THE AMERICAN BARON. deeper into that abyss of despair from which | with which the Irish race in every clime on he had but recently extricated himself. And still the time passed, and the precious moments, laden with the fate not only of Hawbury, but of all the others--the moments of the night during which alone any escape was to be thought of-moved all too swiftly away. Now in this hour of perplexity the good priest bethought him of a friend whose fidelity had been proved through the varied events of a life-a friend which, in his life of celibacy, had found in his heart something of that place which a fond and faithful wife may hold in the heart of a more fortunate man. It was a little friend, a fragrant friend, a tawny and somewhat grimy friend; it was in the pocket of his coat; it was of clay; in fact, it was nothing else than a dudeen. Where in the world had the good priest who lived in this remote corner of Italy got that emblem of his green native isle? Perhaps he had brought it with him in the band of his hat when he first turned his back upon his country, or perhaps he had obtained it from the same quarter which had supplied him with that very black plug of tobacco which he brought forth shortly afterward. The one was the complement of the other, and each was handled with equal love and care. Soon the occupation of cutting up the tobacco and rubbing it gave a temporary distraction to his thoughts, which distraction was prolonged by the further operation of pressing the tobacco into the bowl of the dudeen. Here the priest paused and cast a longing look toward the fire, which was not far away. "Would you have any objection to let me go and get a coal to light the pipe?" said he to one of the men. The man had an objection, and a very strong one. "Would one of you be kind enough to go and get me a brand or a hot coal?" This led to an earnest debate, and finally one of the men.thought that he might venture. Before doing so, however, a solemn promise was extorted from the priest that he would not try to escape during his absence. This the priest gave. "Escape!" he said "it's a smoke I want. Besides, how can I escape with three of ye And then, what would I watching me? want to escape for? I'm safe enough here." The man now went off, and returned in a short time with a brand. The priest gave him his blessing, and received the brand with a quiet exultation that was pleasing to behold. "Matches," said he, "ruin the smoke. They give it a sulphur taste. There's nothing like a hot coal." Saying this, he lighted his pipe. This operation was accomplished with a series of those short, quick, hard, percussive puffs this terrestrial ball perform the solemn rite. He now began to face the full difficulty He was in the midst of these thoughtsfor himself resigned, for Ethel anxious-and turning over in his mind all the various modes by which the emotion of pity or mercy might be roused in a merciless and pitiless nature; he was thinking of an appeal to the brigands themselves, and had already decided that in this there lay his best hope of success-when all of a sudden these thoughts were rudely interrupted and dissipated and scattered to the winds by a most startling cry. Ethel started to her feet. "Oh Heavens!" she cried, "what was that?" "Down! down!" cried the men, wrathfully; but before Ethel could obey the sound was repeated, and the men themselves were arrested by it. The sound that thus interrupted the meditations of the priest was the explosion of a rifle. As Ethel started up another followed. This excited the men themselves, who now listened intently to learn the cause. They did not have to wait long. Another rifle explosion followed, which was succeeded by a loud, long shriek. "An attack!" cried one of the men, with a deep curse. They listened still, yet did not move away from the place, for the duty to which they had been assigned was still prominent in their minds. The priest had already risen to his feet, still smoking his pipe, as though in this new turn of affairs its assistance might be more than ever needed to enable him to preserve his presence of mind, and keep his soul serene in the midst of confusion. And now they saw all around them the signs of agitation. Figures in swift motion flitted to and fro amidst the shade, and others darted past the smouldering fires. In the midst of this another shot sounded, and another, and still another. At the third there was a wild yell of rage and pain, followed by the shrill cry of a woman's voice. The fact was evident that some of the brigands had fallen, and the women were lamenting. turning fires, and these showed that the brigands were being driven back. The confusion grew greater. Loud cries | the lake. Wild yells arose, then fierce rearose; calls of encouragement, of entreaty, of command, and of defiance. Over by the old house there was the uproar of rushing men, and in the midst of it a loud, stern voice of command. The voices and the rush-men, with a curse. "We must go and fight.” ing footsteps moved from the house to the woods. Then all was still for a time. It was but for a short time, however. Then came shot after shot in rapid