The Pobratim: A Slav Novel

These visions about his friend were all the same; thus, nearly three weeks after he had left Budua, one evening, when sad and gloomy, he was thinking of Uros' funeral, to which he now regretted not to have remained and assisted, he saw, within the depths of the dark blue sea, Bellacic's house adorned as for a great festivity. Not only was a banquet prepared; guzlars played on their instruments, and guests arrived in holiday attire, but Uros, who had almost regained his former good looks, was, in his dress of the Kotor, as handsome as aMacic. Milena, as beautiful as when, in bridal attire, she had come from Montenegro, was standing by his side. Soon Danilo Kvekvic came, wearing a rich stole. The guests lighted the tapers they were holding; wreaths were placed on Milena's and Uros' heads. This was the wedding ceremony that would have taken place had Uros recovered from his wound, and of which Milenko had certainly not been thinking.

Milenko at last reached Trieste, where he found a letter waiting for him. The news it contained would have made his heart beat rapidly with joy had Uros only been with him. Now, reading this letter, he only heaved a deep sigh. It was almost a sigh of forlorn hope. Fate but too often, whilst granting us a most coveted boon, seems to feel a malicious pleasure either in disappointing us entirely, or, at least, in blunting the edge of our joy. This letter was from Giulianic, who, having redeemed his pledge from his friend Bellacic, was now but too glad to have him for his son-in-law. Moreover, he urged him to come over to Nona.

Nothing, indeed, prevented Milenko from consigning the ship to the captain, who was waiting for him at Trieste, and selling his share of the brig. Still, he could not think of doing so, or engaging himself, or settling any time for his marriage before Uros' death had been avenged. He, therefore, wrote at once to Giulianic, thanking him for his kindness to him, stating, nevertheless, the reasons which obliged him to postpone his marriage until the vows of the karvarina had been fulfilled.

At Trieste, Milenko found out that the Diana, the ship on which Vranic was embarked, was a Genoese brig, usually sailing to and from the Adriatic and the Levant ports; occasionally, she would come as far as Trieste or Venice, usually laden with boxes of oranges and lemons, and sail back with a cargo of timber. It would have been easy enough to have him apprehended by one of the Austrian consuls in the ports where the Diana might be bound to, but the vengeance of thekarva tajstvo is not done by deputy nor confided to the police.

At the shipbroker's to which the Spera in Dio was consigned, Milenko also found a letter from the captain, his partner in the ship, saying that, far from coming to take charge of the ship, he was inclined to sell his share; and Milenko, who was very anxious to be free and to sail for those ports where he might easier come across the Diana, bought the other half, and soon afterwards, having managed to get a cargo of timber for Pozzuoli, he set sail without delay, hoping to be in time to catch Vranic in Naples.

Not far from the rocky island of Melada, which the Dalmatians say is the Melita of the Scriptures, the Spera in Dio met with very stormy weather and baffling winds. Thereabouts one rough and cloudy night, when not only Milenko but almost all the men were on deck, they all at once saw a ship looming in the darkness at a short distance from them. The captain had either forgotten to hoist a light, or else had let it go out. When they perceived that dark shadow, only a little darker than the surrounding night, they did their utmost to steer out of her way. The other ship likewise seemed to try and tack about, but driven as she was by a strong head-wind, it was quite impossible to make her change her direction and avoid a collision.

A few moments after the dark phantom was seen a loud crash was heard; it was the groan of a monster falling with a thud upon his adversary, felling him with his ponderous mass. The unknown ship had unexpectedly come and butted against the Spera in Dio amidships, like a huge battering-ram, breaking the beams, shivering the planks, cutting the harmless ship nearly in two, and allowing the waters to pour in through the huge cleft.

Some of the sailors managed to climb up the other ship; most of the crew clung to the timber with which the ship was laden. Milenko remained on the sinking wreck until dawn.

The other ship – an Italian schooner – cruised about, and tried to remain as much as she possibly could on the same spot, till early in the morning, so as to pick up all the men of the wreck. Three of the crew, however, must have been washed away, for they were not seen anywhere, or ever afterwards heard of.

