NEW YEAR'S DAY
On the last day of the year the _pobratim_ were sailing on the waters
of the Adriatic not far from the island of Lissa, now famed in
history for its naval wars. Soon the sun went down behind a huge mass
of grey clouds, and night set in when the vessel was about to sail
amidst that maze of inlets, straits, channels and friths, which
characterise all that part of the Dalmatian coast. But, though the
night was dark and wild, their schooner was strong and stout, and
accustomed to weather such heavy seas.
A head-wind arose, which first began to shiver amidst the rigging
like a human being sick of a fever; then it changed into a slight
wailing sound, so that it seemed at times the voice of a suffering
child tossing about in its cot unable to find rest. The wind
increased, and the sound changed into a howl like the rage of untamed
beasts; it was a horrible concert, where serpents hissed, wild cats
mewed and lions roared in and out of time and tune; but not without a
strange, weird, uncouth harmony. It was the voice of the storm. Great
Adamastor, the genius of the foul weather, baffled at not being able
to snap all the ropes asunder and break down the straining masts, was
yelling with impotent rage. He was, withal, a cunning old man and
knew more than one trick, for, after holding his breath for a while,
he would whisper no louder than a mother does when her babe is
asleep, and then again, he would begin to snicker slily in a low,
snorting way, until, all at once, he broke loose into loud fits of
fiendish, hoarse merriment.
Added to this head-wind, a heavy sea rolled its huge waves against
the prow of the ship and dashed the spray of its breakers up its very
sails; then the strong rain would come down in showers at every gust
of wind. The elements seemed, indeed, bent upon overwhelming the poor
craft groaning at this ill-treatment.
Eleven o'clock having just struck, Uros went below and Milenko got
ready 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 pelting
rain--but, worse than that, for the first time in his life he felt
home-sick and love-sick. He remembered the pleasant Christmas Eve,
the last night but one which he had passed at home. Whilst the wind
howled and the waves rolled high he recalled to mind the many
incidents of that evening, which had been for him the happiest of his
life, and there, in the darkness of the night, Milena's bright and
laughing eyes were always twinkling before him. Her sweet looks,
which he had drunk down like intoxicating wine, had maddened his
brain.
Hitherto Uros had been passionately fond of the sea, and his great
ambition was to be one day the master of a ship. Now that his dream
seemed about to be realised even beyond his wildest ambition--for the
brig was really a fine ship--his heart was far behind on shore, and
the sea had lost its charm. That night especially he wished he could
have been back by his own fireside watching the remainder of the
yule-logs as they burnt away into cinders.
When Uros came down, the captain brought out a bottle of some rare
old genuine cognac, which on some former voyage he himself had got at
Bordeaux. Punch was made, Milenko was called down and toasts were
drunk to the health of the absent ones, songs were sung about the
pleasantness of a life upon the wide, wide sea; but the voice of the
waves seemed to jeer them, and then the captain fell a-thinking that
he was growing of an age when it was far more agreeable to remain
amidst his little brood at home. As for poor Uros, he thought of the
woman who lived in a lonely cottage, and he wondered whether harm
might 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 the
world when he might remain at home tilling his father's fields.
Milenko alone was of a cheerful mood; perhaps it was because he
thought less of himself and more of those around him.
Milenko came and went up and down like a squirrel, keeping his watch
and trying to cheer his friend. Still, each time he went up and
looked about, he found that the wind was stronger and the waves
rolled higher. Meanwhile the captain, roused to a sense of duty,
tried to enliven the passing hours by telling old tales, comical
adventures, 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 to
rest. Midnight had just struck, and the hands of the clock were on
twelve, a last cup was drained, and the three seamen having thus seen
the old year out and the new year in, separated and each one went his
own way. The clock withal was rather fast, and it was only some
moments after they had separated from one another that the old year
breathed its last.
Before going to rest, Uros, who had slightly bruised his forehead
just where Vranic had cut him with the stone, went to his chest and
took out of it a small round tin looking-glass and opened it. He
wished to see what kind of a scratch it had left, and if the scar
were healing. He had scarcely cast his eyes upon it when, to his
great surprise, lo, and behold! far from seeing his own face in the
glass, Vranic's likeness was there, staring upon him with his usual
leer!
