At length we were relieved from our apprehensions.  The carabiniers having finished their refreshment, seized their arms, continued along the valley towards the great road, and gradually left the mountain behind them.  “I felt almost certain,” said the chief, “that they could not be sent after us.  They know too well how prisoners have fared in our hands on similar occasions.  Our laws in this respect are inflexible, and are necessary for our safety.  If we once flinched from them, there would no longer be such thing as a ransom to be procured.”

There were no signs yet of the messenger’s return.  I was preparing to resume my sketching, when the captain drew a quire of paper from his knapsack—­“Come,” said he, laughing, “you are a painter; take my likeness.  The leaves of your portfolio are small; draw it on this.”  I gladly consented, for it was a study that seldom presents itself to a painter.  I recollected that Salvator Rosa in his youth had voluntarily sojourned for a time among the banditti of Calabria, and had filled his mind with the savage scenery and savage associates by which he was surrounded.  I seized my pencil with enthusiasm at the thought.  I found the captain the most docile of subjects, and after various shifting of positions, I placed him in an attitude to my mind.

Picture to yourself a stern, muscular figure, in fanciful bandit costume, with pistols and poniards in belt, his brawny neck bare, a handkerchief loosely thrown around it, and the two ends in front strung with rings of all kinds, the spoils of travellers; reliques and medals hung on his breast; his hat decorated with various-colored ribbands; his vest and short breeches of bright colors and finely embroidered; his legs in buskins or leggins.  Fancy him on a mountain height, among wild rocks and rugged oaks, leaning on his carbine as if meditating some exploit, while far below are beheld villages and villas, the scenes of his maraudings, with the wide Campagna dimly extending in the distance.

The robber was pleased with the sketch, and seemed to admire himself upon paper.  I had scarcely finished, when the laborer arrived who had been sent for my ransom.  He had reached Tusculum two hours after midnight.  He brought me a letter from the prince, who was in bed at the time of his arrival.  As I had predicted, he treated the demand as extravagant, but offered five hundred dollars for my ransom.  Having no money by him at the moment, he had sent a note for the amount, payable to whomever should conduct me safe and sound to Rome.  I presented the note of hand to the chieftain; he received it with a shrug.  “Of what use are notes of hand to us?” said he, “who can we send with you to Rome to receive it?  We are all marked men, known and described at every gate and military post, and village church-door.  No, we must have gold and silver; let the sum be paid in cash and you shall be restored to liberty.”

The captain again placed a sheet of paper before me to communicate His determination to the prince.  When I had finished the letter and took the sheet from the quire, I found on the opposite side of it the portrait which I had just been tracing.  I was about to tear it off and give it to the chief.