Meanwhile a portion of the sail had been left loose, as has been said, and afforded something for the breeze to act upon. The consequence was, that the boat moved along slowly before the wind, and gradually approached the island which David had already noticed. For some time he remained with his eyes fixed upon the land astern, and Vesuvius. When he withdrew them and looked around, the island was much nearer. He began to see that he was approaching that island, and that before long he would reach it. This prospect excited in his mind the utmost hope, and all his attention was now directed towards that place. The time passed slowly, but it did pass; and at length, about three hours after he had first tried to turn the boat, he found himself so close to the island that he could step ashore.

It was now about ten o'clock. The place where David landed was a pebbled beach, bordered by rocks, above which grew trees. As he approached the island he saw houses and people. The houses were plain and small, and the people seemed laboring in the fields. David's habit of considering all Italian peasants as brigands now excited in his mind a fear which brought fresh anxieties. On this lonely island the whole population might be brigands, who would treat him as lawful prey, and from whom he could hope to fare no better than those early shipwrecked mariners in these seas about whom he had read and studied so much. He congratulated himself that his boat had borne him to a sequestered spot like this, where he might be secure from observation, and have time to look forth and see what manner of men these island brigands might be.

And so, full of anxiety, David drew his boat cautiously upon the beach as far as he could, and secured it; after which he stole up to the shelter of the trees and rocks, so as to reconnoitre. The trees grew along the edge of the rocks, which rose above the beach, to a height of about twenty feet, and formed a grove, which was sufficiently dense for David to feel secure from observation. The grove ran along the edge of the bank for some distance, bat was of no great depth; and David, as he peered through the trees, could see an opening beyond, and the glimpse of white buildings. Here, then, David found himself close to the dreaded neighborhood of the brigands of the island, and it was with a feeling of great trepidation that he recognized the frailty of his present shelter, the insufficiency of his place of concealment, and the necessity that there was of leaving it before long.

To quit it and communicate with the inhabitants of the place, he plainly saw, could not long be avoided. He had as yet eaten nothing, and already he began to feel the cravings of hunger. He would also have to take measures to effect his return to his friends. His hunger and his desire to get back to his friends alike made him desperate; and so, after a few minutes of concealment and fearful inspection of the scene, he began to move forward cautiously, so as to make a more thorough survey of the open ground on the other side of the grove.

Stealing forward as noiselessly and as warily as possible, and keeping himself carefully under the shelter of the heavier foliage and denser underbrush, David worked his way on, and at length found himself on the other side of the grove, where he could peer forth through the leaves of a laurel bush upon the scene.

He saw here a green meadow, which ran up a moderate declivity till it reached a house. The house was a small cottage, of simple and neat appearance, and it stood not more than a hundred yards from the edge of the grove. Cattle were feeding in the meadow. To the right was a vineyard, and on the left an olive grove. On one side of the olive grove there ran a row of cactuses, up from the bank towards the house.

All this David took, in at a glance; but he also saw something which made his heart, beat quick with excitement and anxiety.

He saw a man!

The man was standing in front of the house. He was a big, burly, broad-shouldered, bearded ruffian, with a red shirt, and a slouching felt hat. A short pipe was in his mouth, stuck into the mass of hair which covered the lower part of his face. His hair was long, and dark, and glossy, and curling; falling in rich clusters below his broad felt hat. He had gaiters and stout shoes, and was engaged upon a rifle, which he seemed to be cleaning.

At the sight of this great, big, bearded, Burly, broad-shouldered ruffian, David's' heart gave a great leap, and suddenly seemed to stop beating. He sat as though petrified, crouching low, as though to avoid observation.

This, then, he thought, was what he had feared, and while trying to avoid the brigands, he had stumbled upon the chief of them all. In that formidable figure he recognized the true brigand style, and in that bearded face, with its bushy eyebrows and slouching hat, he saw what seemed to him, from that distance, like the ferocity of the implacable Fra Diavolo himself.

So overwhelmed was he, that for some time he could not move. At last he felt a wild impulse to fly. He started back, determining to seek his boat once more. So hurried was he that he was less cautious than before, and catching his foot in a long tendril of some creeper, he fell. In falling, he struck his hand against some cactus or other thorny plant, and the spine pierced his flesh, causing severe pain. In spite of himself a cry burst from him. The cry was instantly repressed, and David, raising himself, prepared to continue his retreat. But first he looked fearfully around to see whether his cry had discovered him.

As he did so his heart sunk within him.

The brigand chief had heard him!

He was walking straight towards him!



CHAPTER XIII.

David Captured.—The big, bluff, burly, brusque, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed Bully of a Brigand.—A terrific Inquisition.—David's Plea for Mercy.—The hard-hearted Captor and the trembling Captive.—A direful Threat.—David carried off helpless and despairing.—The Robber's Hold.

So this great, big, bluff, burly, brusque, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed brigand came straight towards the place where poor David was; walking with great strides; and David, seeing all hope lost, stood still, and awaited the arrival of his formidable enemy. The consciousness of his utter helplessness filled him with despair, and his ignorance of Italian put it out of his power to disarm the fury or deprecate the wrath of his fierce pursuer. In the few moments that intervened between the first discovery that he was seen and the arrival of his enemy, his brain was filled with confusion, and his bewildered thoughts turned helplessly to his friends whom he had left behind. He thought of their grief. He thought, too, of his home. He thought, of his mother. That home, those friends, that loving, mother, he now might never see again. Farewell, all dear ones! Farewell, bright past! Farewell, sweet life, and glad light of day! Such were the thoughts, gloomy and despairing, that filled his mind, and tormented his heart; and at the moment that his pursuer entered the grove and stood before him, David looked up with pale face and frightened eyes, and something like a sob escaped him.

The big, burly brigand stood before him, and eyed him from head to foot. He was very tall, and, indeed, to David he seemed gigantic, while his right hand held the rifle like a walking-stick. He looked at David in silence, and scanned him curiously all over; and David's eyes, which had at first sought those of his captor in timid entreaty, now sank before his stern gaze.

"Cosa volete?" said the brigand. "Donde venite?" in a deep voice.

"Non capisco," faltered David, bringing forth the only Italian that he knew.

At this the brigand was silent, and again surveyed him.

"Parlate Italiano?" he asked, at length.

"No," said David, in a tremulous voice; for he understood the meaning of those words well enough.

"Hm—" said the brigand, and then, "Parlez vous Francais?"

"No," said David.

"Habla usted Espanol?" asked the brigand once more, apparently quite curious to find out the nationality of his prisoner, so as to form some basis of communication with him.

David shook his head.

The brigand paused, and frowned, and stared fixedly at David, as though trying to gather from his looks and dress what his country might be. David's dress showed him to be a respectable youth, while his face might belong to any nationality; for his complexion was dark, and somewhat sallow, his eyes dark, his hair black and straight, and his frame slender.

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?" asked the brigand, once, more returning to the examination.

David shook his head.

At this the brigand frowned, and once more relapsed into silence for some time. At length he made a further effort.

"Russo?" he asked, in an interrogative tone, elevating his eyebrows.

David shook his head.

"Turco?" asked the brigand again, in the same tone and manner.

Again David shook his head, wondering why the brigand should for one moment imagine it possible that he could be a Russian or a Turk.

"Greco?" asked the brigand, in a tone of voice which seemed as though he was about to give it up as a hopeless conundrum.

When David shook his head at this, the brigand turned away in disgust, and stood for a few moments meditating. David felt his fate to be hanging in the balance, and stood in deep suspense, watching with anxious eyes the face of his captor. But the heavy beard and mustache, and the slouched felt hat, concealed all expression; nor could David see anything there which could at all lessen his anxiety. He thought, however, that if he could only communicate in some way his mournful story, and let his captor see that he had come here unintentionally, and only wanted to get back to his friends, he might excite his compassion, if indeed there was any compassion in the stern soul of this awful being. It was David's only chance, however; and so, putting his hand timidly on the brigand's arm, he pointed towards the shore, and waved his arm towards Naples.

At this the brigand stared; but seeing that David persistently pointed in that direction, he walked off through the grove for a few paces, till he reached the top of the bank, where the beach appeared before him, and the boat drawn up on it. David followed him, and as they came in sight of the boat he pointed towards it, and then touched his breast, meaning by that to show that the boat was his. This the brigand at once understood, and after once more staring hard at David, as though anxious to ascertain whether he was speaking the truth or not, he bounded down the bank, and strode towards the boat, which he examined narrowly, inside and out. Daring this time he paid no attention to David; but to the poor lost lad this indifference gave no hope. He knew that there was no escape for him. He felt that on this island the brigand was supreme, and any effort to fly would only be worse than useless. So, instead of trying to fly, he followed the brigand, and came up to where he was standing beside the boat.

The brigand examined it very narrowly outside and inside. He inspected the bow, the stern, and the rudder. He knelt down and looked underneath. He stepped inside and examined David's clumsy fastenings of the sail. These excited much interest, apparently, and caused prolonged study on his part. To David all this appeared perfectly intelligible, and very natural. The brigand was evidently examining his plunder, to see what it was worth. David felt an additional pang of grief at the thought that he had sequestrated the property of some innocent Castellamare fisherman, and diverted it into the possession of brigands; but he consoled himself by the thought that if he ever escaped he could hunt up the owner and make good the loss. Escape for himself was the first thing, and he tried to hope that the boat might prove a prize sufficiently valuable to mollify the mind of the brigand, and dispose him to mercy and compassion. So, as the brigand inspected the boat, David stood watching the brigand, and looking earnestly to see whether there were any signs of a relenting disposition. But the face of the brigand preserved an unchanged expression; and after he had examined the boat to his satisfaction, he once more confronted David, and the poor, forlorn, despairing lad saw that his aspect was as malign, as ferocious, and as truculent as ever.

