A STARTLING PROPOSAL
After Horace returned to Eton, remembering the intense interest of his
father in the affairs of Greece, he read up as far as he could
everything relating to late events there. That he should obtain a
really fair view of the situation was impossible. The Greeks had
countrymen in every commercial city in the world; they were active and
intelligent, and passionately desirous of interesting Europe in their
cause. Upon the other hand the Turks were voiceless. Hence Europe only
heard the Greek version of the state of affairs; their wrongs were
exaggerated and events distorted with an utter disregard for truth,
while no whisper of the other side of the question was ever heard.
At that time the term Greek was applied to persons of Greek religion
rather than of Greek nationality. The population of European Turkey,
of pure Greek blood, was extremely small, while those who held the
Greek form of religion were very numerous, and the influence possessed
by them was even greater. The Christians were in point of
intelligence, activity, and wealth superior to the Turks. They were
subservient and cringing when it suited their purpose, and were as a
rule utterly unscrupulous. The consequence was that they worked their
way into posts of responsibility and emolument in great numbers, being
selected by the Porte in preference to the duller and less pushing
Turks. In some portions of European Turkey they were all-powerful: in
the Transylvanian provinces of Moldavia and Wallachia every post was
held by Greeks, and there were but a few small and scattered Turkish
garrisons. Yet here the population were incomparably more cruelly
fleeced and ground down by their Greek masters than were the
Christians in the more Turkish provinces.
In Servia and parts of Bulgaria the numbers were more even, but here
also the Greeks held most of the responsible posts. In Greece proper
the Christians vastly predominated, while in Northern Thessaly the
numbers of the Christians and Mussulmans were about the same.
The Greek metropolitan of Constantinople and his council exercised a
large authority by means of the bishops and priests over the whole
Christian population, while for some time a secret society named the
Philike Hetaireia had been at work preparing them for a rising. It was
started originally among the Greeks at Odessa, and was secretly
patronized by Russia, which then, as since, had designs upon
Constantinople.
The first outbreak had occurred in March, 1821, when Prince Alexander
Hypsilantes, who had been an officer in the Russian service, crossed
the Pruth, and was joined by the Greek officials and tax-gatherers of
the Transylvanian provinces. He was a vain, empty-headed, and utterly
incompetent adventurer. A small band of youths belonging to good
families enrolled themselves under the title of the Sacred Band, and
the army also joined him, but beyond the cold-blooded massacre of a
considerable number of Turks and their families he did absolutely
nothing. The main body of the population, who bitterly hated their
Greek oppressors, remained quiescent. Russia, seeing his utter
incapacity, repudiated him, and after keeping alive the hopes of his
followers by lying proclamations Hypsilantes secured his own safety by
flight across the Austrian frontier when the Turkish army approached.
The five hundred young men of the Sacred Battalion fought nobly and
were killed almost to a man; but with the exception of a band of
officers who refused to surrender, and shut themselves up in Skulani
and in the monastery of Seko and there defended themselves bravely
until the last, no resistance was offered to the Turks, and the
insurrection was stamped out by the beginning of June. But in the
meantime Greece proper was rising, and though the news came but slowly
Horace saw that his father’s hopes were likely to be gratified, and
that the Greeks would probably strike a blow at least for national
independence, and he more than shared the general excitement that the
news caused among educated men throughout Europe.
The summer holidays passed uneventfully. Horace took long cruises in
the _Surf_. He saw but little of his father, who was constantly absent
in London. August came, and Horace returned from his last trip and was
feeling rather depressed at the thought of going back to school in two
days’ time. He met Zaimes as he entered the house.
“Is my father back from town, Zaimes?”
“Yes, Mr. Horace, and he told me to tell you as soon as you returned
that he wished you to go to him at once in the library.”
It was so unlike his father to want to see him particularly about
anything, that Horace went in in some wonder as to what could be the
matter. Mr. Beveridge was walking up and down the room.
“Is your mind very much set on going back to Eton, Horace?” he asked
abruptly.
“I don’t know, father,” Horace said, taken somewhat aback at the
question. “Well, I would very much rather go back, father, than be
doing nothing here. I am very fond of sailing as an amusement, but one
would not want to be at it always. Of course if there is anything
really to do it would be different.”
“Well, I think there is something else to do, Horace. You know my
feeling with regard to this insurrection in Greece.”
“Yes, father,” Horace, who was indeed rather tired of the subject,
replied.
