CHAPTER I

[Illustration: CAPTURED BY ALBANIAN BRIGANDS]

IN GREEK WATERS

A STORY OF

THE GRECIAN WAR OF INDEPENDENCE

(1821-1827)

BY

G. A. HENTY

Author of “Beric the Briton,” “Condemned as a Nihilist,” etc.

_WITH TWELVE ILLUSTRATIONS BY W. S. STACEY, AND

A MAP OF THE GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO_

NEW YORK

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS

1902

COPYRIGHT, 1892, BY

CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS.

THE CAXTON PRESS

NEW YORK.

PREFACE

MY DEAR LADS,

The struggle known as the Greek War of Independence lasted for six

years (1821-27), and had I attempted to give even an outline of the

events this would have been a history and not a story. Moreover, six

years is altogether beyond the length of time that can be included in

a book for boys. For these reasons I have confined the story to the

principal incidents of the first two years of the war; those of my

readers who may wish to learn the whole history of the struggle I

refer to Finlay’s well-known _History of Greece_, which I have

followed closely in my narration.

As a rule in the stories of wars, especially of wars waged for

national independence, the dark side of the struggle is brightened by

examples of patriotism and devotion, of heroic bravery, of humanity to

the wounded, of disinterestedness and self-sacrifice. The war of Greek

independence is an exception. The story is a dark one with scarcely a

gleam of light. Never during modern times has a struggle been

disgraced by such deeds of cruelty and massacre as those which

prevailed on both sides. Such being the case, I have devoted less

space than usual to the historical portion of my tale, and this plays

but a subordinate part in the adventures of the _Misericordia_ and her

crew.

Yours sincerely,

G. A. HENTY.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE

I. A GREEK STUDENT 11

II. A YACHT 29

III. THE WRECK 47

IV. A STARTLING PROPOSAL 66

V. FITTING OUT 85

VI. UNDER WEIGH 107

VII. A CHANGE OF NAME 127

VIII. A BESIEGED VILLAGE 145

IX. RESCUED 162

X. A DARING EXPLOIT 180

XI. IN THE HANDS OF THE TURKS 197

XII. PLANNING A RESCUE 213

XIII. THE PASHA OF ADALIA 225

XIV. CHIOS 243

XV. A WHITE SQUALL 259

XVI. FIRE-SHIPS 277

XVII. RESCUING THE GARRISON OF ATHENS 295

XVIII. A TURKISH DEFEAT 312

XIX. PRISONERS 330

XX. AT CONSTANTINOPLE 348

XXI. THE “MISERICORDIA” AGAIN 365

XXII. ALL ENDS WELL 385

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

CAPTURED BY ALBANIAN BRIGANDS _Frontispiece_

“WELL, YOUNGSTER, WHAT IS IT?” 20

HORACE SUGGESTS A RESCUE 52

THEIR FIRST SIGHT OF THE SCHOONER 82

A DISCUSSION ABOUT CLOTHES 110

“GIVE THEM A ROUND,” SAID CAPTAIN MARTYN 148

THE CAPTAIN IS WOUNDED 177

THE GREEK CAPTIVES ARE BROUGHT ON DECK 198

THE CAPTURE OF THE PASHA 228

REPELLING THE TURKISH BOARDERS 279

THE GOVERNOR COMES ON BOARD 306

THE DOCTOR TELLS THE STORY 379

* * * * *

MAP OF GRECIAN ARCHIPELAGO 10

IN GREEK WATERS

CHAPTER I

A GREEK STUDENT

The people of the little fishing village of Seaport were agreed on one

subject, however much they might differ on others, namely, that Mr.

Beveridge was “a wonderful learned man.” In this respect they were

proud of him: learned men came to visit him, and his name was widely

known as the author of various treatises and books which were precious

to deep scholars, and were held in high respect at the universities.

Most of the villagers were, however, of opinion that it would have

been better for Seaport had Mr. Beveridge been a trifle less learned

and a good deal more practical. Naturally he would have been spoken of

as the squire, for he was the owner of the whole parish, and his house

was one of the finest in the county, which some of his ancestors had

represented in parliament; but for all that it would have been

ridiculous to call a man squire who had never been seen on horseback,

and who, as was popularly believed, could not distinguish a field of

potatoes from one of turnips.

