by P. Jones
CHAPTER IV
NEW YEAR'S DAY
On the last day of the year the _pobratim_ were sailing on the watersof the Adriatic not far from the island of Lissa, now famed inhistory for its naval wars. Soon the sun went down behind a huge massof grey clouds, and night set in when the vessel was about to sailamidst that maze of inlets, straits, channels and friths, whichcharacterise all that part of the Dalmatian coast. But, though thenight was dark and wild, their schooner was strong and stout, andaccustomed to weather such heavy seas.
A head-wind arose, which first began to shiver amidst the rigginglike a human being sick of a fever; then it changed into a slightwailing sound, so that it seemed at times the voice of a sufferingchild tossing about in its cot unable to find rest. The windincreased, and the sound changed into a howl like the rage of untamedbeasts; it was a horrible concert, where serpents hissed, wild catsmewed and lions roared in and out of time and tune; but not without astrange, weird, uncouth harmony. It was the voice of the storm. GreatAdamastor, the genius of the foul weather, baffled at not being ableto snap all the ropes asunder and break down the straining masts, wasyelling with impotent rage. He was, withal, a cunning old man andknew more than one trick, for, after holding his breath for a while,he would whisper no louder than a mother does when her babe isasleep, and then again, he would begin to snicker slily in a low,snorting way, until, all at once, he broke loose into loud fits offiendish, hoarse merriment.
Added to this head-wind, a heavy sea rolled its huge waves againstthe prow of the ship and dashed the spray of its breakers up its verysails; then the strong rain would come down in showers at every gustof wind. The elements seemed, indeed, bent upon overwhelming the poorcraft groaning at this ill-treatment.
Eleven o'clock having just struck, Uros went below and Milenko gotready to take up his watch.
Poor Uros! he was not only weary and wet to the skin--for his huge_kabanica_, or overcoat, had been of little avail against the peltingrain--but, worse than that, for the first time in his life he felthome-sick and love-sick. He remembered the pleasant Christmas Eve,the last night but one which he had passed at home. Whilst the windhowled and the waves rolled high he recalled to mind the manyincidents of that evening, which had been for him the happiest of hislife, and there, in the darkness of the night, Milena's bright andlaughing eyes were always twinkling before him. Her sweet looks,which he had drunk down like intoxicating wine, had maddened hisbrain.
Hitherto Uros had been passionately fond of the sea, and his greatambition was to be one day the master of a ship. Now that his dreamseemed about to be realised even beyond his wildest ambition--for thebrig was really a fine ship--his heart was far behind on shore, andthe sea had lost its charm. That night especially he wished he couldhave been back by his own fireside watching the remainder of theyule-logs as they burnt away into cinders.
When Uros came down, the captain brought out a bottle of some rareold genuine cognac, which on some former voyage he himself had got atBordeaux. Punch was made, Milenko was called down and toasts weredrunk to the health of the absent ones, songs were sung about thepleasantness of a life upon the wide, wide sea; but the voice of thewaves seemed to jeer them, and then the captain fell a-thinking thathe was growing of an age when it was far more agreeable to remainamidst his little brood at home. As for poor Uros, he thought of thewoman who lived in a lonely cottage, and he wondered whether harmmight not befal her, now that he was no more there to watch over her.He thought that, after all, it was useless to go roaming about theworld when he might remain at home tilling his father's fields.Milenko alone was of a cheerful mood; perhaps it was because hethought less of himself and more of those around him.
Milenko came and went up and down like a squirrel, keeping his watchand trying to cheer his friend. Still, each time he went up andlooked about, he found that the wind was stronger and the wavesrolled higher. Meanwhile the captain, roused to a sense of duty,tried to enliven the passing hours by telling old tales, comicaladventures, and strange sea legends.
Soon the storm increased apace, and Milenko had to remain on deck;but Uros, being tired and sleepy, was about to betake himself torest. Midnight had just struck, and the hands of the clock were ontwelve, a last cup was drained, and the three seamen having thus seenthe old year out and the new year in, separated and each one went hisown way. The clock withal was rather fast, and it was only somemoments after they had separated from one another that the old yearbreathed its last.
