THE CLAWS OF THE AMERICAN EAGLE.
At length Obed prepared to leave Naples and visit other places in
Italy. He intended to go to Rome and Florence, after which he
expected to go to Venice or Milan, and then across the Alps to
Germany. Two vetturas held the family, and in due time they arrived
at Terracina. Here they passed the night, and early on the following
day they set out, expecting to traverse the Pontine Marshes and reach
Albano by evening.
These famous marshes extend from Terracina to Nettuno. They are about
forty-five miles in length and from four to twelve in breadth.
Drained successively by Roman, by Goth, and by pope, they
successively relapsed into their natural state, until the
perseverance of Pius VI. completed the work. It is now largely
cultivated, but the scenery is monotonous and the journey tedious.
The few inhabitants found here get their living by hunting and by
robbery, and are distinguished by their pale and sickly appearance.
At this time the disturbed state of Italy, and particularly of the
papal dominions, made traveling sometimes hazardous, and no place was
more dangerous than this. Yet Obed gave this no thought, but started
on the journey with as much cheerfulness as though he were making a
railway trip from New York to Philadelphia.
About half-way there is a solitary inn, situated close by the
road-side, with a forlorn and desolate air about it. It is two
stories high, with small windows, and the whitewashed stone walls
made it look more like a lazaretto than any thing else. Here they
stopped two hours to feed the horses and to take their déjeuner. The
place was at this time kept by a miserable old man and his wife, on
whom the unhealthy atmosphere of the marshes seemed to have brought a
premature decay. Obed could not speak Italian, so that he was
debarred from the pleasure of talking with this man; but he exhibited
much sympathy toward him, and made him a present of a bundle of
cigars--an act which the old man viewed, at first, with absolute
incredulity, and at length with unutterable gratitude.
Leaving this place they drove on for about two miles, when suddenly
the carriage in which Obed and the family were traveling fell forward
with a crash, and the party were thrown pell-mell together. The
horses stopped. No injury was done to any one, and Obed got out to
see what had taken place. The front axle was broken.
Here was a very awkward dilemma, and it was difficult to tell what
ought to be done. There was the other carriage, but it was small, and
could not contain the family. The two maids, also, would have to be
left behind. Obed thought, at first, of sending on his family and
waiting; but he soon dismissed this idea. For the present, at least,
he saw that they would have to drive back to the inn, and this they
finally did. Here Obed exerted all his ingenuity and all his
mechanical skill in a futile endeavor to repair the axle. But the
rough patch which he succeeded at last in making was so inefficient
that, on attempting to start once more, the carriage again broke
down, and they were forced to give up this hope.
Three hours had now passed away, and it had already grown altogether
too late to think of trying to finish the journey. Again the question
arose, what was to be done? To go back was now as much out of the
question as to go forward. One resource only seemed left them, and
that was to stay here for the night, and send back to Terracina for a
new carriage. This decision Obed finally arrived at, and he
communicated it to his valet, and ordered him to see if they could
have any accommodations for the night.
The valet seemed somewhat alarmed at this proposal.
"It's a dangerous place," said he. "The country swarms with brigands.
We had better take the ladies back."
"Take the ladies back!" cried Obed. "How can we do that? We can't all
cram into the small carriage. And, besides, as to danger--by this
time it's as dangerous on the road as it is here."
"Oh no; travelers will be upon the road--"
"Pooh! there's no danger when one is inside of a stone house like
this. Why, man, this house is a regular fort. Besides, who is there
that would attack an inn?"
"The brigands," said the valet. "They're all around, prowling about,
and will be likely to pay a visit here. This house, at the best of
times, does not have a good name."
"Well," said Obed, "let them come on."
"You forget, Sir," said the valet, "that you are alone."
"Not a bit of it," said Obed; "I'm well aware that I'm alone."
"But you're worse than alone," remonstrated the valet, earnestly.
"You have your family. That is the thing that makes the real danger;
for, if any thing happens to you, what will become of them?"
"Pooh!" said Obed; "there are plenty of 'ifs' whenever any man is on
the look-out for danger. Now, I ain't on the look-out. Why should I
trouble myself? Whenever any enemy shows himself I'll be ready. If a
man is always going to imagine danger, and borrow trouble, what will
become of him? This place seems to me the best place for the family
now--far better than the road, at any rate. I wouldn't have them
dragged back to Terracina on any account. It'll be dark long before
we get there, and traveling by night on the Pontine Marshes ain't
particularly healthy. There's less risk for them here than any where
else; so, young man, you'd better look up the beds, and see what they
can do for us."
The valet made some further remonstrances; he described the ruthless
character of the Italian brigands, told Obed about the dangerous
condition of the country, hinted that the old man and his wife were
themselves possibly in alliance with the brigands, and again urged
him to change his plans. But Obed was not moved in the slightest
degree by these representations. He had considered it all, he said,
and had made up his mind. As he saw it, all the risk, and all the
fatigue too, which was quite as important a thing, were on the road,
and whatever safety there was, whether from brigands or miasma, lay
in the inn.
The valet then went to see about the accommodations for the party.
