After inspecting the chamber just mentioned, they were taken to a place where they saw what had once been the pedestal of a statue. Here Michael Angelo showed them a hollow niche, which was so contrived that one might conceal himself there, and speak words which the ignorant and superstitious populace might believe to come from the idol's own stony lips. This one thing showed the full depth of ancient ignorance and superstition; and over this Michael Angelo waxed quite eloquent, and proceeded to deliver himself of a number of impressive sentences of a highly important character, which he uttered with that fluent volubility peculiar to the whole race of guides, ciceroni, and showmen, in all parts of the world. These moral maxims were part of Michael Angelo's regular routine, and the moment that he found himself here in this Temple of Isis, the stream of wisdom would always begin to flow.
The next place to which Michael Angelo intended to take them was the amphitheatre, which could be seen from where they were standing. All this time David had been more eager than any of the others, and far more profoundly moved. He felt his soul stirred to its inmost depth by the thrilling scenes through which he had been moving. It seemed to him as though there were revealed here to his eyes, in one glance, all that he had been laboriously acquiring from books by the study of years. But this was better than books. These Roman houses, into which he could walk, were far better than any number of plans or engraved prints, however accurately done. These temples afforded an insight into the old pagan religion better far than volumes of description. These streets, and shops, and public squares, and wall, and gates, and tombs, all gave him an insight into the departed Roman civilization that was far fresher, and more vivid, and more profound, than any that he had ever gained before. It seemed to him that one day was too small for such a place. He must come again and again, he thought. He was unwilling to go on with the rest, but lingered longer than any over each spot, and was always the last to quit any place which they visited.
They stopped on their way at the Tragic and Comic Theatres, and at length reached the Amphitheatre itself. This edifice is by far the largest in the city, and is better preserved than any. It is built of large blocks of a dark volcanic stone, and constructed in that massive style which the Romans lived, and of which they have left the best examples in these huge amphitheatres. As this Amphitheatre now stands, it might still serve for one of those displays for which it was built. Tier after tier those seats arise, which once had accommodations for fifteen or twenty thousand human beings. On these, it is said, the Pompeians were seated when that awful volcanic storm burst forth by which the city was rained. Down from these seats they fled in wildest disorder, all panic-stricken, rushing down the steps, and crowding through the doorways, trampling one another under foot, in that mad race for life; while overhead the storm gathered darker and darker, and the showers of ashes fell, and the suffocating sulphuric vapors arose, and amid the volcanic storm the lightnings of the sky flashed forth, illuminating all the surrounding gloom with a horrid lustre, and blending with the subterranean rumblings of the earthquake the thunder of the upper air.
From this cause the Amphitheatre may be considered the central spot of interest in Pompeii. What little has been told of the fate of the city gathers around this place, and to him who sits upon those seats there is a more vivid realization of that awful scene than can be obtained anywhere else.
On reaching the Amphitheatre they seated themselves on the stone steps, about half way up the circle of seats, and each one gave way to the feelings that filled him. They had walked now for hours, and all of them felt somewhat wearied, so that the rest on these seats was grateful. Here they sat and rested.
Lofty classical enthusiasm of David, and painful Lack of feeling on the Part of Frank.—David, red hot with the Flow of the Past, is suddenly confronted with the Present.—The Present dashes Cold Water upon his glowing Enthusiasm.—The Gates.—Minor, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus.—The Culprits.
As they thus rested on the seats of the Amphitheatre, the classical enthusiasm of David rose superior to fatigue, and his enthusiastic feelings burst forth without restraint, in a long and somewhat incoherent rhapsody about the fell of Pompeii. Full before them, as they sat, rose Vesuvius; and they saw that which helped them to reproduce the past more vividly, for even now the dense, dark cloud of the volcano was gathering, and the thick smoke-volumes were rolling forth from the crater. Far into the heavens the smoke clouds arose, ascending in a dark pillar till they reached the upper strata of the atmosphere, where they unfolded themselves, and spread out afar—to the east, and the west, and the north, and the south. Some such appearance as this the mountain may have had, as it towered gloomily before the Pompeians on that day of days. Some such scene as this may have appeared, only deepened into terrors a thousand fold more gloomy, to the population of the doomed city, as they gathered here on these seats for the last time.
Such were the ideas of David Clark; and these ideas he poured forth in a long rhapsody, full of wild enthusiasm. At length, however, that enthusiasm flagged, and he was compelled to stop for want of breath.
"O, that's all very fine," said Frank, suddenly, as David stopped, and breaking the silence which had followed his eloquent outburst,—"that's all very fine, of course. You have a habit, David, my son, of going into raptures over old bones and old stones, but after all, I'd just like to ask you one question."
"What's that?" asked David, a little sharply.
"Why, this. Has this place, after all, come up to your idea?" AndFrank looked at him with very anxious eyes.
"This place?" said David. "What, Pompeii? Come up to my idea? Why, of course it has. What makes you ask such a question as that? I never spent such a day in all my life."
"Well, for my part," said Frank, in a very candid tone, "I'll be honest. I confess I'm disappointed."
And saying this, Frank shook his head defiantly, and looked at all the other boys, with the air of one who was ready and willing to maintain his position.
"Disappointed!" exclaimed David, in an indescribable tone, in which reproach, astonishment, and disgust were all blended together.
"Yes," said Frank, firmly, "disappointed—utterly, completely, and tee-totally. I'll tell you what my idea was. My idea was, that the streets would be streets, in the first place. Well, they're notstreetsat all. They're merelanes. They're nothing more thanfoot-paths. Secondly, my idea was, that the houses would behouses. Well, they're not. They're old ruins; heaps of dust and bricks—"
"Nonsense!" interrupted David, in indignant tones. "How could the houses be standing after being buried for so many centuries? You forget what a tremendous weight of ashes, and stones, and earth, lay upon their roofs. Houses! Why, did you expect to find couches to lie on? or chairs—"
"Well," said Frank, "my quarrel with Pompeii doesn't end here. For, you see, even if the houses were whole and uninjured, what would they be? Poor affairs enough. Just think how small they are. Rooms ten by twelve. Narrow passage-ways for halls, that'll scarcely allow two people to pass each other. The rooms are closets. The ceilings were all low. And then look at the temples. I expected to find stone walls and marble columns. But what have I found? Nothing but shams—pillars built of bricks, and plastered over to resemble marble. Do you call that the right style of thing? Why, at home we sneer at lath-and-plaster Gothic. Why should we admire lath-and-plaster Greek because it's in Pompeii? Then, again, look at the Forums —miserable little places that'll only hold about fifty people."