It was very seldom that Mr. Beveridge ventured outside the

boundary-wall of his grounds, except, indeed, when he posted up to

London to investigate some rare manuscript, or to pore over ancient

books in the reading-room of the British Museum. He was never seen at

the meetings of magistrates, or at social gatherings of any kind, and

when his name was mentioned at these, many shrugged their shoulders

and said what a pity it was that one of the finest properties in the

county should be in the hands of a man who was, to say the least of

it, a little cracked.

Mr. Beveridge’s father, when on a tour in the East as a young man, had

fallen in love with and, to the intense indignation of his family,

married a Greek lady. Upon coming into possession of the property, two

years later, John Beveridge settled down with his beautiful wife at

the Hall, and lived in perfect happiness with her until her death.

She had had but one child, a boy, the present owner of the Hall, who

was twelve years old when she died. Happy as she was with her husband,

Mrs. Beveridge had never ceased to regret the sunny skies of her

native land. She seldom spoke of it to her husband, who hunted and

shot, was a regular attendant at the board of magistrates, and

attended personally to the management of his estate. He was a man of

little sentiment, and had but a poor opinion of the Greeks in general.

But to Herbert she often talked of the days of her childhood, and

imbued him with her own passionate love of her native country. This

led him at school to devote himself to the study of Greek with such

energy and ardour that he came to be considered as a prodigy, and

going up to Oxford he neglected all other branches of study, mixed but

little with other undergraduates, made no friends, but lived the life

of a recluse, and was rewarded by being the only first-class man of

his year, the examiners declaring that no such papers had ever before

been sent in.

Unfortunately for Herbert his father died a few months before he took

his degree. He had neither understood nor appreciated his son’s

devotion to study, and when others congratulated him upon the

reputation he was already gaining at the university, he used to shrug

his shoulders and say, “What is the good of it? He has not got to

work for his living. I would rather see him back a horse over a

five-barred gate than write Greek like Homer.” He had frequently

declared that directly Herbert took his degree he would go with him

first for a few months up to London, and they would then travel

together for a year or two so as to make him, as he said, a bit like

other people.

Left to his own devices at the death of his father Herbert Beveridge

did not even go home after taking his degree, but, writing to the

steward to shut up the house, started a week later for Greece, where

he remained for three years, by the end of which time he was as

perfectly acquainted with modern as with ancient Greek. Then he

returned home, bringing with him two Greek attendants, turned the

drawing-room into a library, and devoted himself to his favourite

study. Three years later he married, or rather his aunt, Mrs. Fordyce,

married him. That lady, who was the wife of a neighbouring squire,

came over and, as she said, took him in hand.

“This cannot go on, Herbert,” she said; “it is plainly your duty to

marry.”

“I have never thought of marrying, aunt.”

“I daresay not, Herbert, but that is no reason why you shouldn’t

marry. You don’t intend, I suppose, that this place, after being in

the hands of our family for hundreds of years, is to be sold to

strangers at your death. It is clearly your duty to marry and have

children.”

“But I don’t know anyone to marry.”

“I will find you a wife, Herbert. I know half a dozen nice girls, any

one of whom would suit you. You want a thoroughly good, sensible wife,

and then, perhaps, there would be some chance of your becoming like

other people.”

“I don’t want to become like other people, I only want to be let

alone.”

“Well, you see that is out of the question, Herbert. You shirk all

your duties as a large land-owner; but this duty, at least, you cannot

shirk. Let me see, to-day is Monday; on Wednesday our gig shall be

over here at half-past twelve, and you shall come over and lunch with

me. I will have Miss Hendon there; she is in all respects suitable for

you. She is fairly pretty, and very bright and domesticated, with

plenty of common sense. She won’t have any money; for although her

father’s estate is a nice one, she has four or five brothers, and I

don’t suppose Mr. Hendon lays by a penny of his income. However, that

matters very little. Now you must rouse yourself for a bit. This is an

important business, you know, and has to be done. After it is over you

will find it a great comfort, and your wife will take all sorts of

little worries off your hand. Of course if you don’t like Mary Hendon

when you see her, I will find somebody else.”

