Tortured by these cruel memories of the past, he recked less of what befell him either in the present or the future. There was even a time when he would have courted such a distraction during the first few weeks after his departure from home. Twelve months had since elapsed, and close application to his art had to some extent consoled him. Perhaps absence had done more than art of which he was by no means passionately fond; for he was not one of the thorough enthusiasts who prate about the divine inspiration of painters. Chance alone had guided him to this profession, as the only means he could devise for earning his daily bread chance, partly directed by taste, and partly by some previous study of his school-days. So far it had served his purpose, and, enabling him to visit Rome, he had there imbibed a certain ambition to excel in it enough to soften, though not obliterate, the memory of his misfortunes. This was still keen enough to make him reckless of what might turn up; hence his cool demeanour in the presence of the bandits, at which you may have felt surprise.
Up the mountains they marched him, by one of those execrable roads common in the Papal States, kept, no doubt, in better condition in the time of the Caesars than at the present day.
He speculated but little on whither he was being taken. Of course to some forest lair, some mountain cavern, used as a bandits den. He was not without curiosity to see such a place; and perhaps it was passing through his thoughts, that at some future day he might avail himself of his present experience to paint a bivouac of brigands from real life.
He was very much surprised when a good-sized village came in sight; still more so on seeing the bandits march boldly into it; but his surprise became astonishment when he saw them unsling their carbines, rest them against the walls of the houses, and make other preparations denoting their intention to pass the night in the place!
The villagers appeared to have little dread of them. On the contrary, many of the men joined them in their wine-drinking, while some of the women rather encouraged than resented their rude sallies. Even the long-robed priest of the village passed to and fro amongst them, distributing crosses and benedictions; for all of which the brigands paid him in coin, that had no doubt been taken from the pockets of some
unfortunate traveller perhaps one of his own sacred cloth!
It certainly was a scene of sufficient originality to interest the eyes of a stranger, that stranger an artist; and the young Englishman, as he gazed upon it, for a time forgot that he was a captive. Of this he was reminded as night drew near. Hitherto his captors had not even taken the precaution to tie him. His frank acceptance of the situation, with his apparent indifference to it, had led the chief to think lightly about his making an attempt to escape. Besides, it could not much matter. Before he could reach Rome the sham peasant would have been to his lodgings and rifled the chest of its contents. The scudi would, at all events, be safe; and beyond these the brigand had formed no very sanguine expectations. It was not likely there were rich friends, or any chance of a ransom. The well-worn wardrobe of the painter spoke against such an hypothesis.
Rather in obedience to habit and usage, than for any other reason, did his captors determine to tie him up for the night; and just as the sun was sinking into the Tyrrhenian sea, two men were seen approaching the place where he had been left, provided with a rope for this purpose. In one of these he recognised the man who had first saluted him on the platform. He had not forgotten the conversation that had passed between them, nor the tongue in which it had been carried on. That being English, the bandit himself must be an Englishman, as was also evident from his bright skin, hay-coloured hair, and broad blank face, so unlike the sharp-featured, dark-visaged gentry who surrounded him.
Though at first not a little astonished at encountering a countryman in such a place, and especially in such showy guise, so different from the dull smock-frock the man had once evidently worn, he had ceased for a time to think of him. Since their first meeting he had not come in contact with him. The fellow appeared to be amongst the least considered of the band, only permitted prominence when called up by his chief, and since the capture his services had not been required. He was just such a man as one could hardly see without thinking of rope; and armed with a coil of this, he now approached to execute the order of the captin. So said he as he stopped in front of the prisoner, and commenced uncoiling the cord.
It was the first time Henry Harding had been threatened with the degradation of being bound. To an Englishman, these is something disagreeable in the very idea of it; but to a young gentleman lately the presumed heir to 50,000 pounds, and who had never known a more irksome restriction than the statutes of Eton and Oxford, there was something repulsive in the prospect. At first he indignantly refused to submit to his wrists being corded, protesting that there was no need for it. He had no intention of attempting to escape. He would stay with the brigands till morning, or the morning after that any time till the messenger returned. Besides, they had promised him liberty, on conditions that would be kept on his side, and he hoped on theirs.