"Pooh!" said David; "as if they didn't know what was large enough!"
"I don't doubt that they knew it," said Frank. "But what I say is, that if these were large enough for them, what a poor lot they must have, been!"
"After all," said David, "Pompeii was not a great city. It was only a small city. You expect to find here the magnificence of Rome."
"No, I don't. I merely expect to find something that'll carry out the promise of those pictures that they make of scenes in Pompeii. Why, there isn't anything in the whole town, except, perhaps, this place, that looks large enough for an ordinary person to move about in. Look at the walls—miserable things twenty feet high. Look at the streets—only wide enough for a single cart. Look at the sidewalks—only wide enough for a single man. The only thing in the whole town that comes up to my idea is the Amphitheatre. This is respectable. It corresponds with the pictures, and the descriptions of travellers. But as to all the rest, I have only to remark that they are, first, mean; secondly, small; and thirdly, in outrageously bad taste."
Frank ceased, and looked steadfastly at David.
David looked at Frank, but his feelings were too strong for utterance. His indignation at this desecration of a place that was so hallowed in his eyes could not be expressed. He turned his face away in silent scorn, and fixed his gaze on Vesuvius.
They waited a long time, and when at length they prepared to leave Pompeii, it was late in the day. All the other visitors had left long before, and they were the last in the city. They walked along looking round them till the last, and at length reached the entrance. Michael Angelo went off to get the carriage. They waited a little while to take a last look, and then passed through the gate. Here they found themselves confronted by three officials, the custodians of the place.
One of these addressed them in very fair English.
"Messieurs," said he, "before you leave, I haf to inquire—Deed you take anyting out from Pompeii?"
"Take anything?" said Uncle Moses, in an indignant voice. "What do you mean?"
"A tousand pardons, sare," said the other, politely. "It ees a formaletee. I mean de leetle stones, de pieces of steek, wood, plastair. Ha! De reliques, de souvenirs."
He was rather an unpleasant looking man, with a very sallow face, high cheek-bones, and a heavy goatee on the tip of his chin, which wagged up and down as he talked in quite a wonderful way.
"Stones, sticks, plaster?" said Uncle Moses. "Course not."
The official looked intently at him, and then at the boys. After this he conversed with his companion in Italian. These companions were quite as unprepossessing in their appearance as himself. Then the first speaker turned to the boys.
"You, sare," said he to Frank, in rather an unpleasant tone, "haf you de stones or de bones?"
"Not a stone, not a bone," said Frank, smilingly. "I did take a few at first, but I pitched them away."
"And you, sare?" said he to Bob.
"Don't deal in such articles," said Bob, with a grin—"not in my line—not my style."
"Pardon," said the official, with a sickly smile, "but I must put de usual interrogatoree. You, sare?" and he addressed himself to David.
David turned pale.
He hesitated for a moment.
"Well," said he, "I believe Ihavegot a few little stones, just two or three, you know; little relics, you know."
"Ah! ver good, ver nais," said the official, with the sunshine of perfect content illuminating his sallow features. "And you, sare?" he continued, turning to Clive.
"Well, yes," said Clive, "I've got a few, I believe; but they really don't amount to anything in particular."
"O, no, not at all," said the Italian; "dey don't amount to notin; but look you, de govairement haf made de law dat no pairson will take no stone, nor steek, nor relique, nor bone, nor souvenir, from Pompeii. You mus geef dem all oop."
"Why? They're only two or three," pleaded David, in a heartbroken voice.
"So, dat is eet. Look you. Eet ees de law. O, yais. I cannot help. Everybody will take two or tree. Very well. Ten tousand, twenty tousand, hundred tousand come here every year, and all take away hundred tousand pocket full. Ah, ha! See you? What den? Why, den all Pompeii be carried away. Aha! dat great shame. Too bad, hey? ha? You ondstand. So you sall gif dem all oop into my hand."
David and Clive remonstrated most vehemently, but the official was obdurate. He pleaded the law. He insisted on the full restoration of everything.
So the two lads began to disgorge, with the following result:—
1 piece of brick from the Sidewalk. 1 bit of stone, Street. 1 stucco, Basilica. 1 do. Temple Venus. 1 do. Forum. 1 do. Temple Jupiter. 1 bit of stone, Public Bakery. 1 do. Sentry box. 1 do. Wall. 1 do. Gateway. 1 do. Street Tombs. 1 do. Villa Diomede. 1 do. do. 1 bone, Sepulchre. 1 do. do. 1 package dust, do. 1 do. Villa Sallust. 1 do. do. 1 pebble, Eating House. 1 do. House of Dioscuri. 1 bit of plaster, Pantheon. 1 do. Temple Mercury. 1 do. do. Isis. 1 brick, Tragic Theatre. 1 do. Comic Theatre. 1 stone, Amphitheatre. 1 do. do.
The above is by no means a complete inventory of, the articles produced by Clive and David, but will serve to give an idea of the nature of that heap which was spread upon the table before the stern officials. One by one they were turned out from the well-filled pockets of David and Clive. Slowly and reluctantly, the two boys turned out those precious treasures. Sadly and mournfully they laid them on the table, under the stern, the inflexible, the relentless gaze of the three inexorable custodians, who, to David's mind, seemed the impersonations of Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus. Yea, all these, and many more,—fragments from houses, bits of mosaic stone, little chips,—all were seized, and all were confiscated. Not a word was spoken. It was a sorrow too strong for words; and Minos, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus stood, individually and collectively, inflexible and inexorable. The rueful countenances of the two culprits excited the sympathy and pity of their companions; but it seemed a case where no help could avail them. Frank and Bob looked upon the scene with a strong desire to interfere in some way, and Uncle Moses looked quite as distressed as either David or Clive. Suddenly a new actor entered upon the scene.
It was Michael Angelo.
He came in with a quick step, started as he noticed the sadness on the faces of his party, and then threw a rapid glance around. One glance was sufficient to show plainly enough what had happened. He saw the table covered with the stones and bones already described. He saw the heart-broken expression that was stamped upon the faces of David and Clive as they gazed upon their parting treasures. He saw the attitude and the expression of Uncle Moses, and Frank, and Bob, as they watched their friends.
That one glance not only explained all to Michael Angelo, but suggested to him a course of conduct upon which he instantly proceeded to act.
He stepped up to the aide of Rhadamanthus, and accosting him inItalian; he spoke a few words in a low voice. What he said was, ofcourse, unintelligible to the boys. After these few words, MichaelAngelo then slipped something into the hand of the inexorable one.
Then he turned to the despairing boys.
