Chapter Forty Eight.
Four to One.
Half frenzied by the sight of Lucetta borne off in the brigand’s arms, Henry Harding would have rushed instantly after, but the way was barred by two of the band while the other two assailed him from behind. He had enough on hand to defend himself from their quadrilateral attack; and only by the activity of an ape, borrowed from an excellence in athletic sports, often displayed at Eton and Oxford, was he enabled to show front to all four. Fortunately, they had all emptied their pistols upon him, without doing him any serious injury. By good luck, too, these were not revolvers, their chief alone being thus provided. They now assailed him with their less dangerous daggers; and, but for their number, he might have fought them with success. He struggled to reduce it, but the bandits were as active as he, and his sword thrusts and lunges were spent upon the air. Full five minutes did the desperate strife continue. He was fast losing breath, and must in the end have succumbed. So was he thinking, when his eye fell on the hermit’s cave, towards which the strife had been tending. By an effort he broke through the circle of his assailants, and placed himself in its entrance. A simultaneous cry of disappointment escaped from the brigands as they saw the advantage he had thus gained. With his sword he might now defend himself against a score of stilettos.
As if by instinct, one and all resheathed their daggers, and commenced loading their pistols. It was a fearful crisis; and the young Englishman felt that his time was soon to come. The four men were in front of him, guarding the only pass by which he might retreat. It was a narrow gorge leading up to the entrance of the cave. He could not possibly penetrate through the line without encountering their stilettos, ready to be regrasped. Their pistols once charged, and his doom would be sealed; for the cave was a mere alcove in the rock, where he was placed like a statue in its niche. He had given himself up for lost, but he would not be tamely slaughtered.
He was about to spring upon his assailants, and run the gauntlet of their daggers, when shots and shouts came ringing from below, accompanied by a shower of bullets that struck the rocks around him. Startled by this unexpected volley, the four robbers turned quickly round; and, without waiting to complete the loading of their pistols, ran like scared hinds away from the cave.
The young Englishman saw that he was no longer in danger from their bullets, but from those of the soldiers now seen coming up the slope. Regardless of this, he rushed out, and started after the retreating brigands. They had already entered the ravine at the back of the mountain; and far away, scaling the steep on the opposite side, he could see Corvino, with a white shape lying over his left arm. He knew Lucetta Torreani. She was motionless, no longer making any struggle, the skirt of her dress trailing on the loose stones that strewed the mountain path. No cry came back—was she fainting, or dead?
The soldiers came up, with Guardiola at their head. They halted at the top of the pass, reloading and firing at the few retreating brigands, now far beyond the carry of their antiquated carbines. Already Corvino was out of sight, carrying his captive along with him; and the others soon after disappeared among the rocks.
Surely the soldiers would follow them? Who thought of asking this question? It was Henry Harding, who wondered at the long halt they were making by the head of the ravine. In a loud voice he repeated it. Still there was no reply, and the pause continued. For the third time he made the appeal in frenzied tones, addressing himself to Captain Guardiola.
“You are mad, Signor Inglese,” replied the officer, with a coolness that came only from his cowardice. “I can understand your folly. As a foreigner you cannot know the ways of these Neapolitan bandits. All you have seen may be an artifice to draw us into a trap. As likely as not, over yonder,” he pointed to the pass through which the brigands had disappeared, “there are two hundred of the rascals lying ready to receive us. I am not such a fool as to have my followers sacrificed in such an unequal encounter. We must wait for reinforcements from the city.”
By this time the sindico had come up; too late to see his daughter as she was carried in Corvino’s arms over the crest of the opposite hill—perhaps fortunate in being spared the spectacle. With agonised heart he urged on the pursuit, joining his appeal to that already made by the young Englishman. Appeals and reproaches were uttered in vain. The cowardly commissary of the Pope—false lover that he had proved himself—thought more of his own safety than that of the maiden to whom he had dared to address his perjured speeches. With grief and disappointment the father was beside himself; whilst those of his acquaintances who had come up along with him were endeavouring to comfort him. The young Englishman added his word of encouragement, with an appeal to the townsmen that sounded strange in their ears.
“There are enough of you,” he cried, “to pursue them to their lair! Have you not spirit to go after these brigands, and rescue the daughter of your sindico?”
The proposal, thus plainly made, was new to them. It caught like an electric spark, and was hailed with a chorus of evvivas. For the first time in their lives were these citizens inspired with an idea of making resistance to banditti.
“Let the town be consulted,” was their rejoinder; “let us first speak to our fellow-citizens.”
And, with this intent, they turned down the hill, headed by the sindico; while Captain Guardiola and his troops continued gazing across the ravine at the rocks and trees that concealed the retiring foe—feared even in his retreat!