Telegraphic communication with the English minister at Cettinje was
practically impossible; the only thing was to appeal to the captain.
First we rushed up the hill, and interviewed Captain Fabiano, who had
already made various efforts to get us off. He promised to try and
influence the French captain.
Then we flung ourselves into a boat and made for the little steamer.
People were looking at something with opera glasses, and our boatmen
took fright and wanted to row straight for land. Jan cursed them so
much, however, that they began to fear us more than imaginary submarines
or aeroplanes, and brought us alongside the vessel.
The captain was ashore, taking a walk; the crew very sympathetically
made contradictory suggestions as to his whereabouts.
At last we caught him. He was nice, but had strict orders, he said, to
take no one.
"But, monsieur," we said, "if we were swimming in the sea, or cast off
on a desert island, you would rescue us."
He admitted it.
"Well, what is the difference? Here we cannot get away; the food is
growing less and less.
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