CHAPTER XIII.

"Oh, God! it is a fearful thing To see the human soul take wing In any shape, in any mood: I've seen it rushing forth in blood.

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I've seen the sick and ghastly bed Of sin delirious with its tread." _Prisoner of Chillon._

On his restless couch lay Captain John de Vere, the dying brigand. He was mortally wounded, though the deep gash had been bound, and the outward flow of blood stayed, yet he felt a pang which told him the wound bled internally, and he could not but feel it was for his life. Death is a grand tryer; and when the bold sinner felt that within him which, in unmistakeable language, silently told him that in a few hours at most he would quit a life of crime and bloodshed, and enter on an endless existence of misery, or total annihilation, (for he was a professed infidel,) even his stout heart somewhat quailed! He felt the firm ground--the _terra cognita_--giving way; the reed on which he held failing him. He was about to make that dread leap in the dark, and to appear before an offended Deity; for though he professed to disbelieve in the existence of God, his heart belied his voice. He was in a burning fever--faint from loss of blood and parched with the death-thirst!--he felt the slow trickle of his life-blood inly welling! Oh! how his tongue seemed scorching, as if a foretaste of the quenchless fires of hell! He turned over on his side, a thrill of agony shot through him, and he again relapsed to his former position, and lay on his back. He had turned to see if there was any one with him; he was alone, save his own dark thoughts,--they were with him! The couch on which he lay was raised on a slight bedstead that stood against the naked rock-walls of the cave. The apartment itself was a small cavern, opening into the larger cave in which the band lived,--it was his own private cell!

It was dimly lighted by a single wax candle of large dimensions, whose light counterfeited gloom on the dark rocks, hung with weapons, which glimmered in the uncertain rays. A large oaken table, very low, stood in the centre of the cave; on it were placed several bunches of grapes and a glass vessel of water,--but beyond the sufferer's reach, tantalizing him with their proximity. Oh, if he could reach the cooling fruit, and still more cooling water!--it seemed to aggravate his pain; and once more he made an effort to rise. This time he sat upright, and experienced a certain relief from the change of position; he gazed on the tempting fruit; but when he further raised his form to strive and reach it, another agonizing pang shot through him; so intense was its poignancy he could scarcely forbear screaming. He sank back a second time, muttering curses on his band.

"They were ready enough to share my booty!--good friends in health, but at need where are they? False dogs! vile deceivers!--they leave me, their captain, to perish like a brute beast! Bill! Pedro!--some one of you--dogs, ingrates!--for the love of God a glass of water!" The last part of the sentence was shouted. "They hear me not--they care not for me!--but no, I wrong them," he said, as the curtain which divided his cave from the larger was pushed aside, and an Italian maiden entered. She was very young, and singularly interesting-looking in face; her beauty, of a high order, was as yet imperfectly developed; her eyes large, dark, and piercing. She approached the dying man with noiseless tread; then in her soft tongue asked if he wanted anything.

"Yes, child, water--water!--for God's sake! I am parched."

The maiden poured out a silver goblet-ful from the glass vessel, and brought it to the sufferer; he seized it as if it had been for his life, and eagerly drained it.

"Thanks; it is long since I tasted water, signorina, but I never before drank wine with such gusto,--egad, it was nectar!"

"Take some grapes, Capitano," said the girl, offering him a bunch; "they will cool your tongue. Are you better?--easier from pain?"

"Ay, better now," exclaimed the Captain, receiving the fruit. "Now tell Bill Stacy I want him:--why does he shrink from the sight of death?"

"He shrinks not from death, but has gone to bring you a priest," said the girl. "The Virgin grant you may yet live!"

She then as noiselessly departed, and once more left the dying man to his own reflections.

His thoughts were far from enviable; he felt perhaps remorse--for it was not repentance nor grief--for his crimes; and as he recalled them all, the long dark catalogue seemed endless,--terrific! Deeds of rapine and murder long forgotten revived like adders, and stung him once more;--but it was the agony of lost despair--the echoes of horrid crimes!