Uros was startled at this sight; then, for a while he stood as if
transfixed, gloating on the image within the glass, unable to turn
away his eyes from it. Then, appalled as he was, he almost dropped
the looking-glass he was holding.
All at once remembering that it was midnight--the moment when the old
year passes into oblivion and the new one rises from chaos--his hand
fell, and he stood for a while, pale, shuddering, and staring upon
vacancy. But--recalled to himself--he endeavoured to retrace the long
string of thoughts that had flitted through his brain, since he had
left the captain and Milenko up to the moment that he had looked upon
the glass, and Vranic was not amongst them. His brain had been
rather muddled by sleepiness and brandy, and he had hardly been
thinking about anything.
Having lifted up the glass to the height of his face, he for a moment
held his head averted, for he had really not the courage to look upon
it.
After a while he shrugged his shoulders, muttering to himself: "I
have always been thinking of Milena, and of the last days I passed at
home, so that now this man's face--such as I had seen it on Christmas
morning--has been impressively recalled to my mind. It must be this
and nothing more."
Still, the moment when he tried again to look upon the glass, a vague
terror came over him, and all his courage passed away; it was just as
if he were looking upon some unhallowed thing, as if he were
indulging in witchcraft. But curiosity prevailed once more, and as he
did so, a trepidation came all over his limbs. This time he was
surely not mistaken; it was no vision of his overheated fancy, seen
with his mind's eye; sleepiness and the effect of the brandy had
quite passed away, and still the glass--instead of reflecting his own
features--was the living portrait of the man he hated. There he was,
with his low forehead, his livid complexion, his pale greyish-green
eyes, his high cheekbones and his flat nose.
He was almost impelled to dash down the glass and break it into
pieces, but still he durst not do it; a superstitious fear stopped
him; it was, as we all know, so very unlucky to break a
looking-glass by accident, but to break it of his own free will must
be far worse.
He now kept his eyes riveted upon the tiny mirror, and then he saw
Vranic's face slightly fade and then vanish away; then the glass for
a few seconds grew dim as if a damp breath had passed upon it; then
the dimness disappeared little by little, the glass again grew clear
and 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 by
chance in a looking-glass at the stroke of twelve, just when the old
year is dying out, he will perhaps see, either the woman he is to
marry in the course of the year, Death, or a man of his acquaintance
doomed to die within the year. He had never tried it, because it is a
thing that has to be done by chance, and even then the mirror does
not always foretell the future. Now, the thing happened so naturally,
in such an unforeseen, unpremeditated way, that there was no
possibility of a doubt. Vranic, then, was doomed to die.
A week before, his death had been predicted the moment when he
stumbled and slipped over the stump of the yule-log--aye, it was his
own 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 his
patron saint to keep his hands clean, and not to make him the
instrument of his enemy's death.
"He is a villain," muttered he to himself, "and he fully deserves a
thousand deaths; but let him not die by my hand. If he dies of a
violent death, let me not be his executioner."
Uros stood there for some time as if bewildered and very much like a
man who had seen a ghost, afraid to look round lest he should see
Vranic's face gloating upon him; then shuddering, he ran upstairs to
tell his adoptive brother all that had happened, and the strange
vision he had seen.
When Uros went up on deck, he found that the wind had greatly
increased, 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 the
ship, making her stagger and reel as if she had been stunned by those
mighty blows.
The captain had now taken command of the ship, for all that part of
the Adriatic up to the Quarnero, with its archipelago of islands, its
numerous straits, its friths and rock-bound inlets, where the
mountains of the mainland--sloping down to the water's edge--end in
long ledges and chasms all interspersed with sharp ridges, rocks and
sunken reefs, through which the ships have often to wind carefully in
and out, is like a perilous maze. The navigation of these parts,
difficult enough in the day-time by fair weather, is more than
dangerous on a dark and stormy night.
The ship, according to all calculation, had passed the Punta della
Planca, and was not very far from the port of Sebenico. It was
useless to try and take shelter there, for the town is most difficult
of access, especially during contrary winds.