“Well, you see, my boy, they have now resisted the Turks for some five
months and have gained rather than lost ground. That seems to show
decisively that this is no mere hasty rising, but that the people are
in earnest in the determination to win their liberty. Now that I am
thoroughly convinced of this my course is clear, and I have determined
upon going out to give such assistance as I can.”
Horace was astounded. “Going out to fight, father?”
“Yes, if necessary to fight, but I can be of more use than in merely
fighting. I have never, since I came into the property some
twenty-four years ago, spent anything like a third of my income.
Indeed, since my return from Greece my expenses here have been but a
few hundreds a year. I have always hoped that I should have the
opportunity of devoting the savings to help Greece to regain her
independence. That moment has come. At first I feared that the
movement would speedily die out; but the letters that I receive show
that it is increasing daily, and indeed that the Greeks have placed
themselves beyond the hope of forgiveness by, I am sorry to say, the
massacre of large numbers of Turks. It is, of course, to be regretted
that so glorious a cause should have been sullied by such conduct; but
one cannot be surprised. Slaves are always cruel, and after the wrongs
they have suffered, it could hardly be expected that they would forego
their revenge when the opportunity at last came. However, the
important point of the matter is, that there can be no drawing back
now.
“For better or for worse the revolution has begun. Now, Horace, you
are but sixteen, but you are a sensible lad, and I have stood so much
apart from other men from my boyhood that I am what you might call
unpractical; while I take it that you from your temperament, and from
being at a great public school, are eminently practical, therefore, I
shall be glad to hear your opinion as to how this thing had best be
set about. I take it, of course, that you are as interested in the
struggle as I am.”
“Well, not so interested perhaps, father. I feel, of course, that it
is a horrible thing that a people like the Greeks, to whom we all owe
so much, should be kept in slavery by the Turks, who have never done
any good to mankind that I know of, and I should certainly be glad to
do everything in my power to help; but of course it all comes so
suddenly upon me that just at present I don’t see what had best be
done.”
“I heard from my friends in London that many young men are already
starting to assist the Greeks. What they will need most is not men,
but arms and money, so at least my Greek friends write me.”
“Well, father,” Horace said bluntly; “I should say you had much better
give them arms than money. I have been reading the thing up as much as
I could since it began, and as far as I can see the upper class
Greeks, the men who, I suppose, will be the leaders, are a pretty bad
lot--quite as bad, I should say, as the Turkish pashas.”
“Yes, I quite agree with you there, Horace. You see in a country that
is enslaved, political and other careers are closed, and the young men
devote themselves to making money. You see that in the history of the
Jews. All through the middle ages they were everywhere persecuted,
every avenue to honourable employment was closed to them, consequently
they devoted themselves to making money, and have been the bankers of
kings for hundreds of years. No doubt it is the same thing with the
Greeks; but the mass of the people are uncorrupted, and with the deeds
of their great forefathers always before them they will, I am sure,
show themselves worthy of their name.”
“No doubt, father; I think so too.”
“You don’t mind my spending this money on the Cause, Horace,” his
father asked anxiously, “because, though it is my savings, it would in
the natural course of things come to you some day.”
“Not at all, father; it is, as you say, your savings, and having at
heart, as you have, the independence of Greece, I think it cannot be
better laid out than assisting it. But I should certainly like it to
be laid out for that, and not to go into the pockets of a lot of
fellows who think more of feathering their own nests than of the
freedom of Greece. So I should say the best thing would be to send out
a cargo of arms and ammunition, as a beginning; other cargoes can go
out as they are required. And you might, of course, take a certain
amount of money to distribute yourself as you see it is required. I
hope you mean to take me with you.”
“I think so, Horace. You are young to do any fighting at present, but
you will be a great support and comfort to me.”
Horace could scarcely resist a smile, for he thought that if there was
any fighting to be done he would be of considerably more use than his
father.
“Well, I suppose the next thing, Horace, will be to go up to town to
inquire about arms. My Greek friends there will advise me as to their
purchase, and so on.”
“Yes, father,” Horace said a little doubtfully; “but as it is late now
I think, if you don’t mind, I will get some supper and turn in. I will
think it over. I think we had better talk it over quietly and quite
make up our minds what is best to be done before we set about
anything; a few hours won’t make any difference.”
“Quite so, Horace; it is no use our beginning by making mistakes. It
is a great comfort to me, my boy, to have you with me. At any rate I
will write to-night to your headmaster and say that circumstances will
prevent your return to Eton this term.”