Herbert Beveridge resigned himself quietly, and became almost passive

in this matter of his own marriage. He liked Mary Hendon when he had

got over the shyness and discomfort of the first visit, and three

months later they were married. He then went back to his library

again, and his wife took the management of the estate and house into

her capable hands. During her lifetime Herbert Beveridge emerged to a

certain extent from his shell. He became really fond of her, and

occasionally accompanied her on her drives, went sometimes into

society, and was generally considered to be improving fast.

Ten years after marriage she died, and her husband fell back into his

old ways. His life, however, was no longer quite solitary, for she had

left him a boy eight years of age. He had been christened Horace,

which was a sort of compromise. Mr. Beveridge had wished that he

should have the name of some Greek worthy--his favourites being either

Themistocles or Aristides. His mother had called in Mrs. Fordyce to

her assistance, and the two ladies together had succeeded in carrying

their point. Mrs. Fordyce had urged that it would be a misfortune for

the boy to bear either of these names.

“He will have to go to school, Herbert, of course, and the boys would

make his life a burden to him if he had either of the names you

mention. I know what boys are; we have plenty of them in our family.

If he were Aristides he would get the nickname of Tidy, which would be

hideous. The other name is worse still; they would probably shorten it

into Cockles, and I am sure you would not want the boy to be spoken of

as Cockles Beveridge.”

“I hate common names,” Mr. Beveridge said, “such as Jack, Bob, and

Bill.”

“Well, I think they are quite good enough for ordinary life, Herbert,

but if you must have something classical why not take the name of

Horace? One of Mary’s brothers is Horace, you know, and he would no

doubt take it as a compliment if you gave the boy that name.”

And so it was fixed for Horace. As soon as the child was old enough to

go out without a nurse, Mr. Beveridge appointed one of his Greek

servants to accompany him, in order that the child should pick up a

knowledge of Greek; while he himself interested himself so far in him

as to set aside his books and have him into the library for an hour a

day, when he always talked to him in Greek. Thus at his mother’s death

the boy was able to talk the language as fluently as English. In other

respects he showed no signs whatever of taking after his father’s

tastes. He was a sturdy boy, and evinced even greater antipathy than

usual to learning the alphabet, and was never so happy as when he

could persuade Marco to take him down to the beach to play with the

fisher children. At his mother’s death he was carried off by Mrs.

Fordyce, and spent the next six months with her and in the houses of

his mother’s brothers, where there were children about his own age. At

the end of that time a sort of family council was held, and Mrs.

Fordyce went over to Seaport to see her nephew.

“What were you thinking about doing with the boy, Herbert?”

“The boy?” he asked vaguely, being engaged on a paper throwing new

light on the Greek particles when she entered.

“Naturally, Herbert, the boy, your boy; it is high time he went to

school.”

“I was thinking the other day about getting a tutor for him.”

“Getting fiddlesticks!” Mrs. Fordyce said sharply; “the boy wants

companionship. What do you suppose he would become, moping about this

big house alone? He wants to play, if he is ever to grow up an active

healthy man. No harm has been done yet, for dear Mary kept the house

bright, and had the sense to let him pass most of his time in the open

air, and not to want him always at her apron-string. If when he gets

to the age of twenty he develops a taste for Greek--which Heaven

forbid!--or for Chinese, or for any other heathen and out-of-the-way

study, it will be quite time enough for him to take it up. The

Beveridges have always been men of action. It is all very well,

Herbert, to have one great scholar in the family; we all admit that it

is a great credit to us; but two of them would ruin it. Happily I

believe there is no record of a great scholar producing an equally

great son. At any rate I do hope the boy will have a fair chance of

growing into an active energetic man, and taking his place in the

county.”

“I have no wish it should be otherwise, aunt,” Herbert Beveridge said.

