A MEMORABLE DRIVE.--NIGHT.--THE BRIGANDS ONCE MORE.--GARIBALDI'S
NAME.--THE FIRE.--THE IRON BAR.--THE MAN FROM THE GRANITE STATE
AND HIS TWO BOYS.
"The great beauty of this pistol is a little improvement that I
have not seen before."
And Dick proceeded to explain.
"Here is the chamber with the six cavities loaded. Now, you see,
when you wish, you touch this spring and out pops the butt."
"Well?"
"Very well. Here I have another chamber with six cartridges: It's
loaded, the cartridges are covered with copper and have detonating
powder at one end. As quick as lightning I put this on, and there
you have the pistol ready to be fired again six times."
"So you have twelve shots?"
"Yes."
"And cartridges to spare?"
"The Doctor gave me all that he had, about sixty, I should think."
"You have enough to face a whole army--"
"Precisely--and in my coat-pocket."
This conversation took place in the banquette of the diligence that
conveyed Dick, Buttons, and the Senator from Florence to Bologna. A
long part of the journey had been passed over. They were among the
mountains.
"Do you expect to use that?" asked the Senator, carelessly.
"I do."
"You believe these stories then?"
"Yes; don't you?"
"Certainly."
"So do I," said Buttons. "I could not get a pistol; but I got this
from an acquaintance."
And he drew from his pocket an enormous bowie-knife.
"Bowie-knives are no good," said the Senator. "Perhaps they may do
if you want to assassinate; but for nothing else. You can't defend
yourself. I never liked it. It's not American. It's not the direct
result of our free institutions."
"What have you then?"
"This," said the Senator.
And he lifted up a crow-bar from the front of the coach.
Brandishing it in the air as easily as an ordinary man would swing a
walking-stick. He looked calmly at his astonished companions.
"You see," said he, "there are several reasons why this is the best
sort of weapon for me. A short knife is no use. A sword is no good,
for I don't know the sword exercise. A gun is worthless; I would fire
it off once and then have to use it as a club. It would then be apt to
break. That would be disagreeable--especially in the middle of a
fight. A stick or club of any kind would be open to the same
objection. What, then, is the weapon for me? Look at me. I am big,
strong, and active. I have no skill. I am brute strength. So a club
is my only weapon--a club that won't break. Say iron, then. There you
have it."
And the Senator swung the ponderous bar around in a way that showed
the wisdom of his choice.
"You are about right," said Buttons. "I venture to say you'll do as
much mischief with that as Dick will with his pistol. Perhaps more.
As for me, I don't expect to do much. Still, if the worst comes,
I'll try to do what I can."
"We may not have to use them," said the Senator. "Who are below?"
"Below?"
"In the coach?"
"Italians."
"Women?"
"No, all men. Two priests, three shop-keeper-looking persons, and
a soldier."
"Ah! Why, we ought to be comparatively safe."
"Oh, our number is not any thing. The country is in a state of
anarchy. Miserable devils of half-starved Italians swarm along the
road, and they will try to make hay while the sun shines. I have no
doubt we will be stopped half a dozen times before we get to Bologna."
"I should think," said the Senator, indignantly, "that if these chaps
undertake to govern the country--these republican chaps--they had
ought to govern it. What kind of a way is this to leave helpless
travellers at the mercy of cut-throats and assassins?"
"They think," said Buttons, "that their first duty is to secure
independence, and after that they will promote order."
"The Florentines are a fine people--a people of remarkable cuteness
and penetration; but it seems to me that they are taking things easy
as far as fighting is concerned. They don't send their soldiers to
the war, do they?"
"Well, no, I suppose they think their army may be needed nearer home.
The Grand Duke has long arms yet; and knows how to bribe."
By this time they were among the mountain forests where the scenery
was grander, the air cooler, the sky darker, than before. It was late
in the day, and every mile increased the wildness of the landscape and
the thickness of the gloom. Further and further, on they went till at
least they came to a winding-place where the road ended at a gully over
which there was a bridge. On the bridge was a barricade. They did not
see it until they had made a turn where the road wound, where at once
the scene burst on their view.
The leaders reared, the postillions swore, the driver snapped his whip
furiously. The passengers in "coupé," "rotonde," and "interieure"
popped out their heads, the passengers on the "banquette" stared,
until at last, just as the postillions were dismounting to reconnoitre,
twelve figures rose up from behind the barricade, indistinct in the
gloom, and bringing their rifles to their shoulders took aim.
The driver yelled, the postillions shouted, the passengers shrieked.
The three men in the banquette prepared for a fight. Suddenly a loud
voice was heard from behind. They looked. A number of men stood there,
and several more were leaping out from the thick woods on the right.
They were surrounded. At length one of the men came forward from
behind.
