful amphi-theatrica!