Chapter Forty Seven.Wolves in Sheep’s Clothing.The excursionists had reached the summit, and looked into the cave. Lucetta related the legend of the hermit: how he had sojourned there for several years—never descending to the town, but trusting to the shepherds, and others who strayed over the mountains, to furnish him with his frugal fare; how he had at last mysteriously disappeared from the place, no one knowing where he had gone. But there was a story of his having been carried off by the brigands; and another that he was a brigand himself, having kept this post for purposes of observation.“What did the shepherds say?” asked the Captain Count, by way of showing his superior intelligence. “They should have known something of the fellow’s daily avocations; since, as you say, they provided him with his daily food. But, perhaps, his doings, like those of many others, were in the dark.”“Suppose you ask them, Signor Captain,” said Lucetta, with a languid smile at the somewhat cloudy insinuation. “There they are, coming up the mountain.”The young lady pointed to a ravine scarring the hill on the side opposite to that on which lay the town. Along its bed five men were seen driving before them a flock of sheep, as if bringing them up to browse on the mountain. They were already within a hundred yards of the summit upon which stood the spectators.The men were all dressed in coarsefrezadashanging down to their thighs, with the usual straw hat upon their heads, and sandals upon their feet. They carried long sticks, which they occasionally used in conducting their charge up the ravine. One of them wore thecapuce, hooded over his head, a thing that seemed strange under the hot noonday sun.The officer had promised to respond to the challenge of the signorina as soon as the shepherds should be near enough for conversation. They were coming direct towards the spot where the pleasure party awaited their approach.“How very odd,” said the young Englishman, addressing himself to the sister of Luigi, “are some of the customs of your country—at least they seem so to me. Your countrymen appear to lack economy in the distribution of labour. For example, with us, in England, one man will easily manage a flock of five hundred sheep, having only a dog to assist him; while here you see five men driving less than a fifth of the number, and not very skilfully, as it appears to me.”“Oh!” rejoined Lucetta, in defence of the native industry, “our shepherds usually have a much larger flock. No doubt these have more, and have left them on the mountains opposite—perhaps because there would not be enough pasture—”The explanation was interrupted by the approach of the sheep, whose tinkling bells drowned the discourse. Soon after the shepherds strode up, leaving their charge to go scattering over the summit. Instead of waiting for the Captain Count to begin the conversation, one of thepastorestook the initiative, bluntly opening with the salutation—“Buono giorno, signori. Molto buono giorno, signora bella.” (Good day, gentlemen. A fair good day, beautiful lady.)The speech was complimentary; but the manner seemed to have a different meaning. There was something in the tone of voice that jarred on the ears of the young Englishman.“Free speakers, these Italianpastores,” was the reflection he was making to himself, when the spokesman continued—“We’ve been seeking one of our sheep,” said he, “and have been hitherto unable to find it. We fancy it has strayed to this mountain. Have you seen anything of it?”“No, my good friends,” answered the officer smilingly, and in a tone intended to conciliate the inquirers, whose rude style of address could no longer be mistaken.“Are you sure, signore? Are you quite sure of what you say?”“Oh, quite sure. If we had seen the animal we should be most happy—”“Your sheep is not here,” interrupted the young Englishman, who could no longer stand thepastore’simpertinence. “You know it is not. Why do you repeat your questions?”“You lie!” cried one of the shepherds, who had not yet spoken—he who wore the red hood. “Itishere. You,Signor Inglese, are the stray we are in search of. Thank our gracious Virgin, we’ve found you in such goodly company. We shall take back to our flock three sheep instead of one; and one of them such a beautiful young ewe—just the sort for our charming mountain pastures!”Before the man had done speaking, Henry Harding recognised him. The voice was sufficient; but thecapuce, now thrown back upon his shoulders, revealed the sinister countenance of Corvino!“Corvino!” was the exclamation that passed mechanically from the lips of his late captive; and before its echo could reverberate from the adjoining cave, he was seized by two of the disguised bandits—the other two flinging themselves on the officer, while the chief himself laid hold of Lucetta.With a desperate effort the young Englishman wrenched his arms free. But he had no weapon; and of what use would be his fists against the two assailants, who had now drawn their daggers, and were again advancing upon him? The young lady was still struggling in the embrace of the brigand chief—her cries loud enough to be heard all over the town. Meanwhile Guardiola was making no resistance, not even to the drawing of his sword, which was still dangling uselessly by his side.With a quick eye Henry Harding perceived it; and, dashing between the two brigands who were closing upon him, he caught the weapon by the guard. Plucking it out of its sheath, he turned like a tiger upon his special opponents. The cowards shrank back; as they did so drawing their pistols, and firing at random. Neither of their shots took effect; and, in another instant, the swordsman was by the side of Corvino.With a cry the brigand chief let go his struggling prize, and turned to receive the attack—flinging off hisfrezadaand drawing a revolver—for this weapon had found its way into the hands of the Italian banditti. As good luck would have it, the first cap missed fire; and, before he could draw trigger upon a second, the sword of Guardiola, wielded by a more skilful hand than that of its owner, had rendered the brigand’s arm idle, and the revolver dropped to the ground.Alas! it was to no purpose. Before Henry Harding could follow up the thrust with one more deadly, he was assailed from behind by four fresh adversaries: for the two in charge of Guardiola had let him loose, and the Captain Count was now running down the mountain slope as fast as his scared legs could carry him.With the young Englishman it was now one against five, or rather one to four; for the brigand chief, on seeing his four satellites engaged with a single adversary, threw his left arm around Lucetta, and, raising her aloft, hurried off towards the ravine, up which, as a shepherd, he had ascended.
The excursionists had reached the summit, and looked into the cave. Lucetta related the legend of the hermit: how he had sojourned there for several years—never descending to the town, but trusting to the shepherds, and others who strayed over the mountains, to furnish him with his frugal fare; how he had at last mysteriously disappeared from the place, no one knowing where he had gone. But there was a story of his having been carried off by the brigands; and another that he was a brigand himself, having kept this post for purposes of observation.
“What did the shepherds say?” asked the Captain Count, by way of showing his superior intelligence. “They should have known something of the fellow’s daily avocations; since, as you say, they provided him with his daily food. But, perhaps, his doings, like those of many others, were in the dark.”
“Suppose you ask them, Signor Captain,” said Lucetta, with a languid smile at the somewhat cloudy insinuation. “There they are, coming up the mountain.”
The young lady pointed to a ravine scarring the hill on the side opposite to that on which lay the town. Along its bed five men were seen driving before them a flock of sheep, as if bringing them up to browse on the mountain. They were already within a hundred yards of the summit upon which stood the spectators.
The men were all dressed in coarsefrezadashanging down to their thighs, with the usual straw hat upon their heads, and sandals upon their feet. They carried long sticks, which they occasionally used in conducting their charge up the ravine. One of them wore thecapuce, hooded over his head, a thing that seemed strange under the hot noonday sun.
The officer had promised to respond to the challenge of the signorina as soon as the shepherds should be near enough for conversation. They were coming direct towards the spot where the pleasure party awaited their approach.
“How very odd,” said the young Englishman, addressing himself to the sister of Luigi, “are some of the customs of your country—at least they seem so to me. Your countrymen appear to lack economy in the distribution of labour. For example, with us, in England, one man will easily manage a flock of five hundred sheep, having only a dog to assist him; while here you see five men driving less than a fifth of the number, and not very skilfully, as it appears to me.”
“Oh!” rejoined Lucetta, in defence of the native industry, “our shepherds usually have a much larger flock. No doubt these have more, and have left them on the mountains opposite—perhaps because there would not be enough pasture—”
The explanation was interrupted by the approach of the sheep, whose tinkling bells drowned the discourse. Soon after the shepherds strode up, leaving their charge to go scattering over the summit. Instead of waiting for the Captain Count to begin the conversation, one of thepastorestook the initiative, bluntly opening with the salutation—“Buono giorno, signori. Molto buono giorno, signora bella.” (Good day, gentlemen. A fair good day, beautiful lady.)
The speech was complimentary; but the manner seemed to have a different meaning. There was something in the tone of voice that jarred on the ears of the young Englishman.
“Free speakers, these Italianpastores,” was the reflection he was making to himself, when the spokesman continued—
“We’ve been seeking one of our sheep,” said he, “and have been hitherto unable to find it. We fancy it has strayed to this mountain. Have you seen anything of it?”
“No, my good friends,” answered the officer smilingly, and in a tone intended to conciliate the inquirers, whose rude style of address could no longer be mistaken.
“Are you sure, signore? Are you quite sure of what you say?”
“Oh, quite sure. If we had seen the animal we should be most happy—”
“Your sheep is not here,” interrupted the young Englishman, who could no longer stand thepastore’simpertinence. “You know it is not. Why do you repeat your questions?”
“You lie!” cried one of the shepherds, who had not yet spoken—he who wore the red hood. “Itishere. You,Signor Inglese, are the stray we are in search of. Thank our gracious Virgin, we’ve found you in such goodly company. We shall take back to our flock three sheep instead of one; and one of them such a beautiful young ewe—just the sort for our charming mountain pastures!”
Before the man had done speaking, Henry Harding recognised him. The voice was sufficient; but thecapuce, now thrown back upon his shoulders, revealed the sinister countenance of Corvino!
“Corvino!” was the exclamation that passed mechanically from the lips of his late captive; and before its echo could reverberate from the adjoining cave, he was seized by two of the disguised bandits—the other two flinging themselves on the officer, while the chief himself laid hold of Lucetta.
With a desperate effort the young Englishman wrenched his arms free. But he had no weapon; and of what use would be his fists against the two assailants, who had now drawn their daggers, and were again advancing upon him? The young lady was still struggling in the embrace of the brigand chief—her cries loud enough to be heard all over the town. Meanwhile Guardiola was making no resistance, not even to the drawing of his sword, which was still dangling uselessly by his side.
With a quick eye Henry Harding perceived it; and, dashing between the two brigands who were closing upon him, he caught the weapon by the guard. Plucking it out of its sheath, he turned like a tiger upon his special opponents. The cowards shrank back; as they did so drawing their pistols, and firing at random. Neither of their shots took effect; and, in another instant, the swordsman was by the side of Corvino.
With a cry the brigand chief let go his struggling prize, and turned to receive the attack—flinging off hisfrezadaand drawing a revolver—for this weapon had found its way into the hands of the Italian banditti. As good luck would have it, the first cap missed fire; and, before he could draw trigger upon a second, the sword of Guardiola, wielded by a more skilful hand than that of its owner, had rendered the brigand’s arm idle, and the revolver dropped to the ground.
Alas! it was to no purpose. Before Henry Harding could follow up the thrust with one more deadly, he was assailed from behind by four fresh adversaries: for the two in charge of Guardiola had let him loose, and the Captain Count was now running down the mountain slope as fast as his scared legs could carry him.
