One of the gang remained sentinel at the door; the others
swaggered into the house; stood their fusils in a corner of the
room; and each drawing a pistol or stiletto out of his belt, laid
it, with some emphasis, on the table. They now called lustily for
wine; drew benches round the table, and hailing the doctor as
though he had been a boon companion of long standing, insisted
upon his sitting down and making merry. He complied with forced
grimace, but with fear and trembling; sitting on the edge of his
bench; supping down heartburn with every drop of liquor; eyeing
ruefully the black muzzled pistols, and cold, naked stilettos.
They pushed the bottle bravely, and plied him vigorously; sang,
laughed, told excellent stories of robberies and combats, and the
little doctor was fain to laugh at these cut-throat pleasantries,
though his heart was dying away at the very bottom of his bosom.
By their own account they were young men from the villages, who
had Recently taken up this line of life in the mere wild caprice
of youth. They talked of their exploits as a sportsman talks of
his amusements. To shoot down a traveller seemed of little more
consequence to them than to shoot a hare. They spoke with rapture
of the glorious roving life they led; free as birds; here to-day,
gone to-morrow; ranging the forests, climbing the rocks, scouring
the valleys; the world their own wherever they could lay hold of
it; full purses, merry companions; pretty women.—The little
antiquary got fuddled with their talk and their wine, for they
did not spare bumpers. He half forgot his fears, his seal ring,
and his family watch; even the treatise on the Pelasgian cities
which was warming under him, for a time faded from his memory, in
the glowing picture which they drew. He declares that he no
longer wonders at the prevalence of this robber mania among the
mountains; for he felt at the time, that had he been a young man
and a strong man, and had there been no danger of the galleys in
the background, he should have been half tempted himself to turn
bandit.
At length the fearful hour of separating arrived. The doctor was
suddenly called to himself and his fears, by seeing the robbers
resume their weapons. He now quaked for his valuables, and above
all for his antiquarian treatise. He endeavored, however, to look
cool and unconcerned; and drew from out of his deep pocket a
long, lank, leathern purse, far gone in consumption, at the
bottom of which a few coin chinked with the trembling of his
hand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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