The Pobratim Part 80

Never before--not even the first time he had left home--had he felt so sad in quitting Budua. He almost fancied now his heart was reft in two, and that the better part had remained behind with his friend.

Not even the thought of Ivanka, whom he so dearly loved, could comfort him. A sailor's life--which had hitherto had such a charm for him while his friend was on board the same s.h.i.+p with him--now lost all its attraction, and if he had not been prompted by his craving for revenge, he would have taken the s.h.i.+p to Trieste (where she was bound to), and there, having sold his share, he would have gone back to Budua.

The days seemed endless to him. The crew of the s.h.i.+p, although composed of Dalmatians, was almost of an alien race; they were from the island of Lussin, and Roman Catholics besides--in fact, quite different people from the inhabitants of Budua or the Kotor; and, had it not been for a youth whom he had embarked with him from his native town, he would have scarcely spoken to anyone the whole of the voyage, except, of course, to give the necessary orders.

No life, indeed, is lonelier than that of a captain having no mate, boatswain or second officer with him. Fortunately, however, for Milenko, Peric--the youth he had taken with him to teach him navigation--was a rather intelligent lad, and, as it was the first time he had left home, he was somewhat homesick, so, in their moments of despondency, each one tried to cheer and comfort the other.

In the night--keeping watch on deck--he would often, as in his childhood, lean over the side of the s.h.i.+p and look within the fast flowing waters. When the sea was as smooth and as dark as a metal mirror, he--after gazing in it for some time--usually saw the water get hazy and whitish; then, little by little, strange sights appear and disappear. Some of them were prophetic visions. Once, he saw within the waters a frigate on fire. It was, indeed, a sight worth seeing. The vision repeated itself three times. Milenko, feeling rather anxious, began to look around, and then he saw a faint light far on the open sea. There was no land or island there. Could that light, he asked himself, be that of a s.h.i.+p on fire? He at once gave orders to steer in the direction of the light. As the distance diminished, the brightness grew apace. The flames, that could now be seen rising up in the sky, made the men believe that it was some new submarine volcano. Milenko, however, felt that his vision had been prophetic.

He added more sails; and, as the breeze was favourable, the _Spera in Dio_ flew swiftly on the waters. Soon he could not only see the flames, but the hulk of the s.h.i.+p, which looked like a burning island; moreover, the cargo must have been either oil or resin, for the sea itself seemed on fire.

In the glare the conflagration shed all around, Milenko perceived a small boat struggling hard to keep afloat, for it was so over-crowded that, at every stroke of the oars, it seemed about to sink.

The joy of that s.h.i.+pwrecked crew, finding themselves safe on board the _Spera in Dio_, was inexpressible.

Another time he saw, within the sea, the country beyond the walls of his native town. A boy of about ten was leading an old horse in the fields. After some time, the boy seemed to look for some stump on which to tether the horse he had led to pasture; but, finding none, he tied the rope round his own ankle and lay down to sleep. Suddenly, the old horse--frightened at something--began to run, the boy awoke and tried to rise, but he stumbled and fell. His screams evidently frightened the old horse, which ran faster and ever faster, dragging the poor boy through the bushes and briars, das.h.i.+ng him against the stones of the roadside. When, at last, the horse was stopped, the boy was only a bruised and bleeding ma.s.s.

"Oh," said Milenko to Peric, "I have had such a horrible vision!"

"I hope it is not about my little brother," replied the youth.

"Why?"

"I really don't know; but all at once the idea came into my head that the poor boy must have died."

"Strange!" quoth Milenko, as he walked away, not to be questioned as to his vision.

One evening, when the moon had gone below the horizon looking like a reaping-hook steeped in blood, and nothing could be seen all around but the broad expanse of the dark waters, reflecting the tiny stars twinkling in the sky above, Milenko saw, all at once, the white walls of St. George's Convent. The doors, usually shut, were now opened.

Uros appeared on the threshold. There he received the blessing of the old monk who had tended him during his illness, and whose hands he now kissed with even more affection and thankfulness than devotion; then, hugged and kissed by all the other caloyers, who had got to be as fond of him as of a son or a brother, he bade them all farewell.

Then, leaning on Milena's arm, and followed by his father and mother, he wended his way down the mountain and towards the town. Uros was still thin and pale, but all traces of suffering had disappeared from his face. Though he and Milena were man and wife--having been married _in extremis_--still they were lovers, and his weakness was a plausible pretext to lean lovingly on her arm, and stop every now and then to look lovingly within her l.u.s.trous eyes, and thus give vent to the pa.s.sion that lay heavy on his heart; and once, when his parents had disappeared behind a corner, he stopped, put his arm round her waist, then their lips met in a long, silent kiss, which brought the blood up to their cheeks. Then the picture faded, and the waters were again as black as night; only, his ears whistled, and he almost fancied he could hear Uros' voice in a distance speaking of him.

Of course, Milenko knew that all this was but a delusion, a dream, a hallucination of his fancy, and he tried to think of his friend lying stiff and stark within his coffin; still, his imagination was unruly, and showed him Uros at home alive and happy.

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 a.s.sisted, 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 a _Macic_. 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 the _karva tajstvo_ is not done by deputy nor confided to the police.

At the s.h.i.+pbroker's to which the _Spera in Dio_ was consigned, Milenko also found a letter from the captain, his partner in the s.h.i.+p, saying that, far from coming to take charge of the s.h.i.+p, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p 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 ma.s.s. The unknown s.h.i.+p had unexpectedly come and b.u.t.ted against the _Spera in Dio_ amids.h.i.+ps, like a huge battering-ram, breaking the beams, s.h.i.+vering the planks, cutting the harmless s.h.i.+p nearly in two, and allowing the waters to pour in through the huge cleft.

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

The other s.h.i.+p--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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+rt, 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 superst.i.tiously religious, and strictly kept all feasts and fasts, still, at the same time, he felt a grudge--almost a hatred --against G.o.d, 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 s.h.i.+p 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 s.h.i.+p.

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 s.h.i.+p 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."