CHAPTER XII. THE RUINED FARM.
Sandorf, thinking all was safe, went back to the tree, lifted his companion in his arms and laid him on the bank. He knew nothing of where he was or where he was to go.
In reality this sheet of water, which served as the mouth of the Foiba, is neither a lagoon nor a lake, but an estuary. It bears the name of Lerne Canal and it communicates with the Adriatic by a narrow creek between Orsera and Rovigno on the western side of the Istrian Peninsula. But it was not known before this voyage that its waters came from the Foiba and were brought through the gorge of the Brico during heavy rains.
A few paces from the bank there was a deserted hut and Sandorf and Bathory after a short rest took shelter in it. There they stripped and waited while they sun-dried their clothes. The fishing vessels were leaving the Lerne Canal and as far as they could see the place was deserted.
The man who had been watching them since they landed now got up and carefully noted the position of the hut And then he disappeared around a knoll and made off toward the south.
Three hours afterward Sandorf and his companion resumed their clothes. They were still damp, but it was necessary to move on.
“We must not stay too long in this hut,” said Bathory.
“Do you feel yourself strong enough to start?” asked Sandorf.
“I am almost exhausted with hunger.”
“Let us try to reach the coast! There we may perhaps procure something to eat and something to take us to sea Come, Stephen!”
And they left the hut, evidently suffering more from hunger than fatigue.
Sandorfs intention was to follow the southern bank of the Leme Canal until he reached the sea. The country was deserted, it is true, but quite a number of streams intersected it on their way to the estuary. This watery network along the banks is nothing more nor less than a vast sponge, and the mud is impassable, so that the fugitives had to strike southward obliquely, easily keeping their course by the sun, which had now risen. For two hours they kept on without meeting a human being, and without finding anything to satisfy the hunger that was devouring them.
Then the country became less arid. They found a road running east and west, which boasted a milestone that gave no indication as to the region across which they were feeling their way like the blind. There were, however, some hedges of mulberry-trees, and further on a field of sorghum, which enabled them to allay their hunger, or rather to cheat the wants of their stomachs. The sorghum chewed, and even eaten, and the refreshing mulberries, might perhaps be enough to keep them from fainting from exhaustion before they reached the coast.
But if the country was inhabited, if a few fields showed that the hand of man was employed about them, the fugitives had to be careful how they met the inhabitants.
About noon five or six foot passengers appeared on the road. As a matter of caution Sandorf thought he and Bathory had better get out of sight. Fortunately an inclosure around an old ruined farm lay some fifty yards to the left. There, before they had been noticed, he and his companion took refuge in a kind of dark cellar, where m the event of any one stopping at the farm they ran little risk of discovery if they waited till the night.
The foot passengers were peasants and salt-marsh workers. Some were driving a flock of geese, doubtless to market at some town or village which could not be very far from the canal. Men and women were clothed in Istrian style, with the jewels, medals, ear-rings, breast crosses and filigree pendants which ornament the ordinary costume of both sexes. The salt-marsh workers were more simply dressed, as, with sack on back and stick in hand, they marched along to the salterns in the neighborhood, or perhaps even to the important establishments at Stagnone or Pirano, in the west of the province.
Some of them stopped when they reached the farm and rested for a little on the door-step. They talked in a loud voice, not without a certain animation, but only of things concerning their trade.
The fugitives leaned against the corner and listened. Perhaps these people had already heard of the escape, and were talking about it? Perhaps they were saying something which might reveal in what part of Istria they then were?
Not a word passed on the subject. They could only continue to guess.
“If the country people say nothing about our escape, it is a fair inference,” said Sandorf, “that they have not yet heard of it.”
“That,” said Bathory, “would go to prove that we are some distance from the fortress. Considering the rapidity of the torrent which kept us underground for more than six hours, I am not surprised at that.”
“That must be it,” said Sandorf.
A couple of hours passed, and then some salt-workers, as they passed the farm without stopping, were heard to speak abou the gendarmes they had met at the gate of the town.
What town? They gave it no name.
This was not very reassuring. If gendarmes were about, it was probable that they were scouring the country in search of the fugitives.
“But,” said Bathory, “considering how we escaped, they might well believe us dead, and never think of pursuit.”