With the young Englishman it was now one against five, or rather one to four; for the brigand chief, on seeing his four satellites engaged with a single adversary, threw his left arm around Lucetta, and, raising her aloft, hurried off towards the ravine, up which, as a shepherd, he had ascended.
Chapter Forty Eight.Four to One.Half frenzied by the sight of Lucetta borne off in the brigand’s arms, Henry Harding would have rushed instantly after, but the way was barred by two of the band while the other two assailed him from behind. He had enough on hand to defend himself from their quadrilateral attack; and only by the activity of an ape, borrowed from an excellence in athletic sports, often displayed at Eton and Oxford, was he enabled to show front to all four. Fortunately, they had all emptied their pistols upon him, without doing him any serious injury. By good luck, too, these were not revolvers, their chief alone being thus provided. They now assailed him with their less dangerous daggers; and, but for their number, he might have fought them with success. He struggled to reduce it, but the bandits were as active as he, and his sword thrusts and lunges were spent upon the air. Full five minutes did the desperate strife continue. He was fast losing breath, and must in the end have succumbed. So was he thinking, when his eye fell on the hermit’s cave, towards which the strife had been tending. By an effort he broke through the circle of his assailants, and placed himself in its entrance. A simultaneous cry of disappointment escaped from the brigands as they saw the advantage he had thus gained. With his sword he might now defend himself against a score of stilettos.As if by instinct, one and all resheathed their daggers, and commenced loading their pistols. It was a fearful crisis; and the young Englishman felt that his time was soon to come. The four men were in front of him, guarding the only pass by which he might retreat. It was a narrow gorge leading up to the entrance of the cave. He could not possibly penetrate through the line without encountering their stilettos, ready to be regrasped. Their pistols once charged, and his doom would be sealed; for the cave was a mere alcove in the rock, where he was placed like a statue in its niche. He had given himself up for lost, but he would not be tamely slaughtered.He was about to spring upon his assailants, and run the gauntlet of their daggers, when shots and shouts came ringing from below, accompanied by a shower of bullets that struck the rocks around him. Startled by this unexpected volley, the four robbers turned quickly round; and, without waiting to complete the loading of their pistols, ran like scared hinds away from the cave.The young Englishman saw that he was no longer in danger from their bullets, but from those of the soldiers now seen coming up the slope. Regardless of this, he rushed out, and started after the retreating brigands. They had already entered the ravine at the back of the mountain; and far away, scaling the steep on the opposite side, he could see Corvino, with a white shape lying over his left arm. He knew Lucetta Torreani. She was motionless, no longer making any struggle, the skirt of her dress trailing on the loose stones that strewed the mountain path. No cry came back—was she fainting, or dead?The soldiers came up, with Guardiola at their head. They halted at the top of the pass, reloading and firing at the few retreating brigands, now far beyond the carry of their antiquated carbines. Already Corvino was out of sight, carrying his captive along with him; and the others soon after disappeared among the rocks.Surely the soldiers would follow them? Who thought of asking this question? It was Henry Harding, who wondered at the long halt they were making by the head of the ravine. In a loud voice he repeated it. Still there was no reply, and the pause continued. For the third time he made the appeal in frenzied tones, addressing himself to Captain Guardiola.“You are mad,Signor Inglese,” replied the officer, with a coolness that came only from his cowardice. “I can understand your folly. As a foreigner you cannot know the ways of these Neapolitan bandits. All you have seen may be an artifice to draw us into a trap. As likely as not, over yonder,” he pointed to the pass through which the brigands had disappeared, “there are two hundred of the rascals lying ready to receive us. I am not such a fool as to have my followers sacrificed in such an unequal encounter. We must wait for reinforcements from the city.”By this time thesindicohad come up; too late to see his daughter as she was carried in Corvino’s arms over the crest of the opposite hill—perhaps fortunate in being spared the spectacle. With agonised heart he urged on the pursuit, joining his appeal to that already made by the young Englishman. Appeals and reproaches were uttered in vain. The cowardly commissary of the Pope—false lover that he had proved himself—thought more of his own safety than that of the maiden to whom he had dared to address his perjured speeches. With grief and disappointment the father was beside himself; whilst those of his acquaintances who had come up along with him were endeavouring to comfort him. The young Englishman added his word of encouragement, with an appeal to the townsmen that sounded strange in their ears.“There are enough of you,” he cried, “to pursue them to their lair! Have you not spirit to go after these brigands, and rescue the daughter of yoursindico?”The proposal, thus plainly made, was new to them. It caught like an electric spark, and was hailed with a chorus ofevvivas. For the first time in their lives were these citizens inspired with an idea of making resistance to banditti.“Let the town be consulted,” was their rejoinder; “let us first speak to our fellow-citizens.”And, with this intent, they turned down the hill, headed by thesindico; while Captain Guardiola and his troops continued gazing across the ravine at the rocks and trees that concealed the retiring foe—feared even in his retreat!
Half frenzied by the sight of Lucetta borne off in the brigand’s arms, Henry Harding would have rushed instantly after, but the way was barred by two of the band while the other two assailed him from behind. He had enough on hand to defend himself from their quadrilateral attack; and only by the activity of an ape, borrowed from an excellence in athletic sports, often displayed at Eton and Oxford, was he enabled to show front to all four. Fortunately, they had all emptied their pistols upon him, without doing him any serious injury. By good luck, too, these were not revolvers, their chief alone being thus provided. They now assailed him with their less dangerous daggers; and, but for their number, he might have fought them with success. He struggled to reduce it, but the bandits were as active as he, and his sword thrusts and lunges were spent upon the air. Full five minutes did the desperate strife continue. He was fast losing breath, and must in the end have succumbed. So was he thinking, when his eye fell on the hermit’s cave, towards which the strife had been tending. By an effort he broke through the circle of his assailants, and placed himself in its entrance. A simultaneous cry of disappointment escaped from the brigands as they saw the advantage he had thus gained. With his sword he might now defend himself against a score of stilettos.
As if by instinct, one and all resheathed their daggers, and commenced loading their pistols. It was a fearful crisis; and the young Englishman felt that his time was soon to come. The four men were in front of him, guarding the only pass by which he might retreat. It was a narrow gorge leading up to the entrance of the cave. He could not possibly penetrate through the line without encountering their stilettos, ready to be regrasped. Their pistols once charged, and his doom would be sealed; for the cave was a mere alcove in the rock, where he was placed like a statue in its niche. He had given himself up for lost, but he would not be tamely slaughtered.
He was about to spring upon his assailants, and run the gauntlet of their daggers, when shots and shouts came ringing from below, accompanied by a shower of bullets that struck the rocks around him. Startled by this unexpected volley, the four robbers turned quickly round; and, without waiting to complete the loading of their pistols, ran like scared hinds away from the cave.
The young Englishman saw that he was no longer in danger from their bullets, but from those of the soldiers now seen coming up the slope. Regardless of this, he rushed out, and started after the retreating brigands. They had already entered the ravine at the back of the mountain; and far away, scaling the steep on the opposite side, he could see Corvino, with a white shape lying over his left arm. He knew Lucetta Torreani. She was motionless, no longer making any struggle, the skirt of her dress trailing on the loose stones that strewed the mountain path. No cry came back—was she fainting, or dead?
The soldiers came up, with Guardiola at their head. They halted at the top of the pass, reloading and firing at the few retreating brigands, now far beyond the carry of their antiquated carbines. Already Corvino was out of sight, carrying his captive along with him; and the others soon after disappeared among the rocks.
Surely the soldiers would follow them? Who thought of asking this question? It was Henry Harding, who wondered at the long halt they were making by the head of the ravine. In a loud voice he repeated it. Still there was no reply, and the pause continued. For the third time he made the appeal in frenzied tones, addressing himself to Captain Guardiola.
“You are mad,Signor Inglese,” replied the officer, with a coolness that came only from his cowardice. “I can understand your folly. As a foreigner you cannot know the ways of these Neapolitan bandits. All you have seen may be an artifice to draw us into a trap. As likely as not, over yonder,” he pointed to the pass through which the brigands had disappeared, “there are two hundred of the rascals lying ready to receive us. I am not such a fool as to have my followers sacrificed in such an unequal encounter. We must wait for reinforcements from the city.”
By this time thesindicohad come up; too late to see his daughter as she was carried in Corvino’s arms over the crest of the opposite hill—perhaps fortunate in being spared the spectacle. With agonised heart he urged on the pursuit, joining his appeal to that already made by the young Englishman. Appeals and reproaches were uttered in vain. The cowardly commissary of the Pope—false lover that he had proved himself—thought more of his own safety than that of the maiden to whom he had dared to address his perjured speeches. With grief and disappointment the father was beside himself; whilst those of his acquaintances who had come up along with him were endeavouring to comfort him. The young Englishman added his word of encouragement, with an appeal to the townsmen that sounded strange in their ears.
“There are enough of you,” he cried, “to pursue them to their lair! Have you not spirit to go after these brigands, and rescue the daughter of yoursindico?”
The proposal, thus plainly made, was new to them. It caught like an electric spark, and was hailed with a chorus ofevvivas. For the first time in their lives were these citizens inspired with an idea of making resistance to banditti.
“Let the town be consulted,” was their rejoinder; “let us first speak to our fellow-citizens.”
And, with this intent, they turned down the hill, headed by thesindico; while Captain Guardiola and his troops continued gazing across the ravine at the rocks and trees that concealed the retiring foe—feared even in his retreat!
