Foxholme Hall, and Other Tales

Suddenly the boy found himself as he had been before, sitting a little apart from his friends. He was silent and thoughtful as he descended the mountain, resolving to return as soon as possible, to learn from the Genius more of the wondrous mysteries of nature.

Story 10-Chapter I

STORY TEN – A Terrible Blanket

Well, we were on the continent when I met with my terrible blanket. We were going up one of the passes on foot, and somehow I, as I usually do, lagged behind. I, of course, had an Alpine stock in my hand, and I went swinging it away, until at last it struck against a lump of rock overhanging a precipice, so deep that, sailor as I am, I trembled as I looked down. Well, the stick bounded from the granite against my shin, and so I made a vow that the lump of granite should take a run, or my name was not Theophilus.

But it was a tough job, for the stone was very big, and well set in the rock; but after a deal of straining and pushing, down it went with dull thuds, as it fell from rock to rock, and at last it splashed into the water, which seethed up as though trying to get at and drown me.

The job must have taken me longer than I thought for, for when I looked before me I could see no one, and as I looked I began to see that twilight was coming on.

Now, I don’t know whether you have been much among our own high hills in Scotland or Wales; but, if you have, you must know how rapidly night comes on. It is day one moment and night the next, so to speak.

Now I knew this, and made haste forward.

I do not think I had gone twenty yards when I knew, by the great wuthering sound about me, that a storm was brewing, and it was on me in no time; and as the snow came down a great curtain seemed to be drawn over the sky, it grew dark so quickly.

Well, I groped on, but I didn’t like it. If it had been a storm at sea now, I should not have cared much; if the mountains about me had only been of water, I should not have cared at all; but when I knew that a false step might send me toppling down as the rock had toppled before me, I don’t mind owning that I grew to like it all less and less.

I stooped down to look at the path, as well as I was able in the little remaining light, and I found I was in no path at all.

As the last rays of light died out, and as the snow whirled about me, I remember, as though it would be glad to make my winding-sheet, I turned cautiously towards a slope of rock, feeling with my stick before I took a step, for the snow will fill up a crevice in no time, and you may sink twenty feet before you know where you are; and at last I touched the rock.

There was still an atom of light left, and by it I just discerned a black part of the rock, which I took, and rightly, to be a cave. So I crept towards it, into it, and crouched down on the ground to leeward; and I can tell you the wind was getting up.

Well, I hadn’t lain there three minutes when it was as dark as you could wish it. I don’t know whether any of you have ever been in the dark when full of anxiety; but if you have, you will believe me when I say every precious minute seemed an hour.

Suddenly I thought of my fusee-box, and I believe shouted as I thought of it, for a second idea came into my head. Suppose I struck the fusees about one a minute, they would not only help me through the darkness, but, luck willing, they might answer the purpose of a revolving light, and guide those who were looking for me to my place of shelter, or the light might be seen at the convent, from which I knew by the guide we were not far when I stopped to upset the rock.

And I give you my honest word that not for one second did I feel any ill-will against my companions for leaving me behind; I somehow knew it was all right.

So out came the fusee-box, and the next moment I had struck a light. Why I looked round the cave I can’t tell, but I did, and I caught my breath, as you may suppose, when away in the dark I saw two great yellowish-green balls of fire.

I don’t think I moved for a moment, and then I began to question myself as to whether it was not all fancy.

So I thought I would strike another light; but the box had fallen amongst the snow, and when I felt for the matches they were all mixed up with the powder, which is about the only name you can give the snow in those places; it is very different from the clammy snow we see here.

Now, what was I to do? If I went out of the cavern I should be frozen to death, while to remain in the cave, and near those dreadful lights, was maddening.

Well, one way or the other, I determined not to go either backwards or forwards; so I curled myself up as small as possible, and lay shivering. I had only lain for what I now know to be a very short time, but which I took to be hours, when something soft came up against my knees and elbows.

You may believe I dashed out my fist, and felt it sink a foot deep in the soft snow, which I rightly guessed had drifted up against the opposite side of the cavern till it fell over and rolled up against me.