Horace went into the next room, had some supper, and then went
thoughtfully up to bed. The idea of going out to fight for the
independence of Greece was one which at any other time he would have
regarded with enthusiasm, but under the present circumstances he felt
depressed rather than excited. He admired his father for his great
learning, and loved him for the kindness of his intentions towards
him; but he had during the last two or three years been more and more
impressed with the fact that in everything unconnected with his
favourite subject his father was, as he said himself, utterly
unpractical. He left the management of his estate to the steward, the
management of the house to Zaimes, both happily, as it chanced, honest
and capable men; but had they been rogues they could have victimized
him to any extent. That his father, who lived in his library and who
was absorbed in the past, should plunge into the turmoil of an
insurrection was an almost bewildering idea. He would be plundered
right and left, and would believe every story told him; while as for
his fighting, the thing seemed absolutely absurd. Horace felt that the
whole responsibility would be on his shoulders, and this seemed
altogether too much for him. Then the admission of his father that
abominable massacres had been perpetrated by the Greeks shook his
enthusiasm in the Cause.
“I should be glad to see them free and independent, and all that,” he
said, “but I don’t want to be fighting side by side with murderers.
Among such fellows as these, my father, who is a great deal more Greek
than any Greek of the present day, I should say, would be made utterly
miserable. He admits that the upper class are untrustworthy and
avaricious. Now he says that the lower class have massacred people in
cold blood. It does not affect him much in the distance, but if he
were in the middle of it all it would be such a shock to him that I
believe it would kill him. Besides, fancy his going long marches in
the mountains, sleeping in the wet, and all that sort of thing, when
he has never walked half a mile as far back as I can remember.”
He lay tossing about for a couple of hours, and then sat suddenly up
in bed. “That’s it,” he exclaimed, “that is a splendid idea. What a
fool I was not to think of it before! If William Martyn is but at home
that would be the thing above all.”
Then he lay down, thought the matter over for another half-hour, and
then went quietly off to sleep.
“Well, Horace, have you been turning the matter over in your mind?”
his father asked as soon as they sat down to breakfast.
“I have, father, and I have hit upon a plan that seems to me the very
best thing possible in all ways.”
“What is it, Horace?”
“Well, father, it seems to me that if we take out war material to
Athens it will very likely get into wrong hands altogether, and when
arms are really wanted by the people of the mountains, and I expect
that it is they who will do the fighting and not the people of the
towns, there won’t be any to give them. The next thing is, if we go to
Athens, and people know that you are a rich Englishman, you will get
surrounded by sharks, and before you have time to know who is to be
trusted, or anything about it, all your money will be gone. Then I am
sure that you could not in that way take any active part in helping to
free Greece, you never could stand marches in the mountains and
sleeping in the open air, bad food, and all that sort of thing, after
living the quiet indoor life you have for so many years. I know you
would stick to it, father, as long as you could, but it seems to me
you would be sure to get knocked up.”
“Yes, I ought to have prepared for this, Horace. It would have been
better for me to have taken regular exercise every day, even if I did
get through a little less work. Still I am stronger than you think. I
am only forty-four, and a man at forty-four ought to be able to do
nearly as much as he ever could do.”
“Yes, father, if he had lived an active life and exercised his
muscles. I have no doubt you are just as strong in many things as
other men; I never remember your being ill for a day; but I am sure
you are not fit for knocking about among the mountains. What I have
been thinking of is this. If you approve of it I will go over to
Exmouth this morning and see if William Martyn is there. He is likely
to be at home if his vessel is in port. If he is not, I will get his
father to recommend some one. There must be lots of young lieutenants
on half-pay who would jump at the idea. First I should engage with
Martyn if he is there, or go to the man whom his father recommended to
me at Plymouth, and get him to buy for you a fast schooner or
brig--one that had either been an English privateer or a captured
Frenchman would be about the thing--arrange with him to be the captain
and engage officers and crew, and get him to arm her with as many guns
as she will carry. He would be able probably to put us into the best
way of buying muskets. As such immense numbers of soldiers have been
paid off, no doubt there have been great sales of muskets by
government, and we might get them at a quarter the price we should
have to pay for new ones. Of course we should take in ammunition in
large quantities. All these mountaineers have no doubt got guns, and
ammunition will be the thing most wanted of all. We could also pick up
some cannon. No doubt they are to be bought for scrap iron. The Greeks
will want them to arm their ships and batteries. In that way you see,
father, you would have everything under your own hands. Nobody would
know how many muskets you have got on board, and you could serve them
out when or how they were required.
