FACE TO FACE.
Hawbury, on his capture, had been at once taken into the woods, and
led and pushed on by no gentle hands. He had thus gone on until he had
found himself by that same lake which others of the party had come
upon in the various ways which have been described. Toward this lake
he was taken, until finally his party reached the old house, which
they entered. It has already been said that it was a two-story house.
It was also of stone, and strongly built. The door was in the middle
of it, and rooms were on each side of the hall. The interior plan of
the house was peculiar, for the hall did not run through, but
consisted of a square room, and the stone steps wound spirally from
the lower hall to the upper one. There were three rooms up stairs, one
taking up one end of the house, which was occupied by Mrs. Willoughby
and Minnie; another in the rear of the house, into which a door opened
from the upper hall, close by the head of the stairs; and a third,
which was opposite the room first mentioned.
Hawbury was taken to this house, and led up stairs into this room in
the rear of the house. At the end farthest from the door he saw a heap
of straw with a few dirty rugs upon it. In the wall a beam was set, to
which an iron ring was fastened. He was taken toward this bed, and
here his legs were bound together, and the rope that secured them was
run around the iron ring so as to allow of no more motion than a few
feet. Having thus secured the prisoner, the men left him to his own
meditations.
The room was perfectly bare of furniture, nothing being in it but the
straw and the dirty rugs. Hawbury could not approach to the windows,
for he was bound in a way which prevented that. In fact, he could not
move in any direction, for his arms and legs were fastened in such a
way that he could scarcely raise himself from where he was sitting. He
therefore was compelled to remain in one position, and threw himself
down upon the straw on his side, with his face to the wall, for he
found that position easier than any other. In this way he lay for some
time, until at length he was roused by the sound of footsteps
ascending the stairs. Several people were passing his room. He heard
the voice of Girasole. He listened with deep attention. For some time
there was no reply. At length there was the sound of a woman's
voice--clear, plain, and unmistakable. It was a fretful voice of
complaint. Girasole was trying to answer it. After a time Girasole
left. Then all was still. Then Girasole returned. Then there was a
clattering noise on the stairs, and the bumping of some heavy weight,
and the heavy breathing of men. Then he heard Girasole say something,
after which arose Minnie's voice, close by, as though she was in the
hall, and her words were, "Oh, take it away, take it away!" followed
by long reproaches, which Hawbury did not fully understand.
This showed him that Minnie, at least, was a prisoner, and in this
house, and in the adjoining room, along with some one whom he rightly
supposed was Mrs. Willoughby.
After this there was a further silence for some time, which at last
was broken by fresh sounds of trampling and shuffling, together with
the confused directions of several voices all speaking at once.
Hawbury listened, and turned on his couch of straw so as to see any
thing which presented itself. The clatter and the noise approached
nearer, ascending the stairs, until at last he saw that they were
entering his room. Two of the brigands came first, carrying something
carefully. In a few moments the burden which they bore was revealed.
It was a rude litter, hastily made from bushes fastened together. Upon
this lay the dead body of a man, his white face upturned, and his
limbs stiffened in the rigidity of death. Hawbury did not remember
very distinctly any of the particular events of his confused struggle
with the brigands; but he was not at all surprised to see that there
had been one of the ruffians sent to his account. The brigands who
carried in their dead companion looked at the captive with a sullen
ferocity and a scowling vengefulness, which showed plainly that they
would demand of him a reckoning for their comrade's blood if it were
only in their power. But they did not delay, nor did they make any
actual demonstrations to Hawbury. They placed the corpse of their
comrade upon the floor in the middle of the room, and then went out.
The presence of the corpse only added to the gloom of Hawbury's
situation, and he once more turned his face to the wall, so as to shut
out the sight. Once more he gave himself up to his own thoughts, and
so the time passed slowly on. He heard no sounds now from the room
where Miss Fay was confined. He heard no noise from the men below, and
could not tell whether they were still guarding the door, or had gone
away. Various projects came to him, foremost among which was the idea
of escaping. Bribery seemed the only possible way. There was about
this, however, the same difficulty which Mrs. Willoughby had
found--his ignorance of the language. He thought that this would be an
effectual bar to any communication, and saw no other alternative than
to wait Girasole's pleasure. It seemed to him that a ransom would be
asked, and he felt sure, from Girasole's offensive manner, that the
ransom would be large. But there was no help for it. He felt more
troubled about Miss Fay; for Girasole's remarks about her seemed to
point to views of his own which were incompatible with her liberation.
In the midst of these reflections another noise arose below. It was a
steady tramp of two or three men walking. The noise ascended the
stairway, and drew nearer and nearer. Hawbury turned once more, and
saw two men entering the room, carrying between them a box about six
feet long and eighteen inches or two feet wide. It was coarsely but
strongly made, and was undoubtedly intended as a coffin for the corpse
of the brigand. The men put the coffin down against the wall and
retired. After a few minutes they returned again with the coffin lid.