The schooner, that had been also considerably damaged, sailed to Trieste as well as she could. Fortunately for Milenko, the Spera in Dio had been insured for more than her value, and happening to find another ship for sale, the Giustizia di Dio, he bought it, and, on the whole, made a very good bargain. He soon got another cargo for Naples, and, a month after his return, he once more sailed in search of Vranic.

CHAPTER XXI

FLIGHT

Vranic, having stabbed Uros, remained for a moment rooted to the spot where he stood. When he saw the red blood gush out of the wound and dye the white shirt, he stared at the young man bewildered; he could hardly understand what he had done. A strange feeling came over him. He almost fancied he was awaking from a horrid dream, and that he was witnessing a deed done, not by himself, but by some person quite unknown to him. When he saw Uros put his hand up to the wound, then stagger, he was about to help him; but Milenko having appeared, he shuddered, came to his senses and ran off.

Vranic had always been cursed with a morbidly discontented disposition, as peevish and as fretful as a porcupine. Although he was superstitiously religious, and strictly kept all feasts and fasts, still, at the same time, he felt a grudge – almost a hatred – against God, who had made him so unlike other men; who, far from granting him the boon of health to which he felt he had a right, had stamped him with an indelible sign so that all might keep aloof from him. He envied all the men he knew, for they laughed and were merry, when he himself was as gloomy as a lonely spider in its dusty old web. Still, as he vented the little energy that was in him in secret rancour, he would never have harmed anybody. He had, it was true, cut down Bellacic's vines, but had done so instigated by his friends, or rather, by Bellacic's enemies. If he had stabbed Uros, it was really done in a moment of madness, driven almost to despair by many sleepless nights, by the shame and pain caused by the loss of his ear.

Having done that dreadful deed, he understood that the Convent of St. George was no shelter for him. Besides, seeing Uros fall lifeless, his first impulse was flight. It mattered little whither he went. It was only after a short time when, breathless and faint, he stumbled against a stone and fell, that the thought of finding some hiding-place came into his head.

He lurked amongst the rocks the whole of that day, terrified at the slightest noise he heard, trembling with fear if a bird flew beside him, startled at his own shadow. At times he almost fancied the stones had eyes and were looking at him, and that weird, uncouth shapes moved in the bushes below.

He was not hungry, but his lips were parched, his mouth felt clammy with thirst; still, there was not a drop of water to be had, nothing but the hot sun from the sky above, and the glow of the scorching stones from below.

Then he asked himself again and again what he was to do and where he was to go.

Fear evoked a terrible bugbear in every imaginary path he took. If he went back to Budua he would be murdered by his foes or arrested by the Austrian police; Montenegro was out of the question.

He had, by chance, seen during the day an Italian vessel ready to sail. The ship was still at anchor in the bay, for he could see it from his hiding-place. If he could only manage to get on board he might be safe there. Once out of Budua, he cared but little whithersoever chance sent him.

The best thing he could do was to wait till nightfall, then to creep stealthily into town. It was not likely that the murder was known to everybody; if he could only get unseen to the marina without crossing the town, he then might get some boatman to row him to the Italian ship.

The day seemed to be an endless one, and even when the sun had set, the red light of the after-glow struggled to keep night away.

At last, when the shades of night fell upon the country, he began to scramble down, avoiding the path and the high road, shuddering whenever he caught the sound of a footstep, feeling sick if a rustling leaf was blown down against him. At last he reached the gates of the town, but instead of going in, he followed the walls, and thus managed to get to the port.

It was now quite dark; some fishermen were setting out for the night, others were coming back home, laden with their prey. He kept aloof from them all.

After some time, he found a sailor lad sleeping in his boat. He shook him and woke him, then he asked him to row him to the Italian ship that was about to sail.

The boy at first demurred, but the sight of a small silver coin overcame all his drowsiness as well as his objections. He consented to ferry him across.

"Do you know what boat she is?" asked Vranic.

"Yes."

"Well?"

"If you are going to her, I suppose you know her name, too."

"Can't you answer a question?" said Vranic, snappishly.

"She's the Diana."

"From?"

"Genoa, I believe."

"And bound?"