"It's all right," said Michael Angelo, cheerily. "I haf explained.You may keep de tings."
David and Clive looked up, and stared at Michael Angelo in wonder, not fully comprehending him.
"It's all right," said Michael Angelo. "Dey onderstand. I haf explained. You put dem back into your pocket. You sall keep de tings. It's all right. Dey are yours now. It's all r-r-r-r-right. All r-r-r-r-right, I say."
David and Clive still hesitated, and looked at Rhadamanthus.
Rhadamanthus gazed benignantly at them, smiled a gracious smile, and waved his hands with the air of a judge dismissing a case.
"All r-r-right," said Rhadamanthus; "he haf explained."
This language was somewhat unintelligible. What there was to be explained they could not imagine. If the law prohibited the carrying off of relics from Pompeii, no amount of "explanation" could give them a claim to their unlawful possessions. But neither David nor Clive was at all inclined to hesitate about the legality of their possessions, or to make any inquiries about the nature of the explanation which had been made by Michael Angelo. It was joy enough for them to know that the difficulty was over, and that the relics were theirs once more.
So the pile of relics went back from that table into the pockets of David and Clive with a rapidity that is inconceivable. Away from their faces passed that heart-broken expression which had been upon them; the shadows passed away from their brows, the sunshine of joy and exultation overspread them, and they looked at Michael Angelo in silent gratitude.
A few minutes more and they were-in the carriage.
Then David asked Michael Angelo how it was that he had changed the stern resolve of the inexorable Rhadamanthus into such easy, gracious, and good-tempered indulgence.
Michael Angelo laughed.
"I gif him," said he, "just one half dollar. Dat was what he wanted all de time. Aftaire dees you know what to do. All r-r-right. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha!"
And Michael Angelo burst into a peal of laughter.
Upon this Uncle Moses began to moralize about the corrupt morals of the Italian race, and went on to speak of tyranny, priestcraft, slavery, aristocracy, monarchy, primogeniture, brigandage, and ten thousand other things.
And the carriage rolled back to Naples.
The Glories of Naples.—The Museum.—The Curiosities.—How they unroll the charred Manuscripts exhumed from Herculaneum and Pompeii.—On to Rome.—Capua.—The Tomb of Cicero.—Terracina.—The Pontine Marshes.—The Appii Forum.
The party remained in Naples some time longer, and had much to see. There was the Royal Museum, filled with the treasures of antique art, filled also with what was to them far more interesting—the numerous articles exhumed from Herculaneum and Pompeii. Here were jewels, ornaments, pictures, statues, carvings, kitchen utensils, weights, measures, toilet requisites, surgical instruments, arms, armor, tripods, braziers, and a thousand other articles, the accompaniments of that busy life which had been so abruptly stopped. All these articles spoke of something connected with an extinct civilization, and told, too, of human life, with all its hopes, fears, joys, and sorrows. Some spoke of disease and pain, others of festivity and joy; these of peace, those of war; here were the emblems of religion, there the symbols of literature.
Among all these, nothing was more interesting than the manuscript scrolls which had been found in the libraries of the better houses. These looked like anything rather than manuscripts. They had all been burned to a cinder, and looked like sticks of charcoal. But on the first discovery of these they had been carefully preserved, and efforts had been made to unroll them. These efforts at first were baffled; but at last, by patience, and also by skill, a method was found out by which the thing might be done. The manuscripts were formed of Egyptian papyrus—a substance which, in its original condition, is about as fragile as our modern paper; the sheets were rolled around a stick, and were not over eight inches in width, and about sixteen feet in length. The stick, the ornaments, and the cases had perished, but the papyrus remained. Its nature was about the same as the nature of a scroll of paper manuscript would be after passing through the fire. Each thin filament, as it was unrolled, would crumble into dust. Now, this crumbling was arrested by putting over it a coating of tough, gelatinous substance, over which a sheet of muslin was placed, the gelatinous substance acting also upon the charred sheet in such a way as to detach it from the rest of the scroll. In this way it was unrolled slowly and carefully, two inches at a time, and on being unrolled a facsimile copy was at once made. Of course there was no attempt to preserve the manuscripts; they were, too perishable; and after a short exposure, just long enough to admit of a copy being made, they shrank up and crumbled away.
There were other places of attraction in this beautiful city—the Villa Reale, the chosen promenade of the Neapolitans, which stretches along the shore, filled with trees, and shrubbery, and winding paths, and flower-beds, and vases, and statues, and sculptures, and ponds, and fountains, and pavilions. There was the Castle of St. Elmo, with its frowning walls; the Cathedral of San Francisco, with its lofty dome and sweeping colonnades; and very many other churches, together with palaces and monuments.
But at last all this came to an end, and they left Naples far Rome. They had a carriage to themselves, which they had hired for the journey, and the weather was delightful The road was smooth and pleasant, the country was one of the fairest on earth, and as they rolled along they all gave themselves up to the joy of the occasion. They passed through a region every foot of which was classic ground. Along their way they encountered amphitheatres, aqueducts, tombs, and other monuments of the past, some in ruins, others still erect in stately though melancholy grandeur. Capua invited them to tarry—not the ancient Capua, but the modern, which, though several miles distant from the historic city, has yet a history of its own, and its own charms. But among all these scenes and sights which they encountered, the one that impressed them most was Cicero's tomb. It is built on the spot where he was assassinated, of immense stones, joined without cement. In shape it is square, but the interior is circular, and a single column rises to the vaulted roof. Of course whatever contents there may have been have long since been scattered to the winds; no memorial of the great orator and patriotic statesman is visible now; but the name of Cicero threw a charm about the place, and it seemed as though they were drawn nearer to the past. The boys expressed their feelings in various ways, and David, who was most alive to the power of classical associations, delivered, verbatim, about one half of the first oration of Cicero against Catiline. He would have delivered the whole of it, and more also, beyond a doubt, had not Frank put a sudden stop to his flow of eloquence by pressing his hand against David's mouth, and threatening to gag him if he didn't "stop it."
On the afternoon of the second day they arrived at Terracina. This town is situated on the sea-shore, with the blue Mediterranean in front, stretching far away to the horizon. Far out into the sea runs the promontory of Circaeum,—familiar to the boys from their studies in Homer and Virgil,—while over the water the white sails of swift-moving vessels passed to and fro. The waves broke on the strand, fishing-boats were drawn up on the beach, and there were wonderful briskness and animation in the scene.
