Lussinpiccolo

"Lussin-piccolo, a charming little place, […]. The island of Lussin is connected with the near-by island of Cherso by a turning bridge which crosses the channel. Nothing could be more picturesque than the view of the pretty harbor as we came up the bay. Of all Dalmatian ports, Lussin-piccolo has the most modern and thrifty air, with her neat and tidy-looking little white houses with their bright, red-tiled roofs, clustered snugly together along the marina at the foot of the hill.

Here is the home of many Jack Tars and hardy fishermen. When they are in port their boats ride at anchor only a few feet away from their front doors. So when Jack's voyage is over and he is safe at home, the song of the sea is still in his ears; for within his cottage he can ever hear the murmur of the bay as it caressingly rocks the fleet of little craft cradled in its arms. No music in all the world is as sweet to a man of Lussin-piccolo. Dalmatians in large numbers are found in the world's merchant service. […]. Our captain informed us that Lussin-piccolo was his birthplace, and from him we learned of the old house, the «Antike Hauser im innern der Stadt», as he exprest it. We found several places with that general air of dilapidation which goes with the word antike, or antico as they say in Italy. One, we noticed, had a delightfully picturesque old wall, and tumbledown stair which was swarming with unkempt youngsters; but whether this was the one he referred to or not, we do not know.

As we took a view of the steps, we noticed an old woman and little girl who were watching us. Both were bare-legged. We were highly amused to see how the old creature clutched the frowsy child as if she feared we might be kidnappers. The woman wore a once white kerchief on her grizzled head, and on the child's uncombed locks we were surprized to see a spick-and-span looking American sailor-hat. On the black ribbon band, as she passed us, we read in gilt letters an inch high, the word Indiana. I immediately turned and presented the small Dalmatian with a bright new coin of the realm — but not for her neatness or beauty, but for the name, the dear American name, upon her hat. […].

Having heard so much of the dreaded Bora, and of how it once, in the year 1873, not only blew over carts and carried away buildings, but wrecked a train on one of the curves of the mountain railway above Fiume, we were prepared to encounter a small cyclone, at least, when we reached Lussin-piccolo. But, evidently, the Bora was away from home, for certain it is that we encountered only the balmiest of zephyrs in the Quarnero. In fact, the only real blow we experienced was just before we reached Corfu — and that was too far away from the real haunts of the Bora to make «the dread demon of the Adriatic» responsible" (pp. 44-47).