“I quite acknowledge that in some respects it would be better if I had

not devoted myself so entirely to study, though my work has not been

without fruit, I hope, for it is acknowledged that my book on the use

of the digamma threw an entirely new light upon the subject. Still I

cannot expect, nor do I wish, that Horace should follow in my

footsteps. Indeed, I trust, that when I have finished my work, there

will be little for a fresh labourer to glean in that direction. At any

rate he is far too young to develop a bent in any direction whatever,

and I think therefore that your proposal is a good one.”

“Then in that case, Herbert, I think you cannot do better than send

him with Horace Hendon’s two boys to school. One is about his own age

and one is a little older. The elder boy has been there a year, and

his father is well satisfied with the school.”

“Very well, aunt. If you will ask Horace to make arrangements for the

boy to go with his sons I am quite content it should be so.”

So Horace Beveridge went, a week later, by coach with his cousins to a

school at Exeter, some forty miles from Seaport, and there remained

until he was fourteen. He passed his holidays at home, never seeing

his father until dinnertime, after which he spent two hours with him,

a period of the day to which the boy always looked forward with some

dread. Sometimes his father would chat cheerfully to him, always in

modern Greek; at others he would sit silent and abstracted, waking up

occasionally and making some abrupt remark to the boy, and then again

lapsing into silence. When about the house and grounds Marco was his

constant companion. The Greek, who was a mere lad when he had come to

England, was fond of Horace, and having been a fisherman as a boy, he

enjoyed almost as much as his charge did the boating and fishing

expeditions upon which he accompanied him.

At this time Horace had a strong desire to go to sea, but even his

Aunt Fordyce, when he broached the subject to her, would give him no

hope or encouragement.

“If it had been ten years ago, Horace, it would have been another

matter. The sea was a stirring life, then; and even had you only gone

into the navy for a few years you would have seen lots of service, and

might have distinguished yourself. As to staying in it, it would have

been ridiculous for you as an only son. But now nothing could be more

wretched than the position of a naval officer. All the world is at

peace, and there does not appear to be the slightest chance of war

anywhere for many years. Hundreds and hundreds of ships have been paid

off and laid up, and there are thousands of officers on half-pay, and

without the smallest chance of ever getting employment again. You

have arrived too late in the world for sailoring. Besides, I do not

think in any case your father would consent to such a thing. I am

happy to say that I do not think he has any idea, or even desire, that

you should turn out a famous scholar as he is. But to a man like him

it would seem terrible that your education should cease altogether at

the age at which boys go into the navy, and that you should grow up

knowing nothing of what he considers the essentials of a gentleman’s

education. No, no, Horace, the sea is out of the question. You must go

up to Eton, as arranged, at the end of these holidays, and from Eton

you must go through one of the universities. After that you can wander

about for a bit and see the world, and you will see as much of it in

six months that way as in twice as many years were you in the navy in

these times of peace.”

Horace looked a little downcast.

“There is another thing, Horace,” his aunt said; “it would not be fair

for you to go into the navy, even if there was nothing else against

it.”

“How is that, aunt?”

“Well, Horace, when there are hundreds of officers on half-pay, who

can scarcely keep life together on the few pounds a year they get, it

would be hard indeed for young fellows with money and influence to

step into the places and keep them out.”

“Yes, aunt, I did not think of that,” Horace said, brightening up. “It

certainly would be a beastly shame for a fellow who can do anything

with himself to take the place of a man who can do nothing else.”

“Besides, Horace,” his aunt went on, “if you like the sea so much as

you do now when you have done with college, there is no reason why you

should not get your father to let you either hire or buy a yacht and

go where you like in her, instead of travelling about by land.”

“That would be very jolly!” Horace exclaimed. “Yes, that would be

really better than going to sea, because one could go where one

liked.”

And so at the end of the holidays Horace went up to Eton. On his

return home in the summer his father said: “Your aunt was over here

the other day, Horace, and she was telling me about that foolish idea

you have of going to sea. I was glad to hear that you gave it up at

once when she pointed out to you the absurdity of it. Her opinion is

that as you are so fond of the water, and as Marco can manage a boat

well, it would be a good thing for you to have one of your own,

instead of going out always with the fishermen; the idea seemed to me

a good one, so I got her to write to some one she knows at Exmouth,

and he has spoken to the revenue officer there. They have been

bothering me about what size it should be, and as I could not tell

them whether it should be ten feet long or fifty, I said the matter

must remain till you came home, and then Marco could go over with you

to Exmouth and see the officer.”

