Kitabı oku: «The Pobratim: A Slav Novel», sayfa 26

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.

Thinking it to be Cape Campanella, they had steered towards the light – the only dangerous part of the island, on account of the reef, which stretches out a long way into the sea. When they found out their mistake it was too late to avoid the danger that threatened them; the ship was dashed against the rocks, which were heard grating under the keel and ripping open the sides, like the teeth of some famished monster of the deep. Fortunately, the brig had got tightly wedged between two rocks and kept fast there, so nothing was to be done but work hard at the pumps, trying to keep out as much water as they possibly could.

The night seemed everlasting. Still, by degrees, the storm subsided, and at dawn the wind had gone down and the sea had grown calm.

At daybreak help came from the shore.

"The ship is very much damaged," said the captain, "and so is the cargo, doubtless; but, at least, there are no lives lost," added he, looking round.

A few moments afterwards, the boatswain, wanting something, called Gennaro, but no answer came. He called again and again, cursed his canine breed, but with no better success.

"Where is Gennaro?" asked the captain.

The youth was sought down below, but he was nowhere to be found. All the men of the crew looked at one another enquiringly, and at last the questions that everyone was afraid to ask were uttered.

Had the youth been swept away by one of the huge breakers that washed over the deck? Had he been killed by the falling mast, or blown into the deep by a sudden and unexpected gust of wind? No one had seen him disappear; all looked around, expecting to see the handsome face of the youth they loved so well rising above the waves; but the green waters kept their secret. After that, all eyes turned towards Vranic, as if asking for an answer.

"The last time I saw the youth was when he was working at the pumps by me, just before the mast came down."

They all muttered some oath, unintelligible to him, and then a prayer for the youth. After that Vranic was only too glad to leave the ship, for every man on board seemed to look upon him as the cause of Gennaro's mysterious disappearance.

Having remained a week in Naples, seeing his money, the only thing he loved, dwindle away, Vranic did his best to find some employment. He for a few days got a living as a porter, helping to unload sacks from an English ship. Still, that was but a very precarious living, and he decided to follow a seafaring life, not because he was fond of it, but only to keep clear from his enemies and the laws of his country, and the vampire that had haunted him there every night.

He happened to find employment, as cook, on the very ship he had helped to discharge. It was an English schooner, bound for Glasgow. The captain, a crusty old bachelor, was a real hermit-crab; the men, a most ruffianly set. Vranic, being hardly able to speak with anyone, indulged in his morose way of living, and, except for being kicked about every now and then, he was left very much to himself.

From Glasgow the schooner sailed for Genoa, where she arrived just as the Giustizia di Dio was about to set sail. The two ships came so close together that Vranic, who kept a sharp look-out whenever he saw an Austrian flag, recognised Milenko standing on the deck and ordering some manoeuvres.

Although the young man could not perceive him, hidden as he was in the darkness of the galley, and bending over the stove, still Vranic felt a shock that for a few moments almost deprived him of his senses, and made him feel quite sick.

That day the dinner was quite a failure. The roast was burnt; the potatoes, instead, were raw; the cauliflower was uneatable, and salt had been put in the pudding instead of sugar.

If there is anything trying to human patience, it is a spoilt dinner, especially the first one gets in port. It is, therefore, not to be wondered at that the captain, never very forbearing at the best of times, got so angry that he kicked Vranic down the hatchway and almost crippled him.

Although the Dalmatian ship sailed away, bound probably towards the East, and he would perhaps never see her captain again, still the shock he felt had quite unnerved him. From that day matters began to go on from bad to worse. Sailing from Genoa, they first met with contrary winds, and much time was lost cruising about; after that came a spell of calm weather, and for long weeks they remained in sight of the bold promontory and of the lighthouse of Cape Bearn, not far from the port of Vendres. At last a fair wind arose, the sails were made taut, and the schooner flew on the crested waves. A new life seemed to have come over the crew, tired of their listless inactivity; the captain cursed Vranic and kicked him a little less than he had done on the previous days.

It was to be hoped that the wind would continue fair; otherwise their provisions would begin falling short. Ill-luck, however, was awaiting them in another direction.

Opening a keg of salted meat a few days later, the stench was so loathsome, that it reminded Vranic of that awful night when he had stabbed the vampire; besides, big worms were crawling and wriggling at the top. Vranic at once called the mate and showed him the rotten meat, and the mate reported the fact to the captain. He only answered with a few oaths, then shrugged his shoulders, and said that dogs would lick their chops at such dainty morsels, and were his men any better than dogs?

"Wash it well, clean it, and put some vinegar with it," said the mate, who was the best man on board. "There is no other meat, and that is better than starving."