succession. The flashes could be seen among the trees. All around them there seemed to be a struggle going on. There was some unseen assailant striking terrific blows from the impenetrable shadow of the woods. The brigands were firing back, but they fired only into thick darkness. Shrieks and yells of pain arose from time to time, the direction of which showed that the brigands were suffering. Among the assailants there was neither voice nor cry. But, in spite of their losses and the disadvantage under which they labored, the brigands fought well, and resisted stubbornly. From time to time a loud, stern voice arose, whose commands resounded far and wide, and sustained the courage of the men and directed their movements. The men who guarded the priest and Ethel were growing more and more excited every moment, and were impatient at their enforced inaction. "They must be soldiers," said one. "They fight well." "Ay; better than the last time." The guards could endure this no longer. "They are beating us," cried one of the "What shall we do with these prisoners ?" "Tie them and leave them." "Have you a rope?" "No. There is one by the grave." "Let's take the prisoners there and bind them." This proposition was accepted; and, seizing the priest and Ethel, the four men hurried them back to the grave. The square hole lay there just beside them, with the earth by its side. Ethel tried to see into it, but was not near enough to do so. One of the men found the rope, and began in great haste to bind the arms of the priest behind him. Another began to bind Ethel in the same way. But now there came loud cries, and the rush of men near them. A loud, stern voice was encouraging the men. "On! on!" he cried. "Follow me! We'll drive them back!" Saying this, a man hurried on, followed by a score of brigands. It was Girasole. He had been guarding the woods at this side when he had seen the rush that had been made farther up. He had seen his men driven in, and was now hurrying up to the place to retrieve the battle. As he was running on "How did they learn to fight so well un- he came up to the party at the grave. der cover?" met them we shot them like sheep, and drove them back in five minutes." He stopped. "What's this?" he cried. "The prisoners—we were securing them.” It was now lighter than it had been, and "They've got a leader who understands | dawn was not far off. The features of Girafighting in the woods. He keeps them un-sole were plainly distinguishable. They were der cover." "Who is he?" "Diavolo! who knows? They get new captains every day." "Was there not a famous American Indian-" convulsed with the most furious passion, which was not caused so much by the rage of conflict as by the sight of the prisoners. He had suspected treachery on their part, and had spared them for a time only so as to see whether his suspicions were true or not. "True. I heard of him. An Indian war-But now this sudden assault by night, con rior from the American forests. saw him when he was at Rome." "Bah!-you all saw him." "Where?" "On the road." "We didn't." Giuseppe ducted so skillfully, and by such a powerful force, pointed clearly to treachery, as he saw it, and the ones who to him seemed most prominent in guilt were the priest and Ethel. His suspicions were quite reasonable under the circumstances. Here was a priest whom "You did. He was the Zouave who fled he regarded as his natural enemy. These to the woods first." "He ?" "Yes." "Diavolo!"" brigands identified themselves with republicans and Garibaldians whenever it suited their purposes to do so, and consequently, as such, they were under the condemnation of These words were exchanged between the Pope; and any priest might think he was them as they looked at the fighting. But doing the Pope good service by betraying suddenly there came rapid flashes and roll-those who were his enemies. As to this priest, ing volleys beyond the fires that lay be-every thing was against him. He lived close fore them, and the movement of the flashes by; every step of the country was no doubt showed that a rush had been made toward familiar to him; he had come to the camp "THE PRIEST FLUNG HIMSELF FORWARD." under very suspicious circumstances, bringing with him a stranger in disguise. He had given plausible answers to the crossquestioning of Girasole; but those were empty words, which went for nothing in the presence of the living facts that now stood before him in the presence of the enemy. These thoughts had all occurred to Girasole, and the sight of the two prisoners kindled his rage to madness. It was the deadliest purpose of vengeance that gleamed in his eyes as he looked upon them, and they knew it. He gave one glance, and then turned to his men. "On! on!" he cried; "I will join you in an instant; and you," he said to the guards, "wait a moment." The brigands rushed on with shouts to assist their comrades in the fight, while the other four waited. All this time the fight had not ceased. The air was filled with the reports of rifleshots, the shouts of men, the yells of the wounded. The flashes seemed to be gradually drawing nearer, as though the assailants were still driving the brigands. But their progress was slow, for the fighting was carried on among the trees, and the brigands resisted stubbornly, retreating from cover to cover, and stopping every moment to make a fresh stand. But the assailants had gained much ground, and were already close by the borders of the lake, and advancing along toward the old stone house. The robbers had not succeeded in binding their prisoners. The priest and Ethel both VOL. XLIII.