Good, so I was being snowed up, and I saw I must either go nearer those dreadful balls, which by this time I was sure were no fancy, and which I felt certain were looking towards me through the darkness, or I must stay where I was to be buried alive.

I don’t know how I came to the decision; but I did at last decide to go further into the cavern, and so I shuffled out of the way of the snow.

And then I lay still again, waiting.

In a moment or so, surrounded by danger as I was, I began to find myself actually going quietly to sleep. I had no idea then that that sleep might have been the sleep of death.

Well, in another minute or so, I felt a warm air on my face; but I was too sleepy to move, and so I lay still.

And then, believe me I do not exaggerate, I felt four weights press, one after the other, upon my body, and then a soft, heavy weight sunk down upon me. I had no doubt it was an animal of some kind; I felt quite sure of this when a muzzle was placed as near my mouth as possible.

I dare say you will hardly believe it, but in a few moments all my fear had gone, and I found myself growing grateful to this creature, for he made me so good a blanket that the heat came back into my body, and I felt no longer that dull sleepiness of which I have spoken.

I do not at all know how long I had thus lain, when a bark was heard, which disturbed the regular breathings of my hairy friend, and I felt his big heart beat above me. Again there was a bark, the broad loud bark of a big dog, and it sounded much nearer than the first.

As my blanket heard it, he uttered a harsh sound, and leapt from off my back.

The barking and the start of the animal roused me from what drowsiness still remained in me, and the next moment I was plunging through the snow in the entrance to the cave. It was above my head. I was nearly snowed up; but then the wall of snow had served to keep the cold out. When I got through the snow, I found the whole mountains were light again with the stars and the rising moon, for the storm was over.

But a more blessed sight than all was that of a brave, big dog, who leapt upon me and placed a fore-paw upon each of my shoulders.

Not far off was one of the good monks, coming towards me graciously and smilingly.

It seemed, I learnt afterwards, that when my party discovered my loss, and affrightedly told the guide, he, being weatherwise, told of the coming storm, and said it would be impossible to turn back; they might think themselves fortunate if they reached the convent themselves, when the monks and their dogs would do their best for me.

They had reached the convent just as the storm began, and the monks, it seemed, had but little hope for me.

I shall pass over my arrival at the monastery. I was welcomed so kindly that I would not attempt to describe it, and as for my own party, you might, have supposed they had not seen me for a year.

They were very willing to hear my adventures, but when I came to the two balls of fire, and the heavy animal who had made himself my blanket, they ventured to laugh out and say I was trying to impose a traveller’s tale on them.

They were still laughing when my eyes fell on my great-coat, which was hanging on a chair, and I at once remarked a number of yellowish brown hairs clinging to it.

This was proof positive, and I was more of a hero than ever.

The next morning, when all of us travellers assembled for our simple breakfast, the young monk who had discovered me – and whom I still look up to, and I am glad he and his companions live high up in the mountains above us all – the young monk had a tale to tell. Out of curiosity he had gone down to the cave, which was a very little way from the convent, and in it he had found an immense wolf frozen and stark dead, for the cold of the night had been intense.

And I am not afraid to tell you that I felt very sorry the poor old wolf was dead, and I don’t think you will think any the worse of me for being sorry.

I went down myself to see the poor old fellow, and I declare he looked as large as a calf; as for his fangs, I do think they would have gone through a deal board.

Well, and now how do you think I am going to end the story?

Why, I’ve got the old fellow now.

Oh no; he was really frozen to death, and didn’t come to life again; but I begged his body of the monks, had him skinned there and then, brought the skin home and had it stuffed; and I can tell you when I come into the room where he has a berth, and the sun is shining on his glass eyes, I often find myself giving a start, as if he were still alive and able to eat me up.