"To Naples; but Italian ships don't take Slavs on board," said the lad.

Vranic did not give him any answer.

"Are you a sailor?" asked the boy, after a while.

"No. I – I have some business in Italy."

As soon as they were alongside the ship, Vranic called for the captain.

The master, who was having his supper on deck, asked him what he wanted.

"Are you bound for Naples?"

"Yes."

"Can you take me on board?"

"As?"

"As sailor? I'll work my way."

"No. I have no need of sailors."

"Then as a passenger?"

"We are a cargo ship."

"Still, if I make it worth your while?"

"Our accommodation might not be such as would suit you."

The captain suspected this man, who came to him in the midst of the darkness asking for a passage, of having perpetrated some crime. He felt sure that Budua was too hot a place for him, and that he was anxious to get away.

"I can put up with anything – a sack on deck."

"Climb up," replied the captain.

Vranic managed to catch the rope ladder, and, after much difficulty, he climbed on board.

The captain, seeing him and not liking his looks, felt confirmed in his suspicions; therefore he asked him a rather large sum, at least three times what he would have asked from anybody else.

Vranic tried to haggle, but at last he paid the money down. The lad with the boat disappeared; still, he only felt safe when – a few hours afterwards – the anchor having been heaved, the sails spread, the ship began to glide on the waters, and the dim lights of Budua disappeared in the distance.

The sea was calm, the breeze fair; the crossing of the Adriatic seemed likely to be a prosperous one.

A bed having been made up for him in the cabin, Vranic, weary and worn out, lay down; and, notwithstanding all his torturing thoughts, his mind, by degrees, became clouded and he went off to sleep. It is true, he had hardly closed his eyes when he woke up again, thinking of Uros as he had seen him when the blood was gushing out of his wound; then a spectre even more dreadful to behold rose before his eyes. It was the voukoudlak, from which he was escaping. Still, bodily and mental fatigue overcame all remorse, and, feeling safe from his enemies, he went off to sleep, and, notwithstanding a series of dreadful dreams, he slept more soundly than he had done for many a night.

When he awoke the next morning, all trace of land had disappeared; nothing was seen but the glittering waters of the blue sea and the glowing sun overhead. He was safe; remorse had vanished with fear; he only felt, not simply hungry, but famished.

Everything went on well for two or three days. The smacking breeze blew persistently. In a day more they hoped to reach Naples. The crew had nothing to do but to mend old sails, to eat and sleep. They were a merry set of men, as easily amused as children; besides, all of them were wonderfully musical and possessed splendid voices. Gennaro, the youngest, especially might have made a great fortune as a tenor. In the evening they would sing all in a chorus, accompanying themselves with a guitar, a mandoline and a triangle.

Vranic, amongst them, was like an owl in an aviary of singing-birds; besides, he knew but few words of Italian and could hardly understand their dialect. Although his sleep was no more molested by vampires, and he tried not to think of the crime he had committed, and almost succeeded in driving away the visions that haunted him at times, still he was anything but happy. Was he not an exile from his native country, for, even if the Austrian law could be defeated, would not the terrible karvarina be exercised against him whenever he met one of Bellacic's numerous friends?

In this mood – wrapped in his gloomy thoughts – Vranic kept aloof from every man on board. To the captain's questions he ever answered in monosyllables; nor was he more talkative with the sailors. Once they asked him to tell them a story of his country, and he complied.

"Shall I tell you the story of the youth who was going to seek his fortune?"

"Yes; it must be a very interesting one."

"Well – a youth was going to seek his fortune."

"And then?"

"The night before he was about to leave his village a storm destroyed the bridge over which he had to pass."

"Well – and then?"

"He waited till they built another bridge."

"But go on."

"There is no going on, for the young man is waiting still," said he, with a sneer.

After two or three days, Vranic was looked upon by all on board as a peevish, sullen fellow, and he was left to his own dreary meditations.