From these thoughts he was roused by the entrance of Bill Stacy, and with him a Roman Catholic priest.

"Ha! Bill! you are come at last. Egad! I thought you had clean forgotten a wounded mate. But who the devil have you got there? Where did you pick up yon shaveling?--and why bring you accursed priests to my bed?"

"Your cable is nigh run out; I thought you would like a chaplain mayhap, and brought this fellow along--for I had hard work to prevail on the cussed fool to venture his head here;--but here he is; and he knows a yarn o' long prayers!"

"My son," said the priest, looking heavenwards as he crossed himself, "look on this blessed sign, and ere life takes wing, ask the bless--"

But he was cut short by the Captain.

"Cease your drivelling--idiotical nonsense, or preach to others who believe your fables. Egad, you think me dying, but I'll come it yet. Away, old dotard!"

"Blaspheme not, my son; think upon the blessed Virgin; think on him who forgave the dying thief."

"I, the dying thief! be d--d to you. Bill, if you love me, chase the whining hypocrite from the cave. God's name! had I the strength, I would break his shaven pate for him."

"He don't want you, nor do I neither; so spread sail, old monk, and look sharp our lads don't tear your frock off your back or your hide off your old bones," said Bill, pushing the priest unceremoniously from him by the way he came in.

"What in the foul fiend's name brought you that pattering shaven-headed rascal here for?"

"I told you, but howsomdever let it pass. What did you want me for?"

"Sit down, Bill. I say, Bill, this cut isn't mortal, is it?"

"There's small doubt of that: you are overhauled at last. I bound it up, but the blood flows into your hold, when it is full you will sink."

"You lie, sirrah! and yet--yet, I do feel queery. D--n Ned for a villain; it was a cowardly felon-thrust. You will avenge me, Bill, if I flit."

"I promise you. Our band will go to wreck now when their skipper is gone."

"And yet, Bill, I may come it. I've escaped worse than this."

"No you havn't; you won't ride out this squall. You are wrecked at last, and on the shoals now."

"Go to the devil. You are a capital Job's comforter, Bill," said the sinking sinner, trying to laugh.

"I'm thinking you will see him first. Gin there be a devil he should give you a good berth, since you have helped so many downwards. You'll know if there be a hell or not this night."

For some time, as if exhausted by his exertions in speaking, the Captain lay silent and motionless, save that now and then, as if in agony, he ground his teeth together or clenched the clothes between his fingers. Old Bill sat silently watching him without a feature moving. Again the dying Captain sat up, and passing his hand over his eyes as if to clear his vision, said, "Bill, the candle is going out--it is getting dark."

"It is your own candle going out, and the darkness of death in your brain!"

"You lie, dog, it is false! and yet--yet how dark it grows. The shadows pass quickly; ah! they're gone, I see clear again; and now once more they come--it grows dark, so dark! Bill, I'm dying--but get brandy, I've heard it has do--ne won--" He sank back, unable to articulate the final words.

Bill passed some of the burning spirit into his mouth from a flask; its effect was rapid and wonderful. Once more, fed by the ardent liquid which gave a short-lived strength, and, as it were, nourished the flickering lamp of life, the expiring man sat up.

"More, Bill, more! hurrah for brandy! More, I say. Ha! I begin to see clearly again. More yet, more! The shadows are gone; I feel new vigour. Ye gods, I'll come it yet!"

Bill shook his head.

"Give me the flask again," said the Captain, ere five minutes were flown; "the shades fall again; I will drive them to hell! ha! they go--they go to the devil who sent them; I shall live yet."

Again he drank the maddening liquid, which in a fearful way buoyed up the sinking man; but the alcohol and loss of blood combined worked on his brain and fired it into a kind of frenzy. He sprang up as if convulsed, and crouching amid the wolfskins that covered him, like a wild beast in his lair, struck at an imaginary foe which seemed to haunt him.