“Oh, thank you very much, father!”

“It is only right that you should be indulged in a matter like this,

Horace. I know that you don’t care about riding alone, and I am sorry

I can’t be more of a companion to you, but I have always my hands full

of important work, and I know that for a boy of your age it must be

very dull here. Choose any boat you like. I have been talking to

Marco, and he says that she can be hauled up on the beach and lie

there perfectly safe when you are away. Of course if necessary he can

have a young fellow or two from the village to help while you are at

home. He seems to think that in that way you could have a boat of more

comfortable size. I don’t know anything about it, so I have left the

matter entirely to him and you. The difference of cost between a small

boat and a large one is of no consequence one way or the other.”

Accordingly, the next morning Marco and Horace started directly after

breakfast in the carriage to catch the coach, which passed along the

main road four miles from Seaport, and arrived at Exmouth at two. They

had no difficulty in finding the house of Captain Martyn, whose title

was an honorary one, he being a lieutenant of many years’ service.

“Is Captain Martyn in?” Horace asked the servant who opened the door.

“No, sir; he is away in the cutter.” Horace stood aghast. It had never

struck him that the officer might not be at home.

“His son is in, Mr. William Martyn, if that will do,” the servant

said, seeing the boy’s look of dismay.

“I don’t know,” he said; “but at any rate I should like to see him.”

“I will tell him, sir, if you will stay here.”

A minute later a tall powerfully-built young fellow of two or

three-and-twenty came to the door.

“Well, youngster, what is it?” he asked.

“I have come about buying a boat, sir. My name is Beveridge. I believe

Captain Martyn was kind enough to say that he would look out for a

boat for us.”

“Oh, yes, I have heard about it; but whether it was a dinghy or a

man-of-war that was wanted we couldn’t find out. Do you intend to

manage her single-handed?”

“Oh, no, sir! I have done a lot of sailing with the fishermen at

Seaport, but I could not manage a boat by myself, not if there was any

wind. But Marco was a sailor among the Greek isles before he entered

my father’s service.”

“Want a comfortable craft,” the Greek, who had learned to speak a

certain amount of English, said. “Can have two or three hands.”

“Oh, you want a regular cruiser! Well, you are a lucky young chap, I

must say. The idea of a young cub like you having a boat with two or

three hands to knock about in! Do you want a captain, because I am to

let?”

“No, sir, we don’t want a captain, and we don’t want a great big

craft. Something about the size of a fishing-boat, I should say. Are

you a sailor?”

“Yes, worse luck, I am a master’s mate, if you know what that is. It

means a passed midshipman. I have been a master’s mate for four years,

and am likely to be one all my life, for I have no more chance of

getting a berth than I have of being appointed a post-captain

to-morrow. Well, I will put on my cap and go with you. I have been

looking about since my father heard about a boat being wanted. The

letter said nothing about your age, or what size of boat was wanted;

it gave in fact no useful information whatever. It was about as much

to the point as if they had said you wanted to have a house and did

not say whether it was a two-roomed cottage or a country mansion. But

I think I know of a little craft that would about suit you. Does your

father sail himself?”

[Illustration: “WELL, YOUNGSTER, WHAT IS IT?”]

Horace could not help smiling at the idea. “No,” he said. “My father

cares for nothing but studying Greek. I am at Eton, but it is very

slow in the holidays, and as I generally go out with the fishermen the

best part of the time I am at home, he thought it would be a good

thing for me to have a boat of my own.”

William Martyn looked quietly down at the lad, then went in and got

his cap, rejoined them, and sauntered down towards the river. He led

the way along the wharfs, passed above the town, and then pointed to a

boat lying on the mud.

“That is the craft I should choose if I were in your place,” he said.

“She is as sound as a bell, and I wouldn’t mind crossing the Bay of

Biscay in her.”

