The evenings, however, are always agreeably cool. Then the band plays in the “piazza,” on the top of the cliff, and the town awakens from its apparent lethargy. From the docks the sardine fishermen, after overhauling their tiny craft, put out to sea in the evening twilight, to make their nightly catch among the bays and inlets of the rock-bound coast. Beyond the bastiles and sea-fortresses the afterglow of the brilliant sunset tinges La Croma in hues of purple and gold. At night the soft breezes, redolent of the perfume of the garden below, are wafted through the latticed windows; the band seems to play the last number on the program with irresistible rhythm; the tuneful songs of Austrian sailors, as they return to their ships in the harbour of Gravosa after an evening of revelry, swell out upon the night air and die away—and before you realize it the morning sunlight is streaming through the Venetian window-shades, forming bars of gold that stretch across the polished floor, while the sea glitters and dashes musically against the bases of the cliffs just a little beyond your window. Truly, Ragusa is the fairy city of the Adriatic. [Illustration: THE SEA FORTS OF RAGUSA.] CHAPTER XIV THE BOCCHE DI CATTARO Steamer-day at Gravosa—Ragusa from the Sea—The Bocche di Cattaro—Castelnuovo—Cattaro and Her Mountain Background. I can assure you that it will be a hard matter to tear yourself away from Ragusa. You will want to stroll through her narrow streets, or watch the market-people in the public square, or play long sets of tennis on the excellent courts in the shadows of the turreted town walls, or sip “citronade” indefinitely under the awnings of the street cafés near the Corso. There is a weird, delightful charm about Ragusa that is well-nigh irresistible. But just in the midst of ecstatic enjoyment there always looms up that infallible something, which will, sooner or later, put an unwelcome end to all good things; and we finally found ourselves facing our luggage on the drive back, along the flower-skirted road to Gravosa to take the steamer for Cattaro. As we wound around an overhanging cliff we caught sight of the beautiful bay, and were able for the first time to appreciate its advantages. Its waters were smooth as a dancing floor; here and there a smart little launch with striped awnings darted up and down; across the harbour the gardens of handsome villas extended down to the water’s edge, while out in the roadstead the gray hulls of a squadron of Austrian sea-fighters silhouetted themselves against the sky-line. The _molo_ itself was a scene of animation. It was crowded with people, peasants, sailors and tradesmen, for the steamer _Codolo_ from up the coast had just been made fast, and the arrival of any passenger steamer is an event of no little import at Gravosa.