"You are at our mercy," said he. "Whoever gives up his money may go
free. Whoever resists dies. Do you hear?"
Meanwhile the three men in the banquette had piled some trunks
around, and prepared to resist till the last extremity. Dick was to
fire; Buttons to keep each spare butt loaded; the Senator to use his
crow-bar on the heads of any assailants. They waited in silence.
They heard the brigands rummaging through the coach below, the
prayers of the passengers, their appeals for pity, their groans at
being compelled to give up every thing.
"The cowards don't deserve pity!" cried the Senator. "There are
enough to get up a good resistance. We'll show fight, anyhow!"
[Illustration: In The Coach.]
Scarcely had he spoke when three or four heads appeared above the
edge of the coach.
"Haste!--your money!" said one.
"Stop!" said Buttons. "This gentleman is the American
Plenipotentiary Extraordinary, who has just come from Florence,
and is on his way to communicate with Garibaldi."
"Garibaldi!" cried the man, in a tone of deep respect.
"Yes," said Buttons, who had not miscalculated the effect of that
mighty name. "If you harm us or plunder us you will have to settle
your account with Garibaldi--that's all!"
The man was silent. Then he leaped down, and in another moment
another man came.
"Which is the American Plenipotentiary Extraordinary?"
"He," said Buttons, pointing to the Senator.
"Ah! I know him. It is the same. I saw him at his reception in
Florence, and helped to pull his carriage."
The Senator calmly eyed the brigand, who had respectfully taken
off his hat.
"So you are going to communicate with Garibaldi at once. Go in peace!
Gentlemen every one of us fought under Garibaldi at Rome. Ten years
ago he disbanded a large number of us among these mountains. I have
the honor to inform you that ever since that time I have got my
living out of the public, especially those in the service of the
Government. You are different. I like you because you are Americans.
I like you still better because you are friends of Garibaldi. Go in
peace! When you see the General tell him Giuglio Malvi sends his
respects."
And the man left them. In about a quarter of an hour the barricade
was removed, and the passengers resumed their seats with lighter
purses but heavier hearts. The diligence started, and once more went
thundering along the mountain road.
"I don't believe we've seen the last of these scoundrels yet," said
Buttons.
"Nor I," said Dick.
A general conversation followed. It was late, and but few things
were visible along the road. About two hours passed away without any
occurrence.
"Look!" cried Dick, suddenly.
They looked.
About a quarter of a mile ahead a deep red glow arose above the
forest, illumining the sky. The windings of the road prevented them
from seeing the cause of it. The driver was startled, but evidently
thought it was no more dangerous to go on than to stop. So he lashed
up his horses and set them off at a furious gallop. The rumble of the
ponderous wheels shut out all other sounds. As they advanced the
light grew more vivid.
"I shouldn't wonder," said the Senator, "if we have another
barricade here. Be ready, boys! We won't get off so easily this time."
The other two said not a word. On, and on. The report of a gun
suddenly roused all. The driver lashed his horses. The postillions
took the butts of their riding-whips and pelted the animals. The
road took a turn, and, passing this a strange scene burst upon their
sight.
A wide, open space on the road-side, a collection of beams across
the road, the shadowy forms of about thirty men, and the whole scene
dimly lighted by a smouldering fire. As it blazed up a little the
smoke rolled off and they saw as overturned carriage, two horses tied
to a tree, and two men with their hands bound behind them lying on the
ground.
A voice rang out through the stillness which for a moment followed
the sudden stoppage of the coach at the barrier. There came a wail
from the frightened passengers within--cries for mercy--piteous
entreaties.
"Silence, fools!" roared the same voice, which seemed to be that of
the leader.
"Wait! wait!" said the Senator to his companions. "Let me give the
word."
A crowd of men advanced to the diligence, and as they left the
fire Buttons saw three figures left behind--two women and a man. They
did not move. But suddenly a loud shriek burst from one of the women.
At the shriek Buttons trembled.
"The Spaniards! It is! I know the voice! My God!"
In an instant Buttons was down on the ground and in the midst of the
crowd of brigands who surrounded the coach.
Bang! bang! bang! It was not the guns of the brigands, but Dick's
pistol that now spoke, and its report was the signal of death to
three men who rolled upon the ground in their last agonies. As the
third report burst forth the Senator hurled himself down upon the
heads of those below. The action of Buttons had broken up all their
plans, rendered parley impossible, and left nothing for them to do
but to follow him and save him. The brigands rushed at them with a
yell of fury.
"Death to them! Death to them all! No quarter!"
"Help!" cried Buttons. "Passengers, we are armed! We can save
ourselves!"
But the passengers, having already lost their money, now feared to
lose their lives. Not one responded. All about the coach the scene
became one of terrible confusion. Guns were fired, blows fell in every
direction. The darkness, but faintly illuminated by the fitful
firelight, prevented the brigands from distinguishing their enemies
very clearly--a circumstance which favored the little band of
Americans.