"Don't you see him, Bill? the fiend; have at him, drive him away."

"I see nought," replied the old man, still watching him with imperturbable countenance; "who is it you see?"

"Who?" yelled the wretched man. "D'you ask who? See him at the foot of my bed; 'tis the Devil himself."

"Come to overhaul his son," answered Bill, with a brutal laugh. "What like is he, Jack?"

"Bill, you are the archfiend's self, to mock me in my last distress. He is gone, thank God! No, no, there he comes again--will no one scare the demon hence? Ho! there are more--I see them--they crowd around me--they gibber--they laugh a hellish laugh! All my victims come to daunt me! There is Hesketh, Graham, ye gods! Musgrave too; he points to the red hole in his forehead. Avaunt, fiends, away! you frighten me not, I dare you one and all. There's Strogonoff--ha! more, by Jove--crowds--the hung, the tortured, the strangled, the drowned--crowds of them, the infernal niggers! the air is full of their horrid faces! they will tear me. Save me, Bill. Oh, powers of darkness; _she_ too, she is there."

"Who is there?" said Bill; "you seem to have a good company--a devil's dance, and women to dance too!"

"Yes, it is she; then I did murder her. God above! I dreamed I had failed, but no, she is there too."

"She, who is she?"

"Antonia, Juana, who you like. I may as well make a clean breast of it--I poisoned her. I feel remorse for her--for none of the rest. Ah! how pale she is! how dull her once glorious eye!"

"Fiends of hell! you didn't; but you have said it, dog, and for her you die." And with an expression of horrid ire, the old man sprang from his couch and gripped the dying man by his throat.

"Death, hell, and furies! would you murder me, villain? a dying man. Ho, help! he is throttling me, I cannot breathe--help--let go, dog!"

"No, I won't defraud death; you may die scatheless, murderer, villain, foul poisoner! if there is a hell you have dearly earned its torments."

"Leave me, hound, let me die in peace; but stay, give me brandy once more, the room gets dark again, scales of blackness seal my eyes. No, I will not drink; I am better again, I shall yet live."

He lay back calm on his pillow, his eye looked bright, he felt lighter, but it was only the dead man's lightening, when the blood flows back to the seat of life and relieves "the o'ertortured clay;" and what he dreamed was the return of life was only the first touch of death. It seemed the last mercy accorded to this miserable man that at least he should die with full possession of his senses.

"Bill," he said, "forgive me--forget that deed--I am going now--it was that fiery liquor distorted my senses. Bill, there is a hell, I feel its breath scorch me now!"

"Will you have the old priest to absolve you like?"

"No, no, I will die as I have lived; I will meet the devil like a man; I have served him all my life; I have sown the wind, why should I play him false now, or be amazed if I reap the whirlwind? I have been a great sinner, but God knows my blood is on your head, Bill; you brought me to this, and--Oh God!--I am gone! A mortal pang ran me through like a knife--the Devil has hold of my heart! oh, heavens! I die--I d--i--e."

The death rattle in his throat choked the last words, and the soulless form of what was once John de Vere sank back,--the immortal soul fled to its dread Maker.

"Ay, he is gone; wild and bad he was, yet he was a fine fellow. I have had my revenge. The last act remains only to be played out, but his murder must e'en be avenged," said old Bill, as he lifted the dead man's hand and let it fall nerveless again by his side. At that moment Pedro and a youth of eleven or twelve, though he looked much older, entered the chamber of death.

"How is Luigi? Where is our Captain?" asked Pedro.

"Luigi is where we shall all be one day, with the master he served!"

"Alas!" said Pedro, as he approached the bed on which all that was once his chief lay. "Alas! my brave Captain, my true friend, thou art laid low by a felon hand! Thou wert a true brigand,--a bold, fearless leader,--and what art thou now? inanimate clay--soulless dust! Farewell, Luigi, foreigner though thou wert,--the pride of the banditti, the terror of the Capitanata, the scourge of the Abruzzi! Thou art lost now; dull is the eagle eye--cold the impassioned cheek--nerveless the strong arm--still the high heart. Woe to us now! Who shall lead our bands? who shall think, plan, fight, and divide the prey? Woe to the hand that spilt thy blood! We have lost our head to-day; I have lost my friend--my boonfellow! Alas! woe is me!"