They were rude, it is true, yet sufficient in such an emergency. The
old man and his wife bestirred themselves to make every thing ready
for the unexpected guests, and, with the assistance of the maids,
their rooms were prepared.
After this the valet drove back with the vetturino, promising to come
as early as possible on the following day.
During Obed's conversation with the valet the ladies had been in the
hotel, and had therefore heard nothing of what had been said. They
were quite ignorant of the existence of any danger, and Obed thought
it the best plan to keep them in ignorance, unless actual danger
should arise. For his own part, he had meant what he said. He was
aware that there was danger; he knew that the country was in an
unsettled and lawless condition, and that roving bands of robbers
were scouring the papal territories. From the very consciousness that
he had of this danger, he had decided in favor of stopping. He
believed the road to be more dangerous than the inn. If there was to
be any attack of brigands, he much preferred to receive it here; and
he thought this a more unlikely place for such an attack than any
other.
The warning of the valet made a sufficiently deep impression upon him
to cause him to examine very carefully the position of his rooms, and
the general appearance of the house. The house itself was as strong
as a fortress, and a dozen men, well posted, could have defended it
against a thousand. But Obed was alone, and had to consider the
prospects of one man in a defense. The rooms which he occupied
favored this. There were two. One was a large one at the end of the
house, lighted by one small window. This his family and Zillah
occupied; somewhat crowded, it is true, yet not at all uncomfortable.
A wide hearth was there, and a blazing peat fire kept down the chill
of the marshy exhalations. Outside of this was a smaller room, and
this was Obed's. A fire was burning here also. A window lighted it,
and a stout door opened into the hall. The bed was an old-fashioned
four-posted structure of enormous weight.
All these things Obed took in with one rapid glance, and saw the
advantages of his position. In these rooms, with his revolver and his
ammunition, he felt quite at ease. He felt somewhat grieved at that
moment that he did not know Italian, for he wished very much to ask
some questions of the old inn-keeper; but this was a misfortune which
he had to endure.
As long as the daylight lasted Obed wandered about outside. Then
dinner came, and after that the time hung heavily on his hands. At
last he went to his room; the family had retired some time before.
There was a good supply of peat, and with this he replenished the
fire. Then he drew the massive oaken bedstead in front of the door,
and lounged upon it, smoking and meditating.
The warnings of the valet had produced this effect at least upon
Obed, that he had concluded not to go to sleep. He determined to
remain awake, and though such watchfulness might not be needed, yet
he felt that for his family's sake it was wisest and best. To sit up
one night, or rather to lounge on a bed smoking, was nothing, and
there was plenty of occupation for his thoughts.
Time passed on. Midnight came, and nothing had occurred. Another hour
passed; and then another. It was two o'clock.
About a quarter of an hour after this Obed was roused by a sudden
knocking at the door of the inn. Shouts followed. He heard the old
man descend the stairs. Then the door was opened, and loud noisy
footsteps were heard entering the inn.
At this Obed began to feel that his watchfulness was not useless.
Some time now elapsed. Those who had come were sufficiently
disorderly. Shouts and cries and yells arose. Obed imagined that they
were refreshing themselves. He tried to guess at the possible number,
and thought that there could not be more than a dozen, if so many.
Yet he had acquired such a contempt for Italians, and had such
confidence in himself, that he felt very much the same, at the
prospect of an encounter with them, as a grown man might feel at an
encounter with as many boys.
During this time he made no change in his position. His revolver was
in his breast pocket, and he had cartridges enough for a long siege.
He smoked still, for this habit was a deeply confirmed one with Obed;
and lolling at the foot of the bed, with his head against the wall,
he awaited further developments.
At last there was a change in the noise. A silence followed; and then
he heard footsteps moving toward the hall. He listened. The footsteps
ascended the stairs!
They ascended the stairs, and came nearer and nearer. There did not
seem to be so many as a dozen. Perhaps some remained below. Such were
his thoughts.
They came toward his room.
At length he heard the knob of the door turning gently. Of course, as
the door was locked, and as the bed was in front of it, this produced
no effect. On Obed the only effect was that he sat upright and drew
his revolver from his pocket, still smoking.
Then followed some conversation outside.
Then there came a knock.
"Who's there?" said Obed, mildly.
"Aperite!" was the answer, in a harsh voice.
"What?"
"Aperite. Siamo poveri. Date vostro argento."
"Me don't understand _I_talian," said Obed. "Me American. Speeky
English, and go to blazes!"
At this there was a pause, and then a dull deep crash, as if the
whole body outside had precipitated themselves against the door.
Obed held his pistol quickly toward the door opposite the thinnest
panel, which had yielded slightly to that blow, and fired.
Once!
Twice!!
Thrice!!!
Three explosions burst forth.
And then came sharp and sudden deep groans of pain, intermingled with
savage yells of rage. There was a sound as of bodies falling, and
retreating footsteps, and curses low and deep.
Loud outcries came from the adjoining room.
The noise had awakened the family.
Obed stepped to the door.
"Don't be afraid," said he, quietly. "It's only some brigands. But
keep cool. _I'll_ take care of you. Perhaps you'd better get up and
dress, though. At any rate, keep cool. You needn't bother as long as
you've got _me_."