The brigands fired at the coach, and tried to break open the doors.
Inside the coach the passengers, frantic with fear, sought to make
their voices heard amid the uproar. They begged for mercy; they
declared they had no money; they had already been robbed; they would
give all that was left; they would surrender if only their lives were
spared.
"And, oh! good Americans, yield, yield, or we all die!"
"Americans?" screamed several passionate voices. "Death to the
Americans! Death to all foreigners!"
These bandits were unlike the last.
Seated in the banquette Dick surveyed the scene, while himself
concealed from view. Calmly he picked out man after man and fired.
As they tried to climb up the diligence, or to force open the door,
they fell back howling. One man had the door partly broken open by
furious blows with the butt of his gun. Dick fired. The ball entered
his arm. He shrieked with rage. With his other arm he seized his gun,
and again his blows fell crashing. In another instant a ball passed
into his brain.
"Two shots wasted on one man! Too much!" muttered Dick; and taking
aim again he fired at a fellow who was just leaping up the other side.
The wretch fell cursing.
Again! again! again! Swiftly Dick's shots flashed around. He had now
but one left in his pistol. Hurriedly he filled the spare chamber
with six cartridges, and taking out the other he filled it and placed
it in again. He looked down.
[Illustration: A Free Fight.]
There was the Senator. More than twenty men surrounded him, firing,
swearing, striking, shrieking, rushing forward, trying to tear him
from his post. For he had planted himself against the fore-part of
the diligence, and the mighty arm whose strength had been so proved
at Perugia was now descending again with irresistible force upon the
heads of his assailants. All this was the work of but a few minutes.
Buttons could not be seen. Dick's preparations were made. For a moment
he waited for a favorable chance to get down. He could not stay up
there any longer. He must stand by the Senator.
There stood the Senator, his giant form towering up amidst the mêlée,
his muscular arms wielding the enormous iron bar, his astonishing
strength increased tenfold by the excitement of the fight. He never
spoke a word.
One after another the brigands went down before the awful descent of
that iron bar. They clung together; they yelled in fury; they threw
themselves _en masse_ against the Senator. He met them as a rock meets
a hundred waves. The remorseless iron bar fell only with redoubled
fury. They raised their clubbed muskets in the air and struck at him.
One sweep of the iron bar and the muskets were dashed out of their
hands, broken or bent, to the ground. They fired, but from their wild
excitement their aim was useless. In the darkness they struck at one
another. One by one the number of his assailants lessened--they grew
more furious but less bold. They fell back a little; but the Senator
advanced as they retired, guarding his own retreat, but still swinging
his iron bar with undiminished strength. The prostrate forms of a
dozen men lay around. Again they rushed at him. The voice of their
leader encouraged them and shamed their fears. He was a stoat,
powerful man, armed with a knife and a gun.
[Illustration: Don't Speak.]
"Cowards! kill this one! This is the one! All the rest will yield if
we kill him. Forward!"
That moment Dick leaped to the ground. The next instant the brigands
leaped upon them. The two were lost in the crowd. Twelve reports, one
after the other, rang into the air. Dick did not fire till the muzzle
of his pistol was against his enemy's breast. The darkness, now deeper
than ever, prevented him from being distinctly seen by the furious
crowd, who thought only of the Senator. But now the fire shooting up
brightly at the sudden breath of a strong wind threw a lurid light
upon the scene.
There stood Dick, his clothes torn, his face covered with blood, his
last charge gone. There stood the Senator, his face blackened with
smoke and dust, and red with blood, his colossal form erect, and still
the ponderous bar swung on high to fall as terribly as ever. Before
him were eight men. Dick saw it all in an instant. He screamed to the
passengers in the diligence:
"There are only eight left! Come! Help us take them prisoners! Haste!"
The cowards in the diligence saw how things were. They plucked up
courage, and at the call of Dick jumped out. The leader of the
brigands was before Dick with uplifted rifle. Dick flung his pistol
at his head. The brigand drew back and felled Dick senseless to the
ground. The next moment the Senator's arm descended, and, with his
head broken by the blow, the robber fell dead.
As though the fall of Dick had given him fresh fury, the Senator
sprang after the others. Blow after blow fell. They were struck down
helplessly as they ran. At this moment the passengers, snatching up
the arms of the prostrate bandits, assaulted those who yet remained.
They fled. The Senator pursued--long enough to give each one a
parting blow hard enough to make him remember it for a month. When
he returned the passengers were gathering around the coach, with
the driver and postillions, who had thus far hidden themselves, and
were eagerly looking at the dead.
"Off!" cried the Senator, in an awful voice--"Off; you white-livered
sneaks! Let me find my two boys!"