David determined to make a further effort. There was nothing else to be done. He felt that he must pacify this ferocious being, disarm his hostility, appease his cruelty, and, if possible, excite his compassion. To do all this, it would be necessary to express himself by signs—for he could not speak the language; and though signs seemed very inadequate, yet he had to resort to them. He had heard, however, of the skill of the Italians in expressing ideas by means of gestures, and he hoped that this man might gain some meaning from his unskilled efforts.

So, first of all, he tried to tell the brigand that he was from. America. He laid one hand on his heart, and waved the other towards what he supposed to be the west.

The brigand nodded solemnly, and seemed to comprehend what he wished to state. It gratified David to see this, and to notice also that the brigand was very attentive, and fixed his dark, stern eyes upon him with closest scrutiny.

The next thing that David tried to tell him was, that he had friends with him.

This he did by patting his breast, waving his arms around him, smiling, and touching four of his fingers.

The brigand nodded. He had apparently got idea.

David was very much encouraged.

The next thing to be told was, that he and his friends had gone on an excursion into the country.

This he did by prancing along the sand, and snapping an imaginary whip; after which he pointed to the opposite shore, waving his hand along the country.

The brigand nodded again, and appeared deeply interested.

The next thing to be told was, that he had put off in this boat.

He waved his hand towards Vesuvius. Then he lay down on the sand, and pretended to be asleep. He then rose, yawned, and rubbed his eyes. Then he went to the boat, pretended to push off and hoist sail.

The brigand now nodded very vigorously, and it began to be evident to David that his story was making some impression.

He now wished to explain that the boat had got beyond his control, on account of his ignorance of navigation, and that he had drifted or been blown upon this shore.

To do this, he pointed to the boat, then to himself; after which he sighed and looked down in a melancholy way. Then he got into the boat and shook the sail. Then he jumped out and rocked it as violently as he could. Then he sank back on one knee with folded arms and upturned face, intending by that to indicate despair. Then he waved his hands all about, and pointed to the boat and to the sea; and then, pointing alternately to the boat and to the sea, he waved his hands, trying to indicate the track over which he had passed while approaching the island. After this he paused, and turned a supplicatory look at his captor.

Thereupon the brigand nodded vehemently, as before.

And now one thing yet remained for David to explain, and that was, his own position. He wished to tell the brigand that he knew he was in his power, and that he would pay any ransom, if he would only restore him to his friends.

To explain this, David took the big hand of the brigand, and put it upon his head, stooping down low as he did so. Then he waved his arms all around, and mournfully shook his head. Which meant, that he was in the brigand's power, and would not and could not escape. Then he drew forth his purse, tapped it several times, held it out to the brigand, waved his hands towards Naples, slapped his breast, and pointed to the brigand and to himself. Which meant, that he would pay any money, that he had friends in Naples who would treat with the brigand for his release on his own terms. Having explained this much, David stopped, for he felt that there was nothing more for him to do, and watched the effect of his story, and his concluding offer.

The brigand seemed gratified. He nodded several times gravely and thoughtfully. Then he looked at the boat, and then at David, and then at the sea. To David it seemed as if the brigand was trying to trace the boat's devious track over the water, so as to see whether his story was true or not. He did not offer any further explanations, but allowed the brigand to think it out for himself. That worthy accordingly devoted his mind to the consideration of the situation for some time, until at length he seemed to have mastered it, and also to have come to a decision about his own course of conduct.

He reached out his brawny hand, and laid it on David's head. After which he pointed to himself, and nodded.

By this David saw, unmistakably, that the brigand was claiming him as his own captive. Although the fact was already painfully evident, yet this formal statement of it produced a very depressing effect upon David's mind, and made him feel that he had been indulging in hopes too soon. Then the brigand waved his hand towards the fields, and the cottage beyond the grove. After this, he waved his hand in a general direction, and then swept it over the surrounding scene. He pointed to the island and nodded, pointed to Naples and shook his head.

By which David understood him to say, "You are my prisoner. I live in that house. You shall be kept there. You can't escape."

Then the brigand raised his gun, and nodded at David. Then he slapped the stock of it several times, fixing his keen, glowing eyes gloomily upon the lad as he did so. Then he waved his hand towards the sky.

By which David understood the following:—

"You're my prisoner! You cannot escape! If you dare try it, I will shoot you! You can no more escape than you can fly in the air!"

Then the brigand pointed to the boat, and touched his breast.

By which David understood,—

"This boat is mine, and I will keep it as my lawful prize."

Then he waved his hand to the house, and then pointed to Naples. After which he brought forth a purse from his pocket, tapped it significantly, pointed to David, and then to Naples.

By which David understood,—

"I will keep you as a prisoner up there in my house till I communicate with your friends about your ransom, and find out how much I can get for you."

After this the brigand pulled the boat farther up on the beach, and then, beckoning to David to follow, he strode off towards the house.

Slowly and sadly poor David followed; and hope, which had for a moment revived, began to die out within him. He had been deceived by the demeanor of the brigand, during his own description of his woes and wandering, and had mistaken for compassion what was only ordinary attention. The manner of the brigand, when he had began to gesticulate, changed hope to fear, and fear to despair. The merciless allusion to David's captive state; the rude appropriation of him as a prisoner by the grasp of his head; the ferocious threat with the gun; and, finally, the display of the purse, and the coarse reference to money and ransom, all convinced David that he had to do with one who was a stranger to compassion—a ferocious and ruthless nature, without pity, and without remorse. And now, as his captor led the way to the house, he felt that he was being conveyed to a prison, from which his escape was, indeed, uncertain; for, though he knew that Uncle Moses would pay any ransom, yet he could not know whether the brigand would ever be able to communicate with him or not. On the whole, it was the darkest hour of his life; and the stride of the ruffian in front of him seemed like the march of inevitable Fate!

They climbed up the bank, and then went through the grove. Emerging into the field, they walked on towards the house. As they drew nearer, David saw signs that were not altogether in keeping with the tough exterior of his enemy, for in front of the cottage there were flowers in bloom, which appeared to be cultivated by some careful hand; but a moment's thought showed David that this might be the work of the robber's wife. The prospect of meeting with a woman afforded hope; for whatever the husband might be, the wife might be gentle, and pitiful, and womanly; and David drew hope from the flowers; for the one that would have tastes like these might not be altogether hard and implacable; and as the giants and ogres of the fairy books had wives who generally were willing to help the victims of their husbands, so here, in the wife of this Italian ogre, David hoped to find one who might be as merciful as those of fairy lore.

At length they reached the house, and the brigand, after waiting for a moment for his prisoner to come up, entered the door. David followed, and found himself inside.

The door opened immediately into a room. It was large and low. The floor was paved with red tiles, and the walls were of wood, varnished. Around the walls hung numerous pictures without frames. In different places there were confused heaps of clothing and drapery. The clothing was rich, though fantastic. In one corner was a frame with armor suspended; while over this, on the wall, he saw arms of different kinds—pistols, carbines, daggers, and blunderbusses. The fashion of all these was somewhat antique, and there was a richness in their ornaments which even David noticed, in spite of his trouble and anxiety. The furniture about the room was old-fashioned, formed of massive mahogany, carved most elaborately, and was of so many different styles that the pieces seemed thrown together at random. A Glastonbury chair stood beside an Elizabethan sofa; a modern Davenport, a Louis Quatorze side-board, and a classic tripod, stood in a row. Some Chinese tables were in one corner. In the centre of the room was a table of massive construction, with richly carved legs, that seemed as old as the middle ages; while beside it was an American rocking-chair, in which lay a guitar. The whole scene struck David as being perfectly in keeping with his captor; for this interior looked like some pictures which he had seen of robber holds, where the accumulated plunder of years is heaped indiscriminately together, and reminded him vividly of the descriptions which he had read of the abodes of pirates or brigands, in the novels of Cooper, in Francisco, the Pirate of the Pacific, Lafitte, the Pirate of the Gulf, and Rinaldo Rinaldini.



CHAPTER XIV.

On the Way to Sorrento again.—A mournful Ride.—A despairing Search.—A fearful Discovery.—The old Virago again.—In a Trap.—Sorrento aroused.—Besieged.—All lost.—A raging Crowd.—The howling Hag.—Hurried Consultation.—The last forlorn Hope.—Disguise, Flight, and Concealment.

So, as I have said, the carriage rolled out from Castellamare, along the road to Sorrento, freighted with its anxious load. All were silent. Uncle Moses was weighed down by an anxiety that was too deep for words, and sat bent forward with his head buried in his hands. The boys respected his feelings too much to say anything, and consequently they, too, sat in silence. They were far from feeling anything like despair, however, on David's account. Before they started, Bob had assured them that "Dave" was "all right," and would turn up before long somewhere—an assurance which Frank and Clive accepted as a perfectly sound and reliable statement; and so, if they were silent, it was not so much the silence of care or sadness, as of sympathy with Uncle Moses.

As they went along they met people from time to time, some wayfarers, some in carriages, some in wagons, and some on horseback. In accordance with the earnest request of Uncle Moses, the driver questioned all these without exception, and asked the same question of all.

"Have you seen anything of a boy about fifteen years old—pale, with dark hair, sallow face, and gray dress?"

And to this question there was one uniform answer from every one,

"No."

And at each fresh answer Uncle Moses would feel more and more disheartened, and sink into a new abyss of despondency and anxiety.

