_Despair of Uncle Moses.--Frank and Bob endeavor to offer
Consolation.--The Search.--The Discovery at the Convent.--The
Guide.--The old House.--The Captives.--The Alarm given.--Flight
of Uncle Moses and his Party.--Albans! to the Rescue!--The Delivering
Host!_
On leaving the convent, Frank and Bob had hurried back to Albano,
where they found dinner ready, and Uncle Moses waiting for them in
anxious impatience. This anxious impatience was not by any means
diminished when he saw only two out of the four coming back to him,
nor was it alleviated one whit when they informed him that David
and Clive had gone to see some subterranean passage, of the nature
or location of which they had but the vaguest possible conception.
His first impulse was to go forth at once in search of them, and
bring them back with him by main force; and it was only with extreme
difficulty that Frank and Bob dissuaded him from this.
"Why, they're perfectly safe--as safe as if they were here," said
Frank. "It isn't possible for anything at all to happen to them.
The convent guide--a monk--is with them, and a very fine fellow he
is, too. He knows all about the country."
"O, yes; but these monks ain't to my taste. I don't like 'em,"
said Uncle Moses.
"It'll take them an hour to get back here from the place. There's
no use for you to try to go there, for you don't know the way; and
if you did go, why, they might come back and find you gone, and
then we'd have to wait for you. So, you see, the best thing to do,
Uncle Moses, is for us all to set quietly down, get our dinner,
and wait for them to come back."
The numerous frights which Uncle Moses had already been called on
to experience about his precious but too troublesome charges had
always turned out to be groundless; and the result had invariably
been a happy one; yet this did not at all prevent Uncle Moses from
feeling as anxious, as worried, and as unsettled, on this occasion,
as he had ever been before. He sat down to the table, therefore,
because Frank urged it, and he hardly knew how to move without his
cooperation. He said nothing. He was silenced, but not convinced.
He ate nothing. He merely dallied with his knife and fork, and
played listlessly with the viands upon his plate. Frank and Bob
were both as hungry as hunters, and for some time had no eyes but
for their food. At last, however, they saw that Uncle Moses was
eating nothing; whereupon they began to remonstrate with him, and
tried very earnestly to induce him to take something. In vain.
Uncle Moses was beyond the reach of persuasion. His appetite was
gone with his wandering boys, and would not come back until they
should come also. The dinner ended, and then Uncle Moses grew more
restless than ever. He walked out, and paced the street up and
down, every little while coming back to the hotel, and looking
anxiously in to see if the wanderers had returned. Frank and Bob
felt sorry that he should feel so much unnecessary anxiety, but
they did not know what to do, or to say. They had done and said
all that they possibly could. Uncle Moses refused to be comforted,
and so there was nothing more for them to do.
At length the hour passed which Frank had allotted as the time of
their absence, and still they did not come. Uncle Moses now came,
and stared at them with a disturbed face and trembling frame. He
said not a word. The situation was one which, to his mind, rendered
words useless.
"O, come now, Uncle Moses," said Frank; "they're all right. What's
the use of imagining all sorts of nonsense? Suppose they are delayed
a few minutes longer--what of that? They couldn't reckon upon being
back in exactly an hour. The guide said, 'about an hour.' You'll
have to make some allowance."
Uncle Moses tried to wait longer, and succeeded in controlling
himself for about half an hour more. Then he found inaction
intolerable, and insisted on Frank and Bob accompanying him on a
search for the lost ones. Frank suggested the necessity of going
to the convent first, and getting another guide. He left word at
the hotel where they had gone, and why, so that David and Clive
might follow them, or send word; and then they all three set forth
for the convent.
On reaching the place, the first man that they saw was no other
than the guide himself. At this sight even Frank was amazed, and
a little disturbed. He asked him hurriedly where the boys were.
"De boys?" said the guide. "Haf dey not come to de hotel?"
"No."
"But I did leave dem on de road to go back, and dey did go. Dey
must be back."
"But they're not back. And I want to hunt them up," said Frank.
"Where was the road where you say you left them?"
"I will go myself and show you de ver place," said the guide. "Do
not fear. Dere can come no harm. It is not possibile."
With these words the guide set forth to take them', to the place.
These words of the guide added; if possible, to the deep distress
and dismay of Uncle Moses. He was only conscious now that the boys
were without any guide in some unknown, perhaps dangerous place.
