I offer neither salary nor accommodation or food. What I offer is hunger, thirst, combat, death, and endless forced marches. Those who truly love the motherland from their hearts, not just with words, follow my steps and advance with me!
——Giuseppe Garibaldi
By September, Gottingen had already begun to show the initial signs of autumn, the air filled with the fresh scent of leaves and freshly harvested rice.
Sunlight penetrated the thin mist, sprinkling golden warmth at the entrance of the old inn, draping the entire small town in a layer of warmth.
In a cramped little room, separated by just a door from the hallway, chairs around the table, the bed, and beside the wardrobe were all crowded with people.
Everyone was silent, with only the occasional rising thick smoke seen inside the room.
Garibaldi was sitting by the window, through the clear glass, one could see the tranquil scene outside.