Far different was this journey to Sorrento from that former one which they had made a few days before. Then they were all together, and every one was filled with joy and enthusiasm. Then no one in that little party was penetrated with a more profound and heartfelt joy than David, who, in addition to a boy's delight at novelty, brought forth all that classical glow and fervor which were peculiarly his own. And now, where was he? The nearer they drew to Sorrento, the more urgent and pressing did this question become; and as each one asked it of himself, there was no answer. Gradually the spectacle of the woe of Uncle Moses began to affect the boys, and in spite of Bob's confidence they began to feel an unpleasant fear stealing over them.

A little way out of Sorrento the driver halted and spoke to Uncle Moses.

He felt a little troubled, he said, about taking the carriage into the town. He reminded them of the recent uproar of the people, and their narrow escape, and warned them that if they were recognized they might again be assailed.

But this warning fell on heedless ears. Uncle Moses was decided to go on. If David was anywhere, he might be in that very town, a prisoner in the hands of those foolish people who took offence at nothing. If they wished to save him, they must go into the very midst of the people, and gave him from their vengeance.

At this the driver drove on.

About a half a mile outside the town they overtook an old woman, and the driver stopped, and put to her the usual question. As the woman looked up they all recognized her at once.

She was their old friend, or rather enemy—the virago herself, and no other!

At the driver's question she stared at them, and at once recognized them all. A dark and gloomy expression came over her, and if glances could have injured them they would have been blasted on the spot.

She stood there, and after the driver had asked the question she glared at them for some time in silence, looking from one to the other. Then she stretched forth a long, bony, skinny hand, and shook it at them. Then she burst forth in a long, shrill, venomous strain of denunciation, of which the boys could not understand one word; but the meaning of which they could easily conjecture.

"What does she say?" asked Uncle Moses of the driver.

"O, nothing," said the driver. "She only does curse; and she say she will haf vengeance." And once more the driver urged Uncle Moses go back.

But this appearance of the virago and her threats only roused Uncle Moses to fresh determination. He was now confident that David had been seized by the Sorrentonians, and that this woman was, perhaps, the instigator and leader in the act. He urged the driver to talk to her; but the driver assured him that it was useless, that she was crazy, and that if they wanted to gain information they must make inquiries elsewhere.

They now resumed their progress, and before long entered the town, and reached the hotel. Uncle Moses at once sought the landlord. At the appearance of the carriage and passengers the landlord looked a little uneasy, and at the inquiry of Uncle Moses he looked still more troubled. But as to David he knew nothing whatever.

"Had he heard of a boy being arrested anywhere?"

"No—nothing at all."

"Had he heard of any one being arrested?"

"No."

"Had he heard any people making any threats against them?"

"O, certainly!"—for the whole of the next day there was nothing but threats against the sacrilegious foreigners; but the feeling had subsided since. Still their appearance in Sorrento would undoubtedly rouse the people again, and the landlord urged them for their own sakes to hurry away as fast as possible back to Castellamare.

But Uncle Moses refused to think of this. He was here, and here he would remain until he had found David. He wanted the landlord to help him in this task. Let him go out and mollify the people in any way, and see if he could find anything about the lost boy. He promised to pay any sum to the landlord, or anybody else, if they would only effect his rescue.

This promise acted powerfully upon the landlord's cupidity, and he thought that at any rate it would be well to try. So he told Uncle Moses to wait, and he would see what could be done. He thereupon left them, and Uncle Moses and the boys walked up stairs to that same room in which they had dined before, when the uproar of the people reached their ears. Here they sat down and waited in silence.

They did not have to wait very long. It was not more than a quarter of an hour, or twenty minutes, when hurried footsteps were heard, and the landlord rushed in, followed by the driver. Both were agitated and disturbed. At the same instant an outcry arose from without, and a tumult of eager and excited voices burst upon their ears. The landlord clasped his hands, and stood listening. The driver rushed to Uncle Moses, and cried,—

"Dey haf come!—de people! You are lost!"

At this Uncle Moses and the boys started to their feet aghast, and Frank rushed to the window, and standing so as to be as little observed as possible, he looked out.

In the street in front he saw an excited crowd, which was not so large as it had been on that former memorable occasion, but which promised to be so before another quarter of an hour, for people were running up every minute, and adding to the uproar. The cries grew louder and louder, and though Frank could not understand the words, he perceived plainly enough that they were fierce cries of anger and vengeance. And there, conspicuous among this crowd, was that identical old woman—that villanous old virago, who had caused all the former trouble, and seemed now bent upon the full accomplishment of her furious purpose. Dancing, howling, shrieking, she stood close by the door of the hotel, which was now shut and barred, and shook her fists at the building, and yelled out curses at those within, and called upon her fellow citizens to break into the hotel, and seize the sacrilegious and barbarous foreigners. Frank was a bold boy, but this sight was too much for him. His heart sank within him, and he involuntarily shrank back farther out of sight.

Soon the people outside began to throw at the party within something harder than words. Stones came flying through the open windows, and one of these missiles came very close to the head of Uncle Moses. The landlord rushed forward, and closed all the shutters, and barred them, while the boys gathered around Uncle Moses as though to protect him from those savage assailants without.

"What shall we do?" asked Frank of the driver.

The driver shrugged his shoulders.

"Can't we drive through them as we did before?"

"Dey have put a guard at de gate. Dey prepare dis time—an not let us go."

"Isn't there any back way?" asked Frank, once more, of the landlord, who now rejoined them, after having barred all the windows.

"Dere is; but de people are on de guard."

"Are there no soldiers about—no police? Can't some one go and get help?"

The landlord shook his head despondingly.

"But there must be some way of getting rid of the mob," said Frank, impatiently. "Can't you explain that it was all a mistake?"

The landlord sighed.

"I haf try," he said, in a doleful voice. "And dey say I mus put you out of de house. Dat I can not do—so I sall haf to soffaire. Listen!" And at that moment the crash of glass below interrupted him, and formed a striking commentary on his remarks. "Dey vill break de vindow," said he, "an dey vill try to break de door; but I haf barricade as well as I can."

"Are we at all safe?" asked Frank.

The landlord shook his head.

"Not mooch. If dey get enrage enough, dey break in, and den"—a significant shrug ended the sentence.

"Have you any arms—fire-arms?" asked Frank, after a thoughtful pause.

"I haf a small shot gun."

"Give me that," interrupted Frank.

"But I haf no powdaire," said the landlord.

At this Frank turned away in despair.

"Can't we get to some other room than this?" he asked of the driver. "Isn't there a place where we can have some chance of defending ourselves?"

The driver had been silent for some time, and buried in thought. He did not hear Frank's words, but as he spoke, he looked earnestly at him, and said,—

"I haf a plan. It may be no good—but it is de only one."

"Ah," asked Frank, eagerly, "what is that?"

"You must all disguise."

"Disguise?"

"Yes—female dress. I sall try to get some."

"But they would recognize us all the same."

"No—de plan is dis. You all disguise—stay below—I sall sit in de carriage; de horses are all ready now. Ef de people do break in, dey will all rush up stair to here. You sall be down stair in de stable. De moment de crowd come, I will haf de gates opened. You sall spring in—an den I whip up, an make a fly for life. You ond'stan?"

The driver spoke hurriedly. Frank understood him, and at once approved. At this the driver went off to get the landlord to procure female dresses. That worthy hurried away, and soon returned with about twenty gowns, bonnets, and petticoats. These he threw upon the floor, and implored them to make haste, for the people outside were talking of getting a beam to batter in the door. He had implored them not to, but they scorned his prayers.

Upon this the boys began to put on the dresses, disguising themselves as well as they could. It was very clumsy work, and they were very uncertain about the proper way of fastening them; but the driver and the landlord assisted them. The dresses were those of Italian peasant women, and required no very elaborate adjustment. Some coarse bonnets, of an antique type, were stuck on their heads, and served to conceal their short hair and faces.

With Uncle Moses they had very much trouble. At first he refused positively, and only consented when he was assured that the safety of the boys depended upon his disguise. So he yielded reluctantly, and allowed the driver to officiate as lady's maid.

No sooner was this task concluded, than the landlord and driver hurried them down stairs, and through a passage-way into the barn. Outside, in the court-yard, was the carriage, with the horses ready. The hostler was sent to the gate to fling it open at the driver's signal, and the landlord, stimulated by a promise from Uncle Moses of a large reward hi case of his rescue, returned to the hotel, to operate upon the crowd from that quarter.



CHAPTER XV.

In the Robber's Hold.—The Brigand's Bride.—Sudden, amazing, overwhelming, bewildering, tremendous, astounding, overpowering, and crushing Discovery.—The Situation.—Everybody confounded.—The Crowd at Sorrento.—The Landlord's Prayers.—The Virago calls for Vengeance.

The brigand put his gun down upon the sofa, and motioned to David to take a seat. He then left the room, and David heard his voice calling,—

"Laura! Laura!"

A light footstep sounded in the next room, and the brigand returned, followed by a woman.

This woman's appearance astonished David. She was a lady. She was young, beautiful, bright as a vision, dressed simply, but in the modern fashion altogether. She had a very sweet face, and a bewitching smile, and as she entered she looked at David in some surprise.

Then this great, big, bluff, bearded, broad-shouldered, beetle-browed, brusque bully of a brigand; this fierce, ferocious, bloodthirsty, relentless, ruthless ruffian; this hard-hearted, implacable, inexorable villain; this cruel, vengeful, vindictive, griping, grasping, scowling fiend; this demoniac miscreant, without pity, and without remorse, opened his month.

