I had not mistaken my man. My discourse both touched and excited him.
He seized my hand, pressed it, and replied with strong emotion, "You
have guessed the truth; you have judged me rightly." He remained for a
moment silent; then with a kind of effort he resumed. "I will tell you
some particulars of my life, and you will perceive that it was the
oppression of others, rather than my own crimes, that drove me to the
mountains. I sought to serve my fellow-men, and they have persecuted me
from among them." We seated ourselves on the grass, and the robber gave
me the following anecdotes of his history.
THE STORY OF THE BANDIT CHIEFTAIN.
I am a native of the village of Prossedi. My father was easy enough In
circumstances, and we lived peaceably and independently, cultivating
our fields. All went on well with us until a new chief of the sbirri
was sent to our village to take command of the police. He was an
arbitrary fellow, prying into every thing, and practising all sorts of
vexations and oppressions in the discharge of his office.
I was at that time eighteen years of age, and had a natural love of
justice and good neighborhood. I had also a little education, and knew
something of history, so as to be able to judge a little of men and
their actions. All this inspired me with hatred for this paltry despot.
My own family, also, became the object of his suspicion or dislike, and
felt more than once the arbitrary abuse of his power.
Pages:
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293