Story 11--Chapter I.
STORY ELEVEN—Ninco Nanco, the Neapolitan Brigand.
Who has not heard of Ninco Nanco, the daring cut-purse, and sometimes cut-throat, of the Apennines, who, with his band of fifty chosen men, has long kept in awe the district of Basilicata in the once kingdom of Naples? Certainly, those who have travelled from the Adriatic to the Bay of Naples, across that mountainous region which in the map looks very like Italy’s ankle-bone, will retain a vivid recollection of the curiosity with which they examined every dry stick projecting from a bush or rock, lest it should prove the barrel of one of his followers’ rifles; and the respect which they felt for every shepherd they saw feeding his flocks on the mountain side, lest the said peaceable-avocation-following gentleman should suddenly jump down, joined by many more from among the rocks, who could salute them in the choicest Neapolitan with words, which may be freely translated, “Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” Yes; Ninco Nanco is not a hero of romance, but a veritable living, unkempt, unwashed, brown-cloaked, leather-gaitered, breeches-wearing, high-peaked-hatted Italian robber. Yet Ninco Nanco had not always been a cut-throat; for it may shrewdly be supposed that he was not born a brigand—that he did not begin life by shooting folks with a small bow and arrow when they crossed the precincts of his nursery.
Ninco Nanco was once a Neapolitan gentleman of the ancien régime, who got into trouble by running his stiletto, through a slight misapprehension, into the ribs of the wrong man, which wrong man having powerful friends, poor Ninco Nanco, bitterly complaining of his misfortune, and of the cruelty of fate in making two men so much alike, was condemned to the galleys for life. Had he killed the right man, no notice, he affirmed, would have been taken of his peccadillo. While thus suffering under the frowns of fortune, he formed the acquaintance of several personages, like-minded with himself, who spent their spare time in grumbling against their hard fate at being placed in durance vile, and in concocting plans for revenging themselves upon those who had been instrumental in depriving them of their liberty. There is a tide in the affairs of all men—that in the affairs of Ninco Nanco turned, so he thought, in his favour. An opportunity occurred of making his escape—he availed himself of it, as did a few choice spirits of his own kidney. They were compelled, to be sure, to knock three or four of their gaolers on the head; but to liberal-minded men, like themselves, that was a trifle. They expected soon to be provided with ample funds to buy absolution for that act, or for any other of a similar character they might be compelled to commit. Once free from the precincts of their prison, they were among friends, and by them assisted, hastened off inland, nor pulled rein till they had placed many a mountain range and dark ravine between themselves and those who ought to have pursued them, but did not. There Ninco Nanco raised his standard, and prepared to set the laws of “meum and tuum” at defiance. He and his associates soon made themselves at home in a hut, which they erected among some rocks, high up on the side of a lofty mountain, where no one was likely to come and look for them. They only mustered nine or ten men, however, and it was agreed that their band must be greatly increased before they could undertake any enterprise of consequence. Each of the party had friends on whom he could rely, so he said, to join them, but as they were rather out of the line of the penny postage, there was some difficulty in getting the letters conveyed to the persons with whom the band desired to communicate. Another difficulty existed in the fact that only Ninco Nanco and Giuseppe Greco, his lieutenant, could write. Their leader, for reasons best known to himself, declined putting his hand to paper; the task of inditing these epistles fell, therefore, on Giuseppe, while another of the band was commissioned to find messengers, by whom to despatch them to their several destinations.
Meantime, as gentlemen of the profession these worthies were about to adopt cannot live without food any more than those of a less enterprising character, they proposed making a little expedition along the high road, for the purpose of obtaining funds to supply their immediate necessities. The proposal, emanating from Ninco Nanco himself, was so much to the taste of all, that it was immediately put into execution. True, the band mustered but few men; but they were hungry. They posted themselves on either side of the before-mentioned high road, among some rocks and bushes, and waited quietly for what fortune might send them. The chief injunction Ninco Nanco laid on his followers was, not to fire across the road lest they should hit each other, and rather to aim at the men than the horses, as the horses might prove useful, while the men, objecting to be robbed, might possibly prove troublesome. Before long, a carriage was seen approaching. It had a small body with a hood, and was open in front, and had high wheels. In the centre sat a man, with a chest on either side of him, the butt ends of pistols projecting from the pockets of the carriage, and a rifle across his knees. Ninco Nanco’s eyes brightened. “The Padrone has something worth defending,” he muttered, raising his rifle. He fired, and the traveller fell dead. The rest of the band, not being good shots, missed. The postilion lashed on his horses; but the robbers (the brigands, their pardon is asked), jumping out, stopped them, pulled him from his saddle, and commenced a hurried examination of the contents of the chest, the keys of which they found in their victim’s pocket. The dead man had been steward of the Prince Montefalcone, and was returning to Naples after collecting the rents on his employer’s estates. At the sound of the firing, a horseman who was following the calèche turned to fly; but his steed fell, and he was thrown. He was immediately seized on, and bound back to back with the postillion, while his horse was likewise caught. The brigands were rapid in their proceedings. The carriage was smashed to pieces, and its materials, with the body of the murdered man, being packed on the three horses and the two prisoners, the robbers themselves carrying what could not be thus transported, the whole party struck off up the mountain, their leader stopping behind for a moment to assure himself that no traces of the encounter remained. Having picked up a couple of balls and some splinters, and stamped over some drops of blood, he sprang after his comrades. They had reached a dark and secluded glen, with rocks and trees overhanging, when the chief called a halt. After a little consultation, two graves were dug under the moss. In one the body of the steward was deposited.
“Now, friends,” said the chief, in his mild, bland way, addressing his prisoners, “we require recruits; are either of you inclined to join us?”
“Not I, indeed!” exclaimed the steward’s servant. “You’ve murdered my good master, and I hope to see you all hung—especially you, Signor Ninco Nanco; I remember you in the Bagnio of Castellamare—rogue that you are!”