And this is what he said, in first-rate ENGLISH!—"See here, Laura; I've picked up a poor wretch of a Bohemian—can't speak a word of any language, and had to explain by signs. Well, you know I'm great on gestures; so I worked his story out of him. It seems he came to Naples with his father, mother, and two sisters, and they all went on horseback up Vesuvius. Well, somehow they were captured by brigands, and were carried off; but the father, who, I believe, is a medical man, managed to drug the food of the scoundrels, and carried off his family. Well, they got to the shore, found a boat, and set out for Naples. After sailing a little distance, a squall struck the boat, and it upset. All were drowned except this poor lad, who managed to cling to the boat, and drifted, or was blown, ashore here on the cove, just down there, last night. He was senseless all night, and only came to himself a little while ago, and I picked him up just as he was reviving. He says he is alone in the world, and has appealed to me to help him. Poor lad! my heart fairly aches for him. He says he hasn't got a penny of money, and implores me to help him. Of course I've tried to comfort him; for I've told him that he may make my house his home, and I've promised to give him whatever money he wants, and move heaven and earth to get him back to his friends, if he has any."

During this astounding speech the lady had stolen over to David, and sitting by his side, she placed a soft hand tenderly on his head. As the story was being told, her eyes filled with tears, and leaning forward, she kissed the poor boy's pale brow. When it ended she murmured in English, that was even better than that of the "brigand,"—"Poor boy! poor boy! O, Walter, dearest, how I do wish I could speak Bohemian, so as to tell him how sorry I feel!"

And what of David?

What did David think—feel—say?

Nothing. Not a word!

David was paralyzed. He was stunned. He gasped for breath.

And so this was his brigand—the brutal, the beetle-browed, the cruel, the bloody-minded, the inexorable, the demoniac, and all the rest of it! He gasped for breath, as I think I have already remarked; and as the ex-brigand went on with his narrative, David listened in a dazed way, and began to understand that the language of gestures has its little uncertainties. But when the lady kissed him, and when her sweet voice spoke those tender words of pity, he could stand it no longer. His voice came to him. He burst forth,—

"O, how I thank you! O, how good you are! O, what a fool I am!"

And he could say no more.

Not a word more, on my honor.

It was now the turn of the others to be surprised.

The lady started back in wonder, and looked at David, and then at her husband. The ex-brigand started back also, and stared at David in utter bewilderment.

"What!" he roared, in a deep, thunderous bass voice. "Say that again."

"O, I'm an American—and I'm such a fool!" said David. "Why didn't I tell you so?"

"An American!" roared the ex-brigand. "An American!"

Upon this he burst into a perfect thunder-peal of laughter. The laughter came forth, peal after peal, in long and deafening explosions, till the house vibrated with the sound, and till at last the ex-brigand sank exhausted into the Glastonbury chair.

"An American!" he cried; "and think of me—ha, ha, ha!—asking you if you spoke every language in the world—ha, ha, ha!—but the right one—ha, ha, ha!—and speaking every language—ha, ha, ha!—but my own—ha, ha, ha! And to think of us two Americans—ha, ha, ha!—after trying Italian—ha, ha, ha I—and French, and Spanish, and German—ha, ha, ha!—rushing into gestures!—ha, ha, ha!—gestures!—only think, Laura—ha, ha, ha! He and I—ha, ha, ha!—spending an hour in making signs to each other—ha, ha, ha!—but 'pon my life it's too bad in me to be howling out in this fashion, my poor lad, when you're in the midst of such deep affliction. I swear I'm sorry. I forget myself."

"But I'm not in any affliction at all," said David.

"What! What's that?" cried the ex-brigand. "Didn't you lose your father?"

"No."

"But your father, and mother, and the rest of them—"

"No," said David. "You didn't quite understand what I wanted to say." And he then proceeded to tell his story in plain English. He was listened to with deep attention; but as his story turned out to be so different from the first report of the ex-brigand, the lady stole an arch look at her husband, and her eyes fairly danced with fun and merriment. But the ex-brigand bore it admirably; and as David ended, and showed himself to be in no such deep affliction as had been supposed, he once more burst forth in a fresh peal of riotous laughter.

Upon this David ventured to hint at his own late fears, and on being questioned by the lady he confessed frankly what had been the interpretation that he put upon the signs of the ex-brigand.

"Well," said that worthy, "I'm not a brigand at all. I'm an artist."

"I'm sure I don't wonder, Walter," said the lady. "You dress yourself up in such an absurd fashion—and I've always told you that this room looks like a bandit's den."

"No, no, Laura; say an artist's studio. How could I get along without my furniture. As for my dress, it's quite in keeping with the place and the people. It's picturesque, and that's all an artist is bound to consider."

Further explanations followed, in the course of which it appeared that this ex-brigand was Mr. Walter Ludlow, an American artist, who, for the time being, was living here with his bride. They had been married three months. The island was Capri. They were enjoying love in a cottage, which cottage was furnished in an artistic, rather than a fashionable way. They lived here quite free from restraint, and the artist occupied the time partly with his art, and partly with general enjoyment. Neither of them felt at all inclined to leave Capri for some time to come, but thought it the pleasantest place in the world.

Ludlow happened that day to be cleaning his gun, with the intention of going on a shooting excursion. The noise which had been made in the wood by David had startled him, and he had gone to see what it was, with the idea that some cattle had strayed along the shore, and were coming into the fields and gardens.

When Ludlow explained his gestures to David, and the latter confessed what interpretation he had put on them, further laughter was elicited from the fun-loving artist, in which his wife joined, and David also. Ludlow, as soon as he was in a condition to speak, proceeded to explain what he really meant. His gestures were all intended by him to express the following ideas:—

1. I'm an American. 2. I don't live here—I only lodge. 3. I'm an artist. 4. I'm very sorry for you, and I'll take care of you. 5. I'm going out shooting soon. 6. Don't fret. I'll take care of you, and the boat too, as long as you like. 7. I live in that house up there, and you can stay there till you hear from your friends.

But Mrs. Ludlow now retreated, and before long she had a table set for their young guest, at which David took his seat, and ate with an appetite that had been sharpened by his long fast. While at the table Ludlow questioned him more particularly about his friends, and where he had left them.

"Well, David, my lad," said the artist, at length, "I should like very much to have you stay with us for a time; and if you could, I feel confident that I could show you what would well repay you. Are you aware that on this island is one of the wonders of the world—the famous grotto? I should like to take you there—but I see how it is. As you say, your uncle will be wild with anxiety about you, and will have no peace till he hears from you. So I suppose the best thing I can do for you, is to restore you to him first of all, and then arrange for a visit from you all on some future occasion."

David thanked him very earnestly, and dwelt strongly upon the anxiety of Uncle Moses under the circumstances.

"Well, my lad," said Ludlow, "I think you'd best go off at once, and I mean to go with you. Unfortunately there is a head wind, just now, so that we cannot go to Castellamare without taking too long a time. The best way will be to go over to Sorrento from this place, and take a carriage, or horses, to Castellamare."

This proposal pleased David, greatly, and as Ludlow was ready to start, he rose to go. Mrs. Ludlow bade him good by, and pressed him affectionately to come back with his friends.

In a short time they were in the boat and afloat. Ludlow was a good sailor, and the wind was favorable for a passage to Sorrento. The distance was traversed quickly and pleasantly; and then, leaving the boat, they walked up into the town towards the hotel, to see about getting a conveyance to Castellamare.

As they approached the hotel they became aware of a great and unusual crowd in front of it. The crowd reminded David very forcibly of that one which had been raging there a few days before, and excited some trepidation in his breast. Involuntarily he hung back.

"What's the matter?" asked Ludlow.

"The mob," said David; "do—do you think it's safe to venture among them?"

"Safe? Pooh! why not?"

"They appear to be excited. Hark! how they shout."

"O, nonsense! These Italians are always shouting."

But David still hesitated, and finally told Ludlow about the trouble with the tassel, and the old woman, and the mob, and their escape.

At this story Ludlow laughed heartily, and then proceeded to reassure David.

"Don't be alarmed," said he; "they won't remember you. If they did, I've got something that'll make them keep at a respectful distance;" and he touched his breast significantly. "A six-shooter, David, my boy, is a very convenient thing to carry about one in this country, and it is surprising how the native mind respects it. So come along, and we—that is, I and my six-shooter'll—take care of you. Don't be uneasy. They've got something else on their minds now."

With these words Ludlow walked on, and David followed, full of fear.

The crowd in front of the hotel was in a great state of rage and excitement. Some were banging at the door, others pounding against the window shutters, which had been closed by the terrified landlord; others were standing at a distance, and trying to find stones to throw. Fortunately there were no loose stones of any size, few being larger than a pebble, and therefore, as yet, no very great damage had been done. But the crowd was evidently capable of any amount of mischief. Every one was howling, and yelling; and in the midst of them was an old woman, whose shouts and shrill cries made her conspicuous in the scene. She was encouraging and stimulating a number of men who were carrying a beam to the house, which they evidently purposed to use as a battering-ram, so as to burst open the door.

The moment that David caught sight of this woman he shuddered, and falling behind Ludlow, caught at his hand, and tried to pull him back. Ludlow turned in surprise.

"It's the same woman," said David, in an agitated voice, "who chased me."

"Is it?" said Ludlow, with a smile. "O, well, you've got me with you now. So be a man.—cheer up, my boy. It's all right."

Saying this, Ludlow again walked forward, this time keeping his left hand on David's arm. David felt that it was not "all right," but he had to follow Ludlow, and so he followed him into the midst of the crowd. Working their way on through the people, they at last came near to the door, and found themselves close by the men who were carrying the beam. They had laid it on the ground, and were hesitating for a moment. Overhead Ludlow heard the voice of the landlord pleading with them in piteous tones.