Before going to rest, Uros, who had slightly bruised his foreheadjust where Vranic had cut him with the stone, went to his chest andtook out of it a small round tin looking-glass and opened it. Hewished to see what kind of a scratch it had left, and if the scarwere healing. He had scarcely cast his eyes upon it when, to hisgreat surprise, lo, and behold! far from seeing his own face in theglass, Vranic's likeness was there, staring upon him with his usualleer!
Uros was startled at this sight; then, for a while he stood as iftransfixed, gloating on the image within the glass, unable to turnaway his eyes from it. Then, appalled as he was, he almost droppedthe looking-glass he was holding.
All at once remembering that it was midnight--the moment when the oldyear passes into oblivion and the new one rises from chaos--his handfell, and he stood for a while, pale, shuddering, and staring uponvacancy. But--recalled to himself--he endeavoured to retrace the longstring of thoughts that had flitted through his brain, since he hadleft the captain and Milenko up to the moment that he had looked uponthe glass, and Vranic was not amongst them. His brain had beenrather muddled by sleepiness and brandy, and he had hardly beenthinking about anything.
Having lifted up the glass to the height of his face, he for a momentheld his head averted, for he had really not the courage to look uponit.
After a while he shrugged his shoulders, muttering to himself: "Ihave always been thinking of Milena, and of the last days I passed athome, so that now this man's face--such as I had seen it on Christmasmorning--has been impressively recalled to my mind. It must be thisand nothing more."
Still, the moment when he tried again to look upon the glass, a vagueterror came over him, and all his courage passed away; it was just asif he were looking upon some unhallowed thing, as if he wereindulging in witchcraft. But curiosity prevailed once more, and as hedid so, a trepidation came all over his limbs. This time he wassurely not mistaken; it was no vision of his overheated fancy, seenwith his mind's eye; sleepiness and the effect of the brandy hadquite passed away, and still the glass--instead of reflecting his ownfeatures--was the living portrait of the man he hated. There he was,with his low forehead, his livid complexion, his pale greyish-greeneyes, his high cheekbones and his flat nose.
He was almost impelled to dash down the glass and break it intopieces, but still he durst not do it; a superstitious fear stoppedhim; it was, as we all know, so very unlucky to break alooking-glass by accident, but to break it of his own free will mustbe far worse.
He now kept his eyes riveted upon the tiny mirror, and then he sawVranic's face slightly fade and then vanish away; then the glass fora few seconds grew dim as if a damp breath had passed upon it; thenthe dimness disappeared little by little, the glass again grew clearand reflected his own pale face, with his eyes wildly opened,glistening with a wild, feverish look. Now, he was not mistaken;Vranic was not to see another year!
Uros had often heard it said that, if a young unmarried man looks bychance in a looking-glass at the stroke of twelve, just when the oldyear is dying out, he will perhaps see, either the woman he is tomarry in the course of the year, Death, or a man of his acquaintancedoomed to die within the year. He had never tried it, because it is athing that has to be done by chance, and even then the mirror doesnot always foretell the future. Now, the thing happened so naturally,in such an unforeseen, unpremeditated way, that there was nopossibility of a doubt. Vranic, then, was doomed to die.
A week before, his death had been predicted the moment when hestumbled and slipped over the stump of the
yule-log--aye, it was hisown log--now again his enemy's death was foretold to him.
As he stood there with his glass in his hand, a thought struck him,and in answer to this, he lifted his eyes upwards and begged hispatron saint to keep his hands clean, and not to make him theinstrument of his enemy's death.
"He is a villain," muttered he to himself, "and he fully deserves athousand deaths; but let him not die by my hand. If he dies of aviolent death, let me not be his executioner."
Uros stood there for some time as if bewildered and very much like aman who had seen a ghost, afraid to look round lest he should seeVranic's face gloating upon him; then shuddering, he ran upstairs totell his adoptive brother all that had happened, and the strangevision he had seen.
When Uros went up on deck, he found that the wind had greatlyincreased, and that from a cap-full, as it had been in the beginning,it had grown into a hurricane. The sky was even darker than before;the waves, swollen into huge breakers, dashed against the prow of theship, making her stagger and reel as if she had been stunned by thosemighty blows.
