The Pobratim: A Slav Novel. Jones P.
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