I was born at the little town of Frosinone, which lies at the
skirts of the Abruzzi. My father had made a little property in
trade, and gave me some education, as he intended me for the
church, but I had kept gay company too much to relish the cowl,
so I grew up a loiterer about the place. I was a heedless fellow,
a little quarrelsome on occasions, but good-humored in the main,
so I made my way very well for a time, until I fell in love.
There lived in our town a surveyor, or land bailiff, of the
prince’s who had a young daughter, a beautiful girl of sixteen.
She was looked upon as something better than the common run of
our townsfolk, and kept almost entirely at home. I saw her
occasionally, and became madly in love with her, she looked so
fresh and tender, and so different to the sunburnt females to
whom I had been accustomed.
As my father kept me in money, I always dressed well, and took
all Opportunities of showing myself to advantage in the eyes of
the little beauty. I used to see her at church; and as I could
play a little upon the guitar, I gave her a tune sometimes under
her window of an evening; and I tried to have interviews with her
in her father’s vineyard, not far from the town, where she
sometimes walked. She was evidently pleased with me, but she was
young and shy, and her Father kept a strict eye upon her, and
took alarm at my attentions, for he had a bad opinion of me, and
looked for a better match for his daughter. I became furious at
the difficulties thrown in my way, having been accustomed always
to easy success among the women, being considered one of the
smartest young fellows of the place.
Her father brought home a suitor for her; a rich farmer from a
neighboring town. The wedding-day was appointed, and preparations
were making. I got sight of her at her window, and I thought she
looked sadly at me. I determined the match should not take place,
cost what it might. I met her intended bridegroom in the
market-place, and could not restrain the expression of my rage. A
few hot words passed between us, when I drew my stiletto, and
stabbed him to the heart. I fled to a neighboring church for
refuge; and with a little money I obtained absolution; but I did
not dare to venture from my asylum.
At that time our captain was forming his troop. He had known me
from boyhood, and hearing of my situation, came to me in secret,
and made such offers that I agreed to enlist myself among his
followers. Indeed, I had more than once thought of taking to this
mode of life, having known several brave fellows of the
mountains, who used to spend their money freely among us
youngsters of the town. I accordingly left my asylum late one
night, repaired to the appointed place of meeting; took the oaths
prescribed, and became one of the troop. We were for some time in
a distant part of the mountains, and our wild adventurous kind of
life hit my fancy wonderfully, and diverted my thoughts. At
length they returned with all their violence to the recollection
of Rosetta. The solitude in which I often found myself gave me
time to brood over her image, and as I have kept watch at night
over our sleeping camp in the mountains, my feelings have been
roused almost to a fever.
At length we shifted our ground, and determined to make a descent
upon the road between Terracina and Naples. In the course of our
expedition, we passed a day or two in the woody mountains which
rise above Frosinone. I cannot tell you how I felt when I looked
down upon the place, and distinguished the residence of Rosetta.
I determined to have an interview with her; but to what purpose?
I could not expect that she would quit her home, and accompany me
in my hazardous life among the mountains. She had been brought up
too tenderly for that; and when I looked upon the women who were
associated with some of our troop, I could not have borne the
thoughts of her being their companion. All return to my former
life was likewise hopeless; for a price was set upon my head.
Still I determined to see her; the very hazard and fruitlessness
of the thing made me furious to accomplish it.
It is about three weeks since I persuaded our captain to draw
down to the vicinity of Frosinone, in hopes of entrapping some of
its principal inhabitants, and compelling them to a ransom. We
were lying in ambush towards evening, not far from the vineyard
of Rosetta’s father. I stole quietly from my companions, and drew
near to reconnoitre the place of her frequent walks.