The captain had now taken command of the ship, for all that part ofthe Adriatic up to the Quarnero, with its archipelago of islands, itsnumerous straits, its friths and rock-bound inlets, where themountains of the mainland--sloping down to the water's edge--end inlong ledges and chasms all interspersed with sharp ridges, rocks andsunken reefs, through which the ships have often to wind carefully inand out, is like a perilous maze. The navigation of these parts,difficult enough in the day-time by fair weather, is more thandangerous on a dark and stormy night.
The ship, according to all calculation, had passed the Punta dellaPlanca, and was not very far from the port of Sebenico. It wasuseless to try and take shelter there, for the town is most difficultof access, especially during contrary winds.
All that night the whole crew were on deck obeying the captain'sorders, for it was as much as they could do to manage the ship, atwar with all the elements; besides, as she rode forecastle in, shehad shipped several seas, so that, deeply-laden as she was, shewallowed heavily about, and looked every moment as if she were readyto founder.
The storm had now risen to the highest pitch, and the captain, who,as it has been said, was an elderly man, as well as an experiencedsailor, acknowledged that he scarcely remembered a more fearful galein the whole of his lifetime. All waited eagerly for the firststreaks of dawn; for a tempest, though frightful in broad daylight,is always more appalling in the dead of the night. They waited a longtime, for it seemed as if darkness had set for ever over this world.
At last a faint grey, glimmering light appeared in the east; then, bydegrees, towards daybreak, the waters overhead, and the watersunderneath, had a gloomy, greyish hue. Light spread itself far andwide, but the storm did not abate.
Milenko, with his spy-glass in his hand, was searching through theveil of mist that surrounded the ship, for some island in the offing,when, all at once, he thought he could perceive a dark speck not veryfar off. This object, apparently cradled by the waters, was so dimlyseen that he could not even guess what it was; but after keeping hiseyes steadily upon it, he saw, or rather, he thought he saw, the hullor wreck of a ship, or a buoy. No, surely it could not be a buoyfloating there in the midst of the waters. Was it not, perhaps, somefoam-covered rock against which the waves were dashing? His eyes wererooted upon it for some time, and then he was certain that it was nota rock, for it moved, nay, it seemed to float about. He pondered fora while. Could it not be, he thought, the head of one of those hugesea-snakes, upon which ships, having sometimes cast their anchors,are dragged down into the fathomless abysses of the deep, there tobecome the prey of this horrible monster? It was really too far offfor him to understand what it was.
He waited for some time, then he strained his eyes, and he saw thatit could be nothing but a boat. He called Uros to him, but hisfriend's sight being less keen than his own, he could make nothing ofit. The captain, having come to them, could not distinguish thefloating object at all. As they steered onwards, they came nearer toit, and then they found out that it was indeed the hull of a caiqueor galley-boat, which, having lost its masts and rudder, was tossedabout at the mercy of the breakers, that always seemed ready toswallow it up. The crew on board were making signs of distress, butit was a rather difficult task to lend a helping hand to that crazyship. It was impossible, with that heavy sea, for the brig to goalongside of her, or to lie near enough for her crew to manage to geton board. Nay, it was very dangerous for the brig to attempt goinganywhere near the caique, for the consequences might have beendisastrous if the wreck were thrown against her, as the stronger oneof the two would thus have dashed the weaker vessel to pieces.
In this predicament Milenko volunteered to go in a little boat, ifany two men would go with him. At first all refused, but when Urossaid that he was ready to share his friend's fate, another sailorcame forth to lend a helping hand in rescuing those lives in fearfuljeopardy.
The _pobratim_ having skilfully managed to get near enough to thecaique, so as to be understood, they called out to the captain tothrow them a rope overboard. This was done, but the hawser, without abuoy, could hardly be got at; it was, therefore, pulled back, abroken spar was tied at its end, and then it was again castoverboard.
After a full half-hour's hard work, Milenko and his mates managed toget to the floating hawser and to haul it up; then they rowed lustilyback to the ship with it. The caique was then tugged close to thebrig's stern, which steered towards the land as well as she could.
The poor bark, shorn of her masts, was in a wretched state, and oneof her men having gone down in the hold to see how much water therewas in her, found that she had sprung a leak and that she was fillingfast, notwithstanding all the exertions of the men at the pump.