One of the sailors, besides, got it into his head that Vranic had the gift of the evil eye, and it did not take very long to convince every man on board of the truth of this assertion. Whenever he looked at them, they invariably shut their two middle fingers, and pointed the index and little finger at him, so as to counteract the effect of thejettatura. The only man on board who did not fear Vranic was the mate, for he possessed a charm far more potent than a crooked nail, a horse-shoe, a bit of horned coral, or even a little silver hump-backed man – this was a horse-chestnut, which he was once fortunate enough to catch as it was falling from the tree, and before it had touched the ground. He cherished it as a treasure, and kept it constantly in his pocket. It was infallible against the evil eye, and was powerful in many other circumstances. He was a most lucky man, and, in fact, he felt sure he owed his good fortune to this talisman of his.

Although the weather was delightful, still the captain and the crew could not help feeling a kind of premonition of evil to come; all were afraid that, sooner or later, Vranic would bring them ill-luck. At last the coasts of Italy were in sight, but with the far-off coasts, a small cloud, a mere speck of vapour, was seen on the horizon. It was but a tiny white flake, a soft, silvery spray, torn from some shrub blossoming in an unknown Eden, and blown by the west wind in the sky. It also looked like a patch worn by coquettish Nature to enhance the diaphanous watchet-blue of the atmosphere. Still, the sailors frowned at it, and called the feathery cloudlet – scudding lazily about – a squall, and they were all glad to be in sight of the land. The breeze freshened, the sea changed its colour, the waves rolled heavily; their tops were crested with foam. Still, the ship made gallantly for the neighbouring coast.

The little cloud kept increasing in size; first it lengthened itself in a wonderful way, like a snake spreading itself out; it also grew of a darker, duller tint. Then it rolled itself together, piled itself up, augmenting in volume, till it almost covered the whole of the horizon. Finally, it began to droop downwards, tapering ever lower, and losing itself in a mist. The sea underneath began to be agitated, to boil and to bubble, seething with white foam; then a dense smoke arose from the sea and mounted upwards as if to meet the descending column of mist from the cloud just above it; both the cloud and the upheaving waves moved with the greatest rapidity, and seemed to be attracted by the ship, which endeavoured to tack about and steer away from them.

All at once, the water overhead met the ascending mist, and then a sparkling, silvery cloud arose in the spout, just like quicksilver in a glass tube.

All the men were on deck, attending to the captain's directions; all eyes were attracted by the weird, beautiful, yet terrifying sight. The master, at the helm, did his best to avoid it, by changing the ship's direction; still, the column of water advanced threateningly in their course. It came nearer and ever nearer; now it was at a gun-shot from the ship; if they had had a cannon on board, they might have fired against it and dissolved it, but they had no firearms. The atmosphere around them was getting dark with mist, the waterspout was coming against them, and if that mass of water burst down on the ship it would founder at once.

What was to be done?

"Leave the ship, and take to the boats," said some of the crew, but it was already too late; they could not help being involved in the cataclysm.

Some of the men had sunk on their knees, and were asking the Virgin or St. Nicholas of Bari to come to their help.

"There is a remedy," said Vranic to the captain; "an infallible remedy."

"What is it?" asked the master, with the eagerness of a drowning man clutching at a straw.

"If a sailor amongst the crew happens to be the eldest of seven sons he can at once dissolve that cursed column of water, the joint work of the evil spirits of the air and those of the sea."

"How so?" asked the captain.

"Draw, at once, a pentagon, or five-pointed star, or King Solomon's seal, on a piece of white paper, and let such a sailor, if he be on board, stab it through the centre."

The captain called all the men together, and asked if anyone amongst them happened to be, by chance, the eldest of seven brothers.

"My father has seven sons, and I am the eldest," said Gennaro, that curly-headed, bright-eyed Sicilian youth, for whom life seemed all sunshine. "Why, what am I to do?"

The waterspout was advancing rapidly, the sea was lashed by the mighty waves, and the ship, like a nutshell, was being tossed against it.

Vranic, who had drawn the cabalistic sign, handed it to the captain.

"Stab that star in the centre, quickly."

The Slav took out a little black dagger, and gave it to the youth.

"Be quick! there is no time to be lost."

The murmuring and hissing sound the column of water had been making had changed into the deafening roar of a waterfall. It seemed to be whirling round with vertiginous rapidity, as it came upon them.

