CHAPTER 1

June 16, 1895

The strangled bleating of a small lamb on the mountainsidemomentarily broke the stillness and silence of the middaySunday siesta. As faint as the sound was, however, it gave aclear warning of impending danger to the two young men on themountain.

"There—there he is. The fire of hell be on the rotten devil. He'sjust stolen another one—and in the middle of the day as well," a tallbut lean young man angrily and excitedly exclaimed to his olderbrother as he pointed from where he stood on the small hillock onthe mountain.

The older brother had already jumped to his feet and grabbed thenew shotgun he had left leaning against a large rock. Hurriedlyplanting one foot firmly on the rock in front of him, he took quickbut careful aim. A look of anger and determination came acrosshis face. You're going to die this time, you rotten thief, he thought as hepulled the trigger on the shotgun his father had given him a fewweeks earlier. The recoil of the gun as it blasted out its deadly missilevibrated against the young man's strong shoulder. A puff of smokefollowed the bullet out of the barrel, and the bullet found its markwith fatal accuracy. It ripped into the thief's upper ribs and shatteredhis spine on its way out. The would-be thief hurtled into an outcropof rocks and slumped lifeless to the dusty ground. With the sound ofthe blast still echoing across the mountainside, the young man putthe gun back against the rock.

"He's dead for sure this time, little brother," the older brotherremarked with a smirk on his face.

The younger brother had started whistling a local tune to the sheepand goats as soon as his brother had fired. The startled sheep and goatshad jumped with fright at the blast of the gun and collected a shortdistance away from the two young men. The whistling had a soothingeffect on them as they peered cautiously towards the dead wolf.

"I'll make sure," the other retorted with a lusty "ha ha." He nimblyraced barefoot over rocks and parched earth to where the huge greywolf lay dead on the dirt.

The young man looked at the grey wolf's still-open eyes for amoment. He slowly reached down to his belt with his right handand pulled out a shiny, wedge-shaped, solid axe and waved it overthe wolf's head for a few seconds. Suddenly he smashed the back ofthe axe brutally into the back of the wolf's head. Momentarily, thewolf's convulsions stopped.

A few minutes later, he returned to where his brother stood, asatisfied smirk across his face. "He's dead. Pa'll sure be glad to hearthe old grey devil is dead."

From a ridge some six hundred metres away, they heard a floating,echoing call: "E Don Filippo, Lai sparato il diavolo. Si o no?" (Haveyou shot the devil?)

Both young men looked out towards the next ridge, where a middle-agedshepherd was frantically waving to them. Signore SalvatoreFerarro didn't have the best eyesight, but he had a hunch about whathad happened. He had heard the shotgun blast and knew that theboys would not be shooting just to scare the goats and sheep away.Filippo picked up the gun and waved it over his head. "Si, si, questavolta la Volpe e morta," he yelled back over the small valley betweenthem.

Ferraro waved back, nodding happily to himself. He too had lostmany small lambs to the old grey wolf, but his thoughts turned tothe young Filippo, who had shot the wolf. "If only that young manwould look at my little Concetta one day," he mumbled to himself.

The two young men turned their attention back to staring out acrossthe Mediterranean Sea as the dry, hot early summer wind blew gentlyover the mountainsides. The two young men, now unconcernedabout what had just happened, looked out over the blue waters ofthe sea.

The land around the mountain ridges where they stood was dry, andthe vegetation and grass were brown. Only the odd patches of fruittrees in the low-lying distance were showing some green leaves, butthey too needed rain. Somehow only the countryside down on thecoast and alongside the small river appeared through the afternoonhaze to be much greener.

On a clear day, the top peaks of the mountain range across thesouth-west side of the land jutting out into the Gulf of Sant'Eufemiacould be seen rising over the south-west horizon, and at night, thesmoky haze from the volcano on Mount Etna in Sicily was alsofaintly visible. From this vantage point on a small mountain rangein Southern Italy, one could see the dull glow that permeated fromthe volcano, particularly in the darker night sky. When the volcanoerupted, the glow turned into fiery red balls of flashing and shootinglights, which brightly lit the night sky. These then fell back to themountain and rolled down its sides, and the bright lights faded anddisappeared, only to be replaced seconds later by fiery new ones.

The two young brothers standing under the huge olive tree on top ofthe knoll knew these lights, for they had seen them several years agoat the time of the big eruption. However, it was not only the lightsthat fascinated them but also the call of the ocean, which seemed toconstantly beckon them to it—away from the smell of the goats and thesheep they tended, away from the mundane life of a goat herder. To thetwo young men on the mountain, financial and social progress seemedto be somewhere else, not there. Maybe in Rome or Naples, theythought, life could be and would be better and have some real meaningor sense of progression. Or maybe they could find success far, far awayon the other side of the sea—in a new land, a new world for them.