How my heart beat when, among the vines, I beheld the gleaming of
a white dress! I knew it must be Rosetta’s; it being rare for any
female of the place to dress in white. I advanced secretly and
without noise, until putting aside the vines, I stood suddenly
before her. She uttered a piercing shriek, but I seized her in my
arms, put my hand upon her mouth and conjured her to be silent. I
poured out all the frenzy of my passion; offered to renounce my
mode of life, to put my fate in her hands, to fly with her where
we might live in safety together. All that I could say, or do,
would not pacify her. Instead of love, horror and affright seemed
to have taken possession of her breast.—She struggled partly from
my grasp, and filled the air with her cries. In an instant the
captain and the rest of my companions were around us. I would
have given anything at that moment had she been safe out of our
hands, and in her father’s house. It was too late. The captain
pronounced her a prize, and ordered that she should be borne to
the mountains. I represented to him that she was my prize, that I
had a previous claim to her; and I mentioned my former
attachment. He sneered bitterly in reply; observed that brigands
had no business with village intrigues, and that, according to
the laws of the troop, all spoils of the kind were determined by
lot. Love and jealousy were raging in my heart, but I had to
choose between obedience and death. I surrendered her to the
captain, and we made for the mountains.
She was overcome by affright, and her steps were so feeble and
faltering, and it was necessary to support her. I could not
endure the idea that my comrades should touch her, and assuming a
forced tranquillity, begged that she might be confided to me, as
one to whom she was more accustomed. The captain regarded me for
a moment with a searching look, but I bore it without flinching,
and he consented, I took her in my arms: she was almost
senseless. Her head rested on my shoulder, her mouth was near to
mine. I felt her breath on my face, and it seemed to fan the
flame which devoured me. Oh, God! to have this glowing treasure
in my arms, and yet to think it was not mine!
We arrived at the foot of the mountain. I ascended it with
difficulty, particularly where the woods were thick; but I would
not relinquish my delicious burthen. I reflected with rage,
however, that I must soon do so. The thoughts that so delicate a
creature must be abandoned to my rude companions, maddened me. I
felt tempted, the stiletto in my hand, to cut my way through them
all, and bear her off in triumph. I scarcely conceived the idea,
before I saw its rashness; but my brain was fevered with the
thought that any but myself should enjoy her charms. I endeavored
to outstrip my companions by the quickness of my movements; and
to get a little distance ahead, in case any favorable opportunity
of escape should present. Vain effort! The voice of the captain
suddenly ordered a halt. I trembled, but had to obey. The poor
girl partly opened a languid eye, but was without strength or
motion. I laid her upon the grass. The captain darted on me a
terrible look of suspicion, and ordered me to scour the woods
with my companions, in search of some shepherd who might be sent
to her father’s to demand a ransom.
I saw at once the peril. To resist with violence was certain
death; but to leave her alone, in the power of the captain!—I
spoke out then with a fervor inspired by my passion and my
despair. I reminded the captain that I was the first to seize
her; that she was my prize, and that my previous attachment for
her should make her sacred among my companions. I insisted,
therefore, that he should pledge me his word to respect her;
otherwise I should refuse obedience to his orders. His only reply
was, to cock his carbine; and at the signal my comrades did the
same. They laughed with cruelty at my impotent rage. What could I
do? I felt the madness of resistance. I was menaced on all hands,
and my companions obliged me to follow them. She remained alone
with the chief—yes, alone and almost lifeless!—
Here the robber paused in his recital, overpowered by his
emotions. Great drops of sweat stood on his forehead; he panted
rather than breathed; his brawny bosom rose and fell like the
waves of a troubled sea. When he had become a little calm, he
continued his recital.
I was not long in finding a shepherd, said he. I ran with the
rapidity of a deer, eager, if possible, to get back before what I
dreaded might take place. I had left my companions far behind,
and I rejoined them before they had reached one-half the distance
I had made. I hurried them back to the place where we had left
the captain. As we approached, I beheld him seated by the side of
Rosetta. His triumphant look, and the desolate condition of the
unfortunate girl, left me no doubt of her fate. I know not how I
restrained my fury.
It was with extreme difficulty, and by guiding her hand, that she
was made to trace a few characters, requesting her father to send
three hundred dollars as her ransom. The letter was despatched by
the shepherd. When he was gone, the chief turned sternly to me:
“You have set an example,” said he, “of mutiny and self-will,
which if indulged would be ruinous to the troop. Had I treated
you as our laws require, this bullet would have been driven
through your brain. But you are an old friend; I have borne
patiently with your fury and your folly; I have even protected
you from a foolish passion that would have unmanned you. As to
this girl, the laws of our association must have their course.”
So saying, he gave his commands, lots were drawn, and the
helpless girl was abandoned to the troop.