“The same with money. We could cruise about and pop into quiet places,
and send arms and ammunition up into the hills. Of course directly you
got out there you would put the ship under the Greek flag, and by
harassing the Turks at sea we might do a hundred times more good than
we could by land. There would be no fatigue and no discomfort. You
would always be comfortable on board, and could take Zaimes and Marco
with you. We would take Tom Burdett as boatswain. He was boatswain in
the navy, you know. If he goes I daresay Dick will also go with us.”
“That is an excellent plan, Horace. It seems to meet all the
difficulties, and I was really feeling uncomfortable at the thought of
being mixed up in all the confusion and excitement there will, no
doubt, be at Athens. It is a most happy idea. We will not lose a
moment about it. I like that young fellow Martyn, and I hope you will
be able to get hold of him. Let him name his own terms. I have not the
least idea whether the captain of a vessel of that sort is paid five
pounds a week or twenty-five. Of course it will be dangerous service,
and should be liberally paid for. Well, you had better pack up your
bag directly we have finished breakfast. You may be away for a week or
ten days.”
“I can’t start to-day, father, surely.”
“No! why not, Horace?”
“Because, you know, you arranged we should both go over to dine at
aunt’s.”
“Of course, Horace; I quite forgot that. It is very annoying, but I
suppose it can’t be helped.”
Horace laughed. “A day won’t make much difference, father. I am sure
aunt would be very vexed if we did not turn up. Do you mean to tell
her anything about it?”
Mr. Beveridge was silent for a minute. “I don’t think there is any
occasion; do you, Horace?” he said doubtfully. “She might raise
objections, you know; though that, of course, would make no
difference; arguments are always to be avoided, and your aunt was
always a very positive woman.”
“I think it is just as well to say nothing about it,” Horace said with
a slight smile, for he felt sure that his aunt would oppose the
project tooth and nail if she were aware of it, and that she would be
backed by the whole strength of his mother’s family. He did not say
this, but went on, “It is a nuisance being asked a tremendous lot of
questions about things, especially when you don’t know much about them
yourself. No, I think, father, we had better keep it quite quiet. It
will be time enough to write a line to aunt and tell her that we are
off, the last thing before we get up anchor.”
“I agree with you, Horace, so we will say nothing about this trip of
ours. Well, as it seems you can’t go to-day, you had better make your
arrangements to catch the coach to-morrow morning. I will sign a dozen
blank cheques, which you can fill up as required. Of course whoever
accepts the post of captain will know all that will be wanted for the
ship, and if he doesn’t know himself about the arms and ammunition he
may be able to introduce you to some officer who does. Will you take
Marco with you?”
“No, I don’t think so, father. I don’t see that he would be any use,
and having a man going about with you looks as if one was being taken
care of.”
Horace caught the coach and alighted at Exmouth, and hurried to the
revenue officer’s house.
“Is Mr. William Martyn in?” he asked the servant who opened the door.
“He is not in just at present, sir; I think he went down to the
river.”
“How long has he been home?” Horace asked, delighted at the news.
“He only got in last week, sir; his ship got wrecked, and Mr. William
turned up without any clothes, or anything except just what he stood
up in.”
“Hurrah!” Horace exclaimed, to the astonishment of the woman, and then
without another word ran down to the wharfs. He soon saw the figure he
was in search of talking to two or three old sailors.
“Hullo, youngster!” Martyn said in surprise, as Horace came up, “where
have you sprung from?”
“Off the top of the coach.”
“I suppose so. I have been having a bit of bad luck and lost my ship.
We were wrecked off St. Catharine’s Point, at the back of the Isle of
Wight, and there were only seven of us saved among a crew of
thirty-five all told.”
“Yes, I heard from your servant you had been wrecked,” Horace said.
“She didn’t say that any lives had been lost; but I must have
astonished her, now I think of it, for I said ‘Hurrah!’ when she told
me.”
“What did you say hurrah for?” the mate asked gruffly.
“Because I wanted to find you here, and was so pleased that you were
not going to sail away again directly.”
“No,” Will Martyn said gloomily, “it is bad enough to have lost one’s
kit and everything, and now I shall have to look about for another
berth, for I think the vessel was only partly insured, and as the
owners only have one or two ships I expect it will hit them rather
hard, and that they won’t have another craft ready for some time, so
it will be no use my waiting for that.”
