A DARING EXPLOIT
Soon after nine o’clock Will Martyn took his post on the shore at the
northern end of the position. A dropping fire was kept up all round
the semicircle, as if the defenders feared that the assailants might
be trying to crawl up towards them. Martyn continued to listen
intently for half an hour, then he thought he heard a sound on the
water. In another minute or two he could make out the sound of voices.
“Miller has got his head screwed on the right way,” he said to
himself. “He is showing no lights.” Another five minutes and he could
dimly make out the outline of the schooner.
“_Misericordia_ ahoy!” he shouted.
“Ay, ay,” came across the water.
“I am going to put out the fire so that the light won’t show on your
sails, and in a minute or two I am going to open fire heavily to cover
the rattle of the chains. Directly you hear us begin let go the
anchor; don’t answer.”
Horace was standing by the fire, and he at once scattered the brands
and threw sand over them. Martyn ran up to the front of the position
and shouted, “Open fire!” and the rattle of musketry broke out all
round the screen. The Turks, surprised at the sudden din, and fearing
that a sortie was going to be made, replied briskly, and for four or
five minutes the fire was maintained. Horace down on the shore heard
the rattle of the anchor chain and the creaking of the blocks,
followed shortly by the sound of the tackle as the boats were lowered.
“Please muffle the oars, Mr. Miller!” he shouted, and the answering
hail came across the water. Twelve of the sailors came down from their
posts to assist with the boats, and in three or four minutes there was
a slight splash of oars, and the four boats of the schooner ran gently
ashore.
“All well, I hope?” Tom Burdett asked as he jumped out.
“All well, Tom, with the exception of about half a dozen slightly
wounded.”
“Thank God!” the boatswain said. “I tell you we felt mighty sore at
having to run away and leave you just at daybreak this morning, and
you can’t tell how glad we were when we caught sight of the fire first
and then made out the popping of the guns. Have you got the Greeks
out, Mr. Horace?”
“Yes, there are over five hundred of them here.”
“My eye!” the sailor said, “that is something like a cargo.”
“I have got twelve men here, Tom. That will give you four and a
helmsman to each boat with what you have got. Has Marco come ashore
with you?”
“Yes, Mr. Horace. I thought I might be useful if you had got the
Christians with you.”
“Yes, that is what I wanted you for, Marco. Now, then,” he said to the
women who were clustered behind him, “take your places in the boats.
Help them in, lads; there are lots of children among them. You need
not be afraid of packing them closely so long as you leave yourselves
room to row, for there is not a ripple on the water. Father, would you
mind going off with the first lot?” he said as Mr. Beveridge came up.
“Marco has come ashore to help here, and Mr. Miller does not talk
their language. If you take Zaimes with you he can help settle them
down as they come on board. Mind, lads, you are to make as little
noise as you can. There are six hundred of those Turks lying round us,
and if they got a notion of what was going on they would be coming on
us like a pack of wolves, and in the dark they would be among us
before we knew that they were coming, and your first boatload would be
your last. Impress upon the Greeks, father, when they get on board,
that not a word must be spoken.”
“Mr. Miller will see to that, sir, no doubt,” the boatswain said. “He
has got the whole lot of them down between decks, and he and Bill
Scoons have got the deck to themselves.”
The women and children were crowded into the boats, which were first
backed stern on shore to allow them to enter. The sailors lifted the
children, and wading into the water put them in. The smaller boats
pushed off as soon as they were filled, and they were back again just
after the two larger ones started. The schooner was but a hundred
yards away, and so quickly did the work go on that in little more than
a quarter of an hour the last batch of women and children left the
shore. Horace directed Marco to see that the wounded were carefully
lifted into the next boat, and to go on board with them; he then ran
up to Martyn. The continuous fire had ceased now, but dropping shots
were kept up all round the position.
“The last batch has gone on board, Captain Martyn,” he reported.