All that night the whole crew were on deck obeying the captain's
orders, for it was as much as they could do to manage the ship, at
war with all the elements; besides, as she rode forecastle in, she
had shipped several seas, so that, deeply-laden as she was, she
wallowed heavily about, and looked every moment as if she were ready
to 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 experienced
sailor, acknowledged that he scarcely remembered a more fearful gale
in the whole of his lifetime. All waited eagerly for the first
streaks of dawn; for a tempest, though frightful in broad daylight,
is always more appalling in the dead of the night. They waited a long
time, 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, by
degrees, towards daybreak, the waters overhead, and the waters
underneath, had a gloomy, greyish hue. Light spread itself far and
wide, but the storm did not abate.
Milenko, with his spy-glass in his hand, was searching through the
veil 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 very
far off. This object, apparently cradled by the waters, was so dimly
seen that he could not even guess what it was; but after keeping his
eyes steadily upon it, he saw, or rather, he thought he saw, the hull
or wreck of a ship, or a buoy. No, surely it could not be a buoy
floating there in the midst of the waters. Was it not, perhaps, some
foam-covered rock against which the waves were dashing? His eyes were
rooted upon it for some time, and then he was certain that it was not
a rock, for it moved, nay, it seemed to float about. He pondered for
a while. Could it not be, he thought, the head of one of those huge
sea-snakes, upon which ships, having sometimes cast their anchors,
are dragged down into the fathomless abysses of the deep, there to
become the prey of this horrible monster? It was really too far off
for him to understand what it was.
He waited for some time, then he strained his eyes, and he saw that
it could be nothing but a boat. He called Uros to him, but his
friend's sight being less keen than his own, he could make nothing of
it. The captain, having come to them, could not distinguish the
floating object at all. As they steered onwards, they came nearer to
it, and then they found out that it was indeed the hull of a caique
or galley-boat, which, having lost its masts and rudder, was tossed
about at the mercy of the breakers, that always seemed ready to
swallow it up. The crew on board were making signs of distress, but
it was a rather difficult task to lend a helping hand to that crazy
ship. It was impossible, with that heavy sea, for the brig to go
alongside of her, or to lie near enough for her crew to manage to get
on board. Nay, it was very dangerous for the brig to attempt going
anywhere near the caique, for the consequences might have been
disastrous if the wreck were thrown against her, as the stronger one
of the two would thus have dashed the weaker vessel to pieces.
In this predicament Milenko volunteered to go in a little boat, if
any two men would go with him. At first all refused, but when Uros
said that he was ready to share his friend's fate, another sailor
came forth to lend a helping hand in rescuing those lives in fearful
jeopardy.
The _pobratim_ having skilfully managed to get near enough to the
caique, so as to be understood, they called out to the captain to
throw them a rope overboard. This was done, but the hawser, without a
buoy, could hardly be got at; it was, therefore, pulled back, a
broken spar was tied at its end, and then it was again cast
overboard.
After a full half-hour's hard work, Milenko and his mates managed to
get to the floating hawser and to haul it up; then they rowed lustily
back to the ship with it. The caique was then tugged close to the
brig'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 one
of her men having gone down in the hold to see how much water there
was in her, found that she had sprung a leak and that she was filling
fast, notwithstanding all the exertions of the men at the pump.
Though the storm had somewhat abated, still the caique was now
sinking, so that it was beyond all possibility to reach the shore in
time to save her. The two friends again got into the boat, and went
once more beside the wreck. This time they managed to get near enough
to save the crew and the few passengers they had. When all were on
board, then this little boat, heavily laden with human lives, was
rowed back to the brig. After this, the rope which bound the caique
was cut off, and she was left to drift away at the mercy of the
waves, and, little by little, sink out of sight.
The first person that Milenko had got into the little boat, and who
he 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 she
was. After her came her father and her mother, who were passengers on
board of the caique; they had come from Scio, and were bound for
Nona, a small town near Zara. The young girl had, throughout the
storm, shown an extraordinary courage; nay, she had been a helpmate
rather than an encumbrance. But when she saw herself safe on board
the _Spera in Dio_ (Hope in God)--for this was the brig's name--then
her 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 upon
his bed.