The sailors had moved away when Horace came up, so that he was able at
once to open the subject of his visit to the mate.
“Well, that was just what I was hoping when I heard that you were
wrecked, Will, for I had come over on purpose to see if you were
disengaged and disposed to take a new berth.”
“What! is your father going in for a big yacht instead of the _Surf_,
Horace?”
“Well, not exactly, but something of that sort. You know I told you
how enthusiastic he was about Greece and everything connected with it.
Of course he is tremendously excited about this rising out there, and
he is going to send out a lot of arms and ammunition. So we have
talked it over and agreed that the best thing to do would be to buy a
fast schooner or brig, fit her up as a privateer, fill her with arms
and ammunition, and go out, hoist the Greek flag, and do what we can
to help them against the Turks. Of course we thought at once of you to
carry out the thing, and to act as captain. What do you say to it?”
“The very thing I should like, Horace; nothing could suit me better.
Mind I am not giving any opinion as to whether it is a wise thing on
the part of your father; that is his business. But as far as I am
concerned I am your man.”
“My father said you were to name your own terms. He didn’t know
anything about what the pay should be, but he particularly said that
as it would be a service of danger it ought to be paid for liberally.”
“Of course there will be danger,” the mate said, “but that adds to the
pleasure of it. If I were a married man of course I should have to
look at it in a different light; but as I ain’t, and have no idea of
getting spliced, the danger does not trouble me. I have been getting
eight pounds a month as third mate, and I should have got ten next
voyage, as I was going second. As I shall be skipper on board this
craft of yours, suppose we say twelve pounds a month.”
“My father expected to pay more than that a good deal,” Horace said;
“and as everything will depend upon you it would not be at all fair to
pay the same sort of pay as if you were merely sailing in a merchant’s
ship. However, he will write to you about it. There will be a
tremendous lot to do before we start, and we want to be off as soon as
possible. There is a ship to buy and fit out, and officers to get, and
a crew. Then we want to find out where we can buy muskets. It seemed
to me that as government must have been selling great quantities, we
should be able to get them pretty cheap.”
“I could find out all about that at the port where we fit out,” Will
Martyn said. “As for cannon, they can be had almost for taking away.
There are thousands and thousands of them to be had at every port.
Five years ago every vessel went to sea armed. Now even the biggest
craft only carry a gun or two for firing signals with, unless, of
course, they are going to sail in Eastern waters. Well, this is a big
job--a different sort of order altogether to buying the _Surf_ for
you. I hope it will turn out as well.”
“Of course Plymouth will be the best port to go to.”
“I don’t know. During the war certainly either that or Portsmouth
would have been the best. Vessels were constantly coming in with
prizes; but now, I should say either London or Liverpool would be the
best for picking up the sort of craft we want. Still, as Plymouth is
so much the nearest here, I should say we had best try there first.
Then if we can’t find what we want we will take a passage by coaster
to Portsmouth, if the wind is favourable; if not, go by coach. But how
are you off for money, because I am at dead low-water? I have got a
few pounds owing to me, but I can’t handle that till I get to London.”
“I have twenty pounds,” Horace said. “We didn’t think, when I started,
of going farther than Plymouth; but I have some blank cheques for
paying for things.”
“Twenty pounds ought to be ample; but if we find at Plymouth we want
more I can easily get one cashed for you. I know plenty of people
there.”
“Well, when can you start, Will? My father is anxious not to lose a
moment.”
“I can start in ten minutes if my father is at home. I should want to
have just a short chat with him; but I can do that while they are
getting the chaise ready. Our best plan would be to drive to Exeter
and take the evening coach going through there. There is one comes
through about six o’clock. I have come down by it several times. It
will take us into Plymouth by twelve o’clock; so we should gain
nothing if we started earlier.”
“Well, I will go to the inn,” Horace said.
“No; that you won’t, Horace. You come round with me. I expect dinner
is ready by this time. We generally dine at one. My father went out in
the cutter to look after a wreck four or five miles along the coast,
and he said he did not expect to be back till between two and three;
so we settled to dine at three. There is the cutter coming up the
river now.”
“But you would rather be with your father alone,” Horace said.