“But she is very large,” Horace said, looking at her with some doubt

in his face.

“She is about fifteen tons burthen,” he said, “built of oak, and is

only eight years old, though she looks battered about and rusty as she

lies there. She was built from his own designs by Captain Burrows, as

good a sailor as ever stepped. She is forty feet long and fifteen feet

beam. She is fast, and a splendid sea-boat, with four foot draft of

water. He died three years after he built her, and she has been lying

there ever since. Her gear has been all stowed away in a dry place,

and the old sailor in charge of it says it is in perfect order. The

old captain used to knock about on board of her with only a man and a

boy, and she is as easy to handle as a cock-boat. I was out in her

more than once when I was at home on leave, and she is a beauty. Of

course you can’t judge of her as she lies there; but she has

wonderfully easy lines, and sits the water like a duck. She is a

dandy, you see; that is, she carries a small mizzen mast. She was

rigged so because a craft like that is a good deal easier to work

short-handed than a cutter.”

She seemed as she lay there so much larger than anything Horace had

had the idea of possessing that he looked doubtfully at Marco.

“I think she will do,” the Greek said; “just the sort of boat for us.

See her when tide comes up, and can go on board. How much cost?”

“They only want eighty pounds for her,” William Martyn said. “They

asked a hundred and fifty at first; but everything is so dull, and

there have been such a lot of small craft sold off from the dockyards,

that she has not found a purchaser. If I had two or three hundred a

year of my own there is nothing I should like better than to own that

craft and knock about in her. Her only fault is she wants head-room.

There is only five foot under her beams, for she has a low freeboard.

That prevents her from being sold as a yacht. But as one does not want

to walk about much below I don’t see that that matters. She has got a

roomy cabin and a nice little stateroom for the owner, and a fo’castle

big enough for six hands.”

“It would be splendid,” Horace said. “But do you think, Marco, my

father meant me to have such a large boat as this?”

The Greek nodded. “Master said buy a good big safe boat. No use

getting a little thing Mr. Horace tire of in a year or two. Can always

get a man or two in the holidays. I think that is just the boat.”

“Tide has nearly reached her,” William Martyn said. “We shall be able

to get off to her in an hour. We will go and overhaul the gear now. I

will get the key of the cabins.”

It took them a good hour to get out the sails and inspect them, and

examine the ropes and gear. All were pronounced in good order.

“The sails are as good for all practical purposes as the day they were

turned out,” Martyn said. “They may not be quite as white as the

fresh-water sailors about here think necessary for their pleasure

craft, but they are sound and strong, and were well scrubbed before

they were put away. And you may be sure Burrows used none but the best

rope money could buy. Now we will go on board. She will look a

different craft when her decks are holy-stoned, and she gets two or

three coats of paint,” the young officer went on as they stepped on

board. “A landsman can never judge of a boat when she is dismantled,

and he can’t judge much at any time. He thinks more of paint and

polish than he does of a ship’s lines.”

But Horace had seen enough of boats to be able to appreciate to some

extent the easy lines of her bow and her fine run, and the Greek was

delighted with her. Below she was in good order, except that she

wanted a coat of paint. The cabins were of course entirely dismantled,

but Horace was surprised at their roominess, accustomed as he was to

the close little fo’castles of the fishing-boats.

“She was fitted up in a regular man-of-war fashion,” Martyn said.

“This was just a captain’s cabin on board a frigate, but on a small

scale, and so was the state-room. We did not see the furniture, but it

is all upstairs in an attic of the cottage we went to.”

“How long would it take to get her ready?” Horace asked.

“About ten days. Most of her ballast is out of her, but the rest ought

to come out so as to give her a regular clean down, and a coat of

whitewash below, before it is all put in again. If you like, young

’un, I will look after that. I have got nothing to do, and it will be

an amusement to me. I am looking for a berth at present in a

merchantman, but there are such a number of men out of harness that it

isn’t easy to get a job. Look here, if you really want to learn some

day to be fit to take charge of this craft yourself, you could not do

better than persuade your father to let you come over here and see her

fitted up, then you will know where every rope goes, and learn more

than you would sitting about on deck in the course of a year. There

will be no difficulty in getting a couple of rooms ready for you and

your man in the town.”