Milenko had hitherto never cared for any woman; but now, as he
carried this lifeless body, and he saw this pale, wan, childlike face
leaning on his shoulder, he felt a strange unknown flutter somewhere
about his heart. Then the sense of his own manhood came over him; he
knew himself strong, and he was glad to be able to shelter this frail
being within his brawny arms.
Having rescued this girl from the jaws of death, she seemed to be his
own, and his bosom heaved with a feeling quite new to him. He would
have liked to have gone through life with this weak creature clinging
to him for strength, just as a mother would fain have her babe ever
nestling on her bosom. Now, having to relinquish her, he was glad to
lay 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 soon
followed, and all the care their rough hospitality could afford was
lavished upon her. As the fainting-fit had been brought on through
long fasting, as well as by a strain of the nerves, a spoonful of the
captain's rare cognac had the desired effect of recalling her to
life.
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, wistfully
gloating upon her own, attracted her attention. She had seen him in
the boat when he came to their rescue, he had helped her on board;
and now, after that fainting-fit, which seemed to have stopped the
march 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. After
this, feeling as if she was quite safe as long as her mother and that
unknown young man--who still was no stranger--stood watching over
her, her heavy eyelids drooped, and she fell into a light slumber.
The captain having persuaded the mother to take some rest, all went
to attend to their duties; still, Milenko softly crept down every now
and then to see if the women wanted anything, and to have a sly look
at the young girl sleeping in his bed. As he stood there gazing upon
her, he was conscious that his senses had grown more mellow--that
life henceforth had an aim. This was the dawn of real love in a
strong man's breast. Whilst he was looking at her, the young girl
woke from her slumbers; she opened her eyes, and her glances fell
again upon him.
"Where am I?" she said, half-frightened. Then, recognising the young
man, she added: "Yes, I know, you saved my life when I was drowning."
The mother, hearing her daughter speak, yawned, stretched out her
arms and woke.
The storm had now abated. The dark clouds were quickly flitting, and
the sun, which had risen upon that first day of the year, was now
shining in all its splendour on the broad expanse of the blue waters
and upon the huge crested waves; and the sight was as exhilarating as
it was delightful.
The poor wrecked family having gathered together on deck, breakfast
was got ready, and all sat down to the frugal meal which the ship's
provisions afforded.
When the breakfast was over, the father of the young girl--who had
been questioned several times as to the place from where he was
coming, to the port whither he was bound, his occupation, and so
forth--related to his hosts the story of his adventures, which can be
abridged as follows:
"My name is Giulianic. Our family, though Slav and Orthodox, is said
to have been of Italian origin, and that the name, years ago, was
Giuliani. Still, I cannot swear as to the truth of this assertion. My
father in his first youth had gone to the Levant, and had settled at
Chios. He was a coppersmith; and, as far as I can remember, he was
very prosperous. He had a large and well-furnished shop, and employed
a 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 before
trouble befel us; for had she been spared, she doubtless would have
ended her life in some harem, if not in a worse way, losing thus both
soul and body. After her came two boys; so that between myself and
my youngest brother there was a difference of about ten years, if not
more. I was, therefore, the only child of our family who knew the
blessing of a happy boyhood, for my early years, spent either in my
father's shop or in our country-house, were passed in bliss; but
alas! that time is so far off that its remembrance is only like a
dream.
"When I was about ten or twelve years--I cannot say exactly how old I
was, as all the registers have been destroyed--a terrible revolution
took place. It was, I remember, an awful time, when Christian blood
ran in streams through the streets of towns and villages, when houses
were burnt down, and the whole island remained a mass of smouldering
ruins.