“Not a bit of it. I have got nothing private to say to him, except to
get him to let me draw twenty pounds from his agent to get a fresh
rig-out with. He would like to see you again, especially as I am going
to sail with you, and he maybe able to put us up to a few wrinkles as
to getting our powder on board, and so on. Of course I have been
accustomed to seeing it got in from government powder hulks. We will
just walk up to the house now if you don’t mind, to tell the girl to
put an extra knife and fork on the table, then we will go down and
meet my father when he lands.”
The servant looked with such strong disapprobation upon Horace when
she opened the door that he burst into a fit of laughter. “You are
thinking about my saying hurrah when I heard Mr. Martyn was wrecked?”
he said. “Well, I did not exactly mean that, only I was very glad,
because I thought if he had not been wrecked he could not have shipped
just at present, and I wanted him very badly.”
“Yes, I am off again, Hesba,” the mate said. “Going right away this
afternoon. That is a bit of luck, isn’t it? I have just come back to
tell you to put another knife and fork upon the table, as Mr.
Beveridge is going to dine with us; and if you have time to kill a
fatted calf, or anything of that sort, do so.”
“Lor’, Mr. William, you know very well there ain’t no fatted calf, and
if there was it would take ever so long to kill it and get some meat
cooked, if it was only cutlets.”
“Well,” Martyn laughed, “never mind the calf, Hesba; but if dinner is
short run straight down to the butcher’s and get a good big tender
steak, and look sharp about it, for my father will be here in a
quarter of an hour.”
As Horace had seen Captain Martyn (as he was by courtesy called, being
in command of a revenue cutter, although only in fact a lieutenant)
several times while fitting out the _Surf_ the officer knew him as he
saw him standing at the top of the stairs with his son.
“Well, Master Beveridge,” he said as he climbed up the stairs, “I
haven’t seen you since you sailed away in that little craft. I hear
you did a brave deed in her, going out in that gale to rescue the crew
of the _Caledon_. It is lucky you caught Will in.” He was by this time
ashore and shaking hands heartily with Horace.
“He has come to take me away, father,” Will said. “Mr. Beveridge is
going to get a fast craft to carry out arms and ammunition to the
Greeks, and he has offered me the command.”
“I should not mind going myself, Will. I am sorry you are off so soon;
but you are likely to see some stirring scenes over there. When are
you going?”
“We are going to start directly we have had some dinner, father. We
will order a chaise as we go along. We intend to catch the six-o’clock
coach at Exeter, so as to get to Plymouth to-night. I am going to see
if we can pick up a likely craft there. If not, I shall try Portsmouth
and Southampton, and if they won’t do, London.”
“Well, that is sharp work, Will. But you have no kit to pack, so there
is no difficulty about it. However, there is no time to be lost.”
At a quarter to four the post-chaise was at the door, and Will Martyn
and Horace started. The horses were good, and they were in plenty of
time for the coach, and arrived duly in Plymouth. As soon as they had
breakfasted next morning they started out and went first to the
shipping office of a firm known to Will Martyn, and there got a list
of ships lying for sale in the port.
“What sort of craft are you looking for, Martyn?” the shipping agent
said. “We have a dozen at least on our own books, and you may as well
give us a turn before you look at any others.”
“I want a schooner or a brig--I don’t much care which it is--of about
a couple of hundred tons. She must be very fast and weatherly; the
sort of craft that was used as a privateer in the war; or as a slaver;
or something of that kind.”
“I have only one craft that answers to that description,” the agent
said; “but I should say that she was what you want. She was sent home
from the west coast of Africa six months ago, as a prize. Of course
she was sold, and was bought by a man I know. After he had got her he
found she had not enough carrying power for his business. She never
was built for cargo, and would be an expensive vessel to work, for she
has a large sail spread, and would want so strong a crew to work her
that she would never pay. He bought her cheap for that reason, and
will be glad to get the price he gave for her, or if the point were
pressed even to make some loss to get her off his hands. They call her
a hundred and fifty, and she looks a big vessel for that size. But if
she had eighty tons in her hold it would be as much as she could carry
with comfort.”
“That sounds promising,” Martyn said. “At any rate we will begin by
having a look at her. Where is she lying?”
“About three miles up the river. Tide is making; so we could run up
there in a sailing boat in half an hour. I will go with you myself.
There is a care-taker on board. Are you buying her for yourself,
Martyn?”
The mate laughed.
“As I have not captured an heiress I am not likely to become a ship
owner. No; Mr. Beveridge’s father is fond of the sea, and has
commissioned me to buy a comfortable craft that shall be at once fast
and seaworthy, and I am going to command her.”