"Make haste!" added the captain.

"But why?"

"Do it! this is no time to ask questions!" replied the master.

"And then?" quoth the youth, turning to Vranic.

"The waterspout will melt into rain."

"And what will happen to me?"

"To you? Why, nothing."

"I am frightened."

A vivid flash of lightning appeared, and the rumbling of the thunder now mingled itself with the roaring of the waters.

"Frightened of what?" said the captain.

"That man has the jettatura; I am sure he means mischief."

"What a coward you are! Do what I order you, or, by the Madonna – "

"What harm can befall you for stabbing a bit of paper?" said some of the sailors.

"Quick! it is the only chance of saving us all!" added the boatswain.

"Only, if you don't make haste, it'll be too late."

The abyss of the waters seemed to open before the ship, ready to engulf it; the waves were rolling over it.

Gennaro crossed himself devoutly, then he muttered a prayer; at last he took up the dagger and stabbed the pentagon in the very middle, just where Vranic had pointed to him with his finger; still, he grew ghastly pale as he did so.

"Holy Mother," said the youth, "forgive me if I have done wrong!"

All the eyes anxiously turned from the bit of paper to the waterspout, whirling round and coming ever nearer.

All at once the whirling seemed to stop; then, as the motion relaxed, the column of water snapped somewhat above the middle; the lower portion, or base, relapsed and gradually fell; it was absorbed by the rising waves and the bubbling and foaming waters. The higher portion began to curl upwards and to disappear amidst the huge mass of lowering clouds overhead.

"There," said Vranic, "I told you the spout would melt away and vanish."

"Wonderful!" said the captain.

"Yes, indeed!" said Gennaro, as he again crossed himself and handed the dagger to its owner, evidently glad to get rid of it.

"Well, you see that you were not struck dead," said the boatswain to the youth.

"Nor carried away by the devil," said another of the sailors.

"The year is not yet out, nor the day either," thought Vranic to himself; "and even if you live, you may rue this day and the deed you've done."

"You have saved all our lives, and we thank you, Gennaro," added the captain. "I shall never forget you; and I hope that, as long as I command a ship, we'll never part."

Thereupon, he clasped him in his arms and kissed him fondly.

"Thank you, captain; and may San Gennaro, my patron saint, and the blessed Virgin, grant you your wish and mine."

"We thank you, too," said the captain to Vranic, feeling himself bound to say something; "you are really a magician, and you know the secret of the elements."

"Oh! it is a thing that every child knows in our country, just like pouring oil in the sea to calm the waves."

The men said nothing, but they were all glad the coasts were near, and that they would soon get rid of this uncanny and uncouth man.

In the meanwhile, the sun had gone down, and dark night spread itself like a pall over the sea. The storm then increased with the darkness. The waterspout had vanished, but in its stead a pouring rain came down; the wind also began to blow in fitful blasts, and as it came in a contrary direction they were obliged to tack about, and to take in the sails. The storm, however, kept increasing at a fearful rate; the wind was blowing a real hurricane; all sails, even the jib, had to be reefed. The sea, lashed by the wind, became ever more boisterous; the waves rose in succession, uplifting themselves the one on top of the other, and dashing against the ship, which ever seemed ready to founder. All hands were now at the pumps, and Vranic, along with the others, worked away with all his strength.

Steering – as the ship had done – to avoid the waterspout, she had been continually altering her course, so that the captain did not exactly know whereabouts they were. In the midst of the darkness and with the torrents of rain that came pouring down, all traces of land had long disappeared.

All at once a mightier gust of wind came down upon the ship, the beams groaned, then there was a tremendous crash and one of the masts came down. There was a moment of panic and confusion; Vranic fell upon his knees and began to pray for help.

Soon after that a light was seen at no very great distance.

"We are saved," said the captain; "there is Cape Campanella lighthouse."

All eyes were fixed upon that beacon.

"It is rather too low to be Cape Campanella," added the boatswain.

"Yes; and, besides, it flashes every two minutes," replied the captain.

They thereupon concluded that it was the lighthouse on Carena Point, the south-western extremity of the island of Capri.