The Name-Day

by H.H. Munro (SAKI)

　　

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Adventures, according to the proverb, are to theadventurous. Quite as often they are to the non-adventurous, to the retiring, to the constitutionallytimid. John James Abbleway had been endowed by Naturewith the sort of disposition that instinctively avoidsCarlist intrigues, slum crusades, the tracking of woundedwild beasts, and the moving of hostile amendments atpolitical meetings. If a mad dog or a Mad Mullah hadcome his way he would have surrendered the way withouthesitation. At school he had unwillingly acquired athorough knowledge of the German tongue out of deferenceto the plainly-expressed wishes of a foreign-languagesmaster, who, though he taught modern subjects, employedold-fashioned methods in driving his lessons home. Itwas this enforced familiarity with an importantcommercial language which thrust Abbleway in later yearsinto strange lands where adventures were less easy toguard against than in the ordered atmosphere of anEnglish country town. The firm that he worked for sawfit to send him one day on a prosaic business errand tothe far city of Vienna, and, having sent him there,continued to keep him there, still engaged in humdrumaffairs of commerce, but with the possibilities ofromance and adventure, or even misadventure, jostling athis elbow. After two and a half years of exile, however,John James Abbleway had embarked on only one hazardousundertaking, and that was of a nature which wouldassuredly have overtaken him sooner or later if he hadbeen leading a sheltered, stay-at-home existence atDorking or Huntingdon. He fell placidly in love with aplacidly lovable English girl, the sister of one of hiscommercial colleagues, who was improving her mind by ashort trip to foreign parts, and in due course he wasformally accepted as the young man she was engaged to.The further step by which she was to become Mrs. JohnAbbleway was to take place a twelvemonth hence in a townin the English midlands, by which time the firm thatemployed John James would have no further need for hispresence in the Austrian capital.It was early in April, two months after theinstallation of Abbleway as the young man Miss Penningwas engaged to, when he received a letter from her,written from Venice. She was still peregrinating underthe wing of her brother, and as the latter's businessarrangements would take him across to Fiume for a day ortwo, she had conceived the idea that it would be ratherjolly if John could obtain leave of absence and run downto the Adriatic coast to meet them. She had looked upthe route on the map, and the journey did not appearlikely to be expensive. Between the lines of hercommunication there lay a hint that if he really caredfor her -Abbleway obtained leave of absence and added ajourney to Fiume to his life's adventures. He leftVienna on a cold, cheerless day. The flower shops werefull of spring blooms, and the weekly organs ofillustrated humour were full of spring topics, but theskies were heavy with clouds that looked like cotton-woolthat has been kept over long in a shop window."Snow comes," said the train official to the stationofficials; and they agreed that snow was about to come.And it came, rapidly, plenteously. The train had notbeen more than an hour on its journey when the cotton-wool clouds commenced to dissolve in a blinding downpourof snowflakes. The forest trees on either side of theline were speedily coated with a heavy white mantle, thetelegraph wires became thick glistening ropes, the lineitself was buried more and more completely under acarpeting of snow, through which the not very powerfulengine ploughed its way with increasing difficulty. TheVienna-Fiume line is scarcely the best equipped of theAustrian State railways, and Abbleway began to haveserious fears for a breakdown. The train had slowed downto a painful and precarious crawl and presently came to ahalt at a spot where the drifting snow had accumulated ina formidable barrier. The engine made a special effortand broke through the obstruction, but in the course ofanother twenty minutes it was again held up. The processof breaking through was renewed, and the train doggedlyresumed its way, encountering and surmounting freshhindrances at frequent intervals. After a standstill ofunusually long duration in a particularly deep drift thecompartment in which Abbleway was sitting gave a hugejerk and a lurch, and then seemed to remain stationary;it undoubtedly was not moving, and yet he could hear thepuffing of the engine and the slow rumbling and joltingof wheels. The puffing and rumbling grew fainter, asthough it were dying away through the agency ofintervening distance. Abbleway suddenly gave vent to anexclamation of scandalised alarm, opened the window, andpeered out into the snowstorm. The flakes perched on hiseyelashes and blurred his vision, but he saw enough tohelp him to realise what had happened. The engine hadmade a mighty plunge through the drift and had gonemerrily forward, lightened of the load of its rearcarriage, whose coupling had snapped under the strain.Abbleway was alone, or almost alone, with a derelictrailway waggon, in the heart of some Styrian or Croatianforest. In the third-class compartment next to his ownhe remembered to have seen a peasant woman, who hadentered the train at a small wayside station. "With theexception of that woman," he exclaimed dramatically tohimself, "the nearest living beings are probably a packof wolves."Before making his way to the third-class compartmentto acquaint his fellow-traveller with the extent of thedisaster Abbleway hurriedly pondered the question of thewoman's nationality. He had acquired a smattering ofSlavonic tongues during his residence in Vienna, and