The Pobratim Part 84

At last the storm subsided, and then the captain ascertained that the ship had sustained such damage as to render her unsafe. In such a predicament, with the crew all ailing, the captain deemed it necessary to go back to Ma.r.s.eilles for repairs.

After a short stay there, the _Ave Maria_ set sail again for Palermo, where she arrived without further mishap; only the sick sailors, having had to work hard during the storm, were rather worse than better. On leaving Palermo two other men of the crew had to be put on the sick-list, so that by the time they reached the Adriatic the ship was not much better than a pestiferous floating hospital. In fact, the only ones who had escaped the loathsome contagion were Vranic and the two boys, and they had to do the work of the whole crew.

It was fortunate that, notwithstanding the stormy season of the year, the weather kept steadily fair, for, in case of a hurricane, the crew would have been almost helpless. At last land was within sight; the hills of Istria were seen, towards evening, as a faint greyish line on the dark grey sky. The captain and the men heaved a sigh of relief; that very night they would cast anchor in the port of Trieste. There some had their homes; all, at least, had relations or friends. Vranic alone hoped to meet no one he knew.

That evening they made a hearty meal, for, as their provisions had slightly begun to fall short, they had scarcely satisfied their hunger for several days; but now--almost within sight of the welcoming, flashing rays of the Trieste lighthouse--they could, indeed, be somewhat prodigal.

The sirocco, which had accompanied them all the way from Palermo, now fell all at once, just as they had reached the neighbourhood of Cape Salvore. That sudden quietness boded nothing good. Soon, the captain perceived that the wind was shifting in the Gulf of Trieste. By certain well-known signs, he argued that the north-easterly wind was rising; and soon afterwards, a fierce _bora_, the scourge of all the neighbourhood, began to blow.

Orders were at once given to reef the topsails; then they began to tack about, so as to come to an anchorage in the roads of Trieste as soon as possible.

With the want of hands, the work proceeded very slowly and clumsily.

Night came on--dark, dismal night--amidst a howling wind and raging billows dashing furiously against the little ship. It was a comfort on the next morning to see the white houses and the naked hills of Trieste; for they were not far from the port. Every means was tried to get near the land without being dashed against it and stranded, or split against the rocks; but the fierce wind baffled all their efforts. And the whole of the day was pa.s.sed in uselessly tacking about and ever being driven farther off in the offing. Still, late in the afternoon, they managed to get nearer the port, and at sunset both anchors were dropped, not far from the jetty; still, the violence of the wind was such that all communication with the land was rendered impossible. That evening the last provisions were eaten, for they had spent the whole day fasting. The strength of the gale increased with the night. More chain was then added; but still the anchors began to come home. By degrees, all the chains were paid out; and, nevertheless, the ship was drifting. In so doing, she struck her helm against a buoy. The shock caused one of the chains, which was old and rusty, to snap. After that, the _Ave Maria_ was driven back bodily towards the coasts of Istria, till finding, at last, a better bottom, the anchor held and the ship was stopped at about a mile from Punta Grossa, not far from Capo d'Istria. There was no moon; the sky was overcast; the darkness all around was oppressive. The huge surges, dashing against the bows and the forecastle, washed away everything on deck. The boats themselves were rendered unserviceable.

The thermometer had fallen eighteen degrees in two days, and the keen, sharp wind blowing rendered the cold most intense. A fringe of icicles was hanging down from the sides of the ship, the spray froze on the tackle, and rendered the ropes as hard as iron cables.

Then the ship sprung a leak, and the pumps had to be worked to prevent her from sinking. To keep the men alive, the captain opened a pipe of Marsala which had been destined for the shippers. That night, which seemed everlasting, finally wore away, dawn came, and the signal of distress was hoisted; a ship pa.s.sed at no great distance, but took no notice of them. Anyhow, help could be expected from Trieste; the coastguards must have seen them struggling against the storm. That day the wind increased; not a ship, not a sailing-boat was to be seen in the offing; what a long, dreary day of baffled hope that was. When evening came on, the fasting crew, now completely f.a.gged out, began to lose courage, and yet they were but a few miles from the coast. That night Vranic had a dreadful vision. When he took his place at the pump, opposite him, at the other handle, stood the vampire grinning at him, with the horrible gash in his cheek. That gruesome sight was too dreadful to be borne; he felt his arms getting stiff, and he fell fainting on the deck. He only recovered his senses when a huge wave came breaking against the deck and almost washed him overboard.

In the morning the wind began to abate; but now all the sailors were not only thoroughly exhausted, but all more or less in a state of intoxication. The pumps could hardly be worked any more; even Vranic, the boys and the captain, who had worked to the last, hoping to save their lives, were obliged to leave the vessel to sink.