Story 11-Chapter I

STORY ELEVEN – Ninco Nanco, the Neapolitan Brigand

Who has not heard of Ninco Nanco, the daring cut-purse, and sometimes cut-throat, of the Apennines, who, with his band of fifty chosen men, has long kept in awe the district of Basilicata in the once kingdom of Naples? Certainly, those who have travelled from the Adriatic to the Bay of Naples, across that mountainous region which in the map looks very like Italy’s ankle-bone, will retain a vivid recollection of the curiosity with which they examined every dry stick projecting from a bush or rock, lest it should prove the barrel of one of his followers’ rifles; and the respect which they felt for every shepherd they saw feeding his flocks on the mountain side, lest the said peaceable-avocation-following gentleman should suddenly jump down, joined by many more from among the rocks, who could salute them in the choicest Neapolitan with words, which may be freely translated, “Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” Yes; Ninco Nanco is not a hero of romance, but a veritable living, unkempt, unwashed, brown-cloaked, leather-gaitered, breeches-wearing, high-peaked-hatted Italian robber. Yet Ninco Nanco had not always been a cut-throat; for it may shrewdly be supposed that he was not born a brigand – that he did not begin life by shooting folks with a small bow and arrow when they crossed the precincts of his nursery.

Ninco Nanco was once a Neapolitan gentleman of the ancien régime, who got into trouble by running his stiletto, through a slight misapprehension, into the ribs of the wrong man, which wrong man having powerful friends, poor Ninco Nanco, bitterly complaining of his misfortune, and of the cruelty of fate in making two men so much alike, was condemned to the galleys for life. Had he killed the right man, no notice, he affirmed, would have been taken of his peccadillo. While thus suffering under the frowns of fortune, he formed the acquaintance of several personages, like-minded with himself, who spent their spare time in grumbling against their hard fate at being placed in durance vile, and in concocting plans for revenging themselves upon those who had been instrumental in depriving them of their liberty. There is a tide in the affairs of all men – that in the affairs of Ninco Nanco turned, so he thought, in his favour. An opportunity occurred of making his escape – he availed himself of it, as did a few choice spirits of his own kidney. They were compelled, to be sure, to knock three or four of their gaolers on the head; but to liberal-minded men, like themselves, that was a trifle. They expected soon to be provided with ample funds to buy absolution for that act, or for any other of a similar character they might be compelled to commit. Once free from the precincts of their prison, they were among friends, and by them assisted, hastened off inland, nor pulled rein till they had placed many a mountain range and dark ravine between themselves and those who ought to have pursued them, but did not. There Ninco Nanco raised his standard, and prepared to set the laws of “meum and tuum” at defiance. He and his associates soon made themselves at home in a hut, which they erected among some rocks, high up on the side of a lofty mountain, where no one was likely to come and look for them. They only mustered nine or ten men, however, and it was agreed that their band must be greatly increased before they could undertake any enterprise of consequence. Each of the party had friends on whom he could rely, so he said, to join them, but as they were rather out of the line of the penny postage, there was some difficulty in getting the letters conveyed to the persons with whom the band desired to communicate. Another difficulty existed in the fact that only Ninco Nanco and Giuseppe Greco, his lieutenant, could write. Their leader, for reasons best known to himself, declined putting his hand to paper; the task of inditing these epistles fell, therefore, on Giuseppe, while another of the band was commissioned to find messengers, by whom to despatch them to their several destinations.