"My father was, if I am not mistaken, the first victim of that bloody
fray; like all men of pluck, and indeed like most men of no pluck at
all, he was butchered by the Turks. My mother----"
There was a pause. A tear glistened in the corner of the old man's
eye, then it rolled down his wrinkled cheek and disappeared in the
long, bristling white moustache; his voice faltered. Though more than
half a century had passed since that dreadful day, still he could
hardly speak about it. After a moment he added, drily:
"My mother fell into the hands of those dogs. I was separated from my
brothers. The youngest, as I was told, was taken by those fiends. He
was a bright, handsome boy; they made a Turk of him. My other brother
disappeared; for days I sought him everywhere, but I could not find
him.
"Before I go on with the story of my life, I must tell you that all
the men in the Giulianic family have, since immemorial times, a
bright red stain, like a small drop of blood, on the nape of the
neck, just about where the collar-bone is bound to the skull. Its
peculiarity is that its colour increases and decreases with the lunar
phases. Besides this, my father in those troubled times, foreseeing
that the day might come when we should be snatched from him, caused a
little Greek Cross to be tattooed upon us."
Here, suiting the action to the words, he bared his left breast and
showed us the holy sign just near the place where the heart is seen
to throb.
"Thus, to resume the story of my life, when I was hardly twelve I
found myself an orphan, alone and penniless. The night of that
dreadful day I went to cry by the smouldering ruins of our house,
looking if I could at least find the mangled remains of that father
whom I loved so dearly. When morning came, I knew that I was not only
turned adrift upon this wide world, but that I had to flee, whither I
knew not. I lurked about in all kinds of hiding-places, and when I
crawled out I always seemed to hear the steps and the voices of those
bloodthirsty murderers. The falling leaf, the sudden flight of a
locust, the chirrup of an insect filled me with terror, and indeed
more than once, hidden within a bush or crouching behind a stone, I
saw the tall _zeibeks_, those fierce-looking mountaineers, the
scourge of the country far around, in search of prey. For days I
managed to live, I really do not know how, but principally on
oranges, I think. One day, being on the strand and seeing a vessel
riding at anchor at some distance, I swam up to it. The captain, who
was a Dalmatian, took pity on me, and brought me to Zara, whither his
ship 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. I
was prosperous in all my undertakings; I married; then my
restlessness began to wear away, I thought I had settled down for
life. Had I only been able to find out something about my lost
brothers, I do not think anything more would have been wanting to my
happiness.
"Years passed, aye, a good many years since those terrible days which
had blighted my childhood, for my eldest child, who died soon
afterwards, was then about the age I had been when I was bereft of
kith and kin. It happened that one day--stop, it was on Easter
Monday--I was having a picnic with some friends at a farm belonging
to my wife's father. We were sauntering in the fields, enjoying the
beauty of the country, which at that time was in all its bloom, when
looking down from a height upon the road beneath, we saw a cloud of
dust. 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 also
with 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 to
overtake them. All at once the robbers reached a corner of the road,
just under the hill on which we were standing; there the foremost man
amongst them stopped, and after bidding the others to be off, he put
his musket to his shoulder. When the _zaptiehs_ came nearer, he
called to them to turn back if they cared for their lives. There was
a moment of indecision amongst the guards; each one looked upon his
neighbour, wondering what he would do, when the one who seemed to be
their officer took out his pistol and pointed it at the highwayman,
calling to him to give up. For all reply, the robber took a
deliberate aim at the Turk. Both men fired at once. The guards,
astonished, stood back for a trice. The Turk fell, the highwayman
remained unhurt; thereupon he laid by his gun and took out a
revolver. 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; they
undid his clothes. Life was already extinct; the highwayman's bullet
had struck him above the left breast, and, taking a downward course,
it had pierced the heart. Death must have been instantaneous. By the
signs of grief given to him, the man must have been admired and
beloved by his companions; but their sorrow seemed all at once to
melt into hatred and a thirst for revenge, so that they all rose and
ran after the two fugitives, evidently hoping to overtake them.
"I can hardly describe the feelings that arose in my breast at that
sight; it was the first time in my life that I had beheld the corpse
of a Turk, not only without any feeling of exultation, but even with
a sense of deep pity.
"'He was a brave man,' said I to my friends; 'therefore he must have
been a good man.'
"As soon as the _zaptiehs_ were out of sight, we ran down to see the
two 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 a
stalwart, handsome man, in the flower of his years.