Chapter Forty Nine.Evviva Ella Republica!On returning to the town, a surprise awaited thesindicoand his friends. Men, women, and children were running to and fro; the children screaming, the men and women giving utterance to loud shouts and exclamations. There had been a similarfracason the first alarm of the brigands, but it had subsided as the soldiers started off to ascend the hill. What had caused it to break forth afresh? This was the question hurriedly exchanged between the returning townsmen. Could it be the robbers who had entered from the opposite side, and taken possession of the place? Was the skirmish on the hill only a feint to draw the soldiers out of the town? If so, it had succeeded; and the shouts now heard, with the rushing to and fro, were signs of a general pillage.With sad hearts, they hastened on into the streets. They soon came in sight of the piazza. A crowd was collected in front of thesindico’shouse—another by the albergo. Both were composed of armed men, not in any uniform, but in costumes of varied kind: peasants, proprietors, and men in broad-cloth habiliments of city life, all carrying guns, swords, and pistols. They were not citizens of Val di Orno; they were strangers, as could be seen at a glance. Neither did they appear banditti, though several of the soldiers who had lagged behind were now seen standing in the piazza, guarded as their prisoners! What could it mean? Who could the strangers be?These questions were answered as the returning townsmen came near enough to distinguish the cries: “Evviva ella Republica! Abasso tyranni! Abasso il Papa!” At the same time a tricoloured flag shot up on its staff, proclaiming to the citizens of Val di Orno that their town was in possession of the Republicans! And so, too, was Rome at that moment. The Pope had fled, and the triumvirate—Mazzini, Saffi, and Aurelli—held rule in the Holy City.A fresh surprise awaited thesindicoon reaching his own house; his son Luigi stood in front of it—one of those who was vociferating the watchword ofLiberty.A hurried greeting passed between father and son. With a quick glance, the latter caught the expression of grief on his father’s countenance.“What is wrong?” he asked. “There have been brigands here—where is my sister?”A groan was the answer; this, and a hand raised in the direction of the hills.“O God!” exclaimed the young man; “too late! Have I come too late? Speak, father! Tell me what has happened—where is Lucetta?”“Poverina!—mia povera figlia!—gone, Luigi! Borne off by the brigand Corvino!”The words were gasped out with the choking utterance of grief. The bereaved parent could say no more. He sank into the arms of his son.“Friends!” cried Luigi Torreani to those who stood around listening; “comrades, I may call you! But for absence in a foreign land, I should have been one of you. I am one of you now, and henceforth. Here is my father, Francesco Torreani, thesindicoof this town. You heard what he has said. His daughter—my sister—carried off by the brigands! And that with a hundred soldiers supposed to be protecting the place! This is the protection we get from the valiant defenders of the Holy Faith!”“Defenders of the devil!” came a voice from the crowd.“Worse than the brigands themselves,” added another. “I believe they’ve been in league with them all along. That’s why the scoundrels have so often escaped.”“Quite true!” cried a third. “We know it. They’re in the pay of the Pope and his Majesty of Naples. That’s one of the ways by which our tyrants have controlled us.”“You will stand by me, then?” said the young artist, his face brightening with hope. “You will help me to recover my sister? I know you will.”“We will! we will!” answered a score of earnest voices.“You may depend upon that, Signor Torreani,” said a man of imposing aspect, who was evidently the leader of the Republican troop. “The brigands shall be pursued, and your sister saved, if it be in our power. Nothing shall be left undone. But first we must dispose of these hirelings. See! they are coming down the hill. Into the houses,compagnos! Let us take them by surprise. Here, Stramoni, Giugletta, Paoli! On to the end of the street. Shoot down any one who attempts to go out and give them warning! Inside,compagnos!—in, in!”In a score of seconds the piazza was cleared of the crowd, the strangers hurrying inside the houses, forcing along with them the soldier-prisoners whom they had taken. Half-a-dozen men hastened towards the suburbs, to cut off any communication that might be attempted between the citizens and soldiery, who were now returningen massedown the mountain slope, their captain at their head. Such of the townsmen as chose were allowed to remain in the streets, with a warning that any attempt at treason, made either by word or sign, would draw the fire of the Republicans upon them. Few of them stood in need of it. Under the administration of such asindico, there were not many of the inhabitants of Val di Orno who did not secretly exult at the new order of things. They had already hailed with acclamation their deliverers from the city, and were joyed at the prospect of a Republic.On came Guardiola at the head of his troop. The soldiers were marching in straggling disorder. The captain was not himself in the best of spirits. False as his love had been, he felt bitter chagrin at the girl having been carried away. His own recreance too, there was something to regret about that. Now that the excitement was over, he could not help thinking of it. With soiled shield and trailing pennon, he was returning into the town. He cared little for the sentiment of the citizens; less now thatshewas no longer among them. But his own followers had been witnesses of his cowardly conduct, and he would hear of it perhaps at headquarters. Captain, subalterns, and troop tramped back towards the town, observing neither rank nor caution. Little did they dream of the trap into which they were advancing. The measures of the Republican leader had been well taken. On each of the four sides of the piazza he had placed a portion of his force—distributed into nearly equal parts. Hidden by the blinds inside, they commanded the whole square, and could rake it with their fire through the windows and doors. The soldiers would have no chance. Once within the piazza they would be at the mercy of the Revolutionists. And into the piazza they came, utterly unconscious of the fate that awaited them. They had noticed the silence pervading the place, and wondered that their comrades, left behind, came not forth to greet them.They were reflecting on the strangeness of these things when a loud voice, issuing from the inn, summoned them to surrender.“Rendate, Capitano! Yield up your sword to the soldiers of the Republic!”“What’s the meaning of this impertinence?” cried Guardiola, facing the albergo, and endeavouring to discover from whom proceeded the voice. “Sergeant,” he continued, “drag that man out into the street, and see that he has a score of blows upon the back—heavily laid on.”“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the voice, while the laughter was loudly echoed from the four sides of the square, and again the demand was repeated.The carabineers unslung their firelocks, and faced in different directions, ready to make havoc among the jeering citizens, as they supposed them to be. They only waited for the word to fire into the windows and doors.“We don’t want to spill your blood,” said the same stentorian voice, speaking from the albergo; “but if you insist upon it, we shall. Soldiers of the Pope! you are surrounded by soldiers of a higher power—the Republic. Your master is no longer in Rome. He has fled to Gaeta. Mazzini rules in the city, and we intend to rule here. You are completely in our power. The first of you that draws a trigger will be answerable for the sacrifice of your whole troop; for we shall not leave a man of you standing. Be wise, then, and surrender, as we tell you. Put down your arms, and we shall treat you as prisoners of war. Use them, and you shall have the treatment you more deserve—that accorded to hirelings and brigands!”Guardiola and his troop were astounded. What could it mean—this summons so impudently and yet so confidently spoken? They stood irresolute.“Compagnos!” cried the voice from the albergo, speaking as if from the interior of some Delphian shrine, and loud enough to reach the four sides of the square; “these worthy gentlemen seem to hesitate, as if they doubted the truth of my words. Convince them of it by showing the muzzles of your guns. When they have counted those, perhaps they will be less incredulous.”Quick following upon this speech came the clanking noise of gun-barrels brought in collision; and, to the consternation of Guardiola and his carabineers, a score of windows around the piazza glistened with dark iron tubes that could not be mistaken for aught else than what they were. There appeared to be at least two hundred. One-fourth of the number would have been sufficient.The soldiers saw that they were in an ambuscade—that the Revolution, long threatened, had at length come; and, without waiting for the sanction of Captain Guardiola or his subalterns, they flung their carbines to the ground, and declared themselves agreeable to a surrender.In ten minutes after they were standing under the tricolour flag, and crying “Evviva ella Republica!” while their captain, swordless and looking very uncomfortable, was pacing a chamber floor in the albergo, to which but three days before he had consigned Henry Harding as a prisoner.He was now himself a prisoner to the soldiers of the Republic.
On returning to the town, a surprise awaited thesindicoand his friends. Men, women, and children were running to and fro; the children screaming, the men and women giving utterance to loud shouts and exclamations. There had been a similarfracason the first alarm of the brigands, but it had subsided as the soldiers started off to ascend the hill. What had caused it to break forth afresh? This was the question hurriedly exchanged between the returning townsmen. Could it be the robbers who had entered from the opposite side, and taken possession of the place? Was the skirmish on the hill only a feint to draw the soldiers out of the town? If so, it had succeeded; and the shouts now heard, with the rushing to and fro, were signs of a general pillage.
With sad hearts, they hastened on into the streets. They soon came in sight of the piazza. A crowd was collected in front of thesindico’shouse—another by the albergo. Both were composed of armed men, not in any uniform, but in costumes of varied kind: peasants, proprietors, and men in broad-cloth habiliments of city life, all carrying guns, swords, and pistols. They were not citizens of Val di Orno; they were strangers, as could be seen at a glance. Neither did they appear banditti, though several of the soldiers who had lagged behind were now seen standing in the piazza, guarded as their prisoners! What could it mean? Who could the strangers be?
These questions were answered as the returning townsmen came near enough to distinguish the cries: “Evviva ella Republica! Abasso tyranni! Abasso il Papa!” At the same time a tricoloured flag shot up on its staff, proclaiming to the citizens of Val di Orno that their town was in possession of the Republicans! And so, too, was Rome at that moment. The Pope had fled, and the triumvirate—Mazzini, Saffi, and Aurelli—held rule in the Holy City.
A fresh surprise awaited thesindicoon reaching his own house; his son Luigi stood in front of it—one of those who was vociferating the watchword ofLiberty.
A hurried greeting passed between father and son. With a quick glance, the latter caught the expression of grief on his father’s countenance.
“What is wrong?” he asked. “There have been brigands here—where is my sister?”
A groan was the answer; this, and a hand raised in the direction of the hills.
“O God!” exclaimed the young man; “too late! Have I come too late? Speak, father! Tell me what has happened—where is Lucetta?”
“Poverina!—mia povera figlia!—gone, Luigi! Borne off by the brigand Corvino!”
The words were gasped out with the choking utterance of grief. The bereaved parent could say no more. He sank into the arms of his son.
“Friends!” cried Luigi Torreani to those who stood around listening; “comrades, I may call you! But for absence in a foreign land, I should have been one of you. I am one of you now, and henceforth. Here is my father, Francesco Torreani, thesindicoof this town. You heard what he has said. His daughter—my sister—carried off by the brigands! And that with a hundred soldiers supposed to be protecting the place! This is the protection we get from the valiant defenders of the Holy Faith!”
“Defenders of the devil!” came a voice from the crowd.
“Worse than the brigands themselves,” added another. “I believe they’ve been in league with them all along. That’s why the scoundrels have so often escaped.”
“Quite true!” cried a third. “We know it. They’re in the pay of the Pope and his Majesty of Naples. That’s one of the ways by which our tyrants have controlled us.”
“You will stand by me, then?” said the young artist, his face brightening with hope. “You will help me to recover my sister? I know you will.”
“We will! we will!” answered a score of earnest voices.
“You may depend upon that, Signor Torreani,” said a man of imposing aspect, who was evidently the leader of the Republican troop. “The brigands shall be pursued, and your sister saved, if it be in our power. Nothing shall be left undone. But first we must dispose of these hirelings. See! they are coming down the hill. Into the houses,compagnos! Let us take them by surprise. Here, Stramoni, Giugletta, Paoli! On to the end of the street. Shoot down any one who attempts to go out and give them warning! Inside,compagnos!—in, in!”
In a score of seconds the piazza was cleared of the crowd, the strangers hurrying inside the houses, forcing along with them the soldier-prisoners whom they had taken. Half-a-dozen men hastened towards the suburbs, to cut off any communication that might be attempted between the citizens and soldiery, who were now returningen massedown the mountain slope, their captain at their head. Such of the townsmen as chose were allowed to remain in the streets, with a warning that any attempt at treason, made either by word or sign, would draw the fire of the Republicans upon them. Few of them stood in need of it. Under the administration of such asindico, there were not many of the inhabitants of Val di Orno who did not secretly exult at the new order of things. They had already hailed with acclamation their deliverers from the city, and were joyed at the prospect of a Republic.