Here the robber paused again, panting with fury and it was some
moments before he could resume his story.
Hell, said he, was raging in my heart. I beheld the impossibility
of avenging myself, and I felt that, according to the articles in
which we stood bound to one another, the captain was in the
right. I rushed with frenzy from the place. I threw myself upon
the earth; tore up the grass with my hands, and beat my head, and
gnashed my teeth in agony and rage. When at length I returned, I
beheld the wretched victim, pale, dishevelled; her dress torn and
disordered. An emotion of pity for a moment subdued my fiercer
feelings. I bore her to the foot of a tree, and leaned her gently
against it. I took my gourd, which was filled with wine, and
applying it to her lips, endeavored to make her swallow a little.
To what a condition was she recovered! She, whom I had once seen
the pride of Frosinone, who but a short time before I had beheld
sporting in her father’s vineyard, so fresh and beautiful and
happy! Her teeth were clenched; her eyes fixed on the ground; her
form without motion, and in a state of absolute insensibility. I
hung over her in an agony of recollection of all that she had
been, and of anguish at what I now beheld her. I darted round a
look of horror at my companions, who seemed like so many fiends
exulting in the downfall of an angel, and I felt a horror at
myself for being their accomplice.
The captain, always suspicious, saw with his usual penetration
what was passing within me, and ordered me to go upon the ridge
of woods to keep a look-out upon the neighborhood and await the
return of the shepherd. I obeyed, of course, stifling the fury
that raged within me, though I felt for the moment that he was my
most deadly foe.
On my way, however, a ray of reflection came across my mind. I
perceived that the captain was but following with strictness the
terrible laws to which we had sworn fidelity. That the passion by
which I had been blinded might with justice have been fatal to me
but for his forbearance; that he had penetrated my soul, and had
taken precautions, by sending me out of the way, to prevent my
committing any excess in my anger. From that instant I felt that
I was capable of pardoning him.
Occupied with these thoughts, I arrived at the foot of the
mountain. The country was solitary and secure; and in a short
time I beheld the shepherd at a distance crossing the plain. I
hastened to meet him. He had obtained nothing. He had found the
father plunged in the deepest distress. He had read the letter
with violent emotion, and then calming himself with a sudden
exertion, he had replied coldly, “My daughter has been dishonored
by those wretches; let her be returned without ransom, or let her
die!”
I shuddered at this reply. I knew, according to the laws of our
troop, her death was inevitable. Our oaths required it. I felt,
nevertheless, that, not having been able to have her to myself, I
could become her executioner!
The robber again paused with agitation. I sat musing upon his
last Frightful words, which proved to what excess the passions
may be carried when escaped from all moral restraint. There was a
horrible verity in this story that reminded me of some of the
tragic fictions of Danté.
We now came to a fatal moment, resumed the bandit. After the
report of the shepherd, I returned with him, and the chieftain
received from his lips the refusal of the father. At a signal,
which we all understood, we followed him some distance from the
victim. He there pronounced her sentence of death. Every one
stood ready to execute his order; but I interfered. I observed
that there was something due to pity, as well as to justice. That
I was as ready as any one to approve the implacable law which was
to serve as a warning to all those who hesitated to pay the
ransoms demanded for our prisoners, but that, though the
sacrifice was proper, it ought to be made without cruelty. The
night is approaching, continued I; she will soon be wrapped in
sleep; let her then be despatched. All that I now claim on the
score of former fondness for her is, let me strike the blow. I
will do it as surely, but more tenderly than another.
Several raised their voices against my proposition, but the
captain Imposed silence on them. He told me I might conduct her
into a thicket at some distance, and he relied upon my promise.
I hastened to seize my prey. There was a forlorn kind of triumph
at having at length become her exclusive possessor. I bore her
off into the thickness of the forest. She remained in the same
state of insensibility and stupor. I was thankful that she did
not recollect me; for had she once murmured my name, I should
have been overcome. She slept at length in the arms of him who
was to poniard her. Many were the conflicts I underwent before I
could bring myself to strike the blow. My heart had become sore
by the recent conflicts it had undergone, and I dreaded lest, by
procrastination, some other should become her executioner. When
her repose had continued for some time, I separated myself gently
from her, that I might not disturb her sleep, and seizing
suddenly my poniard, plunged it into her bosom. A painful and
concentrated murmur, but without any convulsive movement,
accompanied her last sigh. So perished this unfortunate.