Terracina, like all other towns in this country, has remains of antiquity to show. Its Cathedral is built from the material of a heathen temple, probably that of Apollo, which was once a magnificent edifice, but is now in ruins. But it was the modern beauty of the town, rather than this or any, other of its antiquities, that most attracted the boys,—the sea-beach, where the waters of the Mediterranean rippled and plashed over the pebbles; the groves and vineyards, that extended all around; the wooded hills; the orange trees and the palm, the thorny cactus and the aloe; and above all, the deep, azure sky, and the clear, transparent atmosphere. To the intoxication of all this surrounding beauty they gave themselves up, and wandered, and scrambled, and raced, and chased one another about the slumberous town.
They slept soundly that night, lolled to rest by the long roll of the Mediterranean waters, as they dashed upon the beach, and on the following morning resumed their journey. The road now passed through the Pontine Marshes, and they all entered upon this part of their journey with strong feelings of curiosity.
The district which goes by the name of the Pontine Marshes is one of the most famous places in Europe. It is about forty-five miles long, and varies in breadth from four to eleven miles. The origin of these marshes is not known. In the early ages of the republic of Rome numerous cities are mentioned as existing here. But all these gradually became depopulated; and now not a vestige remains of any one of them. From a very remote period numerous efforts were put forth to reclaim these lands. When the famous Appian Way was constructed through, them, they were partially drained. Afterwards a canal was formed, which ran by the road-side; and of this canal Horace speaks in the well-known account of his journey to Brundusium. Julius Caesar intended, among other great works, to enter upon the task of reclaiming them; but his death prevented it. Under various successive emperors, the attempt was made, and continued, until at last, in the reign of Trajan, nearly all the district was recovered. Afterwards it fell to ruin, and the waters flowed in once more. Then they remained neglected for ages, down to modern times. Various popes attempted to restore them, but without success, until at last Pope Pius VI. achieved the accomplishment of the mighty task in the year 1788, ever since which time the district has been under cultivation.
The road was a magnificent one, having been built on the foundations of the ancient Appian Way. It was lined on each side with trees, and was broad and well paved. It is considered one of the finest in Europe. Along this they rolled, the blue sky above them, on the right hand the mountains, on the left the sea. The air was damp and chill; but at first they did not feel it particularly, though Uncle Moses complained of "rheumatics," and took precautionary measures against his insidious enemy by wrapping himself up warmly. As they went on they saw crowds of peasants coming to work in the fields. These peasants lived in the hill country on the right, and had to walk a great distance to get to their place of labor,—for to live on the marshes was impossible. Men, women, and even children were there; and their pale, sickly faces and haggard looks showed how deadly were the effects of the noxious exhalations from this marshy soil.
At about midday they reached an inn, which stood about half way over the marshes, by the road-side. David speculated much as to whether this place might or might not be the Forum Appii mentioned in the book of Acts as a stopping-place of St. Paul on his way to Rome; but the others were too hungry to take any interest whatever in the question. They remained here nearly two hours, got something to eat, and then resumed their journey.
The Pontine Marshes.—A Change comes over the Party.—The foul Exhalations.—The Sleep of Death.—Dreadful Accident.—Despair of Frank.—A Break-down.—Ingenuity of the Driver.—Resumption of the Journey.
For the first half of the day the boys had been in great spirits. Laughter, noisy conversation, jests, chaff, and uproarious songs had all been intermingled, and the carriage was a miniature Bedlam. But after their stoppage at the wayside inn a change took place, and on resuming their journey, they seemed like a very different company. The air of the marshes now began to act upon them. They felt it to be raw, and chill, and unpleasant. A general feeling of discomfort and a general sensation of gloom pervaded all of them. Bob held out most bravely, and strove to regain the jollity which they had felt before. For a long time his fun and nonsense provoked a laugh; but at length his fun grew fainter, and his nonsense more stupid; and the laughter grew less hearty and more forced, until at length the fun, and the nonsense, and the laughter ceased altogether.
Frank felt upon himself the responsibility of the rest to an unusual degree. He was only a few weeks older than David, but he was far stronger and more mature in many respects. David was a hard student, and perhaps a bit of a book-worm, and had a larger share of the knowledge that may be gained from books; but Frank had seen more of the world, and in all that relates to the practical affairs of common life he was immeasurably superior to David. For this reason Frank often assumed, and very naturally too, the guardianship of the party; and so appropriate was this to him, that the rest tacitly allowed it. As for Uncle Moses, none of them ever regarded him as their protector, but rather as an innocent and simple-hearted being, who himself required protection from them.
Frank, therefore, on this occasion, kept warning the whole party, above all things, not to let themselves go to sleep. He had heard that the air of the Pontine Marshes had a peculiar tendency to send one to sleep; and if one should yield to this, the consequences might be fatal. Fever, he, said, would be sure to follow sleep, that might be indulged in under such circumstances. The anxiety which was created in his own mind by his sense of responsibility was of itself sufficient to keep him awake, and left him to devote all his energies to the task of trying to keep the others awake also, and thus save them from the impending danger.
At first they, all laughed at him; but after a time, as each one felt the drowsiness coming over him, they ceased to laugh. Then they tried to sing. They kept up this for some time. They exhausted all their stock of school songs, nigger songs, patriotic songs, songs sentimental and moral, and finally tried even hymns. But the singing was not a very striking success; there was a lack of spirit in it; and under this depressing sense of languor, the voice of music at last died out.
Singularly enough, the one who felt this drowsiness most strongly was Bob. Frank had not thought of him as being at all likely to fall asleep; but whether it was that his mobile temperament made him more liable to extremes of excitement and dullness, or whether the reaction from his former joviality and noisiness had been greater than that of the rest, certain it is that Bob it was who first showed signs of sleep. His eyes closed, his head nodded, and lifting it again with a start, he blinked around.
"Come, Bob," said Frank, "this won't do. You don't mean to say thatyou'resleepy."
Bob said nothing. He rubbed his eyes, and yawned.
"Bob," said Frank, "take care of yourself."
"O, I'm all right," said Bob, with a drawl; "never fear about me.I'm wide awake."
Scarce had he finished this when his eyes closed again, and his head fell forward.
Frank shook him, and Bob raised himself up with an effort at dignified surprise which was, however, a failure.
"You needn't shake a fellow," he said in a husky, sleepy voice.
"But I will shake you," cried Frank.
"Le'—me—'lone," said Bob, in a half whisper, nodding again.
"Here," cried Frank; "this'll never do. Bob! Bob! wake up! Bob!Bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-b! Wa-a-a-a-a-a-a-ake u-u-u-u-up!"
