Among the Brigands Part 30

said Clive, in a positive tone. "Why, they are three feet thick, at least. And, you see, there are signs of an additional story having been above it."

"Yes, I dare say," said David, looking up. "The edges there look ragged, as though some upper portion has been knocked off."

"And I dare say it's been a great place for brigands," said Clive.

"O, bother brigands," said David. "For my part, I begin to think not only that there are no brigands now, but even that there never have been any such people at all.

"Well, I won't go as far as that," said Clive, "but I certainly begin to have my doubts about them."

"They're all humbugs," said David.

"All of our brigands have been total failures," said Clive.

"Yes," said David; "they all turned out to be the most amiable people in the world. But come; suppose we go inside, and explore this old ruin. It may be something famous. I wish the guide were, here."

"O, well look at it first all over, and then ask at the hotel."

"Yes, that's the way."

"But have we time?"

"O, of course; it won't take us five minutes."

Upon this Clive started off for the ruined structure, followed by David.

It was, as has been said, two stories in height. In the lower story was a small, narrow doorway. The door was gone. There were no windows, and it was quite dark inside. It was about twelve feet wide, and fifteen feet long. At one end were some piles of f.a.gots heaped together. The height was about fifteen feet. Before them they saw a rude ladder, running up to the story above. Its feet rested near the back of the room. There was no floor to the house, but only the hard-packed earth.

"There's nothing here," said David, looking around.

"Let's go into the upper story," said Clive.

To this proposal David a.s.sented quite readily; and accordingly they both entered, and walked towards the ladder. Clive ascended first, and David followed. In a few moments they were in the upper story.

Here it was light, for there were two windows in front. There was a floor, and the walls were plastered. Fragments of straw lay about, intermingled with chaff, as though the place had been used for some sort of a store-house.

Overhead there were a number of heavy beams, which seemed too numerous and complicated to serve merely for the support of a roof; and among them was one large, round beam, which ran across. At this both of the boys stared very curiously.

"I wonder what all that can be for," asked David.

"O, no doubt," said Clive, "it's some of the ma.s.sive wood-work of the old castle."

"But what was the good of it?"

"Why, to support the roof, of course," said Clive.

"Yes, but there is too much. They would never have needed all that to support so small a roof. It's a waste of timber."

"O, well, you know you mustn't expect the same ingenuity in an Italian builder that you would in an American."

"I don't know about that. Why not? Do you mean to say that the Italians are inferior to the Americans in architecture? Pooh, man!

in America there is no architecture at all; while here, in every little town, they have some edifice that in America would be considered something wonderful."

"O, well, you know they are very clumsy in practical matters, in spite of their Artistic superiority. But apart from that I've just been thinking that this is only a part of some large castle, and this lumber work was, perhaps, once the main support of a ma.s.sive roof. So, after all, it would have its use."

David said nothing for some time. He was looking earnestly at the wood-work.

"I'll tell you what it is," said he, at last. "I've got it. It isn't a castle at all. It's a windmill."

"A windmill!" exclaimed Clive, contemptuously. "What nonsense!

It's an old tower--the keep of some mediaeval castle."

"It's a windmill!" persisted David. "Look at that big beam. It's round. See in one corner those projecting pieces. They were once part of some projecting wheel. Why, of course, it's a windmill.

The other end of that cross-beam goes outside for the fans to be attached to it. This big cross-beam was the shaft. Of course that's it."

Clive looked very much crest-fallen at this. He was unable to disprove a fact of which the evidences were now so plain; but he struggled to maintain a little longer the respectability of his feudal castle.

"Well," said he, "I dare say it may have been used afterwards for a windmill; but I am sure it was originally built as a baronial hall, some time during the middle ages. Afterwards it began to go to ruin; and then, I dare say, some miller fellow has taken possession of the keep, and torn off the turrets and battlements, and rigged up this roof with the beams, and thus turned it into a windmill."

"O, well, you may be right," said David. "Of course it's impossible to tell."

"O, but I'm sure of it," said Clive, positively.

David laughed.

"O, then," said he, "in that case, I've got nothing to say about it at all."

In spite of his reiterated conviction in the baronial castle, Clive was unable to prevent an expression of disgust from being discernible on his fine face, and without another word, he turned to go down.

David followed close after him.

As Clive put his feet down on the nearest rung of the ladder, he was startled by a noise below. It came from the pile of f.a.gots, and was of the most extraordinary character. It was a shuffling, sc.r.a.ping, growling, snapping noise; an indescribable medley of peculiar sounds.

Clive instantly drew back his foot, as though he had trodden on a snake.

"What's the matter?" cried David, in amazement.

"Didn't you hear it?"

"Hear what?"

"Why, that noise!"

"Noise?"

"Yes."

"What noise?"

Clive's eyes opened wide, and he said in a low, agitated whisper,--