He ceased to speak. I sat horror-struck, covering my face with my
hands, seeking, as it were, to hide from myself the frightful
images he had presented to my mind. I was roused from this
silence by the voice of the captain. “You sleep,” said he, “and
it is time to be off. Come, we must abandon this height, as night
is setting in, and the messenger is not returned. I will post
some one on the mountain edge, to conduct him to the place where
we shall pass the night.”
This was no agreeable news to me. I was sick at heart with the
dismal story I had heard. I was harassed and fatigued, and the
sight of the banditti began to grow insupportable to me.
The captain assembled his comrades. We rapidly descended the
forest which we had mounted with so much difficulty in the
morning, and soon arrived in what appeared to be a frequented
road. The robbers proceeded with great caution, carrying their
guns cocked, and looking on every side with wary and suspicious
eyes. They were apprehensive of encountering the civic patrole.
We left Rocca Priori behind us. There was a fountain near by, and
as I was excessively thirsty, I begged permission to stop and
drink. The captain himself went, and brought me water in his hat.
We pursued our route, when, at the extremity of an alley which
crossed the road, I perceived a female on horseback, dressed in
white. She was alone. I recollected the fate of the poor girl in
the story, and trembled for her safety.
One of the brigands saw her at the same instant, and plunging
into the bushes, he ran precipitately in the direction towards
her. Stopping on the border of the alley, he put one knee to the
ground, presented his carbine ready for menace, or to shoot her
horse if she attempted to fly, and in this way awaited her
approach. I kept my eyes fixed on her with intense anxiety. I
felt tempted to shout, and warn her of her danger, though my own
destruction would have been the consequence. It was awful to see
this tiger crouching ready for a bound, and the poor innocent
victim wandering unconsciously near him. Nothing but a mere
chance could save her. To my joy, the chance turned in her favor.
She seemed almost accidentally to take an opposite path, which
led outside of the wood, where the robber dare not venture. To
this casual deviation she owed her safety.
I could not imagine why the captain of the band had ventured to
such a distance from the height, on which he had placed the
sentinel to watch the return of the messengers. He seemed himself
uneasy at the risk to which he exposed himself. His movements
were rapid and uneasy; I could scarce keep pace with him. At
length, after three hours of what might be termed a forced march,
we mounted the extremity of the same woods, the summit of which
we had occupied during the day; and I learnt with satisfaction,
that we had reached our quarters for the night.
“You must be fatigued,” said the chieftain; “but it was necessary
to survey the environs, so as not to be surprised during the
night. Had we met with the famous civic guard of Rocca Priori you
would have seen fine sport.” Such was the indefatigable
precaution and forethought of this robber chief, who really gave
continual evidences of military talent.
The night was magnificent. The moon rising above the horizon in a
cloudless sky, faintly lit up the grand features of the
mountains, while lights twinkling here and there, like
terrestrial stars, in the wide, dusky expanse of the landscape,
betrayed the lonely cabins of the shepherds. Exhausted by
fatigue, and by the many agitations I had experienced, I prepared
to sleep, soothed by the hope of approaching deliverance. The
captain ordered his companions to collect some dry moss; he
arranged with his own hands a kind of mattress and pillow of it,
and gave me his ample mantle as a covering. I could not but feel
both surprised and gratified by such unexpected attentions on the
part of this benevolent cut-throat: for there is nothing more
striking than to find the ordinary charities, which are matters
of course in common life, flourishing by the side of such stern
and sterile crime. It is like finding the tender flowers and
fresh herbage of the valley growing among the rocks and cinders
of the volcano.
Before I fell asleep, I had some farther discourse with the
captain, who seemed to put great confidence in me. He referred to
our previous conversation of the morning; told me he was weary of
his hazardous profession; that he had acquired sufficient
property, and was anxious to return to the world and lead a
peaceful life in the bosom of his family. He wished to know
whether it was not in my power to procure him a passport for the
United States of America. I applauded his good intentions, and
promised to do everything in my power to promote its success. We
then parted for the night. I stretched myself upon my couch of
moss, which, after my fatigues, felt like a bed of down, and
sheltered by the robber’s mantle from all humidity, I slept
soundly without waking, until the signal to arise.