On came Guardiola at the head of his troop. The soldiers were marching in straggling disorder. The captain was not himself in the best of spirits. False as his love had been, he felt bitter chagrin at the girl having been carried away. His own recreance too, there was something to regret about that. Now that the excitement was over, he could not help thinking of it. With soiled shield and trailing pennon, he was returning into the town. He cared little for the sentiment of the citizens; less now thatshewas no longer among them. But his own followers had been witnesses of his cowardly conduct, and he would hear of it perhaps at headquarters. Captain, subalterns, and troop tramped back towards the town, observing neither rank nor caution. Little did they dream of the trap into which they were advancing. The measures of the Republican leader had been well taken. On each of the four sides of the piazza he had placed a portion of his force—distributed into nearly equal parts. Hidden by the blinds inside, they commanded the whole square, and could rake it with their fire through the windows and doors. The soldiers would have no chance. Once within the piazza they would be at the mercy of the Revolutionists. And into the piazza they came, utterly unconscious of the fate that awaited them. They had noticed the silence pervading the place, and wondered that their comrades, left behind, came not forth to greet them.
They were reflecting on the strangeness of these things when a loud voice, issuing from the inn, summoned them to surrender.
“Rendate, Capitano! Yield up your sword to the soldiers of the Republic!”
“What’s the meaning of this impertinence?” cried Guardiola, facing the albergo, and endeavouring to discover from whom proceeded the voice. “Sergeant,” he continued, “drag that man out into the street, and see that he has a score of blows upon the back—heavily laid on.”
“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed the voice, while the laughter was loudly echoed from the four sides of the square, and again the demand was repeated.
The carabineers unslung their firelocks, and faced in different directions, ready to make havoc among the jeering citizens, as they supposed them to be. They only waited for the word to fire into the windows and doors.
“We don’t want to spill your blood,” said the same stentorian voice, speaking from the albergo; “but if you insist upon it, we shall. Soldiers of the Pope! you are surrounded by soldiers of a higher power—the Republic. Your master is no longer in Rome. He has fled to Gaeta. Mazzini rules in the city, and we intend to rule here. You are completely in our power. The first of you that draws a trigger will be answerable for the sacrifice of your whole troop; for we shall not leave a man of you standing. Be wise, then, and surrender, as we tell you. Put down your arms, and we shall treat you as prisoners of war. Use them, and you shall have the treatment you more deserve—that accorded to hirelings and brigands!”
Guardiola and his troop were astounded. What could it mean—this summons so impudently and yet so confidently spoken? They stood irresolute.
“Compagnos!” cried the voice from the albergo, speaking as if from the interior of some Delphian shrine, and loud enough to reach the four sides of the square; “these worthy gentlemen seem to hesitate, as if they doubted the truth of my words. Convince them of it by showing the muzzles of your guns. When they have counted those, perhaps they will be less incredulous.”
Quick following upon this speech came the clanking noise of gun-barrels brought in collision; and, to the consternation of Guardiola and his carabineers, a score of windows around the piazza glistened with dark iron tubes that could not be mistaken for aught else than what they were. There appeared to be at least two hundred. One-fourth of the number would have been sufficient.
The soldiers saw that they were in an ambuscade—that the Revolution, long threatened, had at length come; and, without waiting for the sanction of Captain Guardiola or his subalterns, they flung their carbines to the ground, and declared themselves agreeable to a surrender.
In ten minutes after they were standing under the tricolour flag, and crying “Evviva ella Republica!” while their captain, swordless and looking very uncomfortable, was pacing a chamber floor in the albergo, to which but three days before he had consigned Henry Harding as a prisoner.
He was now himself a prisoner to the soldiers of the Republic.
Chapter Fifty.The Abduction.Half carrying, half dragging the girl with him, Corvino kept on through the mountain passes. When he thought himself safe from immediate pursuit, he stopped to await the coming up of his comrades. He had heard shots on the other side of the hill, and knew the soldiers were on the alert. But he had little fear of being overtaken by them. He calculated the time it would take them to ascend the slope. Before they could reach the summit his own men would have secured their captive and retreated down the ravine. Four to one—for he had witnessed the cowardly abandonment by the officer—there could be no fear of their failing. He had hurried ahead to gain a sufficient start, knowing that he would be impeded in the transporting of his new-made captive in the event of pursuit. Before leaving the ground he had shouted “Dagli! dagli!” but coupling it with a caution to take the prisoner alive, if possible. It was this that prevented the men from first making use of their pistols. By Henry Harding’s death they would sacrifice theriscattathey had been long counting upon.After giving the order, Corvino had hurried off, taking his captive with him. The young girl made no resistance; she had swooned, and in an unconscious state was carried away.On recovering her senses, she saw that she was no longer on Hermit’s Hill, but in a wild spot surrounded by trees and rocks, the brigand captain standing close beside her. She neither screamed nor attempted to escape. She saw it would be idle, as she was helplessly in the power of her captor. Her thoughts were still scattering and confused; she felt as if just waking from some disagreeable dream, with its scenes still vivid before her fancy. She remembered the approach of the shepherds, their rude address, the throwing aside their disguises, the cry “Corvino!” as it came from the lips of his late captive; the face of the brigand chief suddenly showing from under thecapuce, and which she herself recognised; the seizure of all three; the struggle; a sword gleaming in the hand of Henry Harding; his rushing upon her captor; a shot fired by Corvino; the angry exclamations of the pseudo-shepherds; the glancing of their stilettos; the scampering of the scared sheep; the quick, confused tinkling of their bells; and finally Captain Guardiola fleeing from the spot. All these she remembered like the incidents of a disturbed dream. She remembered Corvino once more coming up to her; once more laying hold, and hurrying her from the spot. After that she became unconscious—her senses only returning to tell her she was alone with the brigand.On opening her eyes, she saw blood on the bandit’s dress, and that the skirt of her own robe was sprinkled with it. It appeared to proceed from a wound in his right arm, and she now recalled the sword in the grasp of the young Englishman, and the gallant use he was making of it. What had been the result of the unequal combat? Had Henry Harding succumbed? Had he been killed? Or was he, like herself, a captive? She had heard the command for him to be takenaliveif possible, shouted back by Corvino. She hoped they had obeyed it; but trembled to think he might be dead. It was her first anxiety.Fully recovering her senses, she looked around, but there was no one near—only the chief standing by, busied in binding up his wound. He had cut open the sleeve of his velvet coat, and was stanching the blood with strips from his shirt. She made no offer to assist him; she could only regard him with horror. His savage aspect, heightened to hideousness by the crimson streaks of blood on his hands, arms, and face, was sufficient to inspire both fear and aversion. She trembled as she lay watching him: for she was still lying upon the ground, where she had been placed like a parcel of goods.“Be still, signorina,” said her captor, on perceiving she had come to herself. “Have patience till I get my arm slung, and then I shall take you to a softer couch.Sangue de Cristo! The Inglese shall pay for this with the loss of his ears and double the ransom. Now!” he said, having finished slinging his arm; “Alza! Alza! we mustn’t tarry, or that valiant captain may be after us with his soldiers. Come along, signorina. You can walk the rest of the way.Corpo di Bacco! I’ve carried you far enough.”As he said this, he stretched out his left hand; seized the young girl by the wrist; raised her to her feet; and was about to proceed along the path, when he heard his four comrades coming up behind. He stayed to await their approach.Presently they appeared filing through the rocks. There was no prisoner along with them!He waited till the last was in sight; then, letting go his hold upon the captive, he rushed back towards the men, fiercely vociferating as he went.“Dio Santo!” he exclaimed. “Where is the Inglese? Not with you?Maladitto! What have you done? Killed him?”With a palpitating heart Lucetta listened for the reply. The men were slow to make answer—as if unwilling to tell the truth. She did not draw hope from this. They might be afraid to confess they had killed him. She remembered the command to take him alive. She trembled as she stood listening.Another string of mingled oaths and interrogations was terminated by the same demand—“Have you killed the Inglese? I heard the reports of your pistols; after that a volley from the soldiers. You were firing at him then, I suppose?”“We were,capo,” answered one of the men.“Well?”“He succeeded in taking shelter under the cave, and we could not get at him. His long blade defended the entrance. Of course we could not surround him. If it had been a question of killing, we could have done that long before, but your orders were against it.”“And you’ve left him alive, unscathed, free?”“No,capo, we think he must have fallen at our fire. We could not stay to see, for the bullets were raining round us thick as sleet. No doubt he is dead by this.”By the look and tone, the young girl could tell they were prevaricating. There was still a hope he might yet be alive. The chief equally perceived their evasion, and broke out in a paroxysm of fury. Forgetful of his injured arm, and almost wrenching it from its sling, he rushed upon his defeated followers.“Cowards! imbeciles!” he cried, striking with his left hand now one, now the other, and tearing the hats from their heads. “Sangue di bacco! four of you conquered by one man—a boy—with the loss of thirty thousand scudi!Vada en Malora!” he exclaimed in agony, as he felt the pain of his disabled arm. “Take hold of thegiovinetta, and bring her along. See that she does not escape you as well.Su via!”Saying this, he strode off, leaving his companions to conduct thegiovinettaafter him. One of these, roughly seizing her by the wrist, and repeating the words “Su via!” hurried her off after the chief, the other three following sullenly.The young girl offered no resistance. Any attempt to escape would have been hopeless. Her savage captors had freely flashed their daggers before her eyes, threatening to use them if she resisted; and she accompanied them with a sort of mechanical acquiescence springing from despair. Her thoughts were not with herself; they were directed to the Hermit’s Hill, though she had little hope of rescue from that quarter. Having witnessed the cowardly desertion of her by Captain Guardiola, she knew he would be equally backward in any pursuit; and indeed her captors showed not the slightest apprehensions of it.As they wound their way slowly and deliberately through the defiles of the mountain, it might have quickened their steps had they known of the change that had taken place in the garrison of Val di Orno.
Half carrying, half dragging the girl with him, Corvino kept on through the mountain passes. When he thought himself safe from immediate pursuit, he stopped to await the coming up of his comrades. He had heard shots on the other side of the hill, and knew the soldiers were on the alert. But he had little fear of being overtaken by them. He calculated the time it would take them to ascend the slope. Before they could reach the summit his own men would have secured their captive and retreated down the ravine. Four to one—for he had witnessed the cowardly abandonment by the officer—there could be no fear of their failing. He had hurried ahead to gain a sufficient start, knowing that he would be impeded in the transporting of his new-made captive in the event of pursuit. Before leaving the ground he had shouted “Dagli! dagli!” but coupling it with a caution to take the prisoner alive, if possible. It was this that prevented the men from first making use of their pistols. By Henry Harding’s death they would sacrifice theriscattathey had been long counting upon.
