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.
[Footnote 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.
