Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 285: what you’re looking at

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ee oe ee 272 the name of ‘The Otho’ painted upon it. He evidently considered this to be a most important discovery, and hastened up to the farm-house. There he informed my father that the ship which had been wrecked was a famous Greek pirate known as the Athene, and which for some time past had been the terror of the Levant. My father was naturally indignant at the idea of hav- ing had three pirates at his house: but the officer at once assured him that the young English gep- tleman—meaning yourself, sir—was no pirate, that you were a highly honourable person, and an inti- mate friend of the Count of Livorno, nephew of the Grand Duke of Tuscany. While the officer was still at the house, I returned from the town in the chaise-cart; aud on hearing all that was said, I gave information that. the two Greeks were still in that neighbouring town. ‘The officer speedily resolved upon the plan that was to be adopted. He enjoined us all to the strictest secresy—bor- vowed a suit of plain clothes, as well as a horse— and rode over to the town, to ascertain whether the authofities would give up the Greeks to him as prisoners, or whether he should bring his crew from the boat and coine and take them. in the meantime the box was opened; and it was found to contain the handsome presents which you, sir, were kind enough to send us 4 “It was only a small tribute of my gratitude,” I said, “for the kind hospitality I experienced be- neath your roof. But pray proceed with your nar- rative.” * Well, sir, the. officer came back in a short time. He had seen the Mayor of the town, who considered that he had no authority to give up the Greeks, as no act of piracy had been proved to have been committed by them against any French vessel, nor was even alleged to have taken place: but he had offered to render all possible succour in enabling the officer to capture the Greeks if he would take upon himself the responsibility of the proceeding. The boat’s crew were summoned ; and we provided them all with weapons—for they had brought none from the ship. I must now tell you that before the officer’s return from the town to the farm, Signor Leone had intimated his intention of rambling again to the ruins: for he said that as the moon would rise early, he had a fancy to view their effect by that licht. We thought nothing of it at the time, beyond remarking to ourselves after he was gone that we thought him a somewhat sentimental young gentleman: for all our attention was absorbed in the affair of the two Greeks. Well, sir, Signor Leone set off; and a few minutes afterwards the officer came back Then it was that his crew were summoned and armed ; and just as they were ready to issue forth, a man on horseback galloped up to the house. He was a police-spy from the town, and had been set to watch the movements of the two Greeks. It seems that they had hired a small vehicle—a sort of chaise-cart hke our own: they would not have anybody to drive them—and they had left a de- posit to cover the value of the hurse and the vehicle. The spy had managed to follow them at such a distance that they were not aware of their being so followed; and they had driven to the ruins of the monastery. The spy had tracked them thither; and he came quickly on to the farm to inform us. Then we thought of Signor Leone o ee — | e/a -DOOUOMNCrCOtit“SN rOOres——10,§___ 0 I ae JOSEPH WILMOT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. and the worst misgivings seized upon us. Had those Greeks before leaving the farm, made an ap- pointment, under some specious pretext, to lure him thither at a particular hour for an evil pur- pose? The officer and his men, the spy, myself, and my father, hastened off towards the ruins; and we divided ourselves into two parties. The party to which I belonged, entered the ruins fro the eastern side; and we had not advanced inan paces, before the moonlight revealed to us the form of a man stretched upon the ground. This was the unfortunate Leone. Life was extinct; and no wonder, good heavens! for it subsequently proved that he had been stabbed in half-a-dozen places: but the weapon with which the blows were inflicted was not to be found. His person had not been rified; and as his corpse was still quite warm, we naturally concluded that the dreadful deed must have been perpetrated within the last few minutes, and that the assassins, alarmed by the sounds of our advance, had fled precipitately. The French officer, with the men of his own party, kad entered the ruins by the western side, and had at once suc- ceeded in capturing the two Greeks, whom they found stealthily creeping along in the act of escaping towards the spot where the chaise-cart was subsequently discovered.” “And thus they were taken prisoners?” I ob- served in horrible musing. “ But what said they? Did they protest their innocence om * You shall hear, Signor,” responded the farmer's son. ‘ When the two parties met—when the murder was made known—and when the crime was at once charged against the Greeks, their con- duct was very different. The younger one gave vent to a terrific cry, and sank senseless upon the ground. But the elder — Durazzo, the corsair- chief, as we now know him to be—assumed a de- meanour so haughtily and scornfully dignified, at the same time mingled with what appeared to be such an expression of horror, that never in the whole world could conscious guilt have tutored it- self to look so much like real innocence.” | “Ah!” T ejaculated. “But go on! go on!” * Durazzo,” proceeded the farmer’s son, “ pro- tested with a tone and look of the haughtiest in- dignation against the charge: but it was of course useless—circumstances were damnatory. We bore the prisoners off to the town; and they were ex- amined before the mayor. The French officer ad- vanced no claim to their persons: he was content to leave them in the hands of that law against which they had so flagrantly offended;—and thus the charge of piracy was not entered into,” ‘“ flow bore they themselves in the presence of the magistrate ?” [ asked. | Durazzo was still dignified ; but his indignation had given way to what I may term an intrepid calmness. As for his youthful companion—he seemed almost stupefied, and barely to be conscious of what was passing around. He clung to Dua- razzo, who frequently whispered something in his ear: but what it was, I know not. On those occasions the youth would gaze up for an instant with a brightening countenance, and then sink into the apathy of consternation again. Durazzo denied the charge: but when asked to ‘explain wherefore he and his companious were in the ruins at the time, he remained silent. No explanation of any sort would hoe give: he contented himself NOOKS Cc (©)