Meantime, as gentlemen of the profession these worthies were about to adopt cannot live without food any more than those of a less enterprising character, they proposed making a little expedition along the high road, for the purpose of obtaining funds to supply their immediate necessities. The proposal, emanating from Ninco Nanco himself, was so much to the taste of all, that it was immediately put into execution. True, the band mustered but few men; but they were hungry. They posted themselves on either side of the before-mentioned high road, among some rocks and bushes, and waited quietly for what fortune might send them. The chief injunction Ninco Nanco laid on his followers was, not to fire across the road lest they should hit each other, and rather to aim at the men than the horses, as the horses might prove useful, while the men, objecting to be robbed, might possibly prove troublesome. Before long, a carriage was seen approaching. It had a small body with a hood, and was open in front, and had high wheels. In the centre sat a man, with a chest on either side of him, the butt ends of pistols projecting from the pockets of the carriage, and a rifle across his knees. Ninco Nanco’s eyes brightened. “The Padrone has something worth defending,” he muttered, raising his rifle. He fired, and the traveller fell dead. The rest of the band, not being good shots, missed. The postilion lashed on his horses; but the robbers (the brigands, their pardon is asked), jumping out, stopped them, pulled him from his saddle, and commenced a hurried examination of the contents of the chest, the keys of which they found in their victim’s pocket. The dead man had been steward of the Prince Montefalcone, and was returning to Naples after collecting the rents on his employer’s estates. At the sound of the firing, a horseman who was following the calèche turned to fly; but his steed fell, and he was thrown. He was immediately seized on, and bound back to back with the postillion, while his horse was likewise caught. The brigands were rapid in their proceedings. The carriage was smashed to pieces, and its materials, with the body of the murdered man, being packed on the three horses and the two prisoners, the robbers themselves carrying what could not be thus transported, the whole party struck off up the mountain, their leader stopping behind for a moment to assure himself that no traces of the encounter remained. Having picked up a couple of balls and some splinters, and stamped over some drops of blood, he sprang after his comrades. They had reached a dark and secluded glen, with rocks and trees overhanging, when the chief called a halt. After a little consultation, two graves were dug under the moss. In one the body of the steward was deposited.

“Now, friends,” said the chief, in his mild, bland way, addressing his prisoners, “we require recruits; are either of you inclined to join us?”

“Not I, indeed!” exclaimed the steward’s servant. “You’ve murdered my good master, and I hope to see you all hung – especially you, Signor Ninco Nanco; I remember you in the Bagnio of Castellamare – rogue that you are!”

“Very well, friend, take your way,” said Ninco Nanco, blandly, as before. “And you, Signor Postiglione, what do you say?”

“That I am unprejudiced; but it depends on the offer you can make me, most worthy signori,” answered the postillion.

“You see that grave; one of you two will fill it before ten minutes are over,” said the bandit, with terrible calmness.

“Oh, oh! then I will join you or do anything you wish, most worthy and honourable gentlemen,” exclaimed the poor fellow, trembling in every limb.

“You have selected wisely, friend,” said the bandit, with an unpleasant smile; “but you will understand that we require proof of your sincerity; vows are, like strings of macaroni, easily broken. You will have the goodness to take this pistol, and shoot yonder contumacious slave of the steward of the Prince Montefalcone. I wish that I could have given you the satisfaction of shooting the Prince himself.”

The postillion took the pistol which the brigand handed to him, but hesitated to lift it towards the head of the victim.

“Come, come! we are transacting business,” cried the brigand, with a terrible frown. “If you are in earnest, fire; if not, we will give him his choice of shooting you.”

The servant, who had not seemed till this moment to understand the cruel fate prepared for him, turned an imploring glance at the brigands surrounding him; but no expression of commiseration could he discover in the countenances of any of them. He was in the act of lifting up his hands towards the blue sky above his head, when the report of a pistol was heard, and he fell flat on his face to the ground.

Instantly the outer clothing was stripped off, the pockets rifled, and the yet warm corpse was thrown into the grave and covered up.

“Put on this,” said the brigand, handing the murdered man’s jacket to the postillion; “you’ve made a good beginning, and, as your life is now not worth a half carline if you were to appear in Naples, when you have taken the oath you may consider yourself one of us; but you’ll remember, that if you ever turn traitor, though you were to fly to the centre of the Vatican, or to cling to the altar of Saint Peter’s, you would not be safe from our vengeance. Now, onward, comrades!”

After climbing some way the band reached their huts, where, the remains of the carriage being piled in a heap, a fire was lighted, and they set to work to cook the remainder of their provisions, with the pleasant knowledge that they had now the means amply to replenish their supply. Having eaten and drunk their fill of salt fish, oil, garlic, macaroni, and sour wine, they stretched themselves, wrapped up in their cloaks, at their lengths inside the hut, while one stood sentry at a spot whence he could watch the only approach to this rocky domain. Such was the everyday life of these gentlemen. It would require a curious twist of the imagination to conceive Ninco Nanco a hero, or his followers otherwise than unmitigated villains.