Though the storm had somewhat abated, still the caique was nowsinking, so that it was beyond all possibility to reach the shore intime to save her. The two friends again got into the boat, and wentonce more beside the wreck. This time they managed to get near enoughto save the crew and the few passengers they had. When all were onboard, then this little boat, heavily laden with human lives, wasrowed back to the brig. After this, the rope which bound the caiquewas cut off, and she was left to drift away at the mercy of thewaves, and, little by little, sink out of sight.
The first person that Milenko had got into the little boat, and whohe now helped on board the brig, was a young girl of about sixteen,but who, like the women of her country, looked rather older than shewas. After her came her father and her mother, who were passengers onboard of the caique; they had come from Scio, and were bound forNona, a small town near Zara. The young girl had, throughout thestorm, shown an extraordinary courage; nay, she had been a helpmaterather than an encumbrance. But when she saw herself safe on boardthe _Spera in Dio_ (Hope in God)--for this was the brig's name--thenher strength failed her all at once, and she sank into a deep swoon.Milenko, who had helped her on board, and who was standing by her,caught her up in his arms, carried her downstairs and laid her uponhis bed.
Milenko had hitherto never cared for any woman; but now, as hecarried this lifeless body, and he saw this pale, wan, childlike faceleaning on his shoulder, he felt a strange unknown flutter somewhereabout his heart. Then the sense of his own manhood came over him; heknew himself strong, and he was glad to be able to shelter this frailbeing within his brawny arms.
Having rescued this girl from the jaws of death, she seemed to be hisown, and his bosom heaved with a feeling quite new to him. He wouldhave liked to have gone through life with this weak creature clingingto him for strength, just as a mother would fain have her babe evernestling on her bosom. Now, having to relinquish her, he was glad tolay her upon his own bed, for thus she still seemed to belong to him.
Her mother was at once by her side, her father and the captain soonfollowed, and all the care their rough hospitality could afford waslavished upon her. As the fainting-fit had been brought on throughlong fasting, as well as by a strain of the nerv
es, a spoonful of thecaptain's rare cognac had the desired effect of recalling her tolife.
Coming to herself, she was astonished at seeing so many sunburnt,weather-beaten, unknown faces around her; she looked at them all,from one to the other, but Milenko's deep blue eyes, wistfullygloating upon her own, attracted her attention. She had seen him inthe boat when he came to their rescue, he had helped her on board;and now, after that fainting-fit, which seemed to have stopped themarch of time for a while, she fancied she had known him long ago.She looked first at him, then at her mother; then again at him. Afterthis, feeling as if she was quite safe as long as her mother and thatunknown young man--who still was no stranger--stood watching overher, her heavy eyelids drooped, and she fell into a light slumber.
The captain having persuaded the mother to take some rest, all wentto attend to their duties; still, Milenko softly crept down every nowand then to see if the women wanted anything, and to have a sly lookat the young girl sleeping in his bed. As he stood there gazing uponher, he was conscious that his senses had grown more mellow--thatlife henceforth had an aim. This was the dawn of real love in astrong man's breast. Whilst he was looking at her, the young girlwoke from her slumbers; she opened her eyes, and her glances fellagain upon him.
"Where am I?" she said, half-frightened. Then, recognising the youngman, she added: "Yes, I know, you saved my life when I was drowning."
The mother, hearing her daughter speak, yawned, stretched out herarms and woke.
The storm had now abated. The dark clouds were quickly flitting, andthe sun, which had risen upon that first day of the year, was nowshining in all its splendour on the broad expanse of the blue watersand upon the huge crested waves; and the sight was as exhilarating asit was delightful.
The poor wrecked family having gathered together on deck, breakfastwas got ready, and all sat down to the frugal meal which the ship'sprovisions afforded.
When the breakfast was over, the father of the young girl--who hadbeen questioned several times as to the place from where he wascoming, to the port whither he was bound, his occupation, and soforth--related to his hosts the story of his adventures, which can beabridged as follows:
"My name is Giulianic. Our family, though Slav and Orthodox, is saidto have been of Italian origin, and that the name, years ago, wasGiuliani. Still, I cannot swear as to the truth of this assertion. Myfather in his first youth had gone to the Levant, and had settled atChios. He was a coppersmith; and, as far as I can remember, he wasvery prosperous. He had a large and well-furnished shop, and employeda good many workmen.
