His vigorous limbs relaxed by sleep; his bosom open for
the blow; his carbine slipped from his nerveless grasp, and lying by
his side; his stiletto half out of the pocket in which it was usually
carried. But two of his comrades were in sight, and those at a
considerable distance, on the edge of the mountain; their backs turned
to us, and their attention occupied in keeping a look-out upon the
plain. Through a strip of intervening forest, and at the foot of a
steep descent, I beheld the village of Rocca Priori. To have secured
the carbine of the sleeping brigand, to have seized upon his poniard
and have plunged it in his heart, would have been the work of an
instant. Should he die without noise, I might dart through the forest
and down to Rocca Priori before my flight might be discovered. In case
of alarm, I should still have a fair start of the robbers, and a chance
of getting beyond the reach of their shot.
Here then was an opportunity for both escape and vengeance; perilous,
indeed, but powerfully tempting. Had my situation been more critical I
could not have resisted it. I reflected, however, for a moment. The
attempt, if successful, would be followed by the sacrifice of my two
fellow prisoners, who were sleeping profoundly, and could not be
awakened in time to escape. The laborer who had gone after the ransom
might also fall a victim to the rage of the robbers, without the money
which he brought being saved. Besides, the conduct of the chief towards
me made me feel certain of speedy deliverance. These reflections
overcame the first powerful impulse, and I calmed the turbulent
agitation which it had awakened.
I again took out my materials for drawing, and amused myself with
sketching the magnificent prospect. It was now about noon, and every
thing seemed sunk into repose, like the bandit that lay sleeping before
me. The noon-tide stillness that reigned over these mountains, the vast
landscape below, gleaming with distant towns and dotted with various
habitations and signs of life, yet all so silent, had a powerful effect
upon my mind. The intermediate valleys, too, that lie among mountains
have a peculiar air of solitude. Few sounds are heard at mid-day to
break the quiet of the scene. Sometimes the whistle of a solitary
muleteer, lagging with his lazy animal along the road that winds
through the centre of the valley; sometimes the faint piping of a
shepherd's reed from the side of the mountain, or sometimes the bell of
an ass slowly pacing along, followed by a monk with bare feet and bare
shining head, and carrying provisions to the convent.
I had continued to sketch for some time among my sleeping companions,
when at length I saw the captain of the band approaching, followed by a
peasant leading a mule, on which was a well-filled sack.
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