It was nearly six o’clock, and the day was just dawning. As the
place where we had passed the night was too much exposed, we
moved up into the thickness of the woods. A fire was kindled.
While there was any flame, the mantles were again extended round
it; but when nothing remained but glowing cinders, they were
lowered, and the robbers seated themselves in a circle.
The scene before me reminded me of some of those described by
Homer. There wanted only the victim on the coals, and the sacred
knife, to cut off the succulent parts, and distribute them
around. My companions might have rivalled the grim warriors of
Greece. In place of the noble repasts, however, of Achilles and
Agamemnon, I beheld displayed on the grass the remains of the ham
which had sustained so vigorous an attack on the preceding
evening, accompanied by the reliques of the bread, cheese, and
wine.
We had scarcely commenced our frugal breakfast, when I heard
again an Imitation of the bleating of sheep, similar to what I
had heard the day before. The captain answered it in the same
tone. Two men were soon after seen descending from the woody
height, where we had passed the preceding evening. On nearer
approach, they proved to be the sentinel and the messenger. The
captain rose and went to meet them. He made a signal for his
comrades to join him. They had a short conference, and then
returning to me with eagerness, “Your ransom is paid,” said he;
“you are free!”
Though I had anticipated deliverance, I cannot tell you what a
rush of delight these tidings gave me. I cared not to finish my
repast, but prepared to depart. The captain took me by the hand;
requested permission to write to me, and begged me not to forget
the passport. I replied, that I hoped to be of effectual service
to him, and that I relied on his honor to return the prince’s
note for five hundred dollars, now that the cash was paid. He
regarded me for a moment with surprise; then, seeming to
recollect himself, “E giusto,” said he, “eccoloadio!”[1] He
delivered me the note, pressed my hand once more, and we
separated. The laborers were permitted to follow me, and we
resumed with joy our road towards Tusculum.
[1] It is just—there it is—adieu!
The artist ceased to speak; the party continued for a few moments
to pace the shore of Terracina in silence. The story they had
heard had made a deep impression on them, particularly on the
fair Venetian, who had gradually regained her husband’s arm. At
the part that related to the young girl of Frosinone, she had
been violently affected; sobs broke from her; she clung close to
her husband, and as she looked up to him as if for protection,
the moon-beams shining on her beautifully fair countenance showed
it paler than usual with terror, while tears glittered in her
fine dark eyes. “O caro mio!” would she murmur, shuddering at
every atrocious circumstance of the story.
“Corragio, mia vita!” was the reply, as the husband gently and
fondly tapped the white hand that lay upon his arm.
The Englishman alone preserved his usual phlegm, and the fair
Venetian was piqued at it.
She had pardoned him a want of gallantry towards herself, though
a sin of omission seldom met with in the gallant climate of
Italy, but the quiet coolness which he maintained in matters
which so much affected her, and the slow credence which he had
given to the stories which had filled her with alarm, were quite
vexatious.
“Santa Maria!” said she to husband as they retired for the night,
“what insensible beings these English are!”
In the morning all was bustle at the inn at Terracina.
The procaccio had departed at day-break, on its route towards
Rome, but the Englishman was yet to start, and the departure of
an English equipage is always enough to keep an inn in a bustle.
On this occasion there was more than usual stir; for the
Englishman having much property about him, and having been
convinced of the real danger of the road, had applied to the
police and obtained, by dint of liberal pay, an escort of eight
dragoons and twelve foot-soldiers, as far as Fondi.
Perhaps, too, there might have been a little ostentation at
bottom, from which, with great delicacy be it spoken, English
travellers are not always exempt; though to say the truth, he had
nothing of it in his manner. He moved about taciturn and reserved
as usual, among the gaping crowd in his gingerbread-colored
travelling cap, with his hands in his pockets. He gave laconic
orders to John as he packed away the thousand and one
indispensable conveniencies of the night, double loaded his
pistols with great _sang-froid_, and deposited them in the
pockets of the carriage, taking no notice of a pair of keen eyes
gazing on him from among the herd of loitering idlers. The fair
Venetian now came up with a request made in her dulcet tones,
that he would permit their carriage to proceed under protection
of his escort. The Englishman, who was busy loading another pair
of pistols for his servant, and held the ramrod between his
teeth, nodded assent as a matter of course, but without lifting
up his eyes. The fair Venetian was not accustomed to such
indifference. “O Dio!” ejaculated she softly as she retired,
“como sono freddi questi Inglesi.” At length off they set in
gallant style, the eight dragoons prancing in front, the twelve
foot-soldiers marching in rear, and carriages moving slowly in
the centre to enable the infantry to keep pace with them. They
had proceeded but a few hundred yards when it was discovered that
some indispensable article had been left behind.