"I was the eldest of the family; after me there came a girl, who,happily for herself, died when she was yet quite a baby, and beforetrouble befel us; for had she been spared, she doubtless would haveended her life in some harem, if not in a worse way, losing thus bothsoul and body. After her came two boys; so that between myself andmy youngest brother there was a difference of about ten years, if notmore. I was, therefore, the only child of our family who knew theblessing of a happy boyhood, for my early years, spent either in myfather's shop or in our country-house, were passed in bliss; butalas! that time is so far off that its remembrance is only like adream.
"When I was about ten or twelve years--I cannot say exactly how old Iwas, as all the registers have been destroyed--a terrible revolutiontook place. It was, I remember, an awful time, when Christian bloodran in streams through the streets of towns and villages, when houseswere burnt down, and the whole island remained a mass of smoulderingruins.
"My father was, if I am not mistaken, the first victim of that bloodyfray; like all men of pluck, and indeed like most men of no pluck atall, he was butchered by the Turks. My mother----"
There was a pause. A tear glistened in the corner of the old man'seye, then it rolled down his wrinkled cheek and disappeared in thelong, bristling white moustache; his voice faltered. Though more thanhalf a century had passed since that dreadful day, still he couldhardly speak about it. After a moment he added, drily:
"My mother fell into the hands of those dogs. I was separated from mybrothers. The youngest, as I was told, was taken by those fiends. Hewas a bright, handsome boy; they made a Turk of him. My other brotherdisappeared; for days I sought him everywhere, but I could not findhim.
"Before I go on with the story of my life, I must tell you that allthe men in the Giulianic family have, since immemorial times, abright red stain, like a small drop of blood, on the nape of theneck, just about where the collar-bone is bound to the skull. Itspeculiarity is that its colour increases and decreases with the lunarphases. Besides this, my father in those troubled times, foreseeingthat the day might come when we should be snatched from him, caused alittle Greek Cross to be tattooed upon us."
Here, suiting the action to the words, he bared his left breast andshowed us the holy sign just near the place where the heart is seento throb.
"Thus, to resume the story of my life, when I was hardly twelve Ifound myself an orphan, alone and penniless. The night of thatdreadful day I went to cry by the smouldering ruins of our house,looking if I could at least find the mangled remains of that fatherwhom I loved so dearly. When morning came, I knew that I was not onlyturned adrift upon this wide world, but that I had to flee, whither Iknew not. I lurked about in all kinds of hiding-places, and when Icrawled out I always seemed to hear the steps and the voices of thosebloodthirsty murderers. The falling leaf, the sudden flight of alocust, the chirrup of an insect filled me with terror, and indeedmore than once, hidden within a bush or crouching behind a stone, Isaw the tall _zeibeks_, those fierce-looking mountaineers, thescourge of the country far around, in search of prey. For days Imanaged to live, I really do not know how, but principally onoranges, I think. One day, being on the strand and seeing a vesselriding at anchor at some distance, I swam up to it. The captain, whowas a Dalmatian, took pity on me, and brought me to Zara, whither hisship was bound. From that time I managed to drag on through life;still, I should not have been unhappy had I been able to forget.
"After several years of hard struggle, I at last went to Mostar;there fate, tired of persecuting me, began to be more favourable. Iwas prosperous in all my undertakings; I married; then myrestlessness began to wear away, I thought I had settled down forlife. Had I only been able to find out something about my lostbrothers, I do not think anything more would have been wanting to myhappiness.
"Years passed, aye, a good many years since those terrible days whichhad blighted my childhood, for my eldest child, who died soonafterwards, was then about the age I had been when I was bereft ofkith and kin. It happened that one day--stop, it was on EasterMonday--I was having a picnic with some friends at a farm belongingto my wife's father. We were sauntering in the fields, enjoying thebeauty of the country, which at that time was in all its bloom, whenlooking down from a height upon the road beneath, we saw a cloud ofdust. We stopped to look, and we perceived at a few yards from us,two or three panting men evidently running for their lives.
"They were all armed, not only with daggers and pistols, but alsowith long muskets. At twenty paces behind them came half-a-dozen_zaptiehs_, or guards.