Vranic did as he was bid; he put more pepper than usual. Still, he himself did not taste it, but lived on biscuit, for even the potatoes had been all eaten up.

A few days afterwards, taking out another piece from the cask, he drew out a sinewy human arm, hacked in several places, and with the fingers chopped off. Shuddering, and seized with a feeling of loathsomeness, he stood for a moment bewildered. Then he almost fancied he had touched something hairy in the cask, and looking in, he saw a disfigured and bearded man's head. Sickening at the gruesome sight, he dropped the arm into the cask and hastened to the mate, trying to explain to him what the barrel contained.

The mate could hardly understand and would not believe him, but soon he had to yield to the evidence of his own senses. The mate, in his turn, reported the horrible fact to the captain, who asked both men not to divulge the secret to the crew. When night came on, the cask and its contents were thrown overboard. The captain was not to blame for what the cask contained, nor were the ship-chandlers, who had supplied him at other times upon leaving Scotland. The cask bore the trade-mark of a well-known foreign house trading in preserved meat.

The provisions, which had been scarce, now began to fall short; but in a day or two they would have reached their destination. The wind, however, was contrary, and some delay ensued. Hunger was now beginning to be felt. The crew, overworked and badly fed, first grew sullen; the foremost of them, with scowling looks, began to utter threatening words. Orders given were badly obeyed, or not obeyed at all. Long pent-up anger seemed every moment ready to break out – first against the captain, then against the mate, finally against Vranic, who, they said, was leagued against them.

The boatswain especially hated him.

"Since that cursed foreigner has come on board," said he, "everything has been going from bad to worse. Even the provisions seem to dwindle and waste away."

"I'd not be surprised," added one of the sailors, "that he is leagued with the captain to poison the whole lot of us, for, in fact, the meat tasted like carrion, and I don't know what's up with me."

"Nonsense! Why poison us? Starving is much better," quoth another.

A trifle soon brought on a quarrel, which ended in a tussle. Vranic got cuffed and kicked about; he had been born in an unlucky moment, and everyone hated him without really understanding why or wherefore.

Why do most people dislike toads or blind-worms?

The mate, seeing the poor cook unfairly used, interfered on his behalf, and tried to put an end to the fight. This only made matters worse. The captain, hearing the noise, appeared on deck, and a mutiny at once broke out.

The boatswain, who was at the head of the revolted crew, snatching up a hatchet which happened to be there within his reach, advanced and demanded a distribution of provisions.

The captain, for all answer, knocked him down with a crow-bar; at the same time he showed the crew the coast of England, which was faintly visible at a distance, as well as a man-of-war coming full sail towards them.

A day after this incident, the ship had landed her rebellious crew at Cardiff. The boatswain was sent to jail, where, if he had been a man of a philosophical turn of mind, he might have meditated on the difference between right and might.

As for Vranic, he was but too glad to quit a ship where he was hated by everybody, even by the captain, who had treated him more like a galley slave than a fellow-creature.

After having earned a pittance as a porter for a short time, he again embarked on board the Ave Maria, an Austrian ship bound for Marseilles. This ship had had a remarkably prosperous voyage from the Levant. The captain had received a handsome gratuity, and now a cargo had been taken at a very high freight; therefore, from the captain to the cabin-boy, every man on board was merry and worked with a good will.

Although the weather was bleak, rainy and foggy, still the wind blew steadily; moreover, the Ave Maria was a good ship, and a fast sailer, withal she laboured under a great disadvantage, that of being overladen, and was, consequently, always shipping heavy seas.

On leaving Cardiff, the captain found that two of the sailors, who had been indulging in excesses of every kind whilst on shore, were in a bad state of health. A third sickened a few days afterwards, and for a long time all three were quite unfit for work. Still, the ship managed to reach Marseilles without any mishap.

The cargo was unloaded, a fresh one was taken on board; the men received medical assistance, and seemed to be recovering. On leaving Marseilles, matters went from bad to worse; the captain, his mate, and two other sailors fell ill.

"It seems," said the captain, "as if someone has the gift of the evil eye, for, since we left England, ill-luck follows in our wake."

The crew was, therefore, greatly diminished, for the three men, who had been recovering, were now, on account of improper food and overwork, quite ill again.

On leaving Marseilles they met with heavy gales and baffling squalls of wind; the ship began to pitch heavily, then to labour and strain in such a way that, overladen as she was, the pestilence-stricken crew could hardly manage her. For three days the wind blew with such violence that two men had to be constantly kept at the helm. Moreover, she shipped so many seas that hands had to be always at the pumps. The very first day the waves had washed away the coops; then, at last, the jib-boom and the bowsprit shrouds had been broken loose and torn away by the grasp of the storm.