But Bob wouldn't wake up. On the contrary, he bobbed his head in a foolish and imbecile way towards Frank, as though seeking unconsciously to find a place on which to rest it. But Frank wouldn't allow anything of the sort He made Bob sit erect, and held him in this way for some time, bawling, yelling, and occasionally shaking him. David and Clive were a little roused by this, and surveyed it with sleepy eyes. Uncle Moses, however, was as wide awake as ever—he had his usual anxiety about the well-being of the boys, and this made sleep out of the question. He now joined his entreaties to those of Frank; and the two, uniting their shouts, succeeded in making considerable uproar.
Still Bob would not wake.
"I'll make him get out and walk," said Frank. "This'll never do.If he sleeps here, he may never wake again."
Saying this, Frank turned to open the carriage door to call to the driver. As he did so, he loosed his hold of Bob, who, being no longer stayed tip on that side, fell over on Frank's lap with his face downward.
Upon this, Frank turned back, and determined to lift Bob up again.
Shaking him as hard as he could, he yelled in his ears and shouted to him to get up.
Now Bob was asleep, yet in his sleep he had a kind of under consciousness of what was going on. He was stupidly conscious that they were trying to raise him up to an uncomfortable sitting posture—a bolt-upright position. This he was sleepily unwilling to submit to. There wasn't any particular strength in his hands, and his drowsy faculties didn't extend farther down than his head. He felt himself lying on something, and to prevent them from raising him from it, he seized it in his teeth.
"Bo-o-o-ob! Bo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-b!" yelled Frank. "W-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ake u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-u-p!"
But Bob wouldn't.
He only held on the tighter with his teeth.
Upon this, Frank seized him with all his strength, and gave Bob a sudden jerk upward, when—
C-r-r-r-r-i-k-k-k-k!—
A sharp, ripping sound was heard, and as Bob's head was pulled up, a long, narrow piece of cloth was exhibited, hanging down from his mouth; and held in his teeth.
Frank looked at it in dismay, and then looked down.
He gave a cry of vexation.
Bob had seized Frank's trousers in his teeth, and as he was pulled up, he held on tight. Consequently the cloth gave way, and there was poor Frank, reduced to rags and tatters, and utterly unpresentable in any decent society.
He gave up Bob in despair, and began to investigate the extent of the ruin that had been wrought in his trousers. It was a bad rent, an irretrievable one, in fact; and all that he could do was to tie his handkerchief around his leg.
Bob now slept heavily, held up by Uncle Moses.
The other boys grew drowsier and drowsier. Frank was just deciding to get out of the carriage and make them all walk for a time, when a sudden event occurred which brought a solution to the problem.
It was a sudden crash.
Down sank the carriage under them, and away it went, toppling over on one side. A cry of terror escaped all of them. Every one started up, and each one grasped neighbor.
There was something in this sudden shock so dreadful and so startling, that it broke through even the drowsiness and heavy stupor of Bob, and penetrated to his slumbering faculties, and in an instant roused them all. With a wild yell he flung his arms round Uncle Moses. Uncle Moses, fell backward, and all the others were flung upon him. They all lay thus heaped upon the side of the coach, a straggling mass of humanity.
Frank was the first to come to himself, and regain his presence of mind.
"All right," said he, in a cheerful voice. "We haven't gone over quite. The horses have stopped. All right."
A groan came from below the pile of humanity.
"Get off, get off!" exclaimed Bob's voice. "You're smothering Uncle Moses." Frank, who was uppermost, disengaged himself, and helped off the others; and finally Bob scrambled away, giving every indication by this time that he was at last perfectly wide awake.
This restored Uncle Moses. He was able to take a long breath.
By this time Frank had torn open the carriage door, and jumped down. The others followed.
He saw the driver holding the horses. The carriage was tilted over.One of the hind wheels lay underneath, a shattered wreck.
Now all was bustle and confusion.
The driver proceeded to put into execution a plan by which they could go forward, at least far enough to traverse the marshes. The boys all helped, and their efforts drove away the last vestige of drowsiness.
The plan consisted in taking out the tongue of the wagon, binding it upon the fore axle, and letting its other end drag on the ground. Now, as the tongue sloped down, the hind axle rested upon it, and thus the trailing wood served to keep the coach erect, and to act as a runner, which supplied very well the place of the lost wheel. The horses were then hitched on by the traces, without any tongue, and in this way they pulled along the broken carriage.
The March ended.—A lonely Inn.—Evil Faces.—Beetling Brows.—Sinister Glances.—Suspicions of the Party.—They put their Head together.—Conferences of the Party.—A threatening Prospect.—Barricades.—In Time of Peace prepare for War.—The Garrison arm themselves.
After completing their arrangements they resumed their journey; but this time they all went on foot, with the exception of Uncle Moses. They went on foot for two reasons: first, because it was impossible for the horses to pull them all when one of the wheels was gone, since it was as much as they could do to maintain a walking pace even with the empty carriage; and the other reason was, that by walking they would be better able to fight off the drowsiness which had menaced them. In truth, as far as drowsiness is concerned, there did not now seem to be any particular danger; for the shock of the break-down had been sufficient to rouse even Bob, and the effects of that shock still remained. Uncle Moses, however, on account of his years, his infirmities, and his tendency to "rheumatics," together with his freedom from drowsiness, was installed in the carriage, with all due honors, as its sole occupant. Walking on thus, they did not regret, in the slightest degree, the hardships of their lot, but rather exulted in them, since they had been the means of rousing them out of their almost unconquerable tendency to sleep. Frank felt the highest possible relief, since he was now freed from the responsibility that had of late been so heavy. In Bob, however, there was the exhibition of the greatest liveliness. Bob, mercurial, volatile, nonsensical, mobile, was ever running to extremes; and as he was the first to fall asleep, so now, when he had awaked, he was the most wide awake of all. He sang, he shouted, he laughed, he danced, he ran; he seemed, in fact, overflowing with animal spirits.
Fortunately they were not very far from the end of the marshes when the wheel broke, and in less than two hours they had traversed the remainder. The driver could speak a little English, and informed them that they could not reach the destination which he had proposed; but he hoped before dark to get as far as an inn, where they could obtain food and lodging. He informed them that it was not a very good inn; but under the circumstances it was the best that they could hope for. To the boys, however, it made very little difference what sort of an inn they came to. As long as they could get something to eat, and any kind of a bed to lie on, they were content; and so they told the driver.
Leaving the marshes, the road began to ascend; and after about a half hour's farther tramp, they came, to a place which the driver informed them was the inn.