After giving the order, Corvino had hurried off, taking his captive with him. The young girl made no resistance; she had swooned, and in an unconscious state was carried away.
On recovering her senses, she saw that she was no longer on Hermit’s Hill, but in a wild spot surrounded by trees and rocks, the brigand captain standing close beside her. She neither screamed nor attempted to escape. She saw it would be idle, as she was helplessly in the power of her captor. Her thoughts were still scattering and confused; she felt as if just waking from some disagreeable dream, with its scenes still vivid before her fancy. She remembered the approach of the shepherds, their rude address, the throwing aside their disguises, the cry “Corvino!” as it came from the lips of his late captive; the face of the brigand chief suddenly showing from under thecapuce, and which she herself recognised; the seizure of all three; the struggle; a sword gleaming in the hand of Henry Harding; his rushing upon her captor; a shot fired by Corvino; the angry exclamations of the pseudo-shepherds; the glancing of their stilettos; the scampering of the scared sheep; the quick, confused tinkling of their bells; and finally Captain Guardiola fleeing from the spot. All these she remembered like the incidents of a disturbed dream. She remembered Corvino once more coming up to her; once more laying hold, and hurrying her from the spot. After that she became unconscious—her senses only returning to tell her she was alone with the brigand.
On opening her eyes, she saw blood on the bandit’s dress, and that the skirt of her own robe was sprinkled with it. It appeared to proceed from a wound in his right arm, and she now recalled the sword in the grasp of the young Englishman, and the gallant use he was making of it. What had been the result of the unequal combat? Had Henry Harding succumbed? Had he been killed? Or was he, like herself, a captive? She had heard the command for him to be takenaliveif possible, shouted back by Corvino. She hoped they had obeyed it; but trembled to think he might be dead. It was her first anxiety.
Fully recovering her senses, she looked around, but there was no one near—only the chief standing by, busied in binding up his wound. He had cut open the sleeve of his velvet coat, and was stanching the blood with strips from his shirt. She made no offer to assist him; she could only regard him with horror. His savage aspect, heightened to hideousness by the crimson streaks of blood on his hands, arms, and face, was sufficient to inspire both fear and aversion. She trembled as she lay watching him: for she was still lying upon the ground, where she had been placed like a parcel of goods.
“Be still, signorina,” said her captor, on perceiving she had come to herself. “Have patience till I get my arm slung, and then I shall take you to a softer couch.Sangue de Cristo! The Inglese shall pay for this with the loss of his ears and double the ransom. Now!” he said, having finished slinging his arm; “Alza! Alza! we mustn’t tarry, or that valiant captain may be after us with his soldiers. Come along, signorina. You can walk the rest of the way.Corpo di Bacco! I’ve carried you far enough.”
As he said this, he stretched out his left hand; seized the young girl by the wrist; raised her to her feet; and was about to proceed along the path, when he heard his four comrades coming up behind. He stayed to await their approach.
Presently they appeared filing through the rocks. There was no prisoner along with them!
He waited till the last was in sight; then, letting go his hold upon the captive, he rushed back towards the men, fiercely vociferating as he went.
“Dio Santo!” he exclaimed. “Where is the Inglese? Not with you?Maladitto! What have you done? Killed him?”
With a palpitating heart Lucetta listened for the reply. The men were slow to make answer—as if unwilling to tell the truth. She did not draw hope from this. They might be afraid to confess they had killed him. She remembered the command to take him alive. She trembled as she stood listening.
Another string of mingled oaths and interrogations was terminated by the same demand—
“Have you killed the Inglese? I heard the reports of your pistols; after that a volley from the soldiers. You were firing at him then, I suppose?”
“We were,capo,” answered one of the men.
“Well?”
“He succeeded in taking shelter under the cave, and we could not get at him. His long blade defended the entrance. Of course we could not surround him. If it had been a question of killing, we could have done that long before, but your orders were against it.”
“And you’ve left him alive, unscathed, free?”
“No,capo, we think he must have fallen at our fire. We could not stay to see, for the bullets were raining round us thick as sleet. No doubt he is dead by this.”
By the look and tone, the young girl could tell they were prevaricating. There was still a hope he might yet be alive. The chief equally perceived their evasion, and broke out in a paroxysm of fury. Forgetful of his injured arm, and almost wrenching it from its sling, he rushed upon his defeated followers.
“Cowards! imbeciles!” he cried, striking with his left hand now one, now the other, and tearing the hats from their heads. “Sangue di bacco! four of you conquered by one man—a boy—with the loss of thirty thousand scudi!Vada en Malora!” he exclaimed in agony, as he felt the pain of his disabled arm. “Take hold of thegiovinetta, and bring her along. See that she does not escape you as well.Su via!”
Saying this, he strode off, leaving his companions to conduct thegiovinettaafter him. One of these, roughly seizing her by the wrist, and repeating the words “Su via!” hurried her off after the chief, the other three following sullenly.
The young girl offered no resistance. Any attempt to escape would have been hopeless. Her savage captors had freely flashed their daggers before her eyes, threatening to use them if she resisted; and she accompanied them with a sort of mechanical acquiescence springing from despair. Her thoughts were not with herself; they were directed to the Hermit’s Hill, though she had little hope of rescue from that quarter. Having witnessed the cowardly desertion of her by Captain Guardiola, she knew he would be equally backward in any pursuit; and indeed her captors showed not the slightest apprehensions of it.
As they wound their way slowly and deliberately through the defiles of the mountain, it might have quickened their steps had they known of the change that had taken place in the garrison of Val di Orno.
Chapter Fifty One.On the Trail.It is scarce necessary to say that the appeal made by the brother and father of the abducted girl found a ready response in the hearts of the Republicanvolontieri. It came upon them with the force of a double call; for in addition to dictates of humanity, the men looked upon brigandage as a part of the despotic government they had just overthrown. Thesindicotoo had claims upon them; for it was known to their leaders that he had long secretly sympathised with their cause, his oath of office keeping him from any open demonstrations in their favour. Besides, his son, encountered by mere accident as they were issuing from the gates of Rome, had declared along with them, and was now one of themselves. Under such circumstances there could be no desire to withhold assistance from their newly-enrolled comrades. Nor was there any such, but, on the contrary, an enthusiasm coupled with a unanimous determination to take steps for the rescue of his sister.As soon, therefore, as Guardiola and his troop were disposed of, by being disarmed and placed in charge of a detailed guard, preparations were entered upon for the pursuit of Corvino and his bandits. Luigi Torreani, a prey to the agony of a terrible apprehension, would have started off after them at once, and so too the young Englishman. But the leader of the Republican battalion—Rossi by name—was a man of more prudent impulses, and saw that such a step would only defeat the purpose they had in view. He had been himself an officer in the Neapolitan army, and had plenty of experience in the chasing of banditti. He well knew that any open pursuit of these watchful outlaws could end only in a ridiculous failure. The brigands themselves often witnessing such a result from the crest of some inaccessible cliff, will hail it with taunts and scornful laughter. It is true that in the present case there was an advantage. The rendezvous of the robbers was known. Their late captive could guide the pursuing party to the spot—a chance not often obtained. So far all seemed well; but not to the experienced pursuer of banditti.“The advantage will be lost,” argued Signor Rossi, “if any attempt be made to approach by daylight. Their vedettes would see us from afar, and give them time to decamp. We must make our march in the night; and now that we know their den, there is some chance of our being able to entrap them.”Some chance! The phrase fell harshly on the ears of Luigi Torreani, his father, and his friend. It was torture to think of any delay—to contemplate starting only after nightfall, with twenty miles of mountain road between them and the dearest object of their affections, perhaps at that moment struggling in the embrace of a bandit! To the three individuals most interested the suspense was simply agonising; and, to speak the truth, there were many of the others who only affected it, both townsmen andvolontieri. Could nothing be done in the way of an immediate pursuit?All knew well that to follow the five who had carried off thesindico’sdaughter would be an idle chase; for much time had elapsed, and with the knowledge the bandits possessed of the mountain passes, they must long since have placed themselves in security. The only hope was in finding them at the rendezvous described by their escaped captive.Was there no way by which this might be clandestinely approached during the daylight? No. It would be night before the brigands themselves would reach it. It was now midday, and the distance was at least twenty miles. Night would be the time for attack, and it also needed this to cover their approach throughout the intervening twenty miles. Otherwise surprise would be impossible; there would be vedettes along the line—if not brigands themselves, theirmanutengoli—peasants or shepherds. So said the leader, Rossi, and with reason. Was there any way out of the dilemma—any plan by which the brigands’ nest might be captured that night, and before another crime could be committed? The thought of another crime was in the minds of all—not more the relatives of the abducted girl than those who had volunteered to assist in her rescue?Who could suggest a feasible plan?“I,” said a man, stepping forward into the midst of the council, which was held in the open piazza. “If you’ll follow my advice, and accept my guidance, I think I can put you in the way you want. Besides rescuing the daughter of the worthysindicohere, you may capture the whole of Corvino’s band—with whom for many months I have been unwillingly compelled to associate.”“Tommaso!” exclaimed thesindico, recognising his old retainer.“Dio Santo!” cried the leader of the Revolutionists, seeing before him a man known as having suffered in the good cause—a victim of the Vatican, who had preferred brigandage to rotting in a Roman prison. “Signor Tommaso, is it you?”“It is I, Captain Rossi; thank heaven, no longer compelled to skulk away among the hills and conceal myself from the sight of old friends, herding, as I have done, with the vilest scum of mankind; thank heaven and Giuseppe Mazzini! Long live the Republic!”A general shaking of hands between Tommaso and thevolontierisucceeded, many of the latter being old acquaintances, who had known him during his residence in the city of Rome.Not less friendly was the grasp given by the young Englishman, who was now certain that his mysterious correspondent, the donor of the knife, was no other than Tommaso. But there was no time to be wasted in idle congratulations. It was not the occasion for them, with a cloud still hanging over their hearts, and Tommaso was not the man to need prompting.“Follow me,” he said, speaking to Rossi, thesindico, and his son. “I know a way by which we can reach the place without being seen, and before sunset if need be. But they will not get home until midnight; and, by that time, we shall have them all in a trap—completely surrounded, and leaving no loophole of escape. Now, we must start at once. There is no time to linger; for the path we are to take is long and difficult.”None hesitated to accept his proposal, or sought further explanation; and in less than ten minutes after, the Republicanvolontieri, leaving sufficient of their number to guard their soldier-prisoners, marched out of Val di Orno. They took their way towards the Neapolitan frontier, under the guidance of Tommaso, still wearing the garb of a brigand.