“They will believe we are dead when they find our bodies,” answered Sandorf.
There being no doubt that the police were afoot and in search of them, they decided to stay till it was night Although they were tortured with hunger they dared not leave their retreat; and they were wise.
About five o’clock the tramp of a small troop of horse was heard along the road.
Sandorf, who had been out to the gate of the inclosure, hurriedly rejoined his companion and dragged him into the darkest corner of the cellar. There they hid themselves under a heap of brushwood and remained motionless.
Half a dozen gendarmes headed by a sergeant were coming along the road toward the east. Would they stop at the farm? Sandorf anxiously asked. If they searched the place they could not fail to find them.
They halted. The sergeant and two of the men dismounted, while the others remained in the saddle and received orders to search the country along the canal and then return to the farm, where the rest would meet them at seven o clock.
The four gendarmes moved off immediately. The sergeant and the two others picketed their horses and sat down to talk. From the corner of the cellar the fugitives could hear all that passed.
“Yes, we shall go back to the town this evening and get the orders for to-night,” said the sergeant in reply to one of the men. “The telegraph may bring us fresh instructions from Trieste.”
The town in question was not Trieste; that was one point of which Count Sandorf made a note.
“Are you not, afraid,” said the second gendarme, “that while we are looking about here the fugitives may have got down the Quamero Canal?”
“Yes, that is possible,” said the first gendarme, “for they might think it safer than here.”
“If they do,” said the sergeant, “they none the less risk being found, for the whole coast is being looked after from one end to the other.”
Second fact worth noting: Sandorf and his companion were on the west coast of Istria, that is to say, near the Adriatic shore, and not on the banks of the opposite canal which runs out at Flume.
“I think they are having a look round the salt-works at Pirano and Capo d’lstria,” said the sergeant. “They might hide there easily and get on board a vessel crossing the Adriatic and bound for Rimini or Venice.”
“They had much better have waited patiently in their cell,” said one of the gendarmes philosophically.
“Yes,” added the other, “sooner or later they’ll be caught, if they have not fished them up out of the Brico! That would finish it, though, and we should not have to trot about the country in all this heat.”
“And who says it hasn’t finished it?” replied the sergeant. “Perhaps the Foiba has been the executioner, and when it is in flood the wretched men could not have chosen a worse road out of the donjon of Pisino.”
The Foiba then was the name of the river which had carried off Count Sandorf and his companion. It was the fortress of Pisino to which they had been taken after their arrest, and there they had been imprisoned, tried and sentenced. It was from its donjon that they had escaped. Count Sandorf knew this town of Pisino well. He had at last fixed on this point, which was so important for him to know, and it would no longer be by chance that he would cross the Istrian Peninsula, if flight was still possible.
The conversation of the gendarmes did not stop here; but in these few words the fugitives had learned all they wished to know—except, perhaps, the name of the town by the canal on the Adriatic coast.
Soon the sergeant got up and walked about the inclosure, watching if his men were returning to the farm. Twice or thrice he entered the ruined house and looked into the rooms, rather from professional habit than suspicion. He even came to the door of the cellar, and the fugitives would certainly have been discovered if the darkness had not been so great. He even entered it, and tossed about the brushwood in the corner with his scabbard, but without reaching those beneath. At this moment Sandorf and Bathory passed through almost the whole gamut of anguish. They had resolved to sell their lives dearly if the sergeant reached them. To throw themselves on him, profit by his surprise to deprive him of his arms, to attack him two to one, to kill him or make him kill himself, they had fully made up their minds.
At this moment the sergeant was called out, and he left the cellar without noticing anything suspicious. The four gendarmes sent off to search had just returned to the farm. Despite all they could do they had not come across any traces of the fugitives in the district between the coast and the canal. But they had not come back alone—a man accompanied them.
He was a Spaniard employed in the salt-works in the neighborhood. He was returning to the town when the gendarmes met him. As he told them that he had been all over the country between the town and the salt-works they resolved to bring him to the sergeant that he might interrogate him. The man had no objection to go with them.
The sergeant asked him if he had noticed any strangers in the salt-works.
“No, sergeant,” said the man; “but this morning, about an hour after I left the town, I saw two men who had just landed at the point along the canal.”
“Two men, do you say?” asked the sergeant.