“Thank God for that, Horace! That is a load off one’s mind. It is a
smart piece of work to have got them on board so soon. I did not
expect you for some time yet. I have been listening sharply. Of course
I heard sounds, but even here they were faint, while the Turks, being
twice as far away, can hardly have heard them, and if they did would
not have made them out, knowing nothing of what is going on. Now do
you and Tarleton go off, one each way, and send every third man down
to the boats; but if the third man is a sailor send the next Greek to
him. When you get down to the shore go along to the boats and see the
men off. As soon as they are in the boats start back again, sending
the rest of the Greeks down to the shore. Then when you join me here I
shall know that there are only our own men to draw off. Tell them all
to keep up a pretty sharp fire when the Greeks have left.”
In a very few minutes they were beside him again. “The boats took the
first batch off in one trip, sir,” Tarleton reported, “and they will
be back again by the time the last fellows we have sent down get to
the shore.”
“We will give them five minutes and then be off.”
“Mr. Miller sent word by the boatswain, sir, that he had got the guns
loaded with grape, and blue lights ready, so that if they should at
the last moment press you he will sweep the hillside as soon as you
bring the men down to the shore.”
“I hope we shall not want it,” Martyn said; “but it is well to be on
the safe side. I am sure we don’t want to kill any more of these poor
beggars than we can help. Of course they wanted to massacre the
Christians, but as they know their own people have been massacred in
tens of thousands by the Greeks, it is only human nature they should
take revenge. Anyhow I am glad there has not been much bloodshed. The
only time we got fairly at them was when they first gathered for a
charge at that olive grove, and again when they came down the path to
that place where we stopped them. Of course a few fell while we were
falling back, but I should say that from forty to fifty would be quite
the outside; and likely enough it may not have been half that. It has
been a much easier business than I expected. I must say, when we first
got into the village and I saw what a crowd of women and children
there were there I thought we were going to have a very tough job
before we got on board the schooner again. Now I think we can fall
back. Go down to the shore again, please, and start the men from that
end, so that we can keep on firing from here up to the last moment.”
In a very few minutes the last of the defenders stepped into the boats
and rowed off to the ship.
“All safe, Captain Martyn?” Miller’s voice asked as the boats came
alongside.
“All safe, Mr. Miller.”
“Then we will give a hearty cheer, sir. They will know in a few
minutes that you have gone, and it will make no difference. Now, lads,
all together.”
And three hearty cheers broke from the English sailors, swelled by
shouts and yells from the Greeks clustered on deck. As they stepped on
to the deck Miller shook hands heartily with Martyn, Tarleton, and
Horace.
“Thank Heaven you are all back safe again!” he said, “and, as I hear,
without the loss of a single life. We have had an anxious time of it,
as you may guess, since you have been away. I suppose we may as well
get the boats up, sir?”
“Certainly. We sha’n’t want to go ashore again, Miller.” The
boatswain’s whistle rang out, the falls were hooked on, and the boats
run up to the davits.
“Don’t swing them in at present,” Martyn said. “We want all our room
on deck. What have you done about the Greeks, Miller?”
“The cook had a big copper of soup ready, and they each had a basin as
they came on board. We have given up the whole of the lower deck to
the women and children. Our fellows and the men sleep on deck.”
“I thought that was how you would manage, Miller; indeed I don’t see
any other way that it could be done.”
“I have got all the scuttles open down below,” Miller said, “and the
hatchways off, so I think they will manage. It will be pretty close,
no doubt, but none of these people are particularly fond of fresh
air.”
“You have got supper ready for the men, I hope, Miller. They had
something to eat in the village at daybreak, and they have had the
biscuits they took with them; but I expect they are all ready for a
regular meal. Of course they will have a ration of grog all round.”
“I have seen to all that, sir, and Marco came up just before you came
alongside, to say that supper would be ready for us in five minutes.
How he managed it I don’t know, for he, Mr. Beveridge, and Zaimes have
been busy settling the women below ever since they came on board. How
did the chief get through it?”
“As well as anyone, except in the climbing. There is a lot more in him
than we thought, Miller. I watched him when he was loading and firing,
and he was just as cool and quiet as if he was sitting here on the
quarter-deck, and what was better, he always fell in with what I
suggested without any talk or argument, and if I were asked I should
say that he really enjoyed the whole business. I have never seen him
look so bright and animated. Well, I am quite ready for supper; at
least I shall be when I have had a wash.”
