 | THE STORY
OF
THE YOUNG ROBBER. Tales of a traveller |  |
THE STORY
OF
THE YOUNG ROBBER.
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 humoured 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
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 from the sun-burnt
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 neighbouring 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 neighbouring 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
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.
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
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 any thing
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
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, that it was necesary
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
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 endeavoured to outstrip my companions
by the quickness of my movements; and
to get a little distance a head, in case any favourable
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
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, over-powered
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,
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
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, endeavoured to make her swallow a little.
To what a condition was she recovered!
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 neighbourhood 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
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 dishonoured 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.
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 come to a fatal moment, resuméd
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
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
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,
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
couching 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 favour. 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 messenger. He seemed
himself uneasy at the risk to which he exposed
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
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
do every thing 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 rivaled
the grim warriors of Greece. In place of the noble
repasts, however, of Achilles and Agamemnon,
I beheld displayed on the grass the remains
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
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, “eccolo—adio!”[1]
He delivered me the note, pressed my hand once
more, and we separated. The labourers were
permitted to follow me, and we resumed with
joy our road towards Tusculum.
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
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 her husband as
they retired for the night, “what insensible beings
these English are!”
In the morning all was bustle in 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-coloured 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,
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,
“come 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 the 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 humour, 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
have satisfaction—he'd drive right off to the
police.”
He was on the point of ordering the postillions
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 handfull of money
on the ground before the pale cringing waiter.
“There—be off,” cried he: “John, order the
postillions 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 weapon of the soldiery.
The Englishman lolled back in his carriage,
vexed with himself at what had passed, and consequently
out of humour 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 roused from his sulky reverie. He
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 Venetians
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
the carriage, and called upon John to follow him.
In the mean time 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
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 had 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
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 foot-path, 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
merely a slight wound, and defended 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
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
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!” said the Englishman, looking somewhat
foolish, “this is all nonsense.”
| THE STORY
OF
THE YOUNG ROBBER. Tales of a traveller | |