"One day, Gennaro, I'm going to sail over the sea," the older brothercasually remarked. "It's either that or go by train to Rome and seethe rest of the world from there."

"Me too," Gennaro replied, just as matter-of-factly. "I'm going toget rich one day, you know."

Filippo laughed. "You always want to get rich, don't you? I want tomake plenty and see the world, but you—you want to get rich." Hethought for a moment and then, on a more serious note, warned hisbrother, "Whatever you do, I don't want you ever to join the rottenMafia crowd. You'll just end up shot dead, little brother."

Gennaro did not reply. He slowly and thoughtfully scratched theside of his head with his right hand, his left hand resting casually onhis sharp axe.

Occasionally a goat would stray to a patch of greener-looking grassaway from the herd, and one of the young men would leap to his feetand jump down the mountainside and over rock or brook to chase itback to the main herd. At times, one of the billy goats would try tosneak over to the other herds not far away, or an older lamb wouldstray from its mother and disappear into the woods, never to be seenagain. In the distance, they could see other herders minding theirflocks, and sometimes they would call out to them.

The two minding the sheep and goats had five younger brothers,and normally one or two of the youngest brothers would be tendingthe flock. But that day, Papa Francesco Cudoni and Mama RosariaCudoni were taking the rest of the family to Sambiase. It would bethe biggest day of the year for them. They would eat gelato in thepiazza and buy new clothes for the boys to wear and a new dress fortheir little sister, but first they would attend Mass at the Holy Churchof Santo Antonio.

The parents were devout Catholics, and Mass on Sunday was not tobe missed for any reason. But that day was not just any day. It wasthe sixteenth day of June 1895—the feast of Santo Antonio. Thelittle town would be bursting at the seams that day. Thousands ofpeople from the surrounding towns and countryside were coming.Some had come the day before. Friends and enemies alike would allbe there.

On their little plateau on the mountain overlooking the sea, Filippoand Gennaro waited impatiently for the sun to approach the westernhorizon. The two could take the herd of goats and sheep home earlythat day so that they too could get to the feast in the early afternoon.

As they waited for the sun to move to the west, they talked of allthe things they would do, the places they would travel to, and thefortunes they intended to make. The older youth picked up a stoneand threw it down the steeper side of the mountain. He watched andlistened as it bounced down the mountain. "Gennaro, I think we cantake the herd back and lock them up very soon."

Invariably the topic returned to travel. "I want to travel, to makemoney. There is little chance of doing that here, fratello mio. They tellme that in America people are getting rich quick," Filippo solemnlysaid to the other.

"Me too. I'm going to travel and get rich. We can go to America. Wehave relations there. Remember Michele, Benaldo, Palmo, and thetwo little brothers," Gennaro said. Then he added, "I bet they arerich in Pittza-burgh. And I bet they are not looking after goats andsheep. I'm going to go to Pittza-burgh as soon as I can."

The older brother replied, "I'm going to Pittza-burgh one day too.Did you know that Papa said he had decided to go to America beforeZio Nicola went? He actually left Sambiase and went to Paris to geta boat from there to America. It was after Antonio was born. Papagot to Paris, but before he could pay for his passage across, he wasmugged and robbed of everything but his suit, and he barely madeit back home."

"So why did he not go after?"

"Well, I think he had the other boys and little Theresa to think aboutand no money."

The two youths discussed how and when they would go to America.They knew that life in Calabria was only good if one had loads ofmoney, and they did not feel a life of peasantry was for them. Theidea of hard farm work for little profit did not fulfill the dreams ofyoung Calabrian boys, let alone young men who wanted to see,feel, and experience the world. Picking olives, making olive oil,maintaining the vineyard, making wine, and planting the small cropsof vegetables that provided the meager family income, while needingto be done, would not make them rich.

News of the New World had filtered back to them from some oftheir relations, along with stories of fortunes to be made. It was theland of opportunity, the land of milk and honey, for those who wereprepared to work. And they were prepared to work to make moneyso that they could return and be the big landlords they dreamed ofbeing. This was the start of a new dream. These two brothers knewtheir dreams and futures were to be made elsewhere—maybe inAmerica.

Filippo was the eldest of the seven boys. The following week, on thetwenty-first of June 1896, he would reach the ripe age of twenty-one.He was a few inches over medium height, standing about six feet tall,and he was extremely good looking, well built, athletic, and strong.His face had a long, square shape that culminated in a strong andprominent chin that gave him a look of strong determination andnatural leadership. He had long black hair, but unusual for someonewith dark hair, he had very light greenish-blue eyes. They wereremarkable eyes and were unusual for Calabrian people. When heflashed a smile, with his even teeth and blue eyes, many a young lass'sheart would flutter and melt in his searching, cheerful, and engaginglook. His father told everyone that he was a throwback to when theCudonis had come from the north.