feltcompetent to grapple with several racial possibilities."If she is Croat or Serb or Bosniak I shall be ableto make her understand," he promised himself. "If she isMagyar, heaven help me! We shall have to converseentirely by signs."He entered the carriage and made his momentousannouncement in the best approach to Croat speech that hecould achieve."The train has broken away and left us!"The woman shook her head with a movement that mightbe intended to convey resignation to the will of heaven,but probably meant noncomprehension. Abbleway repeatedhis information with variations of Slavonic tongues andgenerous displays of pantomime."Ah," said the woman at last in German dialect, "thetrain has gone? We are left. Ah, so."She seemed about as much interested as thoughAbbleway had told her the result of the municipalelections in Amsterdam."They will find out at some station, and when theline is clear of snow they will send an engine. Ithappens that way sometimes.""We may be here all night!" exclaimed Abbleway.The woman nodded as though she thought it possible."Are there wolves in these parts?" asked Abblewayhurriedly."Many," said the woman; "just outside this forest myaunt was devoured three years ago, as she was coming homefrom market. The horse and a young pig that was in thecart were eaten too. The horse was a very old one, butit was a beautiful young pig, oh, so fat. I cried when Iheard that it was taken. They spare nothing.""They may attack us here," said Abblewaytremulously; "they could easily break in, these carriagesare like matchwood. We may both be devoured.""You, perhaps," said the woman calmly; "not me.""Why not you?" demanded Abbleway."It is the day of Saint Maria Kleopha, my name-day.She would not allow me to be eaten by wolves on her day.Such a thing could not be thought of. You, yes, but notme."Abbleway changed the subject."It is only afternoon now; if we are to be left heretill morning we shall be starving.""I have here some good eatables," said the womantranquilly; "on my festival day it is natural that Ishould have provision with me. I have five good blood-sausages; in the town shops they cost twenty-five hellereach. Things are dear in the town shops.""I will give you fifty heller apiece for a couple ofthem," said Abbleway with some enthusiasm."In a railway accident things become very dear,"said the woman; "these blood-sausages are four kronenapiece.""Four kronen!" exclaimed Abbleway; "four kronen fora blood-sausage!""You cannot get them any cheaper on this train,"said the woman, with relentless logic, "because therearen't any others to get. In Agram you can buy themcheaper, and in Paradise no doubt they will be given tous for nothing, but here they cost four kronen each. Ihave a small piece of Emmenthaler cheese and a honey-cakeand a piece of bread that I can let you have. That willbe another three kronen, eleven kronen in all. There isa piece of ham, but that I cannot let you have on myname-day."Abbleway wondered to himself what price she wouldhave put on the ham, and hurried to pay her the elevenkronen before her emergency tariff expanded into a faminetariff. As he was taking possession of his modest storeof eatables he suddenly heard a noise which set his heartthumping in a miserable fever of fear. 'There was ascraping and shuffling as of some animal or animalstrying to climb up to the footboard. In another moment,through the snow-encrusted glass of the carriage window,he saw a gaunt prick-eared head, with gaping jaw andlolling tongue and gleaming teeth; a second later anotherhead shot up."There are hundreds of them," whispered Abbleway;"they have scented us. They will tear the carriage topieces. We shall be devoured.""Not me, on my name-day. The holy Maria Kleophawould not permit it," said the woman with provoking calm.The heads dropped down from the window and anuncanny silence fell on the beleaguered carriage.Abbleway neither moved nor spoke. Perhaps the brutes hadnot clearly seen or winded the human occupants of thecarriage, and had prowled away on some other errand ofrapine.The long torture-laden minutes passed slowly away."It grows cold," said the woman suddenly, crossingover to the far end of the carriage, where the heads hadappeared. "The heating apparatus does not work anylonger. See, over there beyond the trees, there is achimney with smoke coming from it. It is not far, andthe snow has nearly stopped, I shall find a path throughthe forest to that house with the chimney.""But the wolves!" exclaimed Abbleway; "they may - ""Not on my name-day," said the woman obstinately,and before he could stop her she had opened the door andclimbed down into the snow. A moment later he hid hisface in his hands; two gaunt lean figures rushed upon herfrom the forest. No doubt she had courted her fate, butAbbleway had no wish to see a human being torn to piecesand devoured before his eyes.When he looked at last a new sensation ofscandalised astonishment took possession of him. He hadbeen straitly brought up in a small English town, and hewas not prepared to be the witness of a miracle. Thewolves were not doing anything worse to the woman thandrench her with snow as they gambolled round her.A short, joyous bark revealed the clue to thesituation."Are those - dogs?" he called weakly."My cousin Karl's dogs, yes," she answered; that ishis inn, over beyond the trees. I knew it was there, butI did not want to take you there; he is always graspingwith strangers. However, it grows too cold to remain inthe train. Ah, ah, see what comes!"A whistle sounded, and a relief engine made itsappearance, snorting its way sulkily through the snow.Abbleway did not have the opportunity for finding outwhether Karl was really avaricious.

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