"The highwaymen, for such they seemed to us, evidently tired out,were losing ground at every step, and the Turks were about toovertake them. All at once the robbers reached a corner of the road,just under the hill on which we were standing; there the foremost manamongst them stopped, and after bidding the others to be off, he puthis musket to his shoulder. When the _zaptiehs_ came nearer, hecalled to them to turn back if they cared for their lives. There wasa moment of indecision amongst the guards; each one looked upon hisneighbour, wondering what he would do, when the one who seemed to betheir officer took out his pistol and pointed it at the highwayman,calling to him to give up. For all reply, the robber took adeliberate aim at the Turk. Both men fired at once. The guards,astonished, stood back for a trice. The Turk fell, the highwaymanremained unhurt; thereupon he laid by his gun and took out arevolver. The guards came up and fired off their weapons; the robber
fell, apparently shot through by many balls.
"The _zaptiehs_ stopped for a moment to look at their companion; theyundid his clothes. Life was already extinct; the highwayman's bullethad struck him above the left breast, and, taking a downward course,it had pierced the heart. Death must have been instantaneous. By thesigns of grief given to him, the man must have been admired andbeloved by his companions; but their sorrow seemed all at once tomelt into hatred and a thirst for revenge, so that they all rose andran after the two fugitives, evidently hoping to overtake them.
"I can hardly describe the feelings that arose in my breast at thatsight; it was the first time in my life that I had beheld the corpseof a Turk, not only without any feeling of exultation, but even witha sense of deep pity.
"'He was a brave man,' said I to my friends; 'therefore he must havebeen a good man.'
"As soon as the _zaptiehs_ were out of sight, we ran down to see thetwo men, and ascertain if life were quite extinct in them.
"I went up to the Turkish guard. I lifted up his lifeless head, and,as I did so, my heart was filled with love and sorrow. He was astalwart, handsome man, in the flower of his years.
"'Is he quite dead?' I asked myself; 'is he not, perhaps, onlywounded?'
"I opened his vest to look at the wound, and as I laid his chestbare, there, to my astonishment, grief and dismay, below the leftbreast, pricked in tiny blue dots, was the sign of the holy Cross--the Greek Cross, like the one which had been tattooed on my ownflesh.
"I felt faint as I beheld it; my eyes grew dim, my hands felllifeless. Was this man one of my long-lost brothers?
"My strength returned; with feverish hands I sought the mark on thenape of the neck. It was full-moon; therefore the stain was not onlyvisible, but as red as the blood which flowed from his wounds.
"A feeling of faintness came over me again; I knew that I was deadlypale. I uttered a cry as I pressed the lifeless head to my heart.
"This man, no doubt, was my youngest brother, whom those hell-houndshad snatched away from our mother's breast upon that dreadful day,and--cursed be their race for ever--they had made a Turkish guard ofhim.
"His head was lying upon my lap; I bowed upon it and covered it withkisses.
"My wife and all my friends, seeing me act in such a strange way,unable to understand my overwhelming anguish, thought that I had beenall at once struck with madness.
"'What is the matter?' said my wife, looking at me with awe-struckeyes.
"I could hardly speak. All I could do was to point with my finger atthe sign of the Cross on the _zaptieh_'s breast.
"'Can it be possible? Is it your brother?'
"I mournfully nodded assent. Then, after a few moments, I added thatI had also found the family sign on the nape of this man's neck.
"In the meantime help was given to the highwayman, who,notwithstanding his wounds, was not quite dead, though he had falleninto a death-like swoon. My father-in-law was vainly endeavouring tobring him back to life, whilst I was lavishing my sorrow and caressesupon the man I had so longed to see.
"'Let us take him away from here,' said I, trying to lift him up; 'heshall not be touched by those dogs. Christian burial is to be givenhim; he must lie in consecrated ground.'
"'But,' said my father-in-law----
"'There are no "buts." They have had his body in his lifetime; theyshall not have it after his death. Besides, his soul will have norest, thinking that its earthly shell lies festering unhallowed. No;even if I am to lose my head, they shall not put a finger upon him.'
"Instead of giving me an answer, my father-in-law uttered a kind ofstifled cry of astonishment. My wife, who was by his side, shriekedout, looked wildly at me, and then lifted both her hands to her head,with horror and amazement.
"What had happened?