It was by no means an inviting place. It was an old stone edifice, two stories high, which had once been covered with, stucco; but the stucco had fallen off in most places, disclosing the rough stones underneath, and giving it an air of dilapidation and squalor. The front was by the road-side. A door opened in the middle, on each side of which was a small, dismal window. In the second story were two other small, dismal windows. At the end they law a window on each story, and a third in the attic. These were all small and dismal. Some of them had sashes and glass; others had sashes without glass; while others had no sashes at all.
A group of men were outside the house, all of whom stared hard at the carriage as it drew near. There was something in the aspect of these men which was indescribably repulsive to the boys: their dirty, swarthy faces, covered with shaggy, jet-black beards; their bushy eyebrows, from beneath which their black eyes glowed like balls of fire; their hats slouched down over their brows; their lounging attitudes, and their furtive glances; all these combined to give them an evil aspect—a wicked, sinister, suspicious appearance, by which all the boys were equally impressed. They said nothing, however; and much as they disliked the look of the place and its surroundings, they saw that there was no help for it, and so they made up their minds to pass the night here as well as they could.
Leaving the carriage, they waited a few moments to ask the driver about the prospects for the next day. The driver had everything arranged. Velletre was only five miles away, and he was going to send there for another carriage, or go himself. They would all be able to leave early on the following day.
This reassured them somewhat, and though they all would have been willing to walk to Velletre, rather than pass the night here, yet Uncle Moses would not be able to do it, and so they had to make up their minds to stay.
On entering the house, they found the interior quite in keeping with the exterior. The hall was narrow, and on either side were two dirty rooms, in which were some frowsy women. One room seemed to be a kitchen, and the other a sitting-room. A rickety stairway led up to the second story. Here they came to a room, which, they were informed, was to be theirs. The door was fragile, and without any fastening. The room was a large one, containing a table and three beds, with one small wash-stand. Two windows looked out in front, and at either end was one. At the south end the window had no sash at all, but was open to the air.
The aspect of the room was certainly rather cheerless, but there was nothing to be done. So they sat down, and waited as patiently as they could for dinner. Before it came, the sun set, and a feeble lamp was brought in, which flickered in the draughts of air, and scarcely lighted the room at all.
The dinner was but a meagre repast. There was some very thin soup, then a stew, then macaroni. There were also bread and sour wine. However, the boys did not complain. They had footed it so far, and had worked so hard, that they were all as hungry as hunters; and so the dinner gave as great satisfaction as if it had been far better. While they were eating, an evil-faced, low-browed villain waited on the table; and as he placed down each dish in succession, he looked round upon the company with a scowl that would have taken away the appetites of any guests less hungry than these. But these were too near starvation to be affected by mere scowls, and so they ate on, reserving their remarks for a future occasion.
So the dinner passed.
And after the dinner was over, and the dishes were removed, and they found themselves alone, they all looked round stealthily, and they all put their heads together, and then,—
"I don't like this," said Frank. do. said Clive. do. said David. do. said Bob.
"I don't feel altogether comfortable here," said Uncle Moses.
"Did you notice that scowl?" said Bob. do. said Clive. do. said David. do. said Frank.
"He's the ugliest creetur I ever see," said Uncle Moses. "I've been expectin somethin o' this sort."
The boys looked all around, for fear of being observed. Frank got up and closed the rickety door. Then he resumed his seat.
Then they all put their heads together again.
"This is a bad place," said Frank. do. said Clive. do. said David. do. said Bob.
"It's the onwholesomedest lookin place I ever see," saidUncle Moses.
"I distrust them all," said Clive. do. said. Frank, do. said David. do. said Bob.
"I don't like the looks of that ere driver," said Uncle Hoses. "I b'leve he contrived that there break-down a purpose, so as to bring us to this here den."
Uncle Moses' remark sank deep into the minds of all. Who was the driver, after all? That break-down was certainly suspicious. It might have been all pre-arranged. It looked suspicions. Then the men below. There were so many of them!
"There are a dozen of them," said Bob. do. said Frank. do. said David. do. said Clive.
"Thar's too big a gatherin here altogether," said Uncle Moses, "an it's my idee that they've come for no good. Didn't you notice how they stared at us with them wicked-looking eyes o' theirs?"
"I wish we'd gone on," said David. do. said Bob. do. said Clive. do. said Frank.
"Yes, boys, that's what we'd ort to hev done," said Uncle Moses."Why didn't some on ye think of it?"
"We did; but we thought you'd be too tired," said Frank.
"Tired? tired?" exclaimed Uncle Moses. "Tired? What! me tired!me!" And he paused, overcome with amazement. "Why, boys, ye must all be ravin distracted!Metired! Why, I'm as fresh as a cricket; an though rayther oldish, yet I've got more clear muscle, narve, and sinnoo, than all on ye put together."
At this little outburst' the boys said nothing, but regretted that they had not, at least, proposed going on.
"We're in a fix," said Clive. do. said Bob. do. said Frank. do. said David.
"We're in a tight place, sure," said Uncle Moses.
"There's no help near," said Frank. do. said David. do. said Bob. do. said Clive.
"It's the lonesomest place I ever see," said Uncle Moses.
"It's too dark to leave now," said David. do. said Clive. do. said Bob. do. said Frank.
"Yes, and they'd all be arter us afore we'd taken twelve steps," said Uncle Moses.
"They're the worst sort of brigands," said Bob. do. said Frank. do. said David. do. said Clive.
"Yes, reg'lar bloodthirsty miscreants," said Uncle Moses.
"The door has no lock," said Frank. do. said David. do. said Bob. do. said Clive.
"O, yes, it's a reg'lar trap, an we're in for it, sure," said UncleMoses. "I only hope we'll get out of it."
"That window's open, too," said David, do. said Frank. do. said Clive. do. said Bob.
"Yes, an thar ain't even a sash in it," said Uncle Moses; "no, nor even a board to put agin it!"
"They'll come to-night," said Clive. do. said Frank. do. said Bob. do. said David.
"No doubt in that thar," said Uncle Moses, in lugubrious tones; "an we've got to prepar ourselves."
"What shall we do?" said Frank. do. said Bob. do. said Clive. do. said David.
"The pint now is," said Uncle Moses,—"the pint now is, what air we to do under the succumstances? That's what it is."
At this Frank rose and opened the rickety door.
He looked out.
He closed it again.
Then he went to each of the windows in succession.
He looked out of each.
Then he resumed his seat.
"Wal?" asked Uncle Moses, in an inquiring tone.
"There's no one to be seen," said Frank; "but I thought I heard voices, or rather whispers, just under the end window."
There was a solemn silence now, and they all sat looking at one another with very earnest faces.
"It's a solemn time, boys," said Uncle Moses, "a deeply solemn time."