It is scarce necessary to say that the appeal made by the brother and father of the abducted girl found a ready response in the hearts of the Republicanvolontieri. It came upon them with the force of a double call; for in addition to dictates of humanity, the men looked upon brigandage as a part of the despotic government they had just overthrown. Thesindicotoo had claims upon them; for it was known to their leaders that he had long secretly sympathised with their cause, his oath of office keeping him from any open demonstrations in their favour. Besides, his son, encountered by mere accident as they were issuing from the gates of Rome, had declared along with them, and was now one of themselves. Under such circumstances there could be no desire to withhold assistance from their newly-enrolled comrades. Nor was there any such, but, on the contrary, an enthusiasm coupled with a unanimous determination to take steps for the rescue of his sister.
As soon, therefore, as Guardiola and his troop were disposed of, by being disarmed and placed in charge of a detailed guard, preparations were entered upon for the pursuit of Corvino and his bandits. Luigi Torreani, a prey to the agony of a terrible apprehension, would have started off after them at once, and so too the young Englishman. But the leader of the Republican battalion—Rossi by name—was a man of more prudent impulses, and saw that such a step would only defeat the purpose they had in view. He had been himself an officer in the Neapolitan army, and had plenty of experience in the chasing of banditti. He well knew that any open pursuit of these watchful outlaws could end only in a ridiculous failure. The brigands themselves often witnessing such a result from the crest of some inaccessible cliff, will hail it with taunts and scornful laughter. It is true that in the present case there was an advantage. The rendezvous of the robbers was known. Their late captive could guide the pursuing party to the spot—a chance not often obtained. So far all seemed well; but not to the experienced pursuer of banditti.
“The advantage will be lost,” argued Signor Rossi, “if any attempt be made to approach by daylight. Their vedettes would see us from afar, and give them time to decamp. We must make our march in the night; and now that we know their den, there is some chance of our being able to entrap them.”
Some chance! The phrase fell harshly on the ears of Luigi Torreani, his father, and his friend. It was torture to think of any delay—to contemplate starting only after nightfall, with twenty miles of mountain road between them and the dearest object of their affections, perhaps at that moment struggling in the embrace of a bandit! To the three individuals most interested the suspense was simply agonising; and, to speak the truth, there were many of the others who only affected it, both townsmen andvolontieri. Could nothing be done in the way of an immediate pursuit?
All knew well that to follow the five who had carried off thesindico’sdaughter would be an idle chase; for much time had elapsed, and with the knowledge the bandits possessed of the mountain passes, they must long since have placed themselves in security. The only hope was in finding them at the rendezvous described by their escaped captive.
Was there no way by which this might be clandestinely approached during the daylight? No. It would be night before the brigands themselves would reach it. It was now midday, and the distance was at least twenty miles. Night would be the time for attack, and it also needed this to cover their approach throughout the intervening twenty miles. Otherwise surprise would be impossible; there would be vedettes along the line—if not brigands themselves, theirmanutengoli—peasants or shepherds. So said the leader, Rossi, and with reason. Was there any way out of the dilemma—any plan by which the brigands’ nest might be captured that night, and before another crime could be committed? The thought of another crime was in the minds of all—not more the relatives of the abducted girl than those who had volunteered to assist in her rescue?
Who could suggest a feasible plan?
“I,” said a man, stepping forward into the midst of the council, which was held in the open piazza. “If you’ll follow my advice, and accept my guidance, I think I can put you in the way you want. Besides rescuing the daughter of the worthysindicohere, you may capture the whole of Corvino’s band—with whom for many months I have been unwillingly compelled to associate.”
“Tommaso!” exclaimed thesindico, recognising his old retainer.
“Dio Santo!” cried the leader of the Revolutionists, seeing before him a man known as having suffered in the good cause—a victim of the Vatican, who had preferred brigandage to rotting in a Roman prison. “Signor Tommaso, is it you?”
“It is I, Captain Rossi; thank heaven, no longer compelled to skulk away among the hills and conceal myself from the sight of old friends, herding, as I have done, with the vilest scum of mankind; thank heaven and Giuseppe Mazzini! Long live the Republic!”
A general shaking of hands between Tommaso and thevolontierisucceeded, many of the latter being old acquaintances, who had known him during his residence in the city of Rome.
Not less friendly was the grasp given by the young Englishman, who was now certain that his mysterious correspondent, the donor of the knife, was no other than Tommaso. But there was no time to be wasted in idle congratulations. It was not the occasion for them, with a cloud still hanging over their hearts, and Tommaso was not the man to need prompting.
“Follow me,” he said, speaking to Rossi, thesindico, and his son. “I know a way by which we can reach the place without being seen, and before sunset if need be. But they will not get home until midnight; and, by that time, we shall have them all in a trap—completely surrounded, and leaving no loophole of escape. Now, we must start at once. There is no time to linger; for the path we are to take is long and difficult.”
None hesitated to accept his proposal, or sought further explanation; and in less than ten minutes after, the Republicanvolontieri, leaving sufficient of their number to guard their soldier-prisoners, marched out of Val di Orno. They took their way towards the Neapolitan frontier, under the guidance of Tommaso, still wearing the garb of a brigand.
Chapter Fifty Two.A Suffocating Drink.It wanted an hour of midnight when the brigand vedette stationed at the mountain foot heard the howl of the Apennine wolf three times repeated.“Il capo, I suppose,” he muttered, as after answering the signal, he stood up to take note of who was making approach. Himself concealed, he could see any one coming, time enough to sound another signal to the sentry on the summit of the hill. This would communicate the character of the approaching party—whether friendly or hostile; which by him above would in turn be telegraphed on to the quarters of the band.The vedette soon perceived that his conjecture was correct. The chief came up, stopping only to mutter some inquiry, and then passed on. He was closely followed by a woman, whose fine silken skirt, seen under the coarsefrezadathat hung down from her shoulders, told she was richly robed; while her drooping head and slow unwilling step proclaimed her a captive. Thecapucedrawn over her head concealed her face from the eyes of the sentinel, who could tell, however, by her dress, and the small white hand grasping the folds of thefrezada, that she was asignorina. Four other men—bandits in the disguise of shepherds—going in single file, followed after. The wolf-howl was uttered as they passed; its notes preceding them up the gorge, and receiving a response from the sentry at the summit. And then silence succeeded, broken only by an occasional rumbling noise, as some fragments of rock, detached by the feet of the ascending bandits, came rolling back down the declivity.“That’s the new wife, I take it,” soliloquised the sentry, as soon as the party had gone past. “I should have liked a squint at her face. No doubt it’s a pretty one, or our daintycapowouldn’t have taken all this trouble to secure her. His arm in a sling, too! The bird hasn’t been caught without a scuffle. I wonder if it be thatsindico’sdaughter there’s been such talk about. Like enough it is.Enfedi mia! Corvino strikes at high game. Well, after all, what’s better than to be thecara sposaof a brigand? Plenty of jewellery, rings, chains, lockets, and bracelets; plenty of confetti and kisses. What more can a woman want? And plenty of cuffing if she don’t properly deport herself.” Chuckling at his coarse jest, the vedette once more resumed his seat upon the rock; and, folding hisfrezadaaround him, relapsed into silence.About an hour after, he was again startled from his sedentary attitude by the well-known wolf-howl. As before, the signal came from the outside—from thescorzathat led toward the Roman frontier.“E cosi!” he muttered; “what others are abroad to-night? I only remember thecapoand his party. Now I think of it, Tommaso went out in the morning—on some fool’s errand. I wonder thecapotrusts Master Tommaso, after that ugly disclosure about hiscara Popetta. Poverina! if she were alive to see what’s going on, wouldn’t there be trouble in the camp!Corpo di Bacco! there again! Don’t be in such an infernal hurry, Signor Tommaso. Let me gather my breath for the answer.Wah-wah-oouah!” he howled out in response, giving the lugubrious signal; “now you may come on.”Shortly after, a figure was seen stealthily approaching through the darkness, but with a step that showed a thorough acquaintance with the path.“Chi e’ la?” hailed the sentry, as if some presentiment had increased his caution.“Amico!” responded the person approaching; “why do you hail? I am Tommaso.”“Ah! Signor Tommaso! I had forgotten that you were out. I thought you had gone in along with the others.”“What others?” inquired Tommaso, with interest he endeavoured to conceal under a pretence of ill-humour.“What others?” echoed the unreflecting sentinel; “why, Corvino himself, to be sure, and the party ofpastoresthat went abroad with him. You were at the rendezvous when they left?”“Ah, true,” carelessly remarked Tommaso. “But I thought they had got back before night. How long since they passed up?”“About an hour ago.”“Well, have they made anything by their sheep-driving?”“A lamb. A young ewe, I take it, from what I could see of her wool.Dio Santo! there must have been sharp horns in the flock from which they have separated her. Ourcapohas had a thrust from some old ram. I could see blood upon his shirt.”“Wounded, you think. Where?”“In the right, arm. He was nursing it in a sling. There must have been a fight, I suppose. Did you hear nothing of it outside?”“How could I? I’ve been too busy, and in a different direction.”“I hope you’ve not been so busy as to hinder you from filling your flask, Signor Tommaso.”“Por Bacco, no!” answered the latter, evidently more pleased than offended by the reminder. “I always find time for that. You want a pull, I suppose?”“You’re right there,compagno; it’s a bit chilly upon post to-night, and a gill ofrosoliowould give me an infinite amount of comfort.”“You shall have it. I can’t accommodate you with a cup. Can I trust the bottle in your hands?”“Che demonio! yes. You don’t suppose, signor, I am going to rob you? A single pull will content me.”“Here, then,” said Tommaso, handing over the leather bottle. “I’ll give you a good chance. You can swig away while I am counting twenty. Will that suffice?”“Mille grazzie! yes. You are very generous, Signor Tommaso.”The man, laying aside his carbine, caught hold of the proffered flask, from which Tommaso had already removed the stopper. Then, with the exclamation, “Oh me felice!” he took the neck between his lips. Turning his countenance skywards, he commenced imbibing the delicious liquor in long, copious draughts.Tommaso had watched for this opportunity; and, suddenly stepping forward, he seized hold of the flask with his right hand, while with his left he grasped the brigand by the back of the neck. Then kicking his feet from under him, he flung the fellow back downwards on the grass, at the same time falling on top of him.The vedette, thus taken aback, was hindered from resisting through sheer astonishment. He at first supposed it to be a joke, and that Tommaso was too generous of his liquor. Then he became doubtful about the designs of such rough handling; and then angry. He would have called out, but the bottle filling the whole cavity of his mouth, and therosoliorunning down his throat, put a stopper to his speech. A few choking sounds escaped him; but, before he could free himself to give a good shout, or utter the oaths he would have done, four other assailants—already summoned by a low whistle from Tommaso—came quickly upon the ground. These, flinging themselves upon the prostrate body of the vedette, soon put an end to his struggles. It ended in their inserting a piece of stick between his teeth, and pinioning his arms to his sides; so that he was not only gagged and speechless, but powerless to stir from the spot.A large body of men—for whom Tommaso had gone back some distance along thescorza—now came filing past; and, led by theci-devantbrigand, climbed quickly but silently up the gorge—their demeanour showing them bent upon an enterprise requiring the utmost caution.