In a short time the party in the cabin was seated at supper. All were
in the highest spirits. Their enterprise had been a complete success
in every respect, and they were the more pleased that it had been
accomplished without the loss of a single life on the part of the
crew. The supper was not quite so varied as usual, and Marco
apologized for its shortcomings.
“There is no occasion to say a word, Marco. It is excellent,” Martyn
said. “I don’t know how on earth you have managed it.”
“I had most of it ready before we dropped anchor, Captain Martyn,” he
said, “but I went ashore with the boats and have been helping with the
women until a few minutes ago, so I have not had time to finish the
things properly; but I thought you would rather have them so than
wait.”
“Much rather, Marco. Now, Miller, let us hear your report. I have not
had time to ask you a single question since I came on board. We made
you out from the top of the hill twenty-five miles away, with two
Turkish frigates after you.”
“Yes,” Miller said, “we were as near as possible caught in a trap. It
was lucky I had had the anchor buoyed and the chain ready to slip. Of
course we kept a sharp watch all night; I was on deck half an hour
before day began to break, for I knew that that was the dangerous
time. It was very dark then.”
“Yes, we know that,” Martyn put in. “We pretty nearly broke our necks
scrambling along the face of a hill nearly as steep as a wall.”
“Just as the first gleam of daylight came,” Miller went on, “I made
out two large craft coming along about a mile and a half from shore.
They were not quite abreast of us, perhaps half a mile south. You may
guess we lost no time in slipping the chain and getting up our head
sails. Fortunately there was enough breeze even in here to fill our
sails. I knew they could not make us out as yet, lying in here under
the shadow of the land, and, indeed, I was half inclined for a moment
to lower the sails and trust to their not making us out at all, but as
it would soon be light, and no doubt they would be keeping a sharp
look-out for us, I saw it wouldn’t do. It was not long before I saw
that, though, of course, they had a good deal more wind than we had,
we were holding our own with them.
“Ten minutes after we got under weigh they made us out and changed
their course, steering so as to cut us off before we were clear of the
northern point, while I stood a little more out so as to get farther
from the shelter of the land and catch a little more breeze. They
closed a bit with us, and one of them began to try the distance with
his bow-guns, but though we were not quite out of range, the shot went
altogether wide of us. I never saw such lubberly shooting. We were
better than a mile ahead when we came out beyond the point and got the
true wind. As soon as I felt her beginning to walk along I got a
couple of sails overboard to deaden her way and stood for the
north-west. The Turks got out stun-sails and did their best to come up
to us, and as the wind was pretty fresh they walked along faster than
I should have given them credit for, and I had to get one of the sails
on board again to keep my distance. They fired occasionally, but as I
kept them in line they could only bring a couple of bow-chasers to
bear.
“I don’t think we altered our distance by a ship’s length for six
hours, by which time we were a good thirty miles away from the island,
and nearly dead to leeward; so I thought it was about time to begin to
have some amusement. Directly we had started I had got the cook to
make a tremendous fire in the galley, and had put six eighteen-pounder
shot in it. I kept coal heaped on, and stuck a couple of extra lengths
on to the chimney to make it draw, and by this time the balls were
red-hot. We did not begin with them at first, but having got the
second sail out of water we luffed a little so as to get the pivot to
bear, and Tom Burdett sent the first shot smack into the frigate’s
fore-foot. She yawed a bit, and let us have four or five of her
forward guns on the starboard side, and this time a couple of shot
went through our sails. As I did not want to run any risks I held on
till I put another half-mile between us; then I began again with the
pivot.
“The boatswain is a capital shot and hulled the leading frigate every
time. Evidently she did not like it. I expect she had no idea that a
craft of this size carried such heavy metal, and she came up into the
wind and gave us a broadside. I put the helm down at the same moment
as she did and returned the compliment. We trained the guns high, and
as good luck would have it one of the shots struck the maintop-mast
and down it came bringing the fore and mizzen-topgallant masts down
with it. We gave a cheer, and the Greeks yelled like fiends. I had
sent the women and children down into the hold, but the men were on
deck, and they danced about like lunatics when they saw the top hamper
of the Turk go over her side. We wore round and gave her the other
broadside, then I set the Greeks to work to load the broadside guns,
while our fellows went to the pivot again.
