“Dark transactions, brother. . .  Let me go, for the love of Heaven.  What am I to you?  Friend . . .”

“Be quiet!  If I hadn’t needed you, I shouldn’t have brought you!  Do you understand?  Eh!  Well, be quiet!”

“Oh, Lord!” sobbed Gavrilo.

“Enough!”

Gavrilo could no longer control himself and his breath came in broken and painful gasps; he wept and moved restlessly about on his seat, but rowed hard, in despair.  The boat sped ahead like an arrow.  Again the black hulls of the ships arose before them, and the boat, turning like a top in the narrow channels that separated them, was soon lost among them.

“Hey!  You, listen:  If anyone speaks to us, keep still, if you value your skin.  Do you understand?”

“Alas!” hopelessly sighed Gavrilo, in response to this stern command, and he added:  “It was my lot to be lost!”

“Stop howling!” whispered Tchelkache.

These words completely robbed Gavrilo of all understanding and he remained crushed under the chill presentiment of some misfortune.  He mechanically dipped his oars and sending them back and forth through the water in an even and steady stroke did not lift his eyes again.

The slumbering murmur of the waves was gloomy and fearsome.  Here is the harbor. . .  From behind its stone wall, comes the sound of human voices, the plashing of water, singing and shrill whistling.”

“Stop!” whispered Tchelkache.

“Drop the oars!  Lean your hands against the wall!  Softly, devil!”

Gavrilo caught hold of the slippery stone and guided the boat along the wall.  He advanced noiselessly, just grazing the slimy moss of the stone.

“Stop, give me the oars!  Give them here!  And your passport, where have you put it?  In your bag!  Give me the bag!  Quicker! . . .  That, my friend, is so that you’ll not run away. . .  Now I hold you.  Without oars you could have made off just the same, but, without a passport you’ll not dare.  Wait!  And remember that if you so much as breathe a word I’ll catch you, even though at the bottom of the sea.”

Suddenly, catching hold of something, Tchelkache rose in the air; he disappeared over the wall.

Gavrilo shuddered. . .  It had been so quickly done!  He felt that the cursed weight and fear that he experienced in the presence of this moustached and lean bandit had, as it were, slipped off and rolled away from him.  Could he escape, now?  Breathing freely, he looked around him.  On the left rose a black hull without masts, like an immense empty, deserted coffin.  The waves beating against its sides awakened heavy echoes therein, resembling long-drawn sighs.  On the right, stretched the damp wall of the quay, like a cold heavy serpent.  Behind were visible black skeletons, and in front, in the space between the wall and the coffin, was the sea, silent and deserted, with black clouds hanging over it.  These clouds were slowly advancing, their enormous, heavy masses, terrifying in the darkness, ready to crush man with their weight.  All was cold, black and of evil omen.  Gavrilo was afraid.  This fear was greater than that imposed on him by Tchelkache; it clasped Gavrilo’s breast in a tight embrace, squeezed him to a helpless mass and riveted him to the boat’s bench.