It wanted an hour of midnight when the brigand vedette stationed at the mountain foot heard the howl of the Apennine wolf three times repeated.
“Il capo, I suppose,” he muttered, as after answering the signal, he stood up to take note of who was making approach. Himself concealed, he could see any one coming, time enough to sound another signal to the sentry on the summit of the hill. This would communicate the character of the approaching party—whether friendly or hostile; which by him above would in turn be telegraphed on to the quarters of the band.
The vedette soon perceived that his conjecture was correct. The chief came up, stopping only to mutter some inquiry, and then passed on. He was closely followed by a woman, whose fine silken skirt, seen under the coarsefrezadathat hung down from her shoulders, told she was richly robed; while her drooping head and slow unwilling step proclaimed her a captive. Thecapucedrawn over her head concealed her face from the eyes of the sentinel, who could tell, however, by her dress, and the small white hand grasping the folds of thefrezada, that she was asignorina. Four other men—bandits in the disguise of shepherds—going in single file, followed after. The wolf-howl was uttered as they passed; its notes preceding them up the gorge, and receiving a response from the sentry at the summit. And then silence succeeded, broken only by an occasional rumbling noise, as some fragments of rock, detached by the feet of the ascending bandits, came rolling back down the declivity.
“That’s the new wife, I take it,” soliloquised the sentry, as soon as the party had gone past. “I should have liked a squint at her face. No doubt it’s a pretty one, or our daintycapowouldn’t have taken all this trouble to secure her. His arm in a sling, too! The bird hasn’t been caught without a scuffle. I wonder if it be thatsindico’sdaughter there’s been such talk about. Like enough it is.Enfedi mia! Corvino strikes at high game. Well, after all, what’s better than to be thecara sposaof a brigand? Plenty of jewellery, rings, chains, lockets, and bracelets; plenty of confetti and kisses. What more can a woman want? And plenty of cuffing if she don’t properly deport herself.” Chuckling at his coarse jest, the vedette once more resumed his seat upon the rock; and, folding hisfrezadaaround him, relapsed into silence.
About an hour after, he was again startled from his sedentary attitude by the well-known wolf-howl. As before, the signal came from the outside—from thescorzathat led toward the Roman frontier.
“E cosi!” he muttered; “what others are abroad to-night? I only remember thecapoand his party. Now I think of it, Tommaso went out in the morning—on some fool’s errand. I wonder thecapotrusts Master Tommaso, after that ugly disclosure about hiscara Popetta. Poverina! if she were alive to see what’s going on, wouldn’t there be trouble in the camp!Corpo di Bacco! there again! Don’t be in such an infernal hurry, Signor Tommaso. Let me gather my breath for the answer.Wah-wah-oouah!” he howled out in response, giving the lugubrious signal; “now you may come on.”
Shortly after, a figure was seen stealthily approaching through the darkness, but with a step that showed a thorough acquaintance with the path.
“Chi e’ la?” hailed the sentry, as if some presentiment had increased his caution.
“Amico!” responded the person approaching; “why do you hail? I am Tommaso.”
“Ah! Signor Tommaso! I had forgotten that you were out. I thought you had gone in along with the others.”
“What others?” inquired Tommaso, with interest he endeavoured to conceal under a pretence of ill-humour.
“What others?” echoed the unreflecting sentinel; “why, Corvino himself, to be sure, and the party ofpastoresthat went abroad with him. You were at the rendezvous when they left?”
“Ah, true,” carelessly remarked Tommaso. “But I thought they had got back before night. How long since they passed up?”
“About an hour ago.”
“Well, have they made anything by their sheep-driving?”
“A lamb. A young ewe, I take it, from what I could see of her wool.Dio Santo! there must have been sharp horns in the flock from which they have separated her. Ourcapohas had a thrust from some old ram. I could see blood upon his shirt.”
“Wounded, you think. Where?”
“In the right, arm. He was nursing it in a sling. There must have been a fight, I suppose. Did you hear nothing of it outside?”
“How could I? I’ve been too busy, and in a different direction.”
“I hope you’ve not been so busy as to hinder you from filling your flask, Signor Tommaso.”
“Por Bacco, no!” answered the latter, evidently more pleased than offended by the reminder. “I always find time for that. You want a pull, I suppose?”
“You’re right there,compagno; it’s a bit chilly upon post to-night, and a gill ofrosoliowould give me an infinite amount of comfort.”
“You shall have it. I can’t accommodate you with a cup. Can I trust the bottle in your hands?”
“Che demonio! yes. You don’t suppose, signor, I am going to rob you? A single pull will content me.”
“Here, then,” said Tommaso, handing over the leather bottle. “I’ll give you a good chance. You can swig away while I am counting twenty. Will that suffice?”
“Mille grazzie! yes. You are very generous, Signor Tommaso.”
The man, laying aside his carbine, caught hold of the proffered flask, from which Tommaso had already removed the stopper. Then, with the exclamation, “Oh me felice!” he took the neck between his lips. Turning his countenance skywards, he commenced imbibing the delicious liquor in long, copious draughts.
Tommaso had watched for this opportunity; and, suddenly stepping forward, he seized hold of the flask with his right hand, while with his left he grasped the brigand by the back of the neck. Then kicking his feet from under him, he flung the fellow back downwards on the grass, at the same time falling on top of him.
The vedette, thus taken aback, was hindered from resisting through sheer astonishment. He at first supposed it to be a joke, and that Tommaso was too generous of his liquor. Then he became doubtful about the designs of such rough handling; and then angry. He would have called out, but the bottle filling the whole cavity of his mouth, and therosoliorunning down his throat, put a stopper to his speech. A few choking sounds escaped him; but, before he could free himself to give a good shout, or utter the oaths he would have done, four other assailants—already summoned by a low whistle from Tommaso—came quickly upon the ground. These, flinging themselves upon the prostrate body of the vedette, soon put an end to his struggles. It ended in their inserting a piece of stick between his teeth, and pinioning his arms to his sides; so that he was not only gagged and speechless, but powerless to stir from the spot.
A large body of men—for whom Tommaso had gone back some distance along thescorza—now came filing past; and, led by theci-devantbrigand, climbed quickly but silently up the gorge—their demeanour showing them bent upon an enterprise requiring the utmost caution.
Chapter Fifty Three.Courtship with a Captive.By this time, Corvino, his captive, and four followers had passed up the ravine, crossed the ridge, and descended into the crater.On nearing the cluster of houses, they had been again challenged; this time by the regular sentinel of the rendezvous—of which there were two, one on each side. There was not much fear of these being found asleep. They had been lately taught a lesson well calculated to keep them on the alert, having seen two of their comrades summarily shot for neglect of watch-duty. They were the two who had suffered the English captive to escape. These had been tried, condemned, and executed, all within an hour’s time, after Henry Harding had been missed. Such is the code of the banditti—its stringency being their best safeguard against surprise and capture. A member of the band, placed over a prisoner, answers for the keeping of him with his own life. No wonder the escapes ofriscattatiare so rare—scarcely ever occurring.No dog’s bark hailed the chief’s return; only the wolf-howl of the sentinel, three times repeated. Nobody came forth to welcome him. One of his followers opened the door of thecapo’shouse, entered, and struck a light, which he left burning in the chamber. The man then came out, and the four sham shepherds scattered off to their respectivepagliattas.Corvino was alone with his captive.“Now, signorina,” he said, pointing to the house; “behold your future home! I regret I have not a grander mansion to receive you in; but such as it is, you are its mistress. Allow me to conduct you to your chamber.”With an air of assumed courtesy, he offered his arm, which the captive made no movement to take.“E cosi!” he exclaimed, taking hold of her wrist, and drawing her up the stone steps. “Don’t be so shy, lady. Step inside! You’ll not find it so uncomfortable. There’s a chamber specially fitted up for you with a sofa. You must be fatigued after your long march over the mountains. Be seated, while I find something sweet to refresh you. Can you drinkrosolio? Stay, here’s better: a bottle of sparklingCapri.”As he was talking, with his back turned to the door, a third individual entered the apartment—a woman of considerable beauty, but with that bold, fierce look that tells a sad tale. She had walked into the room without noise, stealthily and catlike; and, still remaining silent, she stood just inside the door—her glance fixed upon Lucetta Torreani, her eyes scintillating, as though at each moment they emitted sparks of fire. It was the woman who had betrayed Popetta, with the ambitious aim of being her successor. At the sight of this new arrival, her hopes seemed extinguished, and the look of concentrated rage with which she regarded the young girl was fearful to behold. It caused the latter to utter a cry of alarm.“Chi senti?” asked the brigand, turning suddenly around, and for the first time perceiving the intruder. “Ah! you it is!Che tu sia maladetta! Why are you here? Off to your own apartment! Off, I say!Largo!Largo! This instant, or you shall feel the weight of my arm!”The woman, awed by the threatening gesture, backed slowly out of the room; but as she passed into the shadow of the corridor, the fierce flashing of her eyes, accompanied by some words, low muttered, might have told Corvino that there was danger in what he was doing. He was too much engrossed with his evil design to think of it.“Only one of my domestics, signorina,” he said, turning once more towards his captive. “She should have been to bed hours ago. ’Tis for that I have scolded her. Don’t let our little home-troubles make you unhappy. Drink this—it will refresh you.”“I have no need of it,” replied the girl, scarce knowing what to say, at the same time pushing aside the proffered cup.“But you have, signorina. Come, my fair girl—drink! Then for some supper. You must be hungry, as well as fatigued.”“I cannot drink. I am not hungry. I cannot eat.”“What would you then? To bed? There’s a couch in the next room. I am sorry I have no maids to help undress you. She whom you have just seen is not used to that kind of duty. You would prefer at once going to rest? Is that it, signorina?”There was no reply. The young girl sat on the sofa with her head drooping down, till the chin touched her snow-white bosom. This was partially exposed—the buttons having been torn from her bodice as she was dragged along in the company of her captors.There had been tears upon her cheek; but they were now dried, their traces only remaining. She could not again weep. She had reached that crisis of agony no longer to be relieved by tears.“Come!” said the brigand, affecting an air of sympathy, like some cunning serpent in the act of fascinating its victim. “Cheer up, signorina! I acknowledge the rude fashion by which I have made you my guest; but who could resist the temptation of having so beauteous a damsel under his roof? Ah, Lucetta! though you knew it not, I have long been your admirer; long been enslaved by your charms—that are celebrated far beyond the mountains of the Romagna. I’ve myself heard speak of them in thesalonsof the Holy City. Ah! fair lady! being your captive, can you blame me for making you mine?”