“Now was the time to try the red-hot shot while she was lying
broadside on to us, and we plumped the whole six into her, one after
the other; then we stood off again, for the other frigate had come up
and was joining in the game. If we had had a spar knocked out of us it
would have been all up, for they each carried something like forty
guns. As soon as they got pretty well out of range I hauled my wind
and stood south. The first frigate was still in complete confusion.
With my glass I could make out the men trying to cut away the wreck,
but it was not long before I saw a thin wreath of smoke rising from
her forward hatchway, and presently I saw her ensign half hauled down
as a signal of distress to her consort, which at once gave up the
chase, which she must have already seen was useless, and bore down to
her. Thinking I had done enough, and being in such a stew about you
all, I left them to settle matters as best they could and began to
beat back to the island. When we were five miles away a pillar of
smoke was rising from the frigate, and with the glass I could make out
boats passing backwards and forwards between her and her consort,
which was lying-to near her; and the last we could make out of her was
that she was in flames from keel to truck.”
“Capital, Miller, that was splendidly done!” Martyn exclaimed. “Fancy
a schooner with ten men on board destroying a forty-gun frigate. That
was a capital idea of yours of heating the shot.”
“The cook is in a great way,” Miller laughed, “for we pretty well
melted the galley, and we shall have to get a fresh one next time we
put into port. And now tell me about your share of the day’s work.”
“Well, we have done very well,” Martyn said; “but you have quite taken
down any conceit we may have felt. I quite envy you.”
“You need not do that, Martyn,” Mr. Beveridge said; “one may be as
proud of saving five hundred lives as of destroying a frigate,
admirable as the action was. I will tell you about our doings. I have
no doubt Martyn will be too modest to do justice to himself. Ah! what
is that?” He broke off as he heard the report of a gun, followed by
several others.
“The Turks venting their dissatisfaction,” Martyn said. “I expected
it before this. Of course they heard our cheer, but at the distance
they were they may not have made out it came from the water, and I
expect they were some time before they crawled forward and found out
that our lines were deserted. We will fire a round of grape over their
heads as a hint to them that they had better clear off, and as there
is no hope of either plunder or blood they will not care about risking
their lives for nothing. Will you go up, Mr. Tarleton, and just touch
off one of the port guns. Don’t fire in the direction they are
shooting from. We only want to frighten and not to hurt them.”
In a couple of minutes the vessel quivered as an eighteen-pounder sent
its contents rattling among the rocks. Tarleton soon rejoined the
party, and Mr. Beveridge proceeded to relate to Miller the events of
the day.
“The next time I land, Mr. Miller,” he concluded, “I shall take good
care to ascertain the nature of the ground we have to cross. I have
never been accustomed to active exercise, even as a boy I never cared
for it; but I could not have believed that human lungs could have
failed in their action so completely, or human heart bump as mine did
in going up that hill. As for the scramble along it in the dark, it
was a sort of nightmare. Martyn and Zaimes hauled me along like a
helpless bundle. I was only conscious of my feet continually slipping
from under me, of grasping at the grass, of having my knees bruised
against rocks, and of thinking every moment that my coat collar must
give way and that I must roll to the bottom of the hill. Zaimes had
hold of that, and Martyn of my arm, and I should say that my flesh
will be black and blue for weeks. I mentally registered a vow that
though I was ready to fight for the Greeks I was not ready, and never
would again undertake to climb among mountains for them. There is a
limit to the endurance of human nature, and the limit was very
distinctly passed upon that occasion. Moreover, my dignity as a man
suffered. I was humiliated at my own helplessness, and was deeply
impressed with the thought that my whole life had been a mistake when
it resulted in my being hauled along by Zaimes, who is a year or two
older than I am, I believe. I made a resolution to practise athletic
exercises, but I am afraid that, like many other good resolutions, it
will be dropped with the memory of that terrible hour.”