"'Is he quite dead?' I asked myself; 'is he not, perhaps, only
wounded?'
"I opened his vest to look at the wound, and as I laid his chest
bare, there, to my astonishment, grief and dismay, below the left
breast, pricked in tiny blue dots, was the sign of the holy Cross
--the Greek Cross, like the one which had been tattooed on my own
flesh.
"I felt faint as I beheld it; my eyes grew dim, my hands fell
lifeless. Was this man one of my long-lost brothers?
"My strength returned; with feverish hands I sought the mark on the
nape of the neck. It was full-moon; therefore the stain was not only
visible, but as red as the blood which flowed from his wounds.
"A feeling of faintness came over me again; I knew that I was deadly
pale. I uttered a cry as I pressed the lifeless head to my heart.
"This man, no doubt, was my youngest brother, whom those hell-hounds
had snatched away from our mother's breast upon that dreadful day,
and--cursed be their race for ever--they had made a Turkish guard of
him.
"His head was lying upon my lap; I bowed upon it and covered it with
kisses.
"My wife and all my friends, seeing me act in such a strange way,
unable to understand my overwhelming anguish, thought that I had been
all at once struck with madness.
"'What is the matter?' said my wife, looking at me with awe-struck
eyes.
"I could hardly speak. All I could do was to point with my finger at
the 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 that
I 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 fallen
into a death-like swoon. My father-in-law was vainly endeavouring to
bring him back to life, whilst I was lavishing my sorrow and caresses
upon the man I had so longed to see.
"'Let us take him away from here,' said I, trying to lift him up; 'he
shall not be touched by those dogs. Christian burial is to be given
him; he must lie in consecrated ground.'
"'But,' said my father-in-law----
"'There are no "buts." They have had his body in his lifetime; they
shall not have it after his death. Besides, his soul will have no
rest, 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 of
stifled cry of astonishment. My wife, who was by his side, shrieked
out, 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 brother
through the heart, was coming back to life; he was panting for
breath. I looked at him. He opened his eyes. A shudder came over me.
There was a strange likeness between the murderer and the murdered
man. 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, then
at 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 all
bare.
"Horror! There, under the left breast, I saw the sign of the Greek
Cross.
"For a moment I remained stunned, hardly knowing whether I was in my
senses or if I was mad.
"A feeling of overpowering fear came upon me; it seemed as if I were
in the midst of a mighty whirlwind. For the first time in my life I
beheld 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 of
their hearts more than ten times during their life, and that, indeed,
is much. At that moment my very soul seemed to be upheaved towards
heaven with the words that came from my mouth. I entreated the
All-wise Creator of heaven and earth that this _heyduke_ might be no
kith and kin to me, that his blood-stained hands might not be
polluted with a brother's murder.
"During these few instants, my friends had gently lifted the dying
man from the ground, and then they had sought for the family sign on
the highwayman's neck. Like my brother's and mine, that stain was
there, of a blood-red hue.
"I left the body where life was extinct to tend the one where a spark
of life was yet lingering. Slowly and carefully we had the bodies
transported to my father-in-law's house.
"The Turkish guards on their pursuit of the robbers did not, on their
return, come back the same way. On the morrow a search was made for
their officer's body and for that of the highwayman, but, not finding
them, they came to the conclusion that they had been devoured by wild
beasts.
"With great difficulty, and with much bribing (for, as you yourselves
know, even our own priests are fond of _backseesh_) my dead brother
was laid low in our churchyard, and Masses were said on his earthly
remains. The wounded man lingered on for some days, between life and
death, and during all that time I was always by his bedside. He was
delirious, and by his ravings I understood that he hated the Turks as
much as I did, for he was always fighting against them. We called a
skilful surgeon of the Austrian army, who, though he gave us but
little hope, managed to snatch him from the jaws of death.
"His convalescence was very slow, but health kept creeping back. When
he was quite out of danger I questioned him about his youth, his
early manhood, and the circumstances that urged him to take to the
daring life of a _klefte_. Thereupon he related all the vicissitudes
of 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 am
called Giulianic, I am known throughout all Turkey as the Chiot. You
yourself must have heard of me. I remember but little of my family.