"O, good citizens! O, dear citizens! Don't destroy my furniture! Don't ruin me! There is a mistake. On my honor, the strangers are innocent."

At this the old virago howled out some insane maledictions, and urged the crowd on. Some on the outskirts yelled, and the old hag, whirling around in the midst of her tirade, found herself face to face with David. The terrified lad shrank back, and tried to hide himself; but the old woman recognized him at once, and with a howl sprang at him.

Ludlow saw the movement.

He put himself in front of David, and, seizing the old woman's arm in a grasp like a vice, held her back, and asked her sternly, in Italian,—

"Accursed one! what do you mean?"

"O, citizens of Sorrento!" shrieked the hag. "O, pious citizens! Help! This is the accursed boy! This is the sacrilegious one! the blasphemer! the insulter of the Bambino! the—"

"Silence!" roared Ludlow, in a voice of thunder. "Men of Sorrento, is this the way you treat strangers? Does this mad thing govern the city?"

"The boy, the boy! the blasphemer! the sacrilegious! the accursed!" shrieked the hag. And at her yells some of the mob seemed inclined to respond. They were already ripe for mischief, and when the hag diverted their attention to David, they felt quite ready to take him in hand. So now a ring of dark faces was formed around Ludlow, and the yells of the hag directed them to seize David.

Ludlow pushed the hag from him, drew his revolver from his breast, and took two strides towards the house, which was close by, dragging David after him. Then he put his back against the wall, and holding the revolver in an apparently careless manner, with its muzzle turned towards the crowd, he once more opened his mouth.

"Men of Sorrento!" said he, "what foolery is this? The woman is mad. I have just come from Capri, with this boy. Many of you know me, for I am often here; and now, when I come, am I to be insulted by a madwoman? Are you—"

"Seize him! seize the boy! the boy! the blasphemer!" yelled the hag.

Ludlow placed his hand on David's head, and looked with a smile on the crowd nearest.

"Does her madness usually take this form, gentlemen?" he added; "does she usually show this animosity to little boys and children?"

At this question, which was asked in an easy and natural manner, the crowd looked abashed.

They began to think that the woman was crazy. Those to whom Ludlow had spoken were the very men who had brought the beam but a few minutes before. They now edged slowly away, and began to think that they had done a very silly thing.

"What's the trouble, signori?" asked Ludlow, in the same easy tone, of those who were nearest.

"Well, they say there are some people inside that desecrated the church—some boys—"

"What—boys?" said Ludlow, with a smile. "Who says so?"

The men shrugged their shoulders.

"She says so."

Ludlow thereupon shrugged his shoulders.

"Seize him! seize him! seize him!" yelled the hag, who all this time had kept up her insane outcry.

"Somebody had better seize her," said Ludlow, with a laugh. "Why, gentlemen, she will give your town a very bad name."

The crowd nearest had already undergone a revulsion of feeling. The assault of the old woman on two harmless strangers seemed too wanton to be tolerated. Ludlow's easy manner and calm language restored them fully to their senses, and the sight of his revolver effectually overawed the more excitable or reckless. They were also jealous of the good name of the town, and now began to be enraged with the old woman. A murmur passed through them. Curses were freely lavished upon her, and the threats which but a short time ago had been directed against the landlord and his guests, were now hurled at her. The hag, however, in her fury, was quite unconscious of all this, and continued to yell as before, endeavoring to hound them on against David. But the crowd was now disgusted with her and her yells.

"Stop your diabolical yells!" cried an angry voice. "Go home, and stay home, or you'll have a strait jacket put on you."

The hag stopped short, as though thunderstruck, and looked around with staring eyes. It was a young man who thus addressed her: he was grasping her arm and looking savagely at her. Evidently he was some relative, of whom she stood in awe, for with something like a gasp she seemed to shrink into herself, and then, gathering her clothes about her, slunk away through the crowd.

Ludlow had often been at Sorrento before, and saw some familiar faces among the people. These he accosted, and soon found out what the trouble was. Although some of these very men had been howling like maniacs a short time before, yet they now were as quiet, and gentle, and amiable as lambs. They sneered at the old hag, deplored. the excitement, and assured him that no harm had been done.

Soon the crowd dispersed, and the landlord, who had been watching the scene in deep anxiety, came down, opened the doors, and gave Ludlow and David a most eager, exuberant, and enthusiastic welcome.



CHAPTER XVI.

More Troubles for poor David.—Onset of four Women.—Seized by an old Crone and three Peasant Girls.—Fresh Horror of David.—A new Uproar in the Yard of the Inn.—Uncle Moses bent double.

Ludlow began to talk to the landlord about a conveyance to Castellamare, and David walked through the house into the yard. David's only desire now was to hurry on and join his friends as soon as possible. He had not the remotest idea that they were in Sorrento, and that the trouble had arisen about them, but fancied that they were in Castellamare, full of anxiety about him. Sympathizing with their anxiety, he longed to go to them, so as to put an end to it; and seeing a carriage in the yard, he naturally walked in that direction. Reaching, the yard he noticed that the horses were in it, and that it was a barouche, like the one in which his party had been travelling. Not for one moment did he suppose that it was the same one, nor did he notice it very closely; but giving it a careless glance, he looked around to see those to whom it belonged.

As David went out into the yard, the driver had just gone into the barn to tell Uncle Moses and the boys that the trouble was over and the crowd was dispersing. Their joy may be imagined. They were just hastening from the barn to return to the hotel, and had just reached the barn door when David approached.

David was walking along towards the barn, looking around to see where the people were, when suddenly he heard a wild cry, and saw a figure rush straight towards him. It was a woman's figure, and she appeared quite old. Like lightning, the thought flashed through him that this was his old tormentor, the hag; and with a gasp he started back, and was about to run. But the other was too quick for him, and David felt himself seized by his dreaded enemy. This dreaded enemy then behaved in a frantic way, hugging him and uttering inarticulate words. David struggled to get free from her, and throwing a frightened glance at her face, which was but partly visible, beneath a very shabby bonnet, he saw that she was quite old, and that tears were streaming down from her eyes. This frightened David all the more, for now he was sure that she was insane.

But now, to David's horror, he found himself surrounded by three more women, in coarse dresses and horribly shabby bonnets. They all made a simultaneous rush at him, seizing his hands and arms, and seemed about to tear him to pieces. In vain he struggled. He was helpless. A cold shudder passed through him, and a thrill of horror tingled every nerve.

All this had been the work of an instant. So sudden had been the onset, and so overwhelmed was David with utter horror, that he could not even scream for help. But at last he got his month open, and was just about to give one piercing yell for help, when the words were taken out of his mouth, and his voice stopped, and a new and greater surprise created within him.

"David! David! My boy! my boy!" moaned the first old woman.

"Dave! You rascal! What do you mean by this?" cried woman Number Two.

"Dave! Old boy! What in the world is the meaning of this?" cried woman Number Three.

"Dave! How did you find us?" cried woman Number Four.

"Where have you been?" "Where did you come from?" "When did you get here?" "What made you go off?" "Did they seize you?" "Was it the old woman that did it?" These questions, and scores of others, came pouring forth into his astonished ears. As for David, he could not utter one single word. At length the yearning affection of Uncle Moses seemed to be satiated, and the boisterous greetings of the boys exhausted, and one by one they released their grasp, and allowed David to extricate himself.

Thereupon David stood off at a little distance, and gazed at them in mute amazement. The sight which they presented to his astonished eyes was one which might have excited strong emotions in the breast of any beholder.

There stood Uncle Moses, his figure concealed under a tattered gown, and his venerable head enfolded in a battered bonnet of primeval style.

There stood Frank, looking like a strapping peasant woman, with a bonnet that was stuck on the top of his head like a man's hat.

There stood Clive, looking like a pretty peasant girl, quite Italian in his style, with a dress that was a trifle neater than the others.

And there was Bob, an utter and unmitigated absurdity,—with s dress that was tangled about his legs, and a bonnet that had no crown. The four of them looked more like escaped lunatics than anything else, and no sooner had David taken in the whole scene, than he burst forth into a perfect convulsion of laughter.

Thus far the disguise had possessed nothing but a serious character in the minds of the wearers. By means of this disguise they had hoped to escape, and the costumes, being thus a help to safety, had been dignified in their eyes. But now, when the danger was over, and safety assured, there was nothing to hide from their eyes the unutterable absurdity, the inconceivable ludicrousness of their appearance. As David's laugh burst forth, each turned his eyes upon the other, and saw how it was.

Then they all burst forth! It was a cataclysm of laughter. The boys swayed backward and forward, and danced up and down, and shouted, and yelled with laughter. Uncle Moses stood with his eyes shut and his figure bent double. Frank stared at each one in succession, and then at himself, giving a scream at each figure. Clive laughed till he sank down; and Bob, flinging himself upon the ground in a perfect paroxysm, rolled over and over, and kicked, and yelled, and fairly howled in one prolonged and uproarious cachinnation.

The uproar aroused the house.

The driver hurried out of the barn and joined in the roar.

The hostler followed him.

The servants came from the hotel, and lent their voices.

The landlord came out, and was at once seized with a convulsion.

After the landlord came Ludlow. He didn't altogether understand it; but he saw David, and he saw the four figures; and from what the landlord had been telling him, he knew who they were. The sight overwhelmed him. He opened his mouth. He burst forth. It was tremendous. It was Olympian. It was the laughter of Homer's immortals. It was a thunder-peal. It was too much. He could not keep his feet, but sank down on the stone steps, and burying his face in his hands, gave way utterly.