“Well, I don’t think you would find anything that would suit your
purpose better than the _Creole_. She would make a splendid yacht for
a gentleman who had a fancy for long cruises.”
“What is her age?” the mate asked.
“Well, of course we can’t tell exactly; but the dockyard people
thought she couldn’t be above four or five years old. That is what
they put her down as when they sold her. At any rate she is sound, and
in as good condition as if she had just come off the stocks. She had
been hulled in two or three places in the fight when she was captured,
but she was made all right in the dockyard before she was put up for
sale. All her gear, sails, and so on are in excellent condition.”
“Where are they?”
“They are on board. As we had a care-taker it was cheaper to leave
them there and have good fires going occasionally to keep them dry
than it would have been to stow them away on shore.”
There was a brisk breeze blowing, and in less than the half hour
mentioned by the agent he said: “That’s her lying over on the farther
side.”
“She looks like a slaver all over,” Martyn said as he stood up to
examine the long low craft. “I suppose they caught her coming out of a
river, for she would show her heels, I should guess, to any cruiser
that was ever built, at any rate in light winds. If she is as good as
she looks she is just the thing for us.”
When they reached the vessel they rowed round her before going on
board.
“She is like a big _Surf_,” Will said to Horace; “finer in her
lines, and lighter. She ought to sail like a witch. I see she carried
four guns on each side.”
[Illustration: THEIR FIRST SIGHT OF THE SCHOONER]
“Yes, and a long pivot-gun. They are down in the hold now. She was
sold just as she stood; but I suppose they will be of no use to you.”
“Some of them may be,” Martyn said carelessly. “If we go cruising up
the Mediterranean it is just as well to have a gun or two on board.
Now let us look at her accommodation.
“Yes, she is a very roomy craft on deck,” he went on as he stepped on
board. “She has a wonderful lot of beam, much more than she looks to
have when you see her on the water, owing to her lines being so fine.”
“She has lots of head-room here,” Horace said as they went below. “I
thought that slavers had very low decks.”
“So they have,” the mate said. “I expect when she took a cargo on
board they rigged up a deck of planks here so as to have two tiers for
the slaves; that would give them about three foot three to each tier.”
They spent over two hours on board. Will Martyn examined everything
most carefully, prodding the planks and timbers with his knife, going
down into the hold and prying into the state of the timbers there,
getting into the boat, to examine the stern-post and rudder, and
afterwards overhauling a good deal of the gear. The inspection was in
all respects satisfactory.
“She will do if the price will do,” he said. “How much do they want
for her?”
“He paid fifteen hundred at the dockyard sale,” the agent said; “that
is ten pound a ton, with all her gear, fittings, and so on, thrown in.
As you see, there is the cabin furniture, and so on, all complete,
except the paint. There needn’t be a penny laid out on her.”
“Well, how much will he take off?” Martyn said. “Fifteen hundred was
anyone’s price, and as she don’t suit him, she won’t suit many people.
If he is likely to have her on his hands any time, eating her head
off and losing value, he ought to be glad to take anything near what
he gave for her. Well, frankly, how much will he take off? Business is
business. I have admitted the boat will suit me; now what is the limit
you are authorized to take?”
“He will take two hundred less. It is a ridiculously low price.”
“Of course it is,” Will agreed. “But shipping at present is a drug in
the market, and this ship is practically fit for nothing but a yacht
or the Levant trade. I expect I could get her a couple of hundred
pounds cheaper if I held off. What do you think, Horace?”
“I don’t think it would be fair to knock down the price lower than
that,” Horace said.
“It is fair to get a thing as cheap as you can. If you try to get it
for less than he will sell it for you don’t get it, that is all. He is
not obliged to sell, and you are not obliged to buy. Still, the price
is a very reasonable one, and we will take her at that. You have full
authority to sell, I suppose, without reference to your principal?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, then, we will go to your office. Mr. Beveridge will give
you a cheque for thirteen hundred pounds, and you shall hand over
possession.”
“Good. It is eleven o’clock now, Johnson,” he said to the care-taker.
“Here is your money up to to-night, but from twelve o’clock to-day Mr.
Martyn takes possession as agent for the owners, so you will take your
orders from him.”
“You can go on as usual,” Will said. “We will pay you from twelve
o’clock, so you will make a half-day’s pay by the change.”