"I looked round. The highwayman, the man who had shot my brotherthrough the heart, was coming back to life; he was panting forbreath. I looked at him. He opened his eyes. A shudder came over me.There was a strange likeness between the murderer and the murderedman. Perhaps it was because the one was dying and the other was dead.
"My father-in-law, my wife and my friends looked at the robber, thenat me; awe, dread, sorrow was seen in all their eyes.
"I looked again at the highwayman. He had moved a little; his_jacerma_ was loosened, his shirt was torn open, his breast was allbare.
"Horror! There, under the left breast, I saw the sign of the GreekCross.
"For a moment I remained stunned, hardly knowing whether I was in mysenses or if I was mad.
"A feeling of overpowering fear came upon me; it seemed as if I werein the midst of a mighty whirlwind. For the first time in my life Ibeheld the sign of the holy Cross with horror and dismay.
"I lifted my hands up towards heaven in earnest supplication.
"A religious man prays, perhaps, two or three times a day; still,those are lip-prayers. Few men pray from the innermost depths oftheir hearts more than ten times during their life, and that, indeed,is much. At that moment my very soul seemed to be upheaved towardsheaven with the words that came from my mouth. I entreated theAll-wise Creator of heaven and earth that this _heyduke_ might be nokith and kin to me, that his blood-stained hands might not bepolluted with a brother's murder.
"During these few instants, my friends had gently lifted the dyingman from the ground, and then they had sought for the family sign onthe highwayman's neck. Like my brother's and mine, that stain wasthere, of a blood-red hue.
"I left the body where life was extinct to tend the one where a sparkof life was yet lingering. Slowly and carefully we had the bodiestransported to my father-in-law's house.
"The Turkish guards on their pursuit of the robbers did not, on theirreturn, come back the same way. On the morrow a search was made fortheir officer's body and for that of the highwayman, but, not findingthem, they came to the conclusion that they had been devoured by wildbeasts.
"With great difficulty, and with much bribing (for, as you yourselvesknow, even our own priests are fond of _backseesh_) my dead brotherwas laid low in our churchyard, and Masses were said on his earthlyremains. The wounded man lingered on for some days, between life anddeath, and during all that time I was always by his bedside. He wasdelirious, and by his ravings I understood that he hated the Turks asmuch as I did, for he was always fighting against them. We called askilful surgeon of the Austrian army, who, though he gave us butlittle hope, managed to snatch him from the jaws of death.
"His convalescence was very slow, but health kept creeping back. Whenhe was quite out of danger I questioned him about his youth, hisearly manhood, and the circumstances that urged him to take to thedaring life of a _klefte_. Thereupon he related all the vicissitudesof his good and bad fortune, which I shall resume as follows:
"'I was born at Chios; therefore, though I am of Slav origin and I amcalled Giulianic, I am known throughout all Turkey as the Chiot. Youyourself must have heard of me. I remember but little of my family.My life begins with a terrible date--that of the massacre of theChristians in my native island. Upon that day I lost my father, mymother and two of my brothers. Left alone, I was saved by a richGreek landowner. He had friends amongst the Turks, and was,therefore, spared when almost all our fellow-countrymen werebutchered. This gentleman, who had several girls and no boy, treatedme like his own son; and when I reached early manhood, I was engagedto my adopted father's eldest daughter. Those were the happiest daysof my life, and I should have been far happier still, had my soul notbeen parched by an almost irresistible desire for vengeance.
"'The day of my wedding had already been fixed, when an imprudentperson happened to point out to me the man who had done us a grievouswrong--the man who had torn our baby brother from my mother's breast,the man whom I hated even more and worse than those who had killed myfather. Well, as you can well understand, I slew that man. Putyourself in my place, and tell me if you would not have done thesame?
"'After that deed it was useless to think of marrying. I fled fromChios; I
went to Smyrna. There I put myself at the head of a gang ofrobbers.
