Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack!  
“Here comes the estafette from Naples,” said mine host of the inn at Terracina, “bring out the relay.”
 
The estafette came as usual galloping¹ up the road, brandishing² over his head a short-handled whip, with a long knotted lash³; every smack⁴ of which made a report like a pistol. He was a tight square-set young fellow, in the customary uniform—a smart blue coat, ornamented⁵ with facings and gold lace, but so short behind as to reach scarcely below his waistband, and cocked up not unlike the tail of a wren⁶. A cocked hat, edged with gold lace; a pair of stiff riding boots; but instead of the usual leathern breeches he had a fragment of a pair of drawers that scarcely furnished an apology for modesty⁸ to hide behind.
 
The estafette galloped⁹ up to the door and jumped from his horse.
 
“A glass of rosolio, a fresh horse, and a pair of breeches,” said he, “and quickly—I am behind my time, and must be off.”
 
“San Genaro!” replied the host, “why, where hast thou left thy garment?”
 
“Among the robbers between this and Fondi.”
 
“What! rob an estafette! I never heard of such folly¹⁰. What could they hope to get from thee?”
 
“My leather breeches!” replied the estafette. “They were bran new, and shone like gold, and hit the fancy of the captain.”
 
“Well, these fellows grow worse and worse. To meddle¹¹ with an estafette! And that merely for the sake of a pair of leather breeches!”
 
The robbing of a government messenger seemed to strike the host with More astonishment¹³ than any other enormity that had taken place on the road; and indeed it was the first time so wanton an outrage¹⁴ had been committed; the robbers generally taking care not to meddle with any thing belonging to government.
 
The estafette was by this time equipped; for he had not lost an instant in making his preparations while talking. The relay was ready: the rosolio tossed off. He grasped the reins¹⁵ and the stirrup.
 
“Were there many robbers in the band?” said a handsome, dark young man, stepping forward from the door of the inn.
 
“As formidable a band as ever I saw,” said the estafette, springing into the saddle.
 
“Are they cruel to travellers?” said a beautiful young Venetian lady, who had been hanging on the gentleman’s arm.
 
“Cruel, signora!” echoed the estafette, giving a glance at the lady as he put spurs to his horse. “Corpo del Bacco! they stiletto all the men, and as to the women—”
 
Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack!—the last words were drowned in the smacking¹⁶ of the whip, and away galloped the estafette along the road to the Pontine marshes¹⁷.
 
“Holy Virgin¹⁸!” ejaculated the fair Venetian, “what will become of us!”
 
The inn of Terracina stands just outside of the walls of the old town of that name, on the frontiers of the Roman territory. A little, lazy, Italian town, the inhabitants of which, apparently¹⁹ heedless and listless, are said to be little better than the brigands²⁰ which surround them, and indeed are half of them supposed to be in some way or other connected with the robbers. A vast, rocky height rises perpendicularly²¹ above it, with the ruins of the castle of Theodoric the Goth, crowning its summit; before it spreads the wide bosom²² of the Mediterranean²³, that sea without flux²⁴ or reflux. There seems an idle pause in every thing about this place. The port is without a sail, excepting that once in a while a solitary²⁵ felucca may be seen, disgorging its holy cargo²⁶ of baccala, the meagre provision for the Quaresima or Lent. The naked watch towers, rising here and there along the coast, speak of pirates and corsairs which hover²⁷ about these shores: while the low huts, as stations for soldiers, which dot the distant road, as it winds through an olive grove²⁸, intimate that in the ascent²⁹ there is danger for the traveller and facility for the bandit.
 
Indeed, it is between this town and Fondi that the road to Naples is Mostly infested³⁰ by banditti. It winds among rocky and solitary places, where the robbers are enabled to see the traveller from a distance from the brows of hills or impending³¹ precipices³², and to lie in wait for him, at the lonely and difficult passes.
 
At the time that the estafette made this sudden appearance, almost in cuerpo, the audacity³³ of the robbers had risen to an unparalleled height. They had their spies and emissaries in every town, village, and osteria, to give them notice of the quality and movements of travellers. They did not scruple³⁴ to send messages into the country towns and villas³⁵, demanding certain sums of money, or articles of dress and luxury; with menaces of vengeance³⁶ in case of refusal. They had plundered³⁸ carriages; carried people of rank and fortune into the mountains and obliged them to write for heavy ransoms³⁹; and had committed outrages⁴¹ on females who had fallen in their power.
 
The police exerted its rigor⁴² in vain. The brigands were too numerous And powerful for a weak police. They were countenanced⁴³ and cherished by several of the villages; and though now and then the limbs of malefactors hung blackening in the trees near which they had committed some atrocity⁴⁵; or their heads stuck upon posts in iron cages made some dreary⁴⁶ part of the road still more dreary, still they seemed to strike dismay into no bosom but that of the traveller.
 
The dark, handsome young man; and the Venetian lady, whom I have mentioned, had arrived early that afternoon in a private carriage, drawn⁴⁷ by mules⁴⁸ and attended by a single servant. They had been recently married, were spending the honeymoon⁴⁹ in travelling through these delicious countries, and were on their way to visit a rich aunt of the young lady’s at Naples.
 
The lady was young, and tender and timid. The stories she had heard along the road had filled her with apprehension⁵⁰, not more for herself than for her husband; for though she had been married almost a month, she still loved him almost to idolatry. When she reached Terracina the rumors⁵¹ of the road had increased to an alarming magnitude; and the sight of two robbers’ skulls⁵² grinning in iron cages on each side of the old gateway⁵³ of the town brought her to a pause. Her husband had tried in vain to reassure⁵⁴ her. They had lingered all the afternoon at the inn, until it was too late to think of starting that evening, and the parting words of the estafette completed her affright.
 
