other hand it may be said that the risk he
runs in carrying on any correspondence with
the brigands renders it absolutely necessary
that he should be well paid to make it worth
his while. Indeed, between the authorities on
the one side, with fine and imprisonment, or
even death, as the punishment for collusion
with the brigands—and the brigands on the
other; with a vendetta carried out to the last
extreme should any information be given to
the authorities, and irreparable damage done to
standing crops, to whole villages, and to
individuals should there be persistent refusal to
forward supplies—the poor peasant has a difficult
time of it. Very wary walking between his
two hard task-masters is necessary to keep his
place in life.

Then, the brigands are generally old comrades
and countrymen; with numberless small ties of
friendship, relationship, and old association
among the peasants—themselves, for the most
part, brigands undeveloped. An unlucky thrust
with the stiletto has made the one, and the
same cause would make the other; public
opinion in the plains and villages not bearing
hardly on the "companions," but very much
the reverse; high payment, defiance of the law, a
picturesque uniform when clean and gay, and the
repute of deeds of daring (never mind the actual
cowardice), being generally sufficient to enlist
popular sympathy for any body of men extant.

But, after all, the peasants are really as
criminal as the brigands themselves, for it is
from them and the vetturini that these gentlemen
gain their knowledge of the goings and comings
of rich travellers—foreign and home-bred—and
that if there were no such scouts and spies among
the unsuspected, the career of the real criminals
would soon be brought to a stand-still. Information
to begin with, and food to follow—with the
reward of enormous prices for all they do—the
peasants are the mainstays and supports of
brigandage, and against them as the tap root
should the vigilance and the vengeance of
government be directed.

Mr. Moens says but little concerning the
presumed political connexion between the
brigands and Rome, and the ex-king. Certainly
no part of his ransom, he believes, went either to
Rome, or to any part of the province of Salerno.
He saw it himself paid and distributed, each
man present at the time of the capture getting
his share, and a certain per-centage kept back
for the general expenses of the band. But he
was told by them that Apulia was the
headquarters of brigandage, and that there they
had a general named Crocco, who they said was
in communication with Rome. He asked how
many men this Crocco had under him, and
was answered, "A thousand men and many
captains, as well as six hundred men in the
Basilicata," They also told him that, in 1861,
Spanish generals came to lead those fighting
for Francis the Second against Victor Emmanuel,
and that one of them named Borjès had
an enormous black beard, which they said
he always held in his left hand when he
drank milk, of which he was very fond.
Their sympathies go decidedly with Bomba, in
preference to Il Rè Galantuomo; for once when
the conversation was becoming dangerously
personal concerning Mr. Moens's ears, and
"his beard with his chin attached," to turn
the subject he asked Manzo, the captain, what
they would do with Victor Emmanuel if they
caught him? "They all chuckled at such an
idea, and Manzo declared that he would have
ten millions of ducats and then kill him. To
Francis the Second, if they caught him, they
said they would give a good dinner and then
release him."

One of the most curious things in this account
is to trace the gradual hardening of the system,
and the elimination of all British-bred fastidiousness,
as the unfortunate captive became more
and more familiar with hardship. The day after
their capture, Mr. Aynsley and Mr. Moens
were oftered a little piece of hard sausage
called supersato; but after discussing its
digestible qualities they gave it back, telling the
brigands that it would not agree with them.
They laughed, and the captain said, "They will
like it by-and-by:" which truly came to pass.
Mr. Moens never heard the last of this.
It must have seemed strange to men who are
thankful for a handful of Indian corn daily,
who rejoice over a tough sheep or a lean
and scraggy goat, and to whose palates
anything that will keep body and soul together
comes as acceptable food, if not as delicious
luxury. A bit of supersato was a luxury to
the brigands; and when their prisoners declined
it, they felt much as we should feel if a pauper
declined roast beef and plum-pudding on the
plea of indigestibility. As time went on, and
starvation became a daily companion, nature
broke up the pretty mosaic work of civilisation
and the culinary art; and raw onions, raw
cabbage, dry hard bread only too dry to be
mouldy, a bone of half raw meat, garlic, entrails,
and even the rancid grease used for greasing
their boots, all these things passed the ordeal of
English taste, and were welcomed as means
whereby to live. It is strange how quickly
even the most highly civilised man resolves into
the savage again when fairly under the harrow.

As a rule, Mr. Moens was treated tolerably
well by the brigands, as has been said; but he
had two tormentors, Pepino and Scope, and
when left under their charge, fared ill enough.
Manzo was the captain of the whole force, and
was a bandit of somewhat more likeness to the
popular ideal than the rest. He was handsome,
fairly good tempered, prompt, and, in his own
way, generous; always kind to his captives
when not half maddened by disappointments
respecting the arrival of the money, when there
would be highly unpleasant scenes, and threats
of ears and head, and the like, which did not
tend to reassure the Englishman; though he
generally answered, "As you please," and took
the thing with perfect coolness. Manzo was
not a man to be trifled with, either by his
prisoners or his men. Indeed, from his men he