-No. 258.-55 stood where they had encountered Girasole, and the ropes fell from the robbers' hands at the new interruption. The grave with its mound was only a few feet away. Girasole had a pistol in his left hand and a sword in his right. He sheathed his sword and drew another pistol, keeping his eyes fixed steadily all the while upon his victims. "You needn't bind these prisoners," said Girasole, grimly; "I know a better way to secure them." "In the name of God," cried the priest, "I implore you not to shed innocent blood!" "Pooh!" said Girasole. "This lady is innocent; you will at least spare her!" "She shall die first!" said Girasole, in a fury, and reached out his hand to grasp Ethel. The priest flung himself forward between the two. Girasole dashed him aside. "Give us time to pray, for God's sake!one moment to pray!" "Not a moment!" cried Girasole, grasping at Ethel. The Ethel gave a loud shriek and started away in horror. Girasole sprang after her. four men turned to seize her. With a wild and frantic energy, inspired by the deadly terror that was in her heart, she bounded away toward the grave. HAWBURY last vanished from the scene to a place which is but seldom resorted to by a living man. Once inside of his terrible retreat he became a prey to feelings of the most varied and harrowing character, in the midst of which there was a suspense, twofold, agonizing, and intolerable. First of all his suspense was for Ethel, and then for himself. In that narrow and restricted retreat his senses soon became sharpened to an unusual degree of acuteness. Every touch against it communicated itself to his frame, as though the wood of his inclosure had become part of himself; and every sound intensified itself to an extraordinary degree of distinctness, as though the temporary loss of vision had been compensated for by an exaggeration of the sense of hearing. This was particularly the case as the priest drove in the screws. He heard the shuffle on the stairs, the whisper to Ethel, her retreat, and the ascending footsteps; while at the same time he was aware of the unalterable coolness of the priest, who kept calmly at his work until the very last moment. The screws seemed to enter his own frame, and the slight noise which was made, inaudible as it was to others, to him seemed loud enough to rouse all in the house. Then he felt himself raised and carried down stairs. Fortunately he had got in with his feet toward the door, and as that end was carried out first, his descent of the stairs was not attended with the inconvenience which he might have felt had it been taken down in an opposite direction. through his now fevered and distempered brain. Other clods fell, and still others, and the work went on till his brain reeled, and under the mighty emotions of the hour his reason began to give way. Then all his fortitude and courage sank. All thought left him save the consciousness of the one horror that had now fixed itself upon his soul. It was intolerable. In another moment his despair would have overmastered him, and under its impulse he would have burst One fact gave him very great relief, for he had feared that his breathing would be difficult. Thanks, however, to the precautions of the priest, he felt no difficulty at all in that respect. The little bits of wood which prevented the lid from resting close to the cof-through all restraint, and turned all his enfin formed apertures which freely admitted all the air that was necessary. He was borne on thus from the house toward the grave, and heard the voice of the priest from time to time, and rightly supposed that the remarks of the priest were addressed not so much to the brigands as to himself, so as to let him know that he was not deserted. The journey to the grave was accomplished without any inconvenience, and the coffin was at length put upon the ground. ergies toward forcing himself from his awful prison house. He turned himself over. He gathered himself up as well as he could. Already he was bracing himself for a mighty effort to burst up the lid, when suddenly the voice of Girasole struck upon his ear, and a wild fear for Ethel came to his heart, and the anguish of that fear checked at once all further thought of himself. He lay still and listened. He did this the more patiently as the men also stopped from their work, and as the hideous earth-clods no longer fell down. He listened. From the conversation he gathered pretty accurately the state of affairs. He knew that Ethel was there; that she had been discovered and dragged forth; that she was in danger. He listened in the anguish of a new suspense. He heard the words of the priest, his calm denial of treachery, his quiet appeal