The Pobratim: A Slav Novel. Jones P.
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,