They then lifted the dead body into the coffin, and one of them put
the lid in its place and secured it with half a dozen screws. After
this Hawbury was once more left alone. He found this far more
tolerable, for now he had no longer before his very eyes the abhorrent
sight of the dead body. Hidden in its coffin, it no longer gave
offense to his sensibilities. Once more, therefore, Hawbury turned his
thoughts toward projects of escape, and discussed in his mind the
probabilities for and against.
The day had been long, and longer still did it seem to the captive as
hour after hour passed slowly by. He could not look at his watch,
which his captors had spared; but from the shadows as they fell
through the windows, and from the general appearance of the sky, he
knew that the close of the day was not far off. He began to wonder
that he was left so long alone and in suspense, and to feel impatient
to know the worst as to his fate. Why did not some of them come to
tell him? Where was Girasole? Was he the chief? Were the brigands
debating about his fate, or were they thus leaving him in suspense so
as to make him despondent and submissive to their terms? From all that
he had ever heard of brigands and their ways, the latter seemed not
unlikely; and this thought made him see the necessity of guarding
himself against being too impatient for freedom, and too compliant
with any demands of theirs.
From these thoughts he was at last roused by footsteps which ascended
the stairs. He turned and looked toward the door. A man entered.
It was Girasole.
He entered slowly, with folded arms, and coming about half-way, he
stood and surveyed the prisoner in silence. Hawbury, with a sudden
effort, brought himself up to a sitting posture, and calmly surveyed
the Italian.
"Well," asked Hawbury, "I should like to know how long you intend to
keep up this sort of thing? What are you going to do about it? Name
your price, man, and we'll discuss it, and settle upon something
reasonable."
"My price?" repeated Girasole, with peculiar emphasis.
"Yes. Of course I understand you fellows. It's your trade, you know.
You've caught me, and, of course, you'll try to make the best of me,
and all that sort of thing. So don't keep me waiting."
"Inglis milor," said Girasole, with a sharp, quick accent, his face
flushing up as he spoke--"Inglis milor, dere is no price as you mean,
an' no ransom. De price is one dat you will not wis to pay."
"Oh, come, now, my good fellow, really you must remember that I'm tied
up, and not in a position to be chaffed. Bother your Italian humbug!
Don't speak in these confounded figures of speech, you know, but say
up and down--how much?"
"De brigands haf talk you ovair, an' dey will haf no price."
"What the devil is all that rot about?"
"Dey will haf youair blood."
"My blood?"
"Yes."
"And pray, my good fellow, what good is that going to do them?"
"It is vengeance," said Girasole.
"Vengeance? Pooh! Nonsense! What rot! What have I ever done?"
"Dat--dere--his blood," said Girasole, pointing to the coffin.
"What! that scoundrel? Why, man alive, are you crazy? That was a fair
stand-up fight. That is, it was two English against twenty Italians,
if you call that fair; but perhaps it is. His blood! By Jove! Cool,
that! Come, I like it."
"An' more," said Girasole, who now grew more excited. "It is not de
brigand who condemn you; it is also me. I condemn you."
"You?" said Hawbury, elevating his eyebrows in some surprise, and
fixing a cool stare upon Girasole. "And what the devil's _this_ row
about, I should like to know? I don't know _you_. What have you
against _me_?"
"Inglis milor," cried Girasole, who was stung to the quick by a
certain indescribable yet most irritating superciliousness in
Hawbury's tone--"Inglis milor, you sall see what you sall soffair. You
sall die! Dere is no hope. You are condemn by de brigand. You also are
condemn by me, for you insult me."
"Well, of all the beastly rot I ever heard, this is about the worst!
What do you mean by all this infernal nonsense? Insult you! What would
I insult you for? Why, man alive, you're as mad as a March hare! If I
thought you were a gentleman, I'd--by Jove, I will, too! See here, you
fellow: I'll fight you for it--pistols, or any thing. Come, now. I'll
drop all considerations of rank. I'll treat you as if you were a real
count, and not a sham one. Come, now. What do you say? Shall we have
it out? Pistols--in the woods there. You've got all your infernal crew
around you, you know. Well? What? You won't? By Jove!"
Girasole's gesture showed that he declined the proposition.
"Inglis milor," said he, with a venomous glitter in his eyes, "I sall
haf youair life--wis de pistol, but not in de duello. I sall blow your
brain out myself."
"Blow and be hanged, then!" said Hawbury.
And with these words he fell back on his straw, and took no further
notice of the Italian.
[Illustration: "INGLIS MILOR, I SALL HAF YOUAIR LIFE."]