The _Ave Maria_ was going down rapidly, and now, even if the men could have worked, it was impossible to think of saving her; she was to be the prey of the waves. As for help from Trieste, it was useless looking out for it. Still, the t.i.tled gentlemen, in their warm and cosy offices of the _See-Behorde_, which fronted the harbour, had seen the ship fighting against the wind and the waves. They knew, or, at least, ought to have known, of her distress; but it was carnival time, and their thoughts were surely not with the ships at sea.

At last, at eight o'clock, a ship was seen, and signals of distress were made. The ship answered, and began tacking about and trying to come near the sinking craft. When within reach of hearing, the whole crew of the _Ave Maria_ summoned up all their strength and shouted that they were starving.

CHAPTER XXII

THE "GIUSTIZIA DI DIO"

Since his departure, Milenko had never received any letters from his parents, for, in those times of sailing-ships, captains got news from home casually, by means of such fellow-countrymen as they chanced to meet, rather than through the post. Lately they had happened to come across a Ragusian ship at Brindisi, but, as this ship had left Budua only a short time after Milenko himself had sailed, all the information the captain could give was rather stale. As for Vranic, nothing had been heard of him these many months.

Peric (the youth sailing with Milenko) heard, however, that the forebodings he had had concerning his brother were but too well founded; the poor boy had been killed while taking care of his father's horse. Still, the man who told him the news did not know, or had partly forgotten, all the details of the dreadful accident, for all he remembered was that the poor child had been brought home to his mother a mangled, bleeding corpse.

Milenko then seemed again to see the vision he had witnessed within the waters, and he could thus relate to the poor boy all the particulars of the tragic event.

Poor Peric cried bitterly, thinking of the poor boy he had been so fond of, and whom he would never see again; then, having somewhat recovered from his grief:

"It is very strange," said he, "that, on the very night on which you saw my brother dragged by the horse, I heard a voice whispering in my ear: 'Jurye is dead!' and then I fancied that the wind whistling in the rigging repeated: 'Jurye is dead!' and that same phrase was afterwards lisped by the rushing waters. Just then, to crown it all, I looked within the palm of my hand--why, I really do not know; but that, as you are aware, brings about the death of the person we love most. At that same moment a cold shivering came over me, and I felt sure that my poor brother was dead. All this is very strange, is it not?"

"Not so very strange, either," replied Milenko; "the saints allow us to have an inkling of what is to happen, so that when misfortune does come, we are not crushed by it."

"Oh! we all knew that one of our family would die during the year; only, as I was going to sea, I thought that I might be the one who----"

"How did you know?" asked Milenko.

"Because, when our grandmother died, her left eye remained open; and, although they tried to shut it, still, after a while, the lids parted again, and that, you well know, is a sure sign that someone of the house would follow her during the year."

The youth remained thoughtful for a little while, and then he added:

"I wonder how my poor mother is, now that she has lost both her sons."

"We shall soon have news from home, for, if the weather does not change, to-morrow we shall be in Trieste, where letters are surely awaiting us."

"Do you ever have voices whispering in your ears?" asked Peric.

"No, never; do you?"

"Very often, especially when I keep very still and try to think of nothing at all, just as if I were not my own self, but someone else."

"Try and see if you can hear a voice now."

The youth remained for some time perfectly still, looking as if he were going off into a trance; when he came to himself again:

"I did hear a voice," said he.

"What did it say?"

"That to-morrow you will meet the man you have been looking for."

"Nothing else?"

"Nothing."

"Is it not imagination?"

"Oh, no! besides, poets often hear the voice of the moon, who tells them all the stories they write in their books."

"Do they?" quoth Milenko, smiling.

"Yes; do you not know the story of 'The Snowdrop,' that Igo Kas heard whilst he was seated by a newly-dug grave?"

"No, I never heard it."

"Then I'll read it to you, if you like."

Milenko having nothing better to do, listened attentively to the youth's tale.

THE SNOWDROP.

A Slav Story.

The last feathery flakes of snow, fallen in the night, had not yet melted away, when the first snowdrop, which had sprung up in the dark, glinted at the dawning sun. A drop of dew, glistening on the edge of its half-opened leaves, looked like a sparkling tear. That dainty little flower, as white as the surrounding snow, had sprouted up beside a newly-dug grave. As I stooped down to pick the little snowdrop, I saw the words inscribed on the white marble slab, and then sorrow's heavy hand was laid upon my heart. The name was that of the Countess Anya Yarnova, a frail flower of early spring, as spotless as the little snowdrop.

What had been the cause of her sudden death? Was it some secret sorrow? Was it her love for that handsome stranger whose flashing eyes revealed the hunger of his heart?