“Where are you thinking of landing all these people, Mr. Beveridge?”
“I have not the least idea, Martyn. Where do you think?”
“So that we get rid of them as quickly as possible, sir, it doesn’t
matter in the slightest. There is one thing certain, it will be weeks
before we shall get the decks white again, and I should say that a
thorough fumigation of her from stem to stern will be advisable. I
don’t suppose the British authorities would be grateful to us if we
were to dump them all down in Zante or Corfu, because it is certain
they would have to feed the greater portion of them for a considerable
time. On the other hand, if you land them at any Greek port there is a
very strong risk of their all dying of starvation; the new government
have other things to think about.”
“It is very awkward, Captain Martyn, very awkward,” Mr. Beveridge said
seriously. “However, it is evident that now we have rescued them they
can’t be allowed to starve.”
“There is one thing, father,” Horace put in. “I think that money would
be much better laid out in feeding them than in enabling the
politicians and the Klephts to spend it in gaudy dresses and in
keeping bands of armed ruffians round them.”
“Certainly it would, Horace. As to where they had better be landed, I
should say that we might give them their choice of say four or five
places. It would be much better that they should be divided, as they
would in that way be more likely to get employment than if they were
all turned out at one place. Some might be landed at some of the Greek
islands, some in the Morea, others at Athens, and some, perhaps, in
the Ionian Islands, where they would be under the British flag.”
“I think they would be a deal better off there, father, than in Greece
or the Greek islands, where at present everyone is thinking of war,
and the fields are going out of cultivation. They certainly would do a
great deal better in Corfu, Cephalonia, and the other islands than
they would elsewhere; and if they were landed in small batches they
might find work. I expect most of them have got a little money, and as
living is very cheap, if you were to give them a couple of pounds a
head it would enable them to live a long time while they are looking
for work. Besides, there are committees on those islands for helping
refugees; so I do think it would be better to land all those who have
no friends in Greece, or any particular wish to go there, in our
islands. I should say Zaimes and Marco might go round among them in
the morning and ask if any of them have friends in the Greek islands
or the mainland, and to put it to the others, that though they can be
landed in Greece if they like, they will probably be better off and
certainly much more free from anxiety and danger, in the Ionian
Isles.”
“I think that that would be a very good plan,” Mr. Beveridge said.
“When are you going to get under sail again, Captain Martyn?”
“As soon as I have finished this cup of coffee, Mr. Beveridge, we will
get a boat lowered and find the buoy and pick up the anchor Miller
slipped this morning. I don’t want to lose that, and the chain. As
soon as we have got it on board we will be off. There is not much
breeze here after dark, but we may as well get what benefit we can
from it. I have no fear of the other Turkish frigate looking in here
on her way back; and if she did, now that we have got all our crew on
board, I have no doubt we could give a good account of her. But I want
to be under weigh. There will be no comfort on board till we have got
rid of our passengers. Whereabout do you think the buoy is lying,
Miller?”
“I fancy we were anchored a couple of hundred yards or so farther out,
and a quarter of a mile astern. You know where you landed last night.
You had to march along the beach some little distance before you came
to the path on the hills.”
“That is so, Miller. I am afraid we shall have some little trouble in
finding it. However, we will have a try. It is just eight bells now,
and it won’t be light for another six hours. I don’t want to waste
that time if I can help it.”
“Well, I will take one of the gigs, and Tarleton can take the other.
We will take some blue lights with us, and I expect we shall soon find
it.”
“Very well. Directly you do, hang on to the buoy-rope and get the end
of the chain into your gig. Hail me, and send Tarleton back. We will
get up her anchor at once, and the gig and the long-boat shall tow the
schooner up to you. Then you can pass the end of the chain on board,
and we will get it round the capstan and have the anchor up in no
time. Now, Mr. Beveridge, if you will take my advice you will turn in
at once. You only got a couple of hours’ sleep last night in that
orchard, and have had twenty-four hours’ really hard work.”
“I will take your advice, Martyn;” and Mr. Beveridge touched the
hand-bell beside him. “Marco, you must help me to my cabin, for I am
so stiff I don’t think I could get out of my chair by myself.”