Thus it Was, then, that David, the most solemn of boys, returned to his distracted and anxious friends.

At length the laughter ceased, and the costumes were set aside, and they all sat in the dining-room, asking and giving explanations. David had to tell the story of his adventures. The boys had to tell about their search after him, and Ludlow had to tell the story of his meeting with David at Capri. These mutual explanations had nothing in them but what was pleasant, so that there was nothing to detract from the joy of the occasion.

And now Ludlow, finding the friends so happily reunited, pressed them all to come over to Capri at once, and stay as long as they felt inclined to. David's eyes sparkled at this, and the other boys, who had fallen in love with Ludlow at first sight, were more eager to go than they could tell. But Uncle Moses demurred. He felt afraid of giving trouble, and thought they had better get back to Naples. Ludlow, however, pooh-poohed his scruples, answered every objection, and would not take any refusal whatever; so that the result was, the final departure of the party for Capri.

But before they went, several things had to be attended to. First of all, they had to dismiss the driver. With the exception of his sulk at Paestum, he had behaved admirably, and had been of immense service to them in more than one hour of need. The consequence was, that Uncle Moses gave him a reward so liberal that it elicited an outburst of benedictions, thanks, and prayers for the future welfare of the whole party.

The other business was to see about the return of the boat which David had taken. This, however, was arranged without difficulty. Ludlow knew an honest fisherman who could be intrusted with the task of returning the boat, and making explanations to the owner. By this man they sent a sufficient sum to repay the owner for the use of it.

They engaged another boat to take them to Capri. A gentle breeze wafted them over the intervening water, and they soon stood before the artist's picturesque abode. Mrs. Ludlow received them all with her brightest smile and warmest cordiality, and the boys soon began to feel towards the artist and his wife as though they were near and dear relations. They found the artist's cottage a perfect storehouse of curiosities, and a museum of antiquities; they found also that it was of large dimensions, and contained sufficient accommodations for the party; and thus they were able to feel that they were not a burden in any way on their warm-hearted friends.

Ludlow took them all over the island, and showed them all that was to be seen. He was not only an enthusiastic artist, but also an antiquarian of no mean attainments; and while he could point out to them the most beautiful spots on that lovely isle, he could also talk learnedly about the ancient Capraea, and raise out of ancient ruins theories about the pleasure-grounds of Tiberius.

But the most wonderful thing which they found there was the famous grotto, so familiar to all from the accounts of tourists, and from the well-known description in Hans Andersen's Improvisatore. After that glowing, poetic, and enthusiastic narrative, no other need be attempted. Here they passed three or four days, and when at length they bade adieu to the artist and his wife, it was with many sincere regrets on both sides, and many earnest wishes that they might meet again.

After which they all went back to Naples.



CHAPTER XVII.

Vesuvius.—Ponies and Sticks.—Sand and Lava.—The rocky Steps.—The rolling, wrathful Smoke-clouds.—The Volcano warns them off.—The lost Boy.—A fearful Search.—A desperate Effort.—The sulphurous Vapors.—Over the sliding Sands.

The sight of Vesuvius from a distance had filled David with an ardent desire to visit it, and all the rest shared this feeling. Vesuvius was before them always. The great cloud of dense, black smoke, which hung over it like a pall, was greater, and denser, and blacker than usual. The crater was disturbed. There were rumbling noises in its wondrous interior; and all around and all beneath the volcano gave signs of an approaching eruption. Sometimes the smoke, as it ascended from the crater, would tower up in the air for thousands of feet, far into the sky, a black pillar, which at the summit spread out on all sides, giving to the spectator the vision of a colossal palm tree—the shape and the sign which is the inevitable forerunner of an approaching eruption. At other times the sulphur-laden clouds would hang low over the crest of the mountain, and roll far down its sides, and envelop it in its dense, black, voluminous folds.

As yet, in spite of these appearances, the ascent might be made in safety, though every day lessened the chances of an ascent by increasing the danger. This they learned from Michael Angelo, their guide, whom they had engaged to make the ascent; so they determined to go without any farther delay. Accordingly, two days after their excursion to Baiae, they set out, going first to Portici, where they hired ponies to take them to the foot of the cone; each one supplied himself with a good stout stick to assist his ascent, and Michael Angelo went with them as general manager of the expedition.

On riding, up they found the road good at first, but soon it became somewhat rough. It left the fertile meadows and vineyards at the base of the mountain, and ran over a wild, rocky country, which looked, as Uncle Moses said, like the "abomination of desolation." No verdure appeared, no houses, no flocks, and herds—all was wild, and savage, and dismal. After passing over these lava fields, the party reached what is called the "Hermitage" —a kind of refreshment station near the foot of the cone. Resting here, for a little way they proceeded on foot. The path was now rugged and difficult, and ascended at so steep an angle that it became rather climbing than walking. After a toilsome walk this path ended at the foot of the cone.

Here the mountain arose grandly before them, with its smoke-cloud overhanging its steep sides, ascending from where they stood to where the view was lost in smoke. At one part there was a surface of loose sand, and at another wild, disordered heaps of crumbled lava blocks. Over these last Michael Angelo led them, for these blocks formed stepping-stones by which to make the ascent. A number of men were here with chairs and straps, who offered them assistance; but they all declined, even Uncle Moses choosing to rely on his unassisted muscle.

Then they began the ascent of the cone. The lava blocks were of all sizes, and lay strewn loosely down the steep side. It was like ascending a long, rough stairway, where all the steps are irregular. It was laborious and tedious. Often they had to stop and rest. Uncle Moses felt it most, and the boys had frequently to stop rather on his account. But when they had traversed about two thirds of the way, they began to grow more excited, and in Bob this excitement was most evident. Thinking that the others would take sufficient care of Uncle Moses, he started off alone, and soon was far up, clambering over the rocks like a young chamois.

Usually there is one side of the crater which is accessible. There is almost always some wind which blows the smoke away, and on the windward side the visitor can stand and breathe freely. On the present occasion, however, there was little or no wind; and the smoke, which was far denser than usual, gathered in thick, black folds, and sometimes rolled down the sides of the cone, and hid the crest from view. Michael Angelo expressed a fear that they would not be able to reach the crest; and as they drew nearer, every step showed that this fear was well founded. At last, when they were within easy distance of it, there came rolling down a cloud of smoke, so dense and so full of sulphurous vapor that they all had to stop and cover their faces with their clothes.

It was now evident that they could go no farther. They waited for a time in great distress from the smoke. It rolled away at last, yet still hovered near them, every little while moving threateningly down, as though to drive them back, and prevent the crater from desecration by human footsteps. They had evidently reached their farthest limit, and could go no farther.

But where was Bob?

Scarcely had they discovered the impossibility of going farther than this thought came to them. Where was Bob? He had left them some time previously, and had gone far ahead of them. They had expected every moment to come up with him. But there were no signs of him anywhere.

Frank called out with all his strength. David and Clive joined in the cry.

There was no response.

Fear came to them—a sickening, awful fear. All shouted—the boys, Uncle Moses, and Michael Angelo.

Still there was no response.

Again, and again, and yet again, they called, by this time in an agony of apprehension; but to all these cries the surrounding stillness gave forth not one answering sound.

And the deep, dark, wrathful smoke-clouds rolled around, and above, and downward, moving close to them, and over them, as though eager to involve them in that dread fate which they feared had overwhelmed the lost boy.

"I can't stand this any longer!" cried Frank, at last. "I'll go and hunt him up."

"We'll all go," said David.

"Wait," said Uncle Moses, as the boys were starting. "We must hunt him up as we do in the woods. We can't tell where he is. Let's form a line, an walk as nigh abreast of one another as we can get, an yet far enough away to cover the ground. In that way well be more likely to find him."

At this the party formed themselves in a line, so that about twenty or thirty feet intervened between each. The five thus extended for a long distance. Michael Angelo was at the extreme right, next to him was Uncle Moses, then Clive, then David, while Frank was on the extreme left. In this way they determined to go as far forward as the smoke would permit. The prospect was gloomy enough; but the situation of Bob nerved them all to the effort. Besides, they were encouraged by the fact that the smoke would sometimes retreat far up, exposing the surface to the very crest of the crater. So they advanced, clambering over the rough blocks, and drew nearer and nearer to the summit. At length a heavy mass of black smoke came rolling down. It touched them. It enveloped them. It folded itself over them and under them. Each one fell flat on his face at Michael Angelo's warning, and covered his mouth and nostrils with his handkerchief, so as to keep out the sulphurous vapors. It was almost suffocating; breathing was difficult and painful, and it seemed a long time before the blackness of the darkness was mitigated. But at last the smoke withdrew itself, and the whole party stood up, and looked around painfully for one another, panting heavily, and drawing laborious breaths.

"You can't go any further," said Uncle Moses. "I ain't goin to let you resk your lives, boys. You must all go back, an I'll go for'ard."

"No, uncle; I'll go," cried Frank.

"And I," cried David.

"And I," cried Clive.

"None of you shall go," said Uncle Moses, firmly. "I tell you I'm goin. I order you to stay here, or go back." Uncle Moses was deeply agitated, and spoke with unaccustomed sternness. "Go back," he said; "I'll find Bob, or leave myself there. Go back. D'ye hear?"

He darted forward, and turned to wave his hand at the boys. But Frank had already sprung upward, swiftly and eagerly. Onward he went, going first to the left and then to the right. David and Clive also rushed forward. Uncle Moses toiled after them, calling on them to come back. Michael Angelo followed slowly, looking on with a face of fearful apprehension.

