Of a sudden one man broke into a gay little song of the monasteries:
"How they rubbed the pepper, those devilish monks!"
To the giddy words and the infectious tune, a dozen men sprang to their feet. They held out their handkerchiefs to each other, and instantly there was a garland of dancing brigands about the fire. It was our national dance, the Syrto, and they went through it with gusto and passion.
By the time that was over, the lamb was cooked. We were invited to sit round in a circle; the meat was torn apart with the hands, and a piece dealt to each person.
Each brigand crossed himself three times, and then fell to, ravenously. I enjoyed my dinner as much as they. My poor brother pretended to. As I learned afterwards, he was afraid that the brigands would kill us from mere annoyance, when they discovered that we were not the rich pair they believed they had in their possession.
The meal over, the brigands crossed themselves again devoutly, and thanked God, and His Son Christ, for the protection they had hitherto extended to them. Then they began to talk of their exploits. Far from being conscience-stricken, or in any way ashamed of their profession, they gloried in it; and being in constant warfare with the Turkish soldiery, thy felt a really patriotic pride in their manner of life.
They told of running a certain Turkish officer