“Yes, but as in these parts we thought the execution at Pisino took place this morning, and had heard nothing about the escape, I did not pay much attention to the men. Now I know what has occurred, I should not be surprised if they were the two you want.”
From the corner of the cellar Sandorf and Bathory could hear every word of this conversation which affected them so nearly. Then when they landed on the bank they had been seen.
“What is your name?” asked the sergeant.
“Carpena, and I am employed at the salt-works.”
“Could you recognize these two men you saw this morning?”
“Yes, probably.”
“Well, you can come and make a declaration, and put yourself at the disposal of the police.”
“I am at your orders.”
“Do you know there is a five thousand florins reward for the discovery of the fugitives?”
“Five thousand florins!”
“And the hulks to him who harbors them!”
“You don’t say so?”
“Go,” said the sergeant.
The Spaniard’s news had the effect of sending off the gendarmes. The sergeant ordered his men to mount, and as night had fallen he started for the town, after having thoroughly searched the banks of the canal. Carpena at the same time set out, congratulating himself that the capture of the fugitives would be worth so much to him.
Sandorf and Bathory remained in hiding for some time before they left the cellar which had served them for a refuge. Their thoughts ran as follows: As the gendarmerie were on their traces, as they had been seen and were likely to be recognized, the Istrian provinces were no longer safe for them, and they must leave the country as soon as possible, either for Italy, on the other side of the Adriatic, or across Dalmatia and the military frontier.
The first plan offered the best chances of success, providing they could possess themselves of a vessel, or prevail on some fisherman to land them on the Italian coast. And this plan they adopted.
Hence, about half past eight o’clock, as soon as the night was dark enough, Sandorf and his companion, after leaving the ruined farm, started off toward the south-west, so as to reach the Adriatic coast. And at first they were obliged to keep to the road to avoid being lost in the marshes of the Leme.
But did not this unknown road lead to the town which it put into communication with the heart of Istria? Were they not running into great danger? Undoubtedly, but what else could they do?
About half-past nine the vague outline of a town appeared about a quarter of a mile ahead in the darkness; and it was not easy to recognize it.
It was a collection of houses clumsily built in terraces on an enormous mass of rock which towered over the sea above the harbor cut back into the re-entering angle on one of its sides. The whole was surmounted by a high campanile, whose proportions were much exaggerated in the gloom.
Sandorf had quite decided not to enter the town where the presence of two visitors would soon be known. He tried, therefore, to pass round the wall so as to reach one of the points on the coast if possible.
But this they did not do without being followed for some distance by the same man who had already seen them on the Leme Canal—the same Carpena whose information they had heard given to the sergeant of gendarmerie. In fact as he went home and thought over the reward that had been offered, the Spaniard left the road so as to watch it better, and chance, luckily for him but unluckily for them, again put him on the track of the fugitives.
Almost at the same moment a squadron of police came out from one of the gates of the town and threatened to bar the way. They had only just time to scramble out of sight, and then to hurry at full speed toward the shore by the side of one of the walls of the port.
Here they found a fisherman’s hut, with its little windows lighted up and its door open. If they could not find a refuge here, if the fisherman refused to receive them, they were lost. To seek refuge was to risk everything, but the time had gone by for hesitation. Sandorf and his companion ran toward the door of the hut and stopped on the threshold. Inside was a man mending his nets by the light of a ship’s lantern.
“My friend,” asked Count Sandorf, “can you tell me the name of this town?”
“Rovigno.”
“And whom are we speaking to?”
“Andrea Ferrato, the fisherman.”
“Will Andrea Ferrato consent to give us a night’s lodging?”
Andrea Ferrato looked at them, advanced toward the door, caught sight of the sqadron of police at the other end of the wall, divining doubtless who they were that asked his hospitality, and understood that they were lost if he hesitated to reply.
“Come in,” he said.
But the two fugitives did not move.
“My friend,” said Sandorf, “there are five thousand florins reward for whoever will give up the prisoners who escaped from the donjon of Pisino.”
“I know it.”
“There are the hulks,” added Sandorf, “for him who harbors them.”
“I know it.”
“You could not deliver—”
“I told you to come in; come in, then,” answered the fisherman.
And Andrea Ferrato shut the door as the squadron of police came tramping past the hut.
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