My life begins with a terrible date--that of the massacre of the
Christians in my native island. Upon that day I lost my father, my
mother and two of my brothers. Left alone, I was saved by a rich
Greek landowner. He had friends amongst the Turks, and was,
therefore, spared when almost all our fellow-countrymen were
butchered. This gentleman, who had several girls and no boy, treated
me like his own son; and when I reached early manhood, I was engaged
to my adopted father's eldest daughter. Those were the happiest days
of my life, and I should have been far happier still, had my soul not
been parched by an almost irresistible desire for vengeance.
"'The day of my wedding had already been fixed, when an imprudent
person happened to point out to me the man who had done us a grievous
wrong--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 my
father. Well, as you can well understand, I slew that man. Put
yourself in my place, and tell me if you would not have done the
same?
"'After that deed it was useless to think of marrying. I fled from
Chios; I went to Smyrna. There I put myself at the head of a gang of
robbers.
"'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 daily
bread 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 of
Christian blood. It is true that I was the bane of the Turks, and I
never spared them any more than they had spared us. I was beloved by
the poor, with whom I often shared my bread; treated with
consideration by the rich, who preferred having me as their friend
rather than as their enemy; regularly absolved by the Church, whose
feasts and fasts I always kept. I was only dreaded by the Turks, who
set a very great price upon my head. Thus I got to be in some years a
rich and powerful man. I left Asia Minor and passed into Europe, and
then, feeling that I was growing old, I was about to retire from my
trade, 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 free
mountain air, when the woods have been his dwelling-place and the
starry heaven his roof, when he has lived the lawless life of a
_heyduke_, can he think of cooping himself up within the narrow walls
of a house and live the life of other men?'
"He stopped for a while, as if lost in his thoughts, and then he
added:
"'The girl I loved is married; my brothers whom I hoped to meet
again, and for whom I had bought the ground our family once owned at
Chios, are for ever lost to me--doubtless, they perished upon that
dreadful day--therefore, why should I live to drag on a life which
henceforth will be wearisome to me?'
"'Well, then, what will you do?'
"'There is, perhaps, more work at Chios for me; I might find out the
men 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 of
our nation never forgive.'
"'Listen; if you should happen to meet one of your brothers, if, like
you, 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 lands
I bought for him at Chios. But, alas! what is the use of speaking
about 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, as
you have done, though, indeed, I have met with great kindness during
the 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 my
home?'
"'For ever?'
"'For our whole life.'
"'No, do not ask me that.'
"'But should you find your brother after these many years, how would
you 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 Greek
Cross. 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 time
in his life, he cried like a child.
"Time passed. He recovered his strength, but with it his
restlessness, and his craving for revenge. We soon removed from
Mostar to Ragusa, on account of his safety, and then I hoped that the
change of scenery would quiet him. Alas! this larger town was but a
more spacious prison. From Ragusa we went to Zara, and from there to
Nona, for Ragusa itself was too near Turkey. The change quieted him
for a short time; but his roving disposition soon returned, and then
he talked of going to Chios. One day, seeing that he was about to put
his words into execution, and feeling that I could not keep him with
me any longer, I told him who the Turkish _zaptieh_, against whom he
had 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. He
shortly afterwards gave up to the Church his ill-gotten wealth,
except the Chios estate, of which he had made me a gift. Then he
became a _caloyer_, or Greek monk, and once a year he went on a
pilgrimage to Mostar, to pray upon my brother's tomb. From sinner he
turned saint; but he pined like a wild bird in a cage. He lingered
for some time and then he died at Mostar, where he was buried by the
side of the _zaptieh_ whom he had killed.
"We had now been to Chios to look after our vineyards and our orange
groves; but I must say that this island, where I was born, is no home
for me. I have lived away from it the whole of my lifetime, and the
remembrances which it brings back to my mind are anything but
pleasant. We were on our way to Nona, and had almost reached the goal
of our voyage when that dreadful storm overtook us, and had it not
been 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 to
land, we spent New Year's night on board the _Spera in Dio_.