To this the boys made no reply, but by their silence signified their assent to Uncle Moses' remark.
At length, after a silence of some time, Frank spoke.
"I think we can manage something," said he, "to keep them out for the night. My idea is, to put the largest bedstead against the door. It opens inside; if the bedstead is against it, it can't be opened."
"But the windows," said Clive.
"O, we needn't bother about the windows, they're too high up," saidFrank, confidently.
And now they all set themselves fairly to work making preparations for the night, which preparations consisted in making a barricade which should offer resistance to the assaults of the bloody-minded, murderous, beetle-browed, scowling, and diabolical brigands below, Frank's suggestion about the bed was acted upon first. One of the bedsteads was large, ponderous, old-fashioned, and seemed capable, if placed against a doorway, of withstanding anything less than a cannon ball. This they all seized, and lifting it bodily from the ground, they placed it hard and fast against the door. The result was gratifying in the highest degree to all of them.
They now proceeded to inspect the room, to search out any weak spots, so as to guard against invasion. As to the windows, they thought that their height from the ground was of itself sufficient to remove all danger in that quarter.
But in their search around the room they noticed one very alarming thing. At the south corner there was a step-ladder, which led up into the attic, thus affording an easy entrance to any one who might be above. Frank rushed up to the step-ladder and shook it. To his great relief, it was loose, and not secured by any fixtures. They all took this in their hands, and though it was very heavy, yet they succeeded in taking it down from its place without making any noise. They then laid it upon the floor, immediately underneath the opening into the attic. They would have felt, perhaps, a trifle more secure if they had been able to close up the dark opening above; but the removal of the step-ladder seemed sufficient, and in so doing they felt that they had cut off all means of approach from any possible enemy in that quarter.
Frank drew a long breath of relief as he looked around. He felt that nothing more could be done. All the others looked around with equal complacency, and to the apprehensions which they had been entertaining there now succeeded a delicious sense of security.
"We're safe at last," said Clive. do. said Bob. do. said David. do. said Frank.
"Yes, boys," said Uncle Moses, "we're jest as safe now as if we were to hum. We can defy a hull army of them bloody-minded miscreants, fight them off all right, and by mornin there'll be lots of wagons passin by, an we can git help. But before we go, let's see what weepins we can skear up in case o' need. It's allus best to have things handy."
"Well," said Frank, "I'm sorry to say I've got nothing but a knife;" and saying this, he displayed an ordinary jackknife, not particularly large, and not particularly sharp. "It isn't much," said he, as he opened it, and flourished it in the air, "but it's something."
"Well," said Clive, "I haven't got even a knife; but I've heard that there's nothing equal to a chair, if you want to disconcert a burglar; and so I'll take this, and knock down the first brigand that shows his nose;" and as he said this, he lifted a chair from the floor, and swung it in the air.
"I rely on the barricades," said David, "and don't see the necessity of any arms; for I don't see how we're going to be attacked. If we are, I suppose I can use my knife, like Frank."
"Well," said Bob, "I've given my knife away, and I'll have to take a chair."
"Wal," said Uncle Moses, "I've got a razor, an it's pooty ugly weepin in the hands of a savage man—a desprit ugly weepin."
"And now let's go to bed," said David, do. said Bob. do. said Clive. do. said Frank.
"Yes, boys, that's about the best thing we can do," said UncleMoses, decisively.
The sleepless Watch.—The mysterious Steps.—The low Whispers.—They come! They come!—The Garrison roused.—To Arms! To Arms!—The beleaguered Party.—At Bay.—The decisive Moment.—The Scaling Ladders.—Onset of the Brigands.
So they all went to Bed.
So great was the confidence which they all felt in their preparations, precautions, and barricades, that not the slightest thought of danger remained in the mind of any one of them to create alarm, with the single exception of Bob.
For some reason or other Bob was more excitable at this time than the others. It may have been that this was his nature, or it may have been that his nerves were more sensitive since his tremendous adventures during the night of horror near Paestum; but whatever was the cause, certain it is, that on this occasion he remained wide awake, and incapable of sleep, while all the others were slumbering the sleep of the innocent.
He and Frank had the same bed, and it was the bed which had been placed against the door. It had been placed in such a way that the head of the bed was against the door. On the north side of the room, and on the left of this bed, was another, in which Uncle Moses slept; while on the south side, or the right, was the bed which was occupied by David and Clive. In this way they had disposed of themselves.
Bob was very wakeful. The beds were father unprepossessing, and consequently they had all retired without altogether undressing themselves; but in spite of this comparative discomfort they soon fell asleep. Bob alone remained awake.
He tried all he could to overcome his wakefulness. He resorted to all the means for producing sleep that he had ever heard of or read of. He tried counting, and went on counting and counting tens, and hundreds, and thousands. He counted fast, and he counted slow. In vain. Counting was useless, and when he had reached as high as four thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven, he gave it up in disgust.
Then he tried another infallible recipe for sleep He imagined, or tried to imagine, endless lines of rolling waves. This also was useless.
Then he tried another. He endeavored to imagine clouds of smoke rolling before him. This was as useless as the others.
Then he tested ever so many other methods, as follows:—
Waving grain.Marching soldiers.Funerals.A shore covered with sea-weed.An illimitable forest.A ditto prairie.The vault of heaven.The wide, shoreless ocean.A cataract.Fireworks.The stars.A burning forest.Looking at his nose.Wishing himself asleep.Rubbing his forehead.Lying on his back,do. do. right side.do. do. left side.do. do. face.
And about seventy-nine other methods, which need not be mentioned, for the simple reason that they were all equally useless.
At last he gave up in despair, and rising up he sat on the side of the bed, with his feet dangling down, and looked around.
The moon had risen, and was shining into the room. By its light he could see the outline of the beds. Around him there ascended a choral harmony composed of snores of every degree, reaching from the mild, mellow intonation of Clive, down to the deep, hoarse, sepulchral drone of Uncle Moses. In spite of his vexation about his wakefulness, a smile passed over Bob's face, as he listened to those astonishing voices of the night.
Suddenly a sound caught his ears, which at once attracted his attention, and turned all his thoughts in another direction.
It was the sound of footsteps immediately in front of the house, and apparently at the doorway. How much time had passed he did not know; but he felt sure that it must be at least midnight. He now perceived that there were some in the house who had not gone to bed. The footsteps were shuffling and irregular, as though some people were trying to walk without making a noise. The sound attracted Bob, and greatly excited him.
