It was a long
and tedious climb in the semi-darkness caused by the steady fall of
ashes, and at intervals the detonations from Vesuvius shook the huge
rock and made its massive bulk seem insecure. But the little man
persevered, and finally with sweating brow arrived at the barracks.
A soldier carried in the letter to his colonel and presently returned to
usher Uncle John through the vast building, up a flight of steps, and so
to a large covered balcony suspended many hundred feet above the Via
Partenope, where the hotel was situated.
Here was seated a group of officers, watching intently the cloud that
marked the location of the volcano. Colonel Angeli, big and bluff, his
uniform gorgeous, his dark, heavy moustaches carefully waxed, his
handsome face as ingenuous and merry as a schoolboy's, greeted the
American with a gracious courtesy that made Uncle John feel quite at
his ease. When he heard of the nieces the Italian made a grimace and
then laughed.
"I am despairing, signore," said he, in English sufficiently
strangulated to be amusing but nevertheless quite comprehensible, "that
you and the sweet signorini are to see our lovely Naples under
tribulations so very great. But yesterday, in all the world is no city
so enchanting, so brilliant, so gay. To-day--look! is it not horrible?
Vesuvio is sick, and Naples mourns until the tyrant is well again.
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