“What would you, signor? Why have you brought me here?”“What would I, signorina? What but have you love me as I love you? Why have I brought you here? Only to make you my wife!”“Madonna mia!” murmured the girl, scarce listening to what he had said. “O Madonna santissima! What have I done to deserve this?”“To deserve what?” asked the bandit, suddenly changing his tone. “To deserve becoming the wife of Corvino! You speak proudly, signorina. ’Tis true I am no grandsindicolike your father; nor yet apovero pittorelike the cur from whose company I have snatched you. But I am master of the mountains—and of the plains too! Who dares dispute my will? You will find it law, my lady—ay, to the very gates of Rome.”After this outburst, the brigand paced for some seconds over the floor—his step proud, strong, exultant.“I love you, Lucetta Torreani,” he continued after a time. “I love you with a passion that does not deserve such cold repulse. You may not like the idea of becoming a bandit’s wife; but remember, you become also a bandit’s queen. There is not a plume in all the mountain land that won’t bend to you—nor a hat that shall not be taken off in your presence. Throw aside your shyness, then, my pretty damsel! Don’t have any fear of losing caste by becoming wife to the chieftain Corvino!”“Your wife! Never!”“Call it by another name, then—if you prefer stickling about terms. We don’t have much formality in our mountain marriages, though we can get a priest when we want one. If you prefer the ceremony in a simpler way, I, for my part, shall have no objections to doing without the intervention of thecurato. About that you shall have your choice.”“Death, then, shall it be! I shall choose that.”“Eh giusta! I like your spirit, signorina. It pleases me, almost as much as your personal appearance. Still it wants taming—just a little. Twenty-four hours in my company will accomplish that; perhaps less. But I give you the full allowance of twenty-four. If at the end of that time you do not consent to have our nuptials celebrated by thecurato—there is one convenient—why, then we must get married without him. You understand that?”“Madonna mia!”“No use calling upon her. She cannot save you, immaculate as she is said to have been; nor any one else. No rescuing hand can reach you here—not even the hand of his Holiness. Among these mountains, the chieftain Corvino is master, as Lucetta Torreani shall be mistress.”Before the boast had fairly parted from his lips, a sound from without caused the brigand to start—changing, as if by electricity, his air of triumph to one of alarm.“Chi senti?” he muttered, gliding towards the door, and placing himself in an attitude to listen.The howling of the Apennine wolf—“wah, wah, oouah!”—responded to by some one coming along thescorza. Almost at the same time, it was uttered on the other side—by the sentinel set towards the south, and soon after answered in that direction.What could be the meaning of this? Which of the band had been abroad? He could think only of Tommaso, whom he had that morning despatched on a particular errand. There could not be two Tommasos coming home—simultaneously from the north and from the south!He was not allowed much time for conjecture. Almost on the instant of his taking his stand in the doorway a struggle was heard on both sides of the house, followed by shots and shouts, amid which he could distinguish the voices of his own sentries, loudly vociferating the cry, “Tradimento!”
By this time, Corvino, his captive, and four followers had passed up the ravine, crossed the ridge, and descended into the crater.
On nearing the cluster of houses, they had been again challenged; this time by the regular sentinel of the rendezvous—of which there were two, one on each side. There was not much fear of these being found asleep. They had been lately taught a lesson well calculated to keep them on the alert, having seen two of their comrades summarily shot for neglect of watch-duty. They were the two who had suffered the English captive to escape. These had been tried, condemned, and executed, all within an hour’s time, after Henry Harding had been missed. Such is the code of the banditti—its stringency being their best safeguard against surprise and capture. A member of the band, placed over a prisoner, answers for the keeping of him with his own life. No wonder the escapes ofriscattatiare so rare—scarcely ever occurring.
No dog’s bark hailed the chief’s return; only the wolf-howl of the sentinel, three times repeated. Nobody came forth to welcome him. One of his followers opened the door of thecapo’shouse, entered, and struck a light, which he left burning in the chamber. The man then came out, and the four sham shepherds scattered off to their respectivepagliattas.
Corvino was alone with his captive.
“Now, signorina,” he said, pointing to the house; “behold your future home! I regret I have not a grander mansion to receive you in; but such as it is, you are its mistress. Allow me to conduct you to your chamber.”
With an air of assumed courtesy, he offered his arm, which the captive made no movement to take.
“E cosi!” he exclaimed, taking hold of her wrist, and drawing her up the stone steps. “Don’t be so shy, lady. Step inside! You’ll not find it so uncomfortable. There’s a chamber specially fitted up for you with a sofa. You must be fatigued after your long march over the mountains. Be seated, while I find something sweet to refresh you. Can you drinkrosolio? Stay, here’s better: a bottle of sparklingCapri.”
As he was talking, with his back turned to the door, a third individual entered the apartment—a woman of considerable beauty, but with that bold, fierce look that tells a sad tale. She had walked into the room without noise, stealthily and catlike; and, still remaining silent, she stood just inside the door—her glance fixed upon Lucetta Torreani, her eyes scintillating, as though at each moment they emitted sparks of fire. It was the woman who had betrayed Popetta, with the ambitious aim of being her successor. At the sight of this new arrival, her hopes seemed extinguished, and the look of concentrated rage with which she regarded the young girl was fearful to behold. It caused the latter to utter a cry of alarm.
“Chi senti?” asked the brigand, turning suddenly around, and for the first time perceiving the intruder. “Ah! you it is!Che tu sia maladetta! Why are you here? Off to your own apartment! Off, I say!Largo!Largo! This instant, or you shall feel the weight of my arm!”
The woman, awed by the threatening gesture, backed slowly out of the room; but as she passed into the shadow of the corridor, the fierce flashing of her eyes, accompanied by some words, low muttered, might have told Corvino that there was danger in what he was doing. He was too much engrossed with his evil design to think of it.
“Only one of my domestics, signorina,” he said, turning once more towards his captive. “She should have been to bed hours ago. ’Tis for that I have scolded her. Don’t let our little home-troubles make you unhappy. Drink this—it will refresh you.”
“I have no need of it,” replied the girl, scarce knowing what to say, at the same time pushing aside the proffered cup.
“But you have, signorina. Come, my fair girl—drink! Then for some supper. You must be hungry, as well as fatigued.”
“I cannot drink. I am not hungry. I cannot eat.”
“What would you then? To bed? There’s a couch in the next room. I am sorry I have no maids to help undress you. She whom you have just seen is not used to that kind of duty. You would prefer at once going to rest? Is that it, signorina?”
There was no reply. The young girl sat on the sofa with her head drooping down, till the chin touched her snow-white bosom. This was partially exposed—the buttons having been torn from her bodice as she was dragged along in the company of her captors.
There had been tears upon her cheek; but they were now dried, their traces only remaining. She could not again weep. She had reached that crisis of agony no longer to be relieved by tears.
“Come!” said the brigand, affecting an air of sympathy, like some cunning serpent in the act of fascinating its victim. “Cheer up, signorina! I acknowledge the rude fashion by which I have made you my guest; but who could resist the temptation of having so beauteous a damsel under his roof? Ah, Lucetta! though you knew it not, I have long been your admirer; long been enslaved by your charms—that are celebrated far beyond the mountains of the Romagna. I’ve myself heard speak of them in thesalonsof the Holy City. Ah! fair lady! being your captive, can you blame me for making you mine?”
“What would you, signor? Why have you brought me here?”
“What would I, signorina? What but have you love me as I love you? Why have I brought you here? Only to make you my wife!”
“Madonna mia!” murmured the girl, scarce listening to what he had said. “O Madonna santissima! What have I done to deserve this?”
“To deserve what?” asked the bandit, suddenly changing his tone. “To deserve becoming the wife of Corvino! You speak proudly, signorina. ’Tis true I am no grandsindicolike your father; nor yet apovero pittorelike the cur from whose company I have snatched you. But I am master of the mountains—and of the plains too! Who dares dispute my will? You will find it law, my lady—ay, to the very gates of Rome.”
After this outburst, the brigand paced for some seconds over the floor—his step proud, strong, exultant.
“I love you, Lucetta Torreani,” he continued after a time. “I love you with a passion that does not deserve such cold repulse. You may not like the idea of becoming a bandit’s wife; but remember, you become also a bandit’s queen. There is not a plume in all the mountain land that won’t bend to you—nor a hat that shall not be taken off in your presence. Throw aside your shyness, then, my pretty damsel! Don’t have any fear of losing caste by becoming wife to the chieftain Corvino!”
“Your wife! Never!”
“Call it by another name, then—if you prefer stickling about terms. We don’t have much formality in our mountain marriages, though we can get a priest when we want one. If you prefer the ceremony in a simpler way, I, for my part, shall have no objections to doing without the intervention of thecurato. About that you shall have your choice.”
“Death, then, shall it be! I shall choose that.”
“Eh giusta! I like your spirit, signorina. It pleases me, almost as much as your personal appearance. Still it wants taming—just a little. Twenty-four hours in my company will accomplish that; perhaps less. But I give you the full allowance of twenty-four. If at the end of that time you do not consent to have our nuptials celebrated by thecurato—there is one convenient—why, then we must get married without him. You understand that?”
“Madonna mia!”
“No use calling upon her. She cannot save you, immaculate as she is said to have been; nor any one else. No rescuing hand can reach you here—not even the hand of his Holiness. Among these mountains, the chieftain Corvino is master, as Lucetta Torreani shall be mistress.”
Before the boast had fairly parted from his lips, a sound from without caused the brigand to start—changing, as if by electricity, his air of triumph to one of alarm.
“Chi senti?” he muttered, gliding towards the door, and placing himself in an attitude to listen.
The howling of the Apennine wolf—“wah, wah, oouah!”—responded to by some one coming along thescorza. Almost at the same time, it was uttered on the other side—by the sentinel set towards the south, and soon after answered in that direction.
What could be the meaning of this? Which of the band had been abroad? He could think only of Tommaso, whom he had that morning despatched on a particular errand. There could not be two Tommasos coming home—simultaneously from the north and from the south!
He was not allowed much time for conjecture. Almost on the instant of his taking his stand in the doorway a struggle was heard on both sides of the house, followed by shots and shouts, amid which he could distinguish the voices of his own sentries, loudly vociferating the cry, “Tradimento!”