Poor Pietro, the postillion, soon discovered that he was to be a mere hewer of wood to the band.

While awaiting a reply to their letters, Greco and a companion were sent occasionally into the neighbouring village to procure provisions and necessaries, for which they honestly paid, the traders not finding it convenient to give credit to gentlemen of their profession. Only two recruits joined them, invited by Greco, old hands at the trade. No answers were returned to the rest of their epistles.

“We must take other means of recruiting our forces,” exclaimed Ninco Nanco, pulling his moustachios in a way which meant mischief.

Story 11-Chapter II

A long, low cottage, with broad verandahs, over which luxuriant vines had been taught to creep, stood on the side of one of the numerous ridges of the Apennines, some way to the east of Naples, in the province of Basilicata. It belonged to old Marco Maffei, a contadino, or small farmer, who had nothing very peculiar about him except that he was an honest man, and that he had a very pretty daughter, an only child, born when he was already advanced in life, and now the joy and comfort of his declining years. It was no fault of the pretty Chiarina that she had admirers, especially as she did her best to keep them at a respectful distance. Her heart, however, was not altogether made of stone; and therefore, by degrees, the young, good-looking, and gallant Lorenzo Tadino had somehow or other contrived to make an impression on it, deeper, perhaps, than Chiarina would have been willing to acknowledge, even to herself. From the house could be seen, some way below, the high road already spoken of, which stretches from the Adriatic to the western waters of the Mediterranean. Lorenzo, or ’Renzo, as he was more familiarly called, was standing just outside the entrance-gate of the farm, while Chiarina, distaff in hand, sat within, under the shade of the wide-spreading vines which, supported by trellis-work, formed an arch overhead. Her father had gone to market some miles off, leaving her in charge with an old man, who had been with him for many years, and her serving-maiden as her attendant. In the absence of her father, her sense of propriety would not allow her to admit ’Renzo within the gate; nor did he complain, for Chiarina had confessed that if she ever did such a foolish thing as to fall in love, she should in all probability select him as the object of her affections, provided always that her father approved of her choice. ’Renzo had just gone inside the arbour to thank her, it is possible, for her judicious selection, when their attention was drawn towards the road by the sound of horses’ feet galloping furiously along it. There were three horsemen, wild-looking fellows, each with a carbine or rifle in his hand. As they were passing directly under the house one of the steeds fell, and the rider was thrown with violence to the ground. His companions pulled rein, and dismounted to assist him. He must have been severely hurt; for, after they had tied their horses to a tree, they were seen bearing him up the steep path leading to the cottage.

“You will have the goodness to take care of this cavalier, and to see that no injury befalls him,” said one of them to Chiarina, as they reached the arbour.

’Renzo frowned, but to little purpose, at their impudent manner. It would have been against Chiarina’s gentle nature to refuse to take care of the injured man. There was not another house along the high road for nearly half-a-league, and he would die before he could be carried there.

The men turned their glances uneasily up the road. Some object was seen approaching. They immediately placed their burden on the ground, and were about to make off down the hill at full speed, when Chiarina exclaimed that it was her father.

Old Marco, though he did not look over well pleased at seeing the strangers, after exchanging a few words with them, at once consented to take charge of their wounded comrade. Calling ’Renzo to his aid, he lifted the man from the ground to bear him towards the house.

“Remember, if harm befalls him! – ” exclaimed one of the men, lifting up his finger, as he turned to hurry down the hill.

“If harm befalls him it will be no fault of mine,” answered Marco.

The stranger was carried in and placed on Marco’s own bed, and his injuries carefully looked to; while his comrades, having caught his horse, galloped off with it along the road at the same headlong speed as that at which they were before going.

After some time the stranger opened his eyes and looked about him with a very troubled expression, till they fell on Marco. He then seemed more satisfied.