“Can we get home to-night, sir?”

“Yes, the coach goes through here at six o’clock.”

“My father will write to-morrow, at least I expect he will,” Horace

said. “It isn’t very easy to get him to do things, but I expect I

shall manage.”

“He will write,” Marco said confidently; and as the boy knew that the

Greek had far more opportunities of getting at his father than he had,

he felt sure that he would manage it.

“We are very much obliged to you, Mr. Martyn,” he said.

“All right, young sir. If your father decides to take the boat get him

to write to me; or if he is bad at writing, write to me yourself after

settling it with him, and I will put on men and see that she is ready

for sea in a fortnight.”

“Do you feel sure father will let me have the boat, Marco?” Horace

said as soon as they were alone.

“It is done,” the Greek said with a wave of his hand. “He said to me,

‘Go and buy a proper boat, see that everything is right about it, but

don’t worry me.’ So when I say, ‘I have bought the boat; it is just

the thing we want; it will cost a hundred pounds by the time it is

ready for sea,’ he will say he is glad to hear it, and there will be

an end of it. Mr. Beveridge never troubles.”

“And will you tell him that it would be a good thing for me to go over

and see her fitted up?”

“I will tell him. He will be glad to know that you have got something

to do.”

It was half-past ten o’clock when they got home. The other Greek

opened the door.

“Is the master in bed yet, Zaimes?”

“He went upstairs ten minutes ago. I think he had forgotten all about

Horace not being at home. He did not mention his name to me.”

“What a nuisance!” Horace said. “Now I shall have to wait till

morning before I know about it, and I am so anxious to hear what he

says.”

“It will be all the pleasanter when you hear,” Zaimes said quietly.

The two men were brothers, Zaimes being ten years senior. He was Mr.

Beveridge’s valet, his brother being a sort of general assistant,

waiting at meals except when Horace was at home, when he was

considered specially told off to him. They lived apart from the other

servants, having a room of their own where they cooked their meals in

their own fashion. Both were extremely attached to their master, and

would have given their lives for him.

“Marco will tell me all about it, and I will talk to the master while

I am dressing him. You are making Marco again a boy like yourself,

Horace. He is as eager about this boat as you are”; and he smiled

indulgently at his brother, whom he still regarded as a boy, although

he was now nearly forty.

“That will be the best plan, Zaimes. I shall be glad for him to know

all about it before breakfast time, for I am sure I should not like to

tell him that we had fixed on a boat like that.”

Horace was a long time before he got to sleep. He had never dreamt of

anything bigger than an open boat, and the thought of having a craft

that he could sail anywhere along the coast, and even sleep on board,

seemed almost too good to be true. He woke an hour before his time,

dressed hastily, went out into the garden, and stood there looking

over the sea. The fishing-boats were going out, and he pictured to

himself the boat he had seen, gliding along among them, bigger and

ever so much handsomer than any of them; and how he would be able to

take out his cousins, and perhaps some day have a school friend to

spend the holidays with him and cruise about. So deep was he in his

thoughts that he was surprised when he heard the bell ring for

breakfast.

“Now, then,” he said to himself as he walked back to the house, “I

shall know. Of course it will be a horrible disappointment if he says

no, but I sha’n’t show it, because it is too much to expect him to do

this. I should never have dreamt of such a thing if it had not been

for Marco. Well, here goes”; and he walked into the parlour.

“Good morning, father!”

“Good morning, Horace. I am glad to hear that Marco has found just the

boat that he thinks will suit the place. He tells me you want to go

over and see her fitted out. I think that that will be a very good

plan. When you do a thing, Horace, do it well if it is worth doing at

all. Marco will go back with you by the coach this morning.”

“Oh, thank you, father; it is awfully kind of you!”