to Girasole's good sense. Then he heard the decis Then it was lowered into the grave. There was something in this which was so horrible to Hawbury that an involuntary shudder passed through every nerve, and all the terror of the grave and the bitterness of death in that one moment seemed to descend upon him. He had not thought of this, and consequently was not prepared for it. He had expected that he would be put down somewhere on the ground, and that the priest would be able to get rid of the men, and ef-ion of Girasole, and the party walked away fect his liberation before it had gone so far. with their prisoners, and he was left alone. It required an effort to prevent himself Alone! from crying out; and longer efforts were At any other time it would have been a needed and more time before he could re-terrible thing thus to be left alone in such a gain any portion of his self-control. He now heard the priest performing the burial rites; these seemed to him to be protracted to an amazing length; and so, indeed, they were; but to the inmate of that grave the time seemed longer far than it did to those who were outside. A thousand thoughts swept through his mind, and a thousand fears swelled within his heart. At last the suspicion came to him that the priest himself was unable to do any better, and this suspicion was confirmed as he detected the efforts which he made to get the men to leave the grave. This was particularly evident when he pretended to hear an alarm, by which he hoped to get rid of the brigands. It failed, however, and with this failure the hopes of Hawbury sank lower than ever. But the climax of his horror was attained as the first clod fell upon his narrow abode. It seemed like a death-blow. He felt it as if it had struck himself, and for a moment it was as though he had been stunned. The dull, heavy sound which those heard who stood above, to his ears became transformed and enlarged, and extended to something like a thunder-peal, with long reverberations place, but now to him who was thus imprisoned it afforded a great relief. The work of burial, with all its hideous accompaniments, was stayed. He could collect his senses and make up his mind as to what he should do. Now, first of all, he determined to gain more air if possible. The earth that had fallen had covered up many of the chinks, so that his breathing had become sensibly more difficult. His confinement, with this oppression of his breathing, was intolerable. He therefore braced himself once more to make an effort. The coffin was large and rudely constructed, being merely an oblong box. He had more play to his limbs than he could have had in one of a more regular construction, and thus he was able to bring a great effort to bear upon the lid. He pressed. The screws gave way. He lifted it up to some distance. He drew in a long draught of fresh air, and felt in that one draught that he received new life and strength and hope. He now lay still and thought about what he should do next. If it had only been himself, he would, of course, have escaped in that first instant, and fled to the woods. But the thought of Ethel detained him. What was her position; and what could he do to save her? This was his thought. He knew that she, together with the priest, was in the hands of four of the brigands, who were commanded to keep their prisoners safe at the peril of their lives. Where they were he did not know, nor could he tell whether she was near or at a distance. Girasole had led them away. He now arose, and, kneeling in the coffin, he raised the lid. The earth that was upon it fell down inside. He tilted the lid up, and holding it up thus with one hand, he put his head carefully out of the grave, and looked out in the direction where Girasole had gone with his prisoners. The knoll to which he had led them was a very conspicuous place, and had probably been selected for that reason, since it could be under his own observation, from time to time, even at a distance. He determined to look out and watch. It was about half-way between the grave He perceived that this grave, in the heart of and the nearest fire, which fire, though low, the brigands' camp, afforded the very safest still gave forth some light, and the light was place in which he could be for the purpose in a line with the knoll to Hawbury's eyes. of watching. Girasole's words had indi- The party on the knoll, therefore, appeared cated that the work of burial would not be thrown out into relief by the faint fire-light resumed that night, and if any passers-by behind them, especially the priest and Ethel. should come they would avoid such a place And now Hawbury kept his watch, and as this. Here, then, he could stay until looked and listened and waited, ever minddawn at least, and watch unobserved. Per- ful of his own immediate neighborhood and haps he could find where Ethel was guard-guarding carefully against any approach. ed; perhaps he could do something to dis- But his own place was in gloom, and no one tract the attention of the brigands, and af- would have thought of looking there. so that ford her an opportunity for flight. he was unobserved. |