Frank was far ahead. He had come to a place where the lava blocks ended, and the soil was sandy. Here he paused for an instant, and took a swift glance around. He started. He had seen something. He made a quick gesture and then sprang away to the right.

All this had not taken many minutes. It was an act of desperation on the part of Frank, but he was determined to save Bob or perish. Fortunately the smoke did not descend just at that moment, but was floating up from the summit, so that the edge of the crater could be seen, with a dull yellow gleam, caused by the sulphur that lay mingled with the sand.

Frank had seen a prostrate figure. It lay on the sand beyond the edge of the lava blocks. His first feeling was one of surprise that Bob had succeeded in penetrating so far; his next was one of horror for fear that he might be beyond the reach of help. With frantic haste he rushed towards him, and reaching the spot, he raised Bob in his arms.

He was senseless!

And now, as Frank stood there, close to the perilous edge, the treacherous smoke, which had thus far held back, rolled down once more. To face it was impossible. Frank flung himself down, and buried his face as before, looking up from time to time to see if the smoke was lessening. The time seemed protracted to a fearful length. The dense fumes which penetrated through the thick folds of the clothes which he held over his mouth nearly suffocated him. He began to think that he, too, was doomed.

And where were the others?

Scattered, apart from one another—and thus they had been caught by the rolling smoke. They could do only one thing, and that was what they had done before. Uncle Moses alone refused to yield. He tried to toil on so as to get nearer to his boys. He had a vague idea of getting near to Frank, so as to die by his side. But physical pain was stronger than the determination of his soul, and at length he involuntarily flung himself down, and covered his face.

But at last even that ordeal was passed. The smoke lifted. It rolled away. There was air again for them to breathe. Frank roused himself before the smoke had all passed, and lifting Bob in his arms, carried him swiftly downward. He reached the place where Uncle Moses was standing, gasping for breath; and the other boys who had seen him hurried towards him, and tried to help him carry his senseless burden. Uncle Moses also tried to take Bob in his own arms, and prayed Frank, with tears in his eyes, to let him carry him; but Frank refused them all, and insisted on doing it himself. A few paces more, however, over the lava blocks, showed that Frank's strength would not be sufficient for such a journey. He sank down exhausted by his excessive exertions, and waited a few moments to take breath.

While he was thus recovering his breath, Michael Angelo reached the spot, and explained that there was another place of descent not far off, and led the way towards it. Here they found the side of the cone all covered with loose sand. Down this they went. At every step they sank in up to their ankles, and the sliding soil bore them down, so that for every step they took they were carried the length of two or three steps.

Frank clung to Bob till he had got beyond the reach of the smoke, and then he fell backward, gasping for breath. The others scrambled towards him, eager to help him; and Michael Angelo, who had exerted himself the least of all, and was fresher than any of them, raised Bob in his arms, and said that he would take care of him now. At this Frank gave up his precious burden, and resuming their descent, they were soon at the foot of the cone.

Here they sat down, and Bob was laid upon the sand. With trembling hands they felt for his heart, and found, to their unspeakable, joy, that it was still beating. There was no water near; but they chafed his feet and hands, and did what they could. For a long time their efforts were unavailing; but at last Bob opened his eyes, and drawing a long, breath, looked around him with a face full of astonishment.

"What's—the—matter?" he murmured, in a feeble voice.

At this tears of joy flowed into the eyes of Uncle Moses, and his lips murmured inaudible words of prayerful gratitude.

"O, nothing," said Frank, who by this time had completely recovered from his fatigue. "Nothing of any consequence. Don't bother. You'll be all right soon."

Bob seemed too weak to say much, and even to think. He lay there in silence, and with an expression of bewilderment on his face, evidently trying to collect his scattered faculties, so as to account for his present situation.

And now, the question was how to get Bob home. The men with chairs and straps had gone away, so that this mode of conveyance seemed denied them. After waiting a short time, however, they saw a party approaching who were evidently about to try the ascent. They consisted of ladies and gentlemen, and were accompanied by some chair and strap men. Seeing Bob and his friends, they made inquiries; and on learning what had happened, the ladies refused to make the ascent on so unfavorable a day, but preferred postponing it to a more auspicious time. Michael Angelo therefore was able to obtain one of the chairs for Bob; and setting him upon it, they carried him towards the Hermitage, where they arrived without any further mishap.

Here Bob grew rapidly better, and was able to tell his story.

He had felt very anxious to see the crater, and equally anxious to see it first. Taking advantage of a time when the smoke had retreated, he had made a rush, and had just attained the very edge of the crater, when suddenly he found himself overwhelmed by a tremendous cloud of smoke. To resist it, or to endure it in any way, was impossible. He thought only of flight He turned mechanically, and ran, with this idea of flight alone in his mind. That was all he remembered. He must have run for at least a hundred feet, for that was about the distance which lay between the summit and the place where he was found.

Michael Angelo started off and got a carriage, by means of which Bob was taken to Naples. He did not seem to have suffered any very serious injury; but for some days he was quite languid and miserable, and complained of a taste of sulphur in his mouth; his coat, too, which on going up was of a dark-blue color, had become quite faded, from the action of the powerful sulphurous fumes.

On the whole, Bob, as well as the rest of the party, had ample reason to feel thankful.



CHAPTER XVIII.

Pompeii, the City of the Dead.—The Monuments of the Past.—Temples, Towers, and Palaces.—Tombs and Monuments.—Theatres and Amphitheatres.—Streets and Squares.

A few days after their ascent of Vesuvius, the whole party started off to visit Pompeii. The prospect of this journey gave them unusual delight. Bob had now completely recovered his health and spirits. Clive's poetic interest in so renowned a place was roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. David's classical taste was stimulated. Frank's healthy love of sight-seeing was excited by the thought of a place that so far surpassed all others in interest; and Uncle Moses evidently considered that this was the one thing in Europe which could repay the traveller for the fatigues of a pilgrimage. Thus each, in his own way, felt his inmost heart stirred within him as they approached the disentombed city; and at length, when they reached the entrance to the place, it is difficult to say which one felt the strongest excitement.

They found a number of other visitors there, consisting of representatives of all nations—Russians, Germans, Americans, French, and English; ladies, gentlemen, and boys. Michael Angelo was with them, and was more useful to them than any mere guide-book could have been.

The first emotions of awe which filled their minds as they entered the streets of the mysterious city gradually faded away, and they began to examine everything with great interest. The first thing that struck their attention was the extreme narrowness of the streets. There was only room for one carriage to pass at a time. The sidewalks were a foot higher than the carriage-way. There were crossing-stones that stood high above the pavement. The sidewalks were paved with brick, and the carriage-way with lava blocks, which were very neatly joined together. Clive took a piece of brick as a relic, and David broke off a fragment from one of the crossing-stones for the same purpose.

They soon came to a ruined edifice, which Michael Angelo called the Basilica. It was two hundred feet in length, and seventy in width. At one end still remained the Tribunal or Seat of Justice, seven feet above the pavement; and all around the walls were columns formed of brick, covered with plaster. The boys picked off some of the plaster as relics.

Leaving this, they went on and came to another ruined edifice, which Michael Angelo called the Temple of Venus. It was built round a courtyard, with porticos. Here David and Clive obtained some more relics.

Beyond this was an open square surrounded by pillars, of which only the lower parts remained. This was the Forum Civile; and beyond this stood the Temple of Jupiter, which they visited without finding anything that was particularly interesting. After this Michael Angelo took them to a place which he said was the Public Bakery. Here they saw millstones, ovens, water-vessels, and some other articles of which they could not guess the use. Not far away were some bakers' shops. In these shops loaves of bread were found by the diggers. Of course they were burned to charcoal; but they retained their original shape, and showed marks upon them which were probably intended to indicate the bakery from which they came. Heaps of corn were also found.

Going down the street where these were situated, they came to one of the gates of the city. Beside this was a niche in the wall, used as a sentry-box, upon which, all the party gazed with a profound interest; for in that sentry-box those who disentombed the city found a skeleton, in the armor and with the equipment of a Roman soldier. Evidently the sentry had died at his post.

They took a good look at the walls here, which they found to be about twenty-five feet high, and formed of huge stones, that were joined together without cement. The gates had evidently been double.

Passing through this gate, they found themselves outside the city, in what Michael Angelo called the "Street of Tombs." Looking down it, they noticed a number of edifices of a monumental character, lining it on either side. These were the tombs of wealthy citizens. They visited several of them, and found them all alike. The interiors were all simple, the walls being pierced with niches, in which were deposited the urns that held the ashes of the dead. This was the first time that they had seen anything of this kind, and they examined it with deep and solemn interest. Here, too, Clive and David succeeded in finding some relics in the shape of some burnt fragments of human bones.

After this Michael Angelo led them to what was once the finest mansion of the city, now known as the Villa of Diomede. They entered here, and wandered through the halls, and rooms, and courtyards. They saw rich mosaic pavements; the basins of what once were fountains; the lower parts of marble pillars that once belonged to stately colonnades. They saw some rooms that once had been used for cold baths, and others that had been used for vapor baths. Dining-rooms, reception-rooms, bed-rooms, kitchens, libraries, opened up all around, and told them of that vanished past which had once peopled all these apartments with busy human life. Far more than basilicas, or temples, or streets, or walls, were they affected by this glimpse into the home of a household; and they traversed that deserted home in eloquent silence. After going through all the house, they descended into the cellars. These were very spacious, and extended beneath the entire villa. Here, at one end, they saw what is called the Wine Cellar. Many wine jars were standing there—huge earthen vessels, as large as a hogshead, with wide mouths and round bottoms, which made it impossible for them to stand erect, unless they were placed against some support. In these wine jars there was now no wine, however, but only dust and ashes.