“Let us return to Rome,” said she, putting her arm within her husband’s, and drawing towards him as if for protection—“let us return to Rome and give up this visit to Naples.”
 
“And give up the visit to your aunt, too,” said the husband.
 
“Nay—what is my aunt in comparison with your safety,” said she, looking up tenderly in his face.
 
There was something in her tone and manner that showed she really was Thinking more of her husband’s safety at that moment than of her own; and being recently married, and a match of pure affection, too, it is very possible that she was. At least her husband thought so. Indeed, any one who has heard the sweet, musical tone of a Venetian voice, and the melting tenderness of a Venetian phrase, and felt the soft witchery of a Venetian eye, would not wonder at the husband’s believing whatever they professed⁵⁵.
 
He clasped the white hand that had been laid within his, put his arm round her slender waist, and drawing her fondly to his bosom—“This night at least,” said he, “we’ll pass at Terracina.”
 
Crack! crack! crack! crack! crack!
 
Another apparition⁵⁶ of the road attracted the attention of mine host and his guests. From the road across the Pontine marshes, a carriage drawn by half a dozen horses, came driving at a furious pace—the postillions smacking their whips like mad, as is the case when conscious of the greatness or the munificence⁵⁷ of their fare. It was a landaulet, with a servant mounted on the dickey. The compact, highly finished, yet proudly simple construction of the carriage; the quantity of neat, well-arranged trunks and conveniences; the loads of box coats and upper benjamins on the dickey—and the fresh, burly, gruff-looking face at the window, proclaimed at once that it was the equipage of an Englishman.
 
“Fresh horses to Fondi,” said the Englishman, as the landlord came bowing to the carriage door.
 
“Would not his Excellenza alight and take some refreshment⁵⁸?”
 
“No—he did not mean to eat until he got to Fondi!”
 
“But the horses will be some time in getting ready—”
 
“Ah.—that’s always the case—nothing but delay in this cursed country.”
 
“If his Excellenza would only walk into the house—”
 
“No, no, no!—I tell you no!—I want nothing but horses, and as quick as possible. John! see that the horses are got ready, and don’t let us be kept here an hour or two. Tell him if we’re delayed over the time, I’ll lodge⁵⁹ a complaint with the postmaster.”
 
John touched his hat, and set off to obey his master’s orders, with the taciturn obedience⁶⁰ of an English servant. He was a ruddy, round-faced fellow, with hair cropped close; a short coat, drab breeches, and long gaiters; and appeared to have almost as much contempt as his master for everything around him.
 
In the mean time the Englishman got out of the carriage and walked up and down before the inn, with his hands in his pockets: taking no notice of the crowd of idlers who were gazing at him and his equipage. He was tall, stout⁶¹, and well made; dressed with neatness and precision, wore a travelling-cap of the color of gingerbread, and had rather an unhappy expression about the corners of his mouth; partly from not having yet made his dinner, and partly from not having been able to get on at a greater rate than seven miles an hour. Not that he had any other cause for haste than an Englishman’s usual hurry to get to the end of a journey; or, to use the regular phrase, “to get on.”
 
After some time the servant returned from the stable with as sour a look as his master.
 
“Are the horses ready, John?”
 
“No, sir—I never saw such a place. There’s no getting anything done. I think your honor had better step into the house and get something to eat; it will be a long while before we get to Fundy.”
 
“D—n the house—it’s a mere¹² trick—I’ll not eat anything, just to spite them,” said the Englishman, still more crusty at the prospect⁶² of being so long without his dinner.
 
“They say your honor’s very wrong,” said John, “to set off at this late hour. The road’s full of highwaymen.”
 
“Mere tales to get custom.”
 
“The estafette which passed us was stopped by a whole gang,” said John, increasing his emphasis with each additional piece of information.
 
“I don’t believe a word of it.”
 
“They robbed him of his breeches,” said John, giving at the same time a hitch⁶³ to his own waist-band.
 
“All humbug⁶⁴!”
 
Here the dark, handsome young man stepped forward and addressing the Englishman very politely in broken English, invited him to partake of a repast he was about to make. “Thank’ee,” said the Englishman, thrusting his hands deeper into his pockets, and casting a slight side glance of suspicion at the young man, as if he thought from his civility he must have a design upon his purse.
 
“We shall be most happy if you will do us that favor,” said the lady, in her soft Venetian dialect. There was a sweetness in her accents that was most persuasive⁶⁵. The Englishman cast a look upon her countenance⁴⁴; her beauty was still more eloquent⁶⁶. His features instantly relaxed. He made an attempt at a civil bow. “With great pleasure, signora,” said he.
 
In short, the eagerness to “get on” was suddenly slackened; the determination to famish himself as far as Fondi by way of punishing the landlord was abandoned; John chose the best apartment in the inn for his master’s reception, and preparations were made to remain there until morning.
 
The carriage was unpacked⁶⁷ of such of its contents as were indispensable for the night. There was the usual parade of trunks and writing-desks, and portfolios⁶⁸, and dressing-boxes, and those other oppressive conveniences which burden a comfortable man. The observant loiterers about the inn door, wrapped up in great dirt-colored cloaks, with only a hawk’s eye uncovered, made many remarks to each other on this quantity of luggage that seemed enough for an army. And the domestics of the inn talked with wonder of the splendid dressing-case, with its gold and silver furniture that was spread out on the toilette table, and the bag of gold that chinked as it was taken out of the trunk. The strange “Milor’s” wealth, and the treasures he carried about him, were the talk, that evening, over all Terracina.
 
The Englishman took some time to make his ablutions and arrange his dress for table, and after considerable labor⁶⁹ and effort in putting himself at his ease, made his appearance, with stiff white cravat<............