In fact, the Englishman’s purse was missing, and John was
despatched to the inn to search for it.
This occasioned a little delay, and the carriage of the Venetians
drove slowly on. John came back out of breath and out of humor;
the purse was not to be found; his master was irritated; he
recollected the very place where it lay; the cursed Italian
servant had pocketed it. John was again sent back. He returned
once more, without the purse, but with the landlord and the whole
household at his heels. A thousand ejaculations and
protestations, accompanied by all sorts of grimaces and
contortions. “No purse had been seen—his excellenza must be
mistaken.”
No—his excellenza was not mistaken; the purse lay on the marble
table, under the mirror: a green purse, half full of gold and
silver. Again a thousand grimaces and contortions, and vows by
San Genario, that no purse of the kind had been seen.
The Englishman became furious. “The waiter had pocketed it. The
landlord was a knave. The inn a den of thieves—it was a d——d
country—he had been cheated and plundered from one end of it to
the other—but he’d have satisfaction—he’d drive right off to the
police.”
He was on the point of ordering the postilions to turn back,
when, on rising, he displaced the cushion of the carriage, and
the purse of money fell chinking to the floor.
All the blood in his body seemed to rush into his face. “D—n the
purse,” said he, as he snatched it up. He dashed a handful of
money on the ground before the pale, cringing waiter. “There—be
off,” cried he; “John, order the postilions to drive on.”
Above half an hour had been exhausted in this altercation. The
Venetian carriage had loitered along; its passengers looking out
from time to time, and expecting the escort every moment to
follow. They had gradually turned an angle of the road that shut
them out of sight. The little army was again in motion, and made
a very picturesque appearance as it wound along at the bottom of
the rocks; the morning sunshine beaming upon the weapons of
soldiery.
The Englishman lolled back in his carriage, vexed with himself at
what had passed, and consequently out of humor with all the
world. As this, however, is no uncommon case with gentlemen who
travel for their pleasure, it is hardly worthy of remark.
They had wound up from the coast among the hills, and came to a
part of the road that admitted of some prospect ahead.
“I see nothing of the lady’s carriage, sir,” said John, leaning
over from the coach box.
“Hang the lady’s carriage!” said the Englishman, crustily; “don’t
plague me about the lady’s carriage; must I be continually
pestered with strangers?”
John said not another word, for he understood his master’s mood.
The road grew more wild and lonely; they were slowly proceeding
in a foot pace up a hill; the dragoons were some distance ahead,
and had just reached the summit of the hill, when they uttered an
exclamation, or rather shout, and galloped forward. The
Englishman was aroused from his sulky revery. He stretched his
head from the carriage, which had attained the brow of the hill.
Before him extended a long hollow defile, commanded on one side
by rugged, precipitous heights, covered with bushes and scanty
forest trees. At some distance he beheld the carriage of the
Venitians overturned; a numerous gang of desperadoes were rifling
it; the young man and his servant were overpowered and partly
stripped, and the lady was in the hands of two of the ruffians.
The Englishman seized his pistols, sprang from his carriage, and
called upon John to follow him. In the meantime, as the dragoons
came forward, the robbers who were busy with the carriage quitted
their spoil, formed themselves in the middle of the road, and
taking deliberate aim, fired. One of the dragoons fell, another
was wounded, and the whole were for a moment checked and thrown
in confusion. The robbers loaded again in an instant. The
dragoons had discharged their carbines, but without apparent
effect; they received another volley, which, though none fell,
threw them again into confusion. The robbers were loading a
second time, when they saw the foot soldiers at hand.—“Scampa
via!” was the word. They abandoned their prey, and retreated up
the rocks; the soldiers after them. They fought from cliff to
cliff, and bush to bush, the robbers turning every now and then
to fire upon their pursuers; the soldiers scrambling after them,
and discharging their muskets whenever they could get a chance.