If he feared while he supposed that they had a guide, his fears
under these new and worse circumstances were far greater.
On the way the guide explained all about it. He told about the
tunnel, about the path which he had recommended as a short cut. He
declared that it was perfectly straight, and that it was impossible
for any one to get lost between Albano and the place where he left
them. There was no place, he declared, for them to get lost in. It
was quite open--a little valley--that was all.
But this gave no comfort to poor Uncle Moses. He walked along
looking ten years older, with his face full of grief. At length
the guide came to the path along which he had sent David and Clive,
and turning into this, he walked along in the direction where he
had seen them go.
"We haf now," he said, "to walk to de hotel at Albano, and you sall
find dey did come back, and will be dere at dis moments."
"What a joke it would be," cried Frank, "if they have got back,
and have started off after us! I wonder whether they would. Not
they. I don't believe it. They're starving, and will think of
nothing but their dinners."
But poor Uncle Moses refused to see any "joke" at all. It was a
deeply solemn reality to his poor, distracted breast.
At length they came within sight of the house.
As they walked on, there came to their ears a long, shrill yell.
All of them started. At first they did not detect the source of
the sound. Then it was repeated.
"Hallo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!"
They looked all around. Frank saw two figures, one at each window
of the old house.
"Hallo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!"
The cry was repeated. It came from these two figures. Those must
be David and Clive; but how in the name of wonder had they got
there, and what were they doing? But he said not a word. He merely
pointed, and then started off at a full run, followed first by Bob,
then by the guide, and last by Uncle Moses, who did not yet comprehend
why Frank was running, or where.
A smart run of only a few minutes brought them to the place. There
they saw David at one window, and Clive at the other. Both of them
appeared to be tremendously excited, and were shouting to them most
vociferously, both together, in an utterly confused an unintelligible
manner. At length some words in the midst of their outcries became
distinguishable.
"Keep back! O, keep back! The wild boar! The wild boar! Run for
help! Keep back! You'll be torn to pieces! Keep back! Run for help."
At this Uncle Moses shrank back in spite of himself, and the
guide looked much disturbed; but Frank and Bob stubbornly
stood their ground.
"What do you mean?" cried Frank. "Don't kick up such a row. What
wild boar? Where is he?"
"Underneath!" bawled Clive.
"He's watching us," shouted David.
"He was hid in there, and we came in and waked him. We got up here,
and he won't let us out!"
"He'll spring at you if you come any nearer," shouted David.
"Keep back! O, keep back! I hear him now," bawled Clive.
"Go and get help!" cried David. "Get a gun--or something!"
"Help us out soon," cried Clive; "we're starving!"
"Keep back!" cried Clive.
do. cried David.
"Go and get help!" cried Clive.
do. cried David.
"Get a gun!" cried Clive.
do. cried David.
"Help!" cried Clive.
do. cried David.
"Take care!" cried Clive.
do. cried David.
"He'll tear you to pieces!" cried Clive.
do. cried David.
Etc., etc., etc.!
"Come back," said the guide, in evident anxiety. "We are too near.
We can do notin', We mas get arm."
"But do you think there really is a wild boar there?" asked Frank.
The guide said nothing, but shook his head solemnly, and looked
unutterable things. Mean while he continued to retreat, watching
the small door of the old house, and the rest followed him, as they
thought he knew better what ought to be done than they did. The
guide took up that line of retreat which led towards Albano, and
as he did so he watched the door of the house with evident anxiety,
as though fearful of seeing at any moment the formidable beast
bound forth to rush upon them. But at length, after he had placed
a considerable distance between himself and the old house, he began
to breathe more freely, and to think about what ought next to be
done.
"Do you think it really is a wild boar?" asked Frank once more of
the guide.
"Dey did say dat, dey did see him," said he.
"Yes; but how do they know? They never saw a wild boar," objected
Frank.
"Any man dat sees a wild boar will know him," said the guide.
"I didn't know that there--were any about here."
"About here?"
"Yes; so near the town, and public roads. I thought that an animal
like the wild boar prefers the moat solitary places, and will never
come near where men are living."
"Dat is right," said the guide. "Dat is so. Bot sommataime dey go
wild--dey lose der young--or sommatin like dat, so dey go wild,
and wander, an if dey happen to come near a villa, dey are terrible."
"But how could this one have come here?"
"Italia is full of dem--dey wander about like dis."
"But they live so far off."