Tears stood in the robber's eyes, to whom the late Captain had been a guiding star and friend--even in crime there is a sort of false glory--even among robbers a sort of friendship!

The boy Giovanni, too, leaned over the death-bed.

"Alas! thou art low, high heart, brave soul! But, like the rays of the setting sun, a twilight glory lingers yet. Thy life is gone; not so thy example. The fiery soul lingers still. I feel it swell within me! Our Captain is gone. I will be leader now. I am young; but it was his will. I am a boy in years--a man in soul. This sword," taking the late Captain's blade, "shall not lose its lustre. Call our men in; let them own their chieftain."

Pedro blew a blast. Silently and sadly the whole band assembled. They filled the room; there were at least seventy bold spirits besides Bill, Giovanni, and Pedro; there was only one of the other sex; she wept bitterly, as she pressed the cold hand of Luigi.

"Comrades," said Bill, "our gallant Captain is dead!" A groan of rage and sorrow arose from all. "He named Giovanni as his successor. He is a stripling--a youth in age; but he will make a worthy Captain. I will train him up. Will you acknowledge him? Let those who will hold up their swords."

An instant clash of steel took place; not a sword was lacking.

"Then swear allegiance by your swords; and let the spirit of the dead be witness!"

The oath was taken. A sullen silence reigned for an instant.

"Leonora," said old Bill, "come here."

The maiden came. He whispered something in her ear. She was about to depart when a noise was heard in the bed where the dead lay. Every eye turned towards the place. He had been now dead for half an hour at least, and a shudder thrilled every soul as they saw a faint movement take place on the lips of the dead. Then two long, harrowing shrieks of agony rose from the blue lips, and echoed with fearful tones through the cavern! There was not a faint heart there, nor a coward soul; yet when they heard that scream twice repeated from the lips of the corpse, not a heart but sunk, nor a cheek but paled! It was a cry as if a hundred demons seized on the departed, and he yelled as their fiendish grip encircled him!

Many of the bandits fled in dismay, and hurried in confusion from the inner cave to drown their terror in ardent spirits.

Old Bill alone approached the body, and pressed his hand on the death-cold brow. It was icy. He had been dead long ago!

"Perhaps," said Pedro, "the incarnate fiend has taken possession of the body. It were well to get priestly aid, and exorcise him to depart."

"Perhaps," said Bill, in Italian, "the devil has got into your own head. Tut! it was but the air a rushing from his body. I've heard the like before."

"They were the most awful sounds I ever heard. I shall never forget their terror," said Pedro, shaking his head.

"Thou art a superstitious dog, and frightened by a sound. What if the carcase itself arose? Could not we fight it as well as a living man?"

"Old man, you believe in nothing, fear nothing! You English are afraid of neither spirit nor demon. I fear nothing mortal; but spirits from beyond the grave I do fear; and I care not to say so!"

"You had better drink another kind of spirit to drive such trash from your head," replied Bill, in English, as Pedro had used that tongue, thus giving force to the play on the word. "And, Pedro, see if Leonora be gone; and get a coffin to stow away our late Luigi in; and leave me here to lay out the corpse. I'se warrant not one of you cowardly dogs would lay claws on him now."

"Santa Maria! no! I am well pleased to be away."

Pedro, Giovanni, and the few remaining brigands then left the old man and the corpse together, and broached a cask of Falernian to drive away their terrors. In silver goblets they drank their late Captain's health; his quick delivery from purgatory; and vowed gold to purchase his redemption; as well as swore to avenge his death, if they got hold of the slayer; an important "if," for Adrian Vardarelli was esteemed a cunning man, who would not easily be taken.