Gennaro had just turned nineteen, and he had long black hair anddark brown eyes. He was different from his brother in that he wastaller and not yet as filled out. He was lean and looked to be stillgrowing, but years of hard work had made him much stronger thanhe looked.

With the herd locked up, the two brothers quickly washed and weresoon ready to leave. They were dressed in dark woolen trousers thatreached down almost to their ankles. Gennaro wore a grey-colouredflannel shirt, while Filippo wore an off-white-coloured shirt. Thefamily was very poor, but their mother made sure they were as cleanas she could possibly keep them.

Both youths were impulsive by nature, but already the years of hardwork and rough times had taught them to be a little cautious. It waseasy in Calabria to join the various groups of young men whose soleaim was to get rich by stealing from anyone. One could get intofights and arguments stealing or even be killed by rival groups. InCalabria, the shotgun was mighty, and every young man carriedat least a knife. Both brothers carried knives slung in home-madepouches on their belts during the day and at night.

Carrying their home-made shoes in their hands, they set off barefoottowards Sambiase, racing down the winding goat track that servedas a road, dressed in their colourful, clean clothes—the only going-outclothes they had. The three kilometres to the town seemed likenothing, and soon they were on the outskirts of the town. The townwas built at the foot of the mountains on reasonably level ground.The Holy Church of Santo Antonio was built on a small riseoverlooking the main piazza of Sambiase and was some two hundredmetres away from it.

The track the young men followed turned into a road and, where itbecame part of the town, was paved with stone. They stopped andput on their home-made leather shoes. The road took them throughthe piazza until they reached the church. This street continued onpast the church and then led to the town cemetery.

When they turned onto the street towards the church, they saw thatthe main part of the procession that took place after Mass finishedhad left the church and was heading towards the cemetery. The lastpeople coming out of church were just walking down the steps whenFilippo and Gennaro arrived and joined in.

Filippo and Gennaro could see the statue of Santo Antonio in theforefront of the procession and could hear the voices of the men carryingit, asking the people to pray and contribute towards the cost of holdingthe feast and the upkeep of the church. When the men stopped callingfor donations, the women would start the recital of the rosary.

Filippo and Gennaro followed the tail of the procession until theypassed a narrow lane to one side of the street, when Filippo heardhis name called out.

"Filippo, Filippo mio," a soft, young female voice called.

He turned and looked towards the lane. "Maria, ma che cosa fai qui?"Filippo demanded as he strode towards her. While surprised to hearMaria call him, Filippo nevertheless flashed Maria a big smile.

Her whole pretty face lit up as she noticed his charming smile. "Aspetoa te," she answered.

Gennaro followed Filippo as he walked towards Maria. Two prettyyoung girls wearing white blouses and long red skirts with greensashes tied around their waists came out of the shadows of thebuildings. The older girl was about nineteen; the other was aboutseventeen. The older girl, Maria, smiled broadly and giggled andskipped happily as she ran to Filippo. The other girl was her youngersister, Catarina. Maria was very pretty, with a bubbly personality, andshe was as happy as a lark, especially now that her handsome, secret,and lovable boyfriend, Filippo, was with her. Catarina was a bit shyand did not seem at all comfortable with her sister and her boyfriendand his brother.

"Filippo, amore mio, I have to talk to you," a passionate Maria saidafter she first gave him a quick kiss on the lips and then took his arm.She turned to her sister. "Catarina, you better go back and join theprocession before Papa realizes that we are both missing."

Catarina looked at her. "What will I say to Papa if he asks where youare?" she asked.

"Just say that I am talking to some of my friends on the other side,"Maria said as she pulled Filippo by the arm towards the lane wherethe girls had come from.

Gennaro followed Catarina back to the procession, and soon bothdisappeared into the crowd. Filippo and the young, beautiful Mariaheaded down the narrow lane. She had her arm tightly around hisas she pulled him close to her, and her firm but nicely proportionedbreasts rubbed against his arm and sometimes the side of his chest asthey walked along. She smiled and sometimes giggled as she skippedhappily down the lane with her prize. Filippo pulled her to him for amoment, and his hungry lips sought hers in a hot but hurried kiss.

At the end of the lane was a small street laid with pebbles, and onthe other side of the street was an outcrop of rocks surrounded bylarge oak and willow trees. They ducked under the branches of thetrees and were out of sight to any prying eyes, but they knew therewas no need to worry, as everybody was either in the procession orwatching it.

Inside the clump of trees, there was a small clearing, and on the right,coming from under the jumble of rocks, was a spring of clear, freshwater. The locals had built a rock pool out of rocks and cement, andcoming out of it was a spout that had drinkable, fresh water pouringout the end. A pathway led down from the pool and around the treesto the street below. Filippo had a quick drink and then sat on theedge of the fountain, and Maria decided to sit on his lap.