"O, no; dis one come from de mountain--not far--dat old house in
de valley, just de place for his den."
After this Frank could doubt no longer, although he had been so
obstinate in his disbelief. The affair of the previous night had
produced a powerful effect on his mind; and he was exceedingly
unwilling to allow himself again to be beguiled into a belief in
any danger that was not real. Had the guide not believed this so
firmly, and insisted on it so strongly, he would have felt certain
that the animal in the house was some commonplace one--a goat--a
dog--anything, rather than a wild boar. However, as it was, he had
nothing left but to believe what was said.
As for Uncle Moses, he was now quite himself again. The boys were
safe, at any rate. True, they were confined in the loft of an old
house, with a ferocious wild beast barring the way to liberty; but
then he reflected that this ferocious wild beast could not get near
them. Had it been a bear, the affair would have been most serious;
but a wild boar, as he knew, could not climb into a loft. For among
the intelligence which David and Clive had managed to communicate,
was the very reassuring fact that the boar could not get at them,
as the loft was only reached by a ladder. The return to Albano
was in every way satisfactory to his feelings, for he saw that this
was the only way of delivering the boys, who could not be rescued
without some more formidable arms than their own unassisted strength.
In a short time they were back in Albano, and soon the news flew
about the town. In accordance with the invariable rule, the story
was considerably enlarged as it passed from mouth to mouth, so that
by the time it reached the last person that heard it,--a poor old
bed-ridden priest, by the way,--it had grown to the following highly
respectable dimensions:--
Two wealthy English milors had gone into the Alban tunnel in search
of adventures. While down there they had discovered the lair of a
wild boar, and had killed the young, the old ones being away. They
had then made good their retreat, carrying their slaughtered victims
with them. The wild boar had returned with the wild sow, and both,
scenting their young pigs' blood in the air, had given chase to
the murderers. These last had fled in frantic haste, and had just
succeeded in finding a refuge in the old windmill, and in climbing
into the upper loft as the infuriated animals came up. Seeing the
legs of the murderers just vanishing up into the hole, one of the
beasts had leaped madly upward, and had bitten off a portion of
the calf of the leg of one of them. Then, in sullen vengeance, the
two fierce animals took up their station there, one in the chamber
below, the other in front of the door, to guard their prey, and
effect their destruction. They had already been there a week. One
of the prisoners had died from the effects of his terrible wound,
and the other was now dying of starvation. Fortunately, Brother
Antonio (the guide) had been told about this in a vision the night
before, had visited the surviving milor, had talked with him from
a safe distance, had seen the terrible animals, and had now come
to Albano to get help towards releasing the unhappy survivor.
From the above it may readily be conjectured that the call for
help was not made in vain. The sufferings of the imprisoned
captive excited universal sympathy, and the presence of the wild
boars in so close proximity, filled all men with a desire to
capture them or slay them. The story that was generally believed
was one which may be briefly described as occupying a position
somewhere about midway between the above startling fiction and
the truth. Such as it was, it had the effect of drawing forth
the population of Albano as it bad never been drawn forth before;
and as they went forth they presented a scene such as those of
which the mediaeval legends tell us, where the whole population
of some town which had been desolated by a dragon, went forth en
masse to do battle with the monster.
So they now marched forth,--
Men with scythes.
do. " hoes.
do. " rakes.
do. " shovels.
do. " tongs.
do. " brooms.
do. " bean-poles.
do. " carving-knives.
do. " umbrellas.
do. " stones.
do. " earthen pans.
do. " bricks.
do. " charcoal.
do. " chairs.
do. " spits.
do. " bed-posts.
do. " crowbars.
do. " augers.
do. " spades.
do. " stakes.
do. " clubs.
Men with staves,
do. " opera-glasses.
do. " sickles.
do. " colters.
do. " ploughshares.
do. " wheelbarrows.
do. " pitchforks.
do. " posts.
do. " beams.
do. " bolts.
do. " bars.
do. " hinges.
do. " pokers.
do. " saucepans.
do. " mallets.
do. " hammers.
do. " saws.
do. " chisels.
do. " ropes.
do. " chains.
do. " grappling irons.
together with a miscellaneous collection of articles
snatched up at a moment's warning by an excited
multitude, men, women, and children, headed by
Frank, who wielded triumphantly an old fowling-piece,
loaded with a double charge, that could do
no damage to any one save the daring individual
that might venture to discharge it.