"Blockhead!" exclaimed Lancelloti; "they are but four, and the first lucky fire may make us more than equal. To _you_," addressing me with cruel ferocity, "I swear, by all the devils, you shall be shot the instant we are attacked—shot, I say, and flung into the river, that no one else may win those bright Napoleons which I hoped should clink in my own pouch." At that moment, Gaetano came running back to say, that, although armed like the Free Calabri with white cross-belts and heavy muskets, they wore no uniform or scarlet cockade. "They must be free cavalieri of our own order, then," exclaimed Lancelloti. "Some of Scarolla’s band, perhaps." "They have been plundering of late, as far as Capo Pillari." "Forward, then!" Life and liberty were hanging by a hair: my heart beat tumultuously, and mechanically I moved forward, cursing the unsoldier-like malice of the French leader, who had placed me in such a position, by exciting the avarice of such wretches. After losing sight of the advancing party for a time, we suddenly met them, front to front, at an abrupt angle where the road turned round a point of rock. "Advance first, Signor Inglese," said Lancelloti; "and, should you attempt to escape, remember!" and, tapping the butt of his rifle, he grinned savagely as I stepped forward, expecting every instant to be shot through the head. My brain was whirling—I was giddy with rage and despair. The path diminished to a narrow shelf of rock, about a foot broad: on one side it descended sheer to the dark waters of the deep and placid river; on the other frowned the wall of basalt; and I was compelled to grasp the tufts of weeds and grass on its surface, as I passed the perilous turn. Scarcely had I cleared the angle, when I was confronted by—whom!—Giacomo, Luca _labbruta_, and two other soldiers of Santugo, in disguise. Their shout of joy was answered by a volley from three rifles behind me; and the report rang like thunder among the cliffs. I heard the balls whistle past; a shriek and a plunge followed, as one of the Free Corps fell, wounded, into the stream: his comrades rushed on, to avenge him, and I drew aside behind an angle of the rocks, to avoid the cross fire of both parties. Enraged to behold the husband of their famous "Signora Capitanessa" in such a plight, Giacomo and his comrades pressed furiously forward with fixed bayonets. To this formidable weapon, the foe could only oppose the clubbed rifle, and a desperate conflict ensued: but on such ground it could not be of long duration. Blubber-lipped Luca shot Lancelloti through the breast: he rolled down the steep rocks into the sluggish stream, above which his ferocious face rose once or twice amid the crimson eddies of his blood; then sank to rise no more. Immediately after, his companions were bayoneted, and flung over the precipice after him.