Sometimes a soldier or a robber was shot down, and came tumbling
Among the cliffs. The dragoons kept firing from below, whenever a
robber came in sight.
The Englishman hastened to the scene of action, and the balls
discharged at the dragoons had whistled past him as he advanced.
One object, however, engrossed his attention. It was the
beautiful Venetian lady in the hands of two of the robbers, who,
during the confusion of the fight, carried her shrieking up the
mountains. He saw her dress gleaming among the bushes, and he
sprang up the rocks to intercept the robbers as they bore off
their prey. The ruggedness of the steep and the entanglements of
the bushes, delayed and impeded him. He lost sight of the lady,
but was still guided by her cries, which grew fainter and
fainter. They were off to the left, while the report of muskets
showed that the battle was raging to the right.
At length he came upon what appeared to be a rugged footpath,
faintly worn in a gully of the rock, and beheld the ruffians at
some distance hurrying the lady up the defile. One of them
hearing his approach let go his prey, advanced towards him, and
levelling the carbine which had been slung on his back, fired.
The ball whizzed through the Englishman’s hat, and carried with
it some of his hair. He returned the fire with one of his
pistols, and the robber fell. The other brigand now dropped the
lady, and drawing a long pistol from his belt, fired on his
adversary with deliberate aim; the ball passed between his left
arm and his side, slightly wounding the arm. The Englishman
advanced and discharged his remaining pistol, which wounded the
robber, but not severely. The brigand drew a stiletto, and rushed
upon his adversary, who eluded the blow, receiving merely a
slight wound, and defending himself with his pistol, which had a
spring bayonet. They closed with one another, and a desperate
struggle ensued. The robber was a square-built, thick-set, man,
powerful, muscular, and active. The Englishman, though of larger
frame and greater strength, was less active and less accustomed
to athletic exercises and feats of hardihood, but he showed
himself practised and skilled in the art of defence. They were on
a craggy height, and the Englishman perceived that his antagonist
was striving to press him to the edge.
A side glance showed him also the robber whom he had first
wounded, Scrambling up to the assistance of his comrade, stiletto
in hand. He had, in fact, attained the summit of the cliff, and
the Englishman saw him within a few steps, when he heard suddenly
the report of a pistol and the ruffian fell. The shot came from
John, who had arrived just in time to save his master.
The remaining robber, exhausted by loss of blood and the violence
of the contest, showed signs of faltering. His adversary pursued
his advantage; pressed on him, and as his strength relaxed,
dashed him headlong from the precipice. He looked after him and
saw him lying motionless among the rocks below.
The Englishman now sought the fair Venetian. He found her
senseless on the ground. With his servant’s assistance he bore
her down to the road, where her husband was raving like one
distracted.
The occasional discharge of fire-arms along the height showed
that a Retreating fight was still kept up by the robbers. The
carriage was righted; the baggage was hastily replaced; the
Venetian, transported with joy and gratitude, took his lovely and
senseless burthen in his arms, and the party resumed their route
towards Fondi, escorted by the dragoons, leaving the foot
soldiers to ferret out the banditti. While on the way John
dressed his master’s wounds, which were found not to be serious.
Before arriving at Fondi the fair Venetian had recovered from her
swoon, and was made conscious of her safety and of the mode of
her deliverance. Her transports were unbounded; and mingled with
them were enthusiastic ejaculations of gratitude to her
deliverer. A thousand times did she reproach herself for having
accused him of coldness and insensibility. The moment she saw him
she rushed into his arms, and clasped him round the neck with all
the vivacity of her nation.
Never was man more embarrassed by the embraces of a fine woman.
“My deliverer! my angel!” exclaimed she.
“Tut! tut!” said the Englishman.
“You are wounded!” shrieked the fair Venetian, as she saw the
blood upon his clothes.
“Pooh—nothing at all!”
“O Dio!” exclaimed she, clasping him again round the neck and
sobbing on his bosom.
“Pooh!” exclaimed the Englishman, looking somewhat foolish; “this
is all nonsense.”