“I wish you to enjoy yourself,” his father said; “it is no more than

the price of another horse. It is a fine sport and a healthy one, and

I don’t know that it is more dangerous than galloping about the

country on horseback. I have told Marco to make all arrangements, and

not to worry me about things. At the beginning of each holiday he will

say how much he will require for provisions on board, and the payment

of the wages of a man and a boy. I shall give him a cheque, and there

will be an end of it as far as I am concerned. I shall be much more at

my ease knowing that you are enjoying yourself on board than wondering

what you will do to amuse yourself from day to day.”

Thinking that all that was necessary had been said, Mr. Beveridge then

opened a Greek book that lay as usual beside his plate, and speedily

became absorbed in it. When he himself had finished, Horace slipped

away. He knew that his father would be at least two hours over the

meal, which he only turned to when Zaimes made a movement to attract

his attention, everything being kept down by the fire, which was lit

specially for that purpose, even in summer.

“It is all settled, Marco; think of that! Won’t it be glorious?”

“It will be very good, Horace. I shall like it almost as much as you

will. I love the sea, even this gray ugly sea of yours, which is so

different from the blue of the Ægean. I too mope a little sometimes

when you are not at home, for though I have the kindest and best of

masters, one longs sometimes for change. I told you your father would

agree. It is just what I told him we should want. An open boat is no

use except when the weather is fine, and then one must always keep

close to port in case the wind should drop, and when it comes calm you

have to break your back with rowing. Oh, we will have fine sails

together, and as you grow older we can go farther away, for she should

be safe anywhere. When you become a man I daresay he will get for you

something bigger, and then perhaps we can sail together to Greece, and

perhaps the master will go with you, for he loves Greece as much as we

do.”

There was a fortnight of hard work. William Martyn was in command, and

kept Horace at work as if he had been a young midshipman under his

orders; while Marco turned his hand to everything, singing snatches of

sailor songs he had sung as he fished when a boy, chattering in Greek

to Horace, and in broken English to the two men.

“You are going to be skipper, I hear,” William Martyn said to him one

day.

“Going to skip!” Marco repeated vaguely. “I know not what you mean.”

“Going to be captain--padrone.”

Marco shook his head. “No, sir. Can sail open boat good, but not fit

to take charge of boat like this. Going to have man at Seaport, a good

fisherman. He sailed a long time in big ships. Man-of-war’s man. When

war over, came back to fish. I shall look after young master, cook

food for him, pull at rope, steer sometimes; but other man be captain

and sail boat.”

William Martyn nodded. “Quite right, Marco; these fishermen know the

coast, and the weather, and the ports and creeks to run into. It is

all very well in fine weather, but when you get a blow, a craft like

this wants a man who can handle her well.”

Horace’s pride in the craft increased every day. As she lay

weather-beaten and dismantled on the mud she had seemed to him larger

but not superior in appearance to the fishing craft of Seaport, which

were most of them boats of ten or twelve tons; but each day her

appearance changed, and at the end of ten days--with all her rigging

in place, her masts and spars scraped, her deck fairly white, and her

sides glossy with black paint--she seemed to him a thing of perfect

beauty. It was just the fortnight when the paint and varnish of the

cabins were dry, the furniture in its place, and everything ready for

sea. Horace’s delight culminated when the anchor was got up, sail set

on her, and William Martyn took the helm, as with a light wind she ran

down through the craft in the harbour for a trial trip.

“She is a wonderfully handy little craft,” the mate said approvingly,

as she began to rise and fall on the swell outside; “the old captain

knew what he was doing when he laid down her lines. She is like a duck

on the water. I have been out in her when big ships were putting their

noses into it, and she never shipped a pailful of water. I can tell

you you are in luck, youngster. How are you going to take her round?”

“I was going to write to-night for Tom Burdett--that is the man Marco

spoke about--to come over by coach.”

“I will tell you what I will do, youngster; I will take her over for

you. I shall enjoy the trip. If you like we will start to-morrow

morning.”

“I should like that immensely,” Horace said; “we shall astonish them

when we sail into the port.”

“Very well, then, that is agreed; you had better get some stores on

board; I mean provisions. Of course if the weather holds like this we

should be there in the evening; but it is a good rule at sea never to

trust the weather. Always have enough grub and water for a week on

board; then, if you happen to be blown off shore, or anything of that

sort, it is of no consequence.”