In addition to the footsteps there were other sounds. There were the low murmurs of voices in a subdued tone, and he judged that there must be at least a half a dozen who were thus talking. To this noise Bob sat listening for some time. It remained in the same place, and of course he could make nothing out of it; but it served to reawaken all the fears of brigands which had been aroused before they went to bed.
At length he heard a movement from below. The movement was along the ball. It was a shuffling movement, as of men walking with the endeavor not to make a noise.
Bob listened.
His excitement increased.
At last he heard the sounds more plainly.
They were evidently at the foot of the stairway.
Bob listened in increasing excitement.
Then there came a creaking sound. It was from the stairway. They were ascending it.
He thought of waking Frank, but decided to wait.
The sounds draw nearer. There must have been six or seven men upon the stairway, and they were walking up. What for?
He had no doubt what it was for, and he waited, knowing that they were coming to this room in which he was.
They tried to walk softly. There were low whispers once or twice, which ceased as they drew nearer.
Nearer and nearer!
At last Bob knew that they were outside of the door, and as he sat on the bed, he knew that there could not be more than a yard of distance Between himself and those bloody-minded, beetle-browed, ruthless, demoniac, and fiendish brigands.
His blood ran cold in his veins at the very thought.
He did not dare to move. He sat rigid, with every sense on the alert, his eyes fixed on the door, listening.
Then came a slight creaking sound—the sound of a pressure against the door, which yielded slightly, but was prevented by the heavy bed from being opened at all. It was an unmistakable sound. They were trying to open the door. They were also trying to do it as noiselessly as possible. Evidently they thought that their victims were all asleep, and they wished to come in noiselessly, so as to accomplish their fearful errand.
For a moment it seemed to Bob as though the bed was being pushed back. The thought gave him anguish inexpressible, but he soon found that it was not so. Then he expected a savage push at the door from the baffled brigands. He thought that they would drop all attempts at secrecy, and begin an open attack.
But they did not do so.
There were whispers outside the door. Evidently they were deliberating. They were unwilling, as yet, to resort to noisy violence. They wished to effect their full purpose in secret and in silence. Such were Bob's thoughts, which thoughts were strengthened as he heard them slowly move away, and descend the stairs, with the same carefulness, and the same shuffling sound, with which they had ascended.
"They are going to try the windows," thought Bob.
And now as this thought came to him, he could restrain himself no longer. It was no time for sleep. He determined to rouse the others.
He laid his hand on Frank's forehead, and shook his bead. Then, bending down dose to him, he hissed in his ear,—
"Wake! wake! Brigands! Don't speak! don't speak! silence!"
Frank was a light sleeper, and a quick-witted lad, who always retained his presence of mind. At Bob's cry he became wide awake, and without a single word sat up in bed and listened. All was still.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Bob told Him all in a few words.
Upon this Frank got up, stole noiselessly to the window on tiptoe, and listened. Bob followed. As they stood close to the window, they heard the sound of murmuring voices immediately beneath. Several of the panes of glass were out of this window, so that the voices were perfectly audible; though of course their ignorance of the language prevented them from understanding what was said.
As they listened, there arose a movement among them. The voices grew louder. The men were evidently walking out of the house. The listeners heard the sound of their footsteps on the ground as they walked away, and at a little distance off they noticed that the voices became more free and unrestrained.
"They'll be back again," said Frank.
"Let's wake the others," said Bob.
Upon this suggestion they both proceeded at once to act, waking them carefully, and cautioning them against making any noise. The cautions against noise were so earnest, that not a word was spoken above a whisper; but Clive and David, and finally Uncle Moses, stepped out upon the floor, and the whole party proceeded to put their heads together.
"I've got a chair," said Clive.
"I've got a knife," said Frank.
"I've got a chair," said Bob.
"I've got a knife," said David.
"An I've got my razor, which I shoved under my pillow," said UncleMoses; "an so let em come on. But where are they now?"
"H-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-h!" Said Frank.
All were silent, and listened. There came out from without the sound of footsteps approaching the house, and of low voices.
"They're coming back again," said Bob.
The rest listened.
Frank stole to the window and looked cautiously out.
By the moonlight he saw plainly the figures of four men. They were coming from the road to the house, and they were carrying a ladder. The ladder was very long. The sight sent a shudder through him. He had thought of the windows as being out of the reach of danger; the idea of a ladder had never entered his head at all. Yet he now saw that this-was one of the most simple and natural plans which could be adopted by the brigands.
He came back and told the others. All felt the same dismay which Frank had felt. None of them said a word, but they all stole up to the window, and looking out they saw for themselves.
The brigands approached the house, carrying the ladder; and on reaching it, they put their load on the ground, and rested for a short time. As they did so, the boys noticed that they all looked up at the upper windows of the house.
Then they saw the brigands gathering close together, and the murmur of their conversation came up to their ears.
It was a thrilling sight. The boys stood in dread suspense. No one said a word, not even a whisper.
The conversation among the brigands was followed by a movement on their part which brought things nearer to a climax. They raised the ladder once more, and moving it a little farther away, they proceeded to put it up against the house. The ladder was put up at the south end of the house, and as it was being carried there for the purpose of erection, the boys and Uncle Moses all stole over to that south window, where, standing a little distance back, so as to be out of observation, they looked out. Each one grasped his weapon of defence.
Clive his chair.
Frank his knife.
Bob his chair.
David his knife.
Uncle Moses his razor.
"Be ready, boys," said Uncle Moses, in a firm voice, as he grasped his razor. "The hour air come, and the decisive moment air at hand!"
He said this in a whisper, and the boys made no reply whatever.
The brigands meanwhile elevated the ladder, and the upper end struck the building. The dull thud of that stroke sent a thrill to the hearts of those listeners in the room. As they saw one of the brigands seize the ladder in order to mount, they all involuntarily shrank back one step.
"It isn't this window, at any rate," said Frank, in a whisper.
This remark encouraged them for a moment. No, it was not their window, but the attic window. They watched in silence now, and saw the four brigands go up.
Overhead they heard the sound that announced them as they stepped in through the window.
One brigand!
Two brigands!!
Three brigands!!!
Four brigands!!!!
And now the momentary relief which they had experienced at seeing that the attack was not made upon their window was succeeded by the darkest apprehensions, as they heard the entrance of those four brigands, and knew that these desperate men were just above them. They were there overhead. The hatchway was open. Through that opening they could drop down one by one.
The same thought came to all of them, and with one common impulse they moved softly to where the step-ladder lay on the floor. Frank made this movement first; the others followed.
They stood ranged along the step-ladder.
First, Frank, with his knife.
Second, Bob, with his chair.
Third, Clive, with his chair.
Fourth, David, with his knife.