Here Michael Angelo had much to tell them.

He told them that several skeletons had been found in these vaults, belonging to hapless wretches who had, no doubt, fled here to escape the storm of ashes which was raging above. One of these skeletons had a bunch of keys in its bony fingers; and this circumstance led some to suppose that it was the skeleton of Diomede himself; but others thought that it belonged to his steward. Whoever he was, he had fled here only to meet his doom, and to leave his bones as a memorial to ages in the far distant future.

Leaving this place, they visited another house, which is called the Villa of Caius Sallust. At one corner of the house they saw something which at once struck them all as being rather singular. It was nothing else than a shop, small in size, fitted up with shelves and counters; a row of jars was fixed on one side, and in the rear were furnaces. Michael Angelo informed them that it had once been an eating-house. The boys thought it excessively odd that the occupants of such a house—people, too, who bore such a name as Sallust—should tolerate such an establishment; but there was the undeniable fact before their eyes. Afterwards their surprises diminished; For in many other houses in Pompeii—they found shops of the same kind, and saw that the ancient Pompeians were not above trade; and that, if they did not keep the shops themselves, they were at least very willing to hire the fronts of their houses to other parties who did wish to do so. In Sallust's house they saw the traces of very elegant ornaments, and learned from Michael Angelo that many of the articles discovered here showed that it must once have been the abode of a luxurious and refined family.

The elegant house of the Dioscuri was visited next. It is in the Via dei Mercurii, and is a very interesting and extensive ruin, and contains some handsome fresco paintings. After this they visited many other houses, a description of which is not necessary; they were all like the Villa of Diomede, though less interesting; and among them all there was the same general character. In all these only the lower stories remained, though in a few a small part of the second story was visible.

As the chief part of the Pompeian house was on the ground floor, the loss of the upper story did not make any particular difference. Among these they found another temple, called the Pantheon—a large edifice, which showed signs of great former beauty. It was two Hundred and thirty feet long, and nearly two hundred feet wide. An altar is still standing, around which are twelve pedestals, upon which once stood twelve statues. A few houses and temples followed, after which Michael Angelo informed them that he was about to take them to one of the greatest curiosities in the city.

The building to which he led them was in much better preservation than the majority of the edifices in Pompeii, though not nearly so large as many that they had seen. It was about sixty feet wide, and a little longer, being nearly square in shape, and was evidently a temple of some kind.

"What is this?" asked David.

"This is the Temple of Isis," said Michael Angelo.

"The Temple of Isis!" exclaimed David, in eager excitement. "Is it, indeed!" and he looked around with a face full of intense interest. Hitherto, though all the boys had shown much interest, yet, David had surpassed them all in his enthusiasm. This was partly on account of his taste for classical studies, and his love for all connected with classical antiquity, but more especially from the fact that he had very recently read Bulwer's Last Days of Pompeii; and on this occasion that whole story, with all its descriptions and all its incidents, was brought vividly before him by the surrounding scene. Most of all was the Temple of Isis associated with that story, and it seemed more familiar to him than anything else that he had found in the city. Glaucus and Ione, the Christian Olynthus, and the dark Arbaces seemed to haunt the place. In one of the chambers of this very temple, as Michael Angelo was now telling,—even while leading the way to that chamber,—had been found a huge skeleton, with an axe beside it; two walls had been beaten through by that axe, but the desperate fugitive could go no farther. In another part of the city had been found, another skeleton, carrying a bag of Coins and some ornaments of this Temple of Isis. David listened to Michael Angelo's account with strange interest, for it seemed to him as though the fabled characters of Bulwer's story were endowed with actual reality by Michael Angelo's prosaic statements.

After inspecting the chamber just mentioned, they were taken to a place where they saw what had once been the pedestal of a statue. Here Michael Angelo showed them a hollow niche, which was so contrived that one might conceal himself there, and speak words which the ignorant and superstitious populace might believe to come from the idol's own stony lips. This one thing showed the full depth of ancient ignorance and superstition; and over this Michael Angelo waxed quite eloquent, and proceeded to deliver himself of a number of impressive sentences of a highly important character, which he uttered with that fluent volubility peculiar to the whole race of guides, ciceroni, and showmen, in all parts of the world. These moral maxims were part of Michael Angelo's regular routine, and the moment that he found himself here in this Temple of Isis, the stream of wisdom would always begin to flow.

The next place to which Michael Angelo intended to take them was the amphitheatre, which could be seen from where they were standing. All this time David had been more eager than any of the others, and far more profoundly moved. He felt his soul stirred to its inmost depth by the thrilling scenes through which he had been moving. It seemed to him as though there were revealed here to his eyes, in one glance, all that he had been laboriously acquiring from books by the study of years. But this was better than books. These Roman houses, into which he could walk, were far better than any number of plans or engraved prints, however accurately done. These temples afforded an insight into the old pagan religion better far than volumes of description. These streets, and shops, and public squares, and wall, and gates, and tombs, all gave him an insight into the departed Roman civilization that was far fresher, and more vivid, and more profound, than any that he had ever gained before. It seemed to him that one day was too small for such a place. He must come again and again, he thought. He was unwilling to go on with the rest, but lingered longer than any over each spot, and was always the last to quit any place which they visited.

They stopped on their way at the Tragic and Comic Theatres, and at length reached the Amphitheatre itself. This edifice is by far the largest in the city, and is better preserved than any. It is built of large blocks of a dark volcanic stone, and constructed in that massive style which the Romans lived, and of which they have left the best examples in these huge amphitheatres. As this Amphitheatre now stands, it might still serve for one of those displays for which it was built. Tier after tier those seats arise, which once had accommodations for fifteen or twenty thousand human beings. On these, it is said, the Pompeians were seated when that awful volcanic storm burst forth by which the city was rained. Down from these seats they fled in wildest disorder, all panic-stricken, rushing down the steps, and crowding through the doorways, trampling one another under foot, in that mad race for life; while overhead the storm gathered darker and darker, and the showers of ashes fell, and the suffocating sulphuric vapors arose, and amid the volcanic storm the lightnings of the sky flashed forth, illuminating all the surrounding gloom with a horrid lustre, and blending with the subterranean rumblings of the earthquake the thunder of the upper air.

From this cause the Amphitheatre may be considered the central spot of interest in Pompeii. What little has been told of the fate of the city gathers around this place, and to him who sits upon those seats there is a more vivid realization of that awful scene than can be obtained anywhere else.

On reaching the Amphitheatre they seated themselves on the stone steps, about half way up the circle of seats, and each one gave way to the feelings that filled him. They had walked now for hours, and all of them felt somewhat wearied, so that the rest on these seats was grateful. Here they sat and rested.



CHAPTER XIX.

Lofty classical enthusiasm of David, and painful Lack of feeling on the Part of Frank.—David, red hot with the Flow of the Past, is suddenly confronted with the Present.—The Present dashes Cold Water upon his glowing Enthusiasm.—The Gates.—Minor, Aeacus, and Rhadamanthus.—The Culprits.

As they thus rested on the seats of the Amphitheatre, the classical enthusiasm of David rose superior to fatigue, and his enthusiastic feelings burst forth without restraint, in a long and somewhat incoherent rhapsody about the fell of Pompeii. Full before them, as they sat, rose Vesuvius; and they saw that which helped them to reproduce the past more vividly, for even now the dense, dark cloud of the volcano was gathering, and the thick smoke-volumes were rolling forth from the crater. Far into the heavens the smoke clouds arose, ascending in a dark pillar till they reached the upper strata of the atmosphere, where they unfolded themselves, and spread out afar—to the east, and the west, and the north, and the south. Some such appearance as this the mountain may have had, as it towered gloomily before the Pompeians on that day of days. Some such scene as this may have appeared, only deepened into terrors a thousand fold more gloomy, to the population of the doomed city, as they gathered here on these seats for the last time.

Such were the ideas of David Clark; and these ideas he poured forth in a long rhapsody, full of wild enthusiasm. At length, however, that enthusiasm flagged, and he was compelled to stop for want of breath.

"O, that's all very fine," said Frank, suddenly, as David stopped, and breaking the silence which had followed his eloquent outburst,—"that's all very fine, of course. You have a habit, David, my son, of going into raptures over old bones and old stones, but after all, I'd just like to ask you one question."

"What's that?" asked David, a little sharply.

"Why, this. Has this place, after all, come up to your idea?" And Frank looked at him with very anxious eyes.

"This place?" said David. "What, Pompeii? Come up to my idea? Why, of course it has. What makes you ask such a question as that? I never spent such a day in all my life."

"Well, for my part," said Frank, in a very candid tone, "I'll be honest. I confess I'm disappointed."

And saying this, Frank shook his head defiantly, and looked at all the other boys, with the air of one who was ready and willing to maintain his position.

"Disappointed!" exclaimed David, in an indescribable tone, in which reproach, astonishment, and disgust were all blended together.

"Yes," said Frank, firmly, "disappointed—utterly, completely, and tee-totally. I'll tell you what my idea was. My idea was, that the streets would be streets, in the first place. Well, they're not streets at all. They're mere lanes. They're nothing more than foot-paths. Secondly, my idea was, that the houses would be houses. Well, they're not. They're old ruins; heaps of dust and bricks—"

"Nonsense!" interrupted David, in indignant tones. "How could the houses be standing after being buried for so many centuries? You forget what a tremendous weight of ashes, and stones, and earth, lay upon their roofs. Houses! Why, did you expect to find couches to lie on? or chairs—"