The green, winding valley of the Serchio looks its brightest and best in
the month of May the time of flowers in old-world Italy. Far removed
from the great routes over which the English, Americans and Germans
swarm in winter, unvisited, unknown and unexplored by any save the
simple _contadini_ of the hills, the rippling river winds with tortuous
bends around sharp angles and beneath overhanging trees, great cliffs
and huge grey boulders worn smooth by the action of the water of ages.
In those lonely reaches of the river as it dashes on with many cascades
from the giant Apennines to the sea, the brilliant kingfisher and the
stately heron are in possession, and live their lives undisturbed by
human intrusion. As we walked on, having left the carriage that had
brought us up from Lucca at the quaint mediaeval bridge called the Ponte
del Diavolo, the rural, quiet and picturesque beauty of the scene became
impressed upon us. The silence was unbroken, save for the hum of the
myriad insects in the sun, and the low music of the water which at that
point is shallow, running over its rocky bed.
On arrival at the _Universo_ in Lucca, my first impulse was to go up to
the monastery and see Fra Antonio. Yet so intimate did he appear to be
with Blair's partner, the ex-boatswain Dawson, that we resolved to first
explore the spot and take some observations. Therefore at eight that
morning we had entered one of those dusty old travelling Tuscan
carriages, the horses of which bore many jingling bells, and now, as
noon was approaching, we found ourselves on the left bank of the river,
counting the four hundred and fifty-six foot-paces as directed by the
secret record upon the cards.
To avoid being watched by our driver, to whom we had given instructions
to go back to a little wayside trattoria, or eating-house, which we had
passed, but who we knew would endeavour to secretly watch our movements,
we were at first compelled, on account of the absence of a path, to make
a detour through a small wood, rejoining the river bank at some distance
further up.
Therefore, as we reached the water, standing amid the high undergrowth
that grew upon the banks, we could only look back at the bridge and
guess that we were about one hundred foot-paces from it.
Then, tramping steadily forward in single file we pushed our way with
difficulty through the tall grass, briars, giant ferns and tangled
creepers, slowly onward towards the spot indicated. In places the trees
met overhead, and the sun shining through the foliage struck the
rippling water with pretty effect.
According to the record the spot must be in the open, for the sun shone
upon it for one hour at noon on the fifth of April and for two hours on
the fifth of May. It was now the nineteenth of May, therefore the
duration of the sunshine would, we roughly calculated, be about a
quarter of an hour longer.
In some places the river was open to the sun, while in others, so high
were the banks on either side, the light could never penetrate there.
From the crevices of the overhanging rocks, mountain pines and other
trees had taken root and grown to huge size, bending over until their
branches almost swept the stream, while our progress was made slower and
more difficult by the unevenness of the bank and the wild tangle of the
undergrowth.
One fact was proved--no one had approached the spot for a considerable
time, for we found not a twig severed or a leaf disturbed by previous
intruders.
At last, after we had climbed high along a rocky cliff that descended
sheer into the water, and had calculated four hundred and twenty steps
from the old pointed bridge, we suddenly rounded a bend in the river and
came upon a space where the stream, still a hundred feet or so below,
broadened out, so that it lay open to the sky for forty yards or so.
"It must be here!" I cried in eager anticipation, halting and quickly
surveying the spot. "The directions are to descend twenty-four
foot-holes. I suppose that means steps cut in the rock. We must find
them." And both of us began to search eagerly, but in that tangled
growth we could discover no trace of them.
"The record says that we go down behind where a man can hold himself
against four hundred," exclaimed Reggie, reading from a copy of the
transcript which he took from his pocket. "That appears as if the entry
is in some narrow crevice between two rocks. Do you see any such likely
spot?"
I looked eagerly around but was compelled to admit that I discerned
nothing that coincided with the description.
So sheer was the grey limestone cliff, going down to the water, that I
approached its edge with caution and then, throwing myself upon my
stomach, I crept forward and peered over its insecure edge. In doing so
a huge piece of rock became loosened and fell with a roar and splash
into the stream.
I took careful observations, but could distinguish absolutely nothing to
correspond with what the old outlaw, Poldo Pensi, had recorded.
For a full half-hour we searched in vain, until it became plain that, as
we had not measured accurately the foot-paces from the Devil's Bridge,
we were not at the exact spot. We therefore retraced our steps slowly
and laboriously through the tangled briars and undergrowth, our clothes
suffering considerably, and then restarted from the actual base of the
bridge. So completely had we been out of reckoning that at the three
hundred and eighty-seventh pace we passed the spot where we had made
such minute search, and continuing our way forward we halted at the four
hundred and fifty-sixth foot-pace in the top of a high encampment very
similar to the other, only wilder and even more inaccessible.
"There seems nothing here," remarked Reggie, whose face was torn by
brambles and was bleeding.
I gazed around and was reluctantly compelled to endorse his statement.
The trees were large and shady where we stood, some of them overhanging
the deep chasm through which the river wound. Cautiously, we both crept
forward, flat upon our stomachs, to the edge of the cliff, taking that
precaution as we knew not whether the edge might be rotten, and
presently we peered over.
"Why, look!" cried my friend, pointing to a spot about half-way down the
deep swirling stream as it came round the sudden bend, "there's steps
and a path leading down just a little higher up. And see! what's that?"