"'My life from that day was that of many _heydukes_; that is to say,we got by sheer strength what most people get by craft--our dailybread and very few of the superfluities of life. One thing I can say:it is that neither I nor any of my men ever spilt a single drop ofChristian blood. It is true that I was the bane of the Turks, and Inever spared them any more than they had spared us. I was beloved bythe poor, with whom I often shared my bread; treated withconsideration by the rich, who preferred having me as their friendrather than as their enemy; regularly absolved by the Church, whosefeasts and fasts I always kept. I was only dreaded by the Turks, whoset a very great price upon my head. Thus I got to be in some years arich and powerful man. I left Asia Minor and passed into Europe, andthen, feeling that I was growing old, I was about to retire from mytrade, when--when you saved my life.'
"'And now,' I asked him, 'what are you going to do?'
"'What! That, indeed, is more than I know.'
"He remained musing for some time, and then he added:
"'When a man is without any ties, when he has drunk deep the freemountain air, when the woods have been his dwelling-place and thestarry heaven his roof, when he has lived the lawless life of a_heyduke_, can he think of cooping himself up within the narrow wallsof a house and live the life of other men?'
"He stopped for a while, as if lost in his thoughts, and then headded:
"'The girl I loved is married; my brothers whom I hoped to meetagain, and for whom I had bought the ground our family once owned atChios, are for ever lost to me--doubtless, they perished upon thatdreadful day--therefore, why should I live to drag on a life whichhenceforth will be wearisome to me?'
"'Well, then, what will you do?'
"'There is, perhaps, more work at Chios for me; I might find out themen who murdered my father----'
"'No, no; there is enough of blood upon your hands.'
"'I thought you were a Slav; as such you must know that the men ofour nation never forgive.'
"'Listen; if you should happen to meet one of your brothers, if, likeyou, he were well off, would you not look upon his home as your own,his children--whom you might love without knowing--as your children?'
"'I should love and cherish him, indeed; I should give him the landsI bought for him at Chios. But, alas! what is the use of speakingabout such a thing? It is only a dream, so listen: no man, hitherto,has loved me for my own sake, so as to risk his own life for me, asyou have done, though, indeed, I have met with great kindness duringthe whole of my lifetime, and have had a great many friends. Well,then, will you be my brother?'
"'If I consented, would you remain with me, share my heart and myhome?'
"'For ever?'
"'For our whole life.'
"'No, do not ask me that.'
"'But should you find your brother after these many years, how wouldyou know him?'
"'We have each a Cross tattooed on our left breast, as you, perhaps,have seen----'
"'Besides this, a vanishing sign on the nape of the neck,' said I,interrupting him.
"'How do you know? Have you ever met?--or perhaps you----'
"For all answer I opened my vest and showed him the sign of the GreekCross. His delight upon knowing me to be his brother knew no bounds.He threw his arms round my neck, kissed me, and, for the first timein his life, he cried like a child.
"Time passed. He recovered his strength, but with it hisrestlessness, and his craving for revenge. We soon removed fromMostar to Ragusa, on account of his safety, and then I hoped that thechange of scenery would quiet him. Alas! this larger town was but amore spacious prison. From Ragusa we went to Zara, and from there toNona, for Ragusa itself was too near Turkey. The change quieted himfor a short time; but his roving disposition soon returned, and thenhe talked of going to Chios. One day, seeing that he was about to puthis words into execution, and feeling that I could not keep him withme any longer, I told him who the Turkish _zaptieh_, against whom hehad fired, really was, and what blood was the last he had spilt.
"The blow was a terrible one; for days he seemed to be stunned by it.Little by little, however, it changed the current of his thoughts. Heshortly afterwards gave up to the Church his ill-gotten wealth,except the Chios estate, of which he had made me a gift. Then hebecame a _caloyer_, or Greek monk, and once a year he went on apilgrimage to Mostar, to pray upon my brother's tomb. From sinner heturned saint; but he pined like a wild bird in a cage. He lingeredfor some time and then he died at Mostar, where he was buried by theside of the _zaptieh_ whom he had killed.
"We had now been to Chios to look after our vineyards and our orangegroves; but I must say that this island, where I was born, is no homefor me. I have lived away from it the whole of my lifetime, and theremembrances which it brings back to my mind are anything butpleasant. We were on our way to Nona, and had almost reached the goalof our voyage when that dreadful storm overtook us, and had it notbeen for your kindness and bravery we should all have been lost."
Evening had set in when Giulianic finished the story of his life,just when the walls of Zara were in sight; but as it was too late toland, we spent New Year's night on board the _Spera in Dio_.
