The Sun.
London, England, 1867-11-16 00:00:00

THE SUN, LONDN, SATURDAY EVENING, NOVEMBER 16, 1867.

a con 2.palny of Artillery, a division of Sappers and
Miners, and the baggage waggons, a squadron of
Gensdar mes on horseback, and a squadron of
Dragoon s. Then the French—a battalion of Chas-
seurs, a. battery of Artillery, six battalions of all
arms, an d a long file of waggons brought up the

rear.
The I 'rench looked little the worse for wear—
fine sold ierly regiments, who had done their duty
well, an, d would do it again anywhere—men so
trained ti 3 every incident of warfare that a day or
two's figi lung seemed in no way to put them out.
But not so with the Pontifical soldiers : except the
Gensdarr ales, of whom the same may be said as of
the Fren ch, and perhaps the Dragoons and Artil-
lery, they are now learning their lesson, and,
though_ they have had no one misfortune, a hard
lesson. it is. They were no holiday troops or carpet
soldier, as their persons and accoutrements bore
evident traces of the dreadful work they had un-
dergone.
No sight could be more moving. Hardly, per-
haps, o ne man there who had taken up the soldier's
life asst profession, of course not one forced into it
by cons cription, but all had gone into it in spite
of their love of ease, in order to defend • the sove-
reignty of a beloved ruler, or had come from the
ends of the earth in defence of a sacred principle.
Utterly unlike every other army, therefore, they
passed by an aggregate of heroes, each with an
individual will, and that will one, because Catholic.
How this struck one, as on and on, and still on
they came, the very flower of the piety, devotion,
and chivalry of our age ! And who could reflect on
all this, and not be moved at the sight of the havoc
which the hardships of war had done among them.
How want of sleep and exposure had stained, and
drawn, and distorted faces which were every one
" somebody's darling," and which had every one
evidently been brought up to a different sort of life.
But such is the power of the human will, aided by
the Divine, that it can give itself cheerfully even
to such things as these. And thus strong, not in
their own strength, they tramped along, weary
and dusty as they were, with an elasticity and
an energy as if each felt he were, "treading on
the dragon."
Warm and pleasantly on their ears fell the
greeting of their fellow-men, and, perhaps, more
pleasantly still fell the flowers, which, if it is not
the fashion here to cheer noisily, it is the pretty
custom for fair fingers to scatter on the head of
an honoured processionist. And gracefully were
those sweet tokens caught, to show beside the
other trophies of the fight, the cacciatore's plume,
the scarlet caps, the ramrod (the guns were
brought up behind), the pistol or the knife each
had taken from the enemy. One lad we noticed
who had a small kitten he had probably saved
from destruction, snugly coiled up on the top of
his knapsack.
It was a different sight on Monday night, when
1,000 of the prisoners were marched in. There
was evidently no sort of sympathy with them in
the crowd, as they strutted or dragged themselves
along. Numbers of them had the unmistakable
bearing of men used to wear uniform. Some few
swaggering young fellows were there, too, who
had probably run away from home, to
enjoy the license of a freebooter's career,
and had thrown down their arms as soon
as they smelt powder. And then there
was a multitude of motley riffraff—little boys
hardly so tall as a gun, and hang-dog, cut-throat
looking ragamuffins, such as one does not often
have a chance of seeing. It is no wonder that
with such a set in their train they have made a
savage digat wherever they have gone. The
church of Monte Rotondo is a mere wreck, the
sacred vessels being found in the baggage of
some of the prisoners. The railway line, too, had
been torn up.
Of our losses I have hardly time for many in-
dividual particulars. If I spoke of two devoted
brothers of a French family last week, I may
match them with two English brothers now—Wil-
frid and Julian Watts-Russell, two fine young men
who left an easy position at home to join the
Zouaves at the most anxious time. They fell into
their duty with surprising rapidity, and shrank
from none of its most arduous requirements ; but
the friends of the elder one hardly know him now,
so much has the toil altered him ; the younger one
was shot through the head at Mentana. The body
was embalmed and brought into Rome yesterday ;
many went to see it, almost as to that of a martyr.
He had been known to make the resolution of say-
ing a Hail Mary whenever he fired for the poor
soul his gun might send to eternity. He was
scarcely seventeen, and he had been so skilfully
treated by the French surgeon that his wound did
not at all disfigure his handsome face. He looked
just as a boy might look whose mother had but
now arranged his wound and commended him to
sleep. The religious offices of the Church were
offered for him at the English College at half-past
nine this morning. Mgr. Talbot and Mgr. Stonor,
the Hon. and Rev. F. Ffrench, Padre Cardella,
a number of Zouaves, and all the English in Rome
were present. Father O'Callaghan (who, amid
these stirring events, I forgot to tell you before,
has succeeded Dr. Neve as Principal of the Eng-
lish College) said the Mass.
Another I have heard of who fell the same day,
also a simple soldier in the artillery, was Count
Carlo Bernardini, a young man of good family on
both sides of the house. He had been brought up
at home, and with great care, and he had such a
fancy for study, that it was thought he would one
day become a great writer; at the time of the
Canonization of 1862, with a number of other
young patricians, he entered the ranks of the army
He distinguished himself particularly at Bagnorea
and at Viterbo. Also on the day on which he lost
his life, so noble had been his conduct, that his
captain had called him out to applaud his bravery,
and present him to his friends. Bernardini, de-
lighted with the praise of his officer, sprung to his
horse, and flew back to his work, only to receive
a fatal shot, one of the last that was fired.
It is believed that Ricciotti Garibaldi is among
the prisoners here, but he seems desirous to hide
himself, and I believe he has not been identified
' for certain.
Garibaldi had, it seems, got as far as Passo
Correse, after the Monte Rotondo affair, with a
knot of those who had run away with him, and
had telegraphed to his friends to have a steamer
ready in which he could escape to Caprera, when
he found himself surrounded by a detachment of
' Bersaglieri and Carabinieri, who placed him under
arrest. By the account of his own friends, in the
Italia, he seems to have pleaded all manner of
subterfuges and aliases for getting off—first that
he was a Roman general ; then that he was an
American subject; then that he was a deputy of the
Italian Parliament, but all to no purpose. What
the object of this second arrest is, remains to be
' seen ; but all Garibaldian and Italian troops too are
said to have quitted the Roman soil now. The last
movement of troops from here was in the direc-
tion of Tivoli.
The various towns as they have become liberated
from the invaders have immediately sent up ad-
dresses expressive of their devotion to Government.
From Velletri a deputation of notabilities of the
place came up to present themselves to Cardinal
Antonelli, and to request that they might have a
garrison to keep out future incursions. And the
people everywhere make no secret of their thank-
fulness at being again free.
I cannot forbear sending you the following pas-
sage from the Nazione. It is one of the most
shameless confessions possible of the way in which
it has been sought to bring about this whole
affair. I have often pointed it out, but it comes
more forcibly from the side of those actually im-
plicated, and ought to carry conviction with it :
" The movement on to the Pontifical territory
was begun at the wrong end. . . . It was in
Rome itself it ought to have begun. Money would
not have been wanting with which to purchase men
and arms. Then, with the smallest sprinkling of
the Roman element, mixed with the imported
multitude, it might have been given out, and would
have been believed, that the insurrection was the
work of the Romans themselves. . . . Instead
of this, we have sown the Roman territory with
our dead and wounded, and the Zouaves and
rontifical6 who were to have melted away at our