“We will help you in, sir,” Martyn said; and he and Miller raised Mr.
Beveridge from his chair and almost carried him into his cabin. Then
they lit their pipes and went on deck.
The buoy was found after a few minutes’ search, and in another ten
minutes the schooner was under-weigh and stealing out from the land.
“I will take the watch,” Miller said. “You had better all turn in. I
will put a couple of the hands who remained with me at the wheel, and
let all the rest lie down. As they will be on deck one can rouse them
up in a minute if they are wanted.”
The next day the two Greeks went among the fugitives and questioned
the heads of each family as to the number of their party, the means
they possessed, and whether they had any friends in Greece. Most of
them possessed a little money, the proceeds of their last harvest and
vintage, and some eight or ten had sums varying from a hundred to four
hundred pounds, besides the jewels of their females, which, in their
cases, were of considerable value. Some of the poorer ones had
literally nothing beyond the clothes in which they stood and a few
almost worthless trinkets. There were not half a dozen of the whole
number who had friends or connections in Greece. Some thirty of the
unmarried men expressed their desire to join the Greek army and fight
against the Turks; the rest thankfully embraced the offer of being
landed on islands under the protection of the British flag. It took a
whole day to ascertain all these particulars, and on the following day
the exiles were asked to divide themselves into parties according to
the villages from which they came, in order that acquaintances and
relations should be landed together.
When this had been done, Zaimes distributed, in the name of Mr.
Beveridge, to the head of each family a sum amounting to two pounds
for each of its members, except to those whose resources were
sufficient to maintain them for a considerable time.
The wind was very light, and it was six days after they weighed anchor
before they entered the port of Zante. Another week was spent in
landing the fugitives among the Ionian Islands, each party being in
proportion to the size of the island and the facilities of obtaining
employment there. The gratitude of the poor people to Mr. Beveridge,
and indeed to all on board the schooner, was very great, but they were
all much depressed on landing. At first their delight at having
escaped with their lives was unbounded. But as the days went on, and
the feeling that they had lost all else, were separated for ever from
their birthplace and home, and were in future to live among strangers,
overwhelmed them.
Mr. Beveridge went a great deal among them, and endeavoured to cheer
them with the assurance that the war could not last very long, and
that at its termination, whenever that might be, there would certainly
be a general amnesty, and that all fugitives would then be permitted
to return to their homes. He therefore advised them to keep this
always in mind, and to lay by every penny they could spare of their
earnings, so that they would eventually be able to return to Cyprus
and resume their former life. When the _Misericordia_ left Cyprus
there remained on board only some half a dozen families who had
friends in Greece, and the young men who intended to join the Greek
army. Never did a vessel undergo a more thorough washing and cleaning
up than the schooner on her voyage round to Athens. The deck was
scrubbed and holy-stoned twice a day; the lower deck was equally
cleaned, and, in addition, the woodwork received two coats of fresh
paint, after having been thoroughly fumigated.
“The Greeks may have their virtues,” Martyn remarked to Miller, “but
cleanliness on board ship is marked by its absence.”
“There is no doubt about that,” Miller agreed. “I have always heard
that a cargo of Mohammedan pilgrims to Mecca was about the most
painful experience a sailor could have; but I back the Greeks against
them. I don’t think the schooner herself liked it. She seemed to have
lost all her liveliness and to be depressed at being turned into a
human pig-stye. I don’t believe it was worse between decks when she
had a cargo of slaves on board.”
“Mr. Beveridge has just told me,” Martyn said, “that I am to tell the
crew that at the next pay he shall give three pounds a head to each
man as a reward for their work at Cyprus and the inconveniences they
have been since put to.”
“They will appreciate that,” Miller said. “They certainly have been
put about a good deal, and they will be pleased at the recognition of
it as much as with the money. Besides, the same thing may happen
again, and it is a good thing to keep them all in a good humour,
especially as at present there hasn’t been any chance whatever of
prize-money.”
“What are the next orders, sir?” Martyn asked Mr. Beveridge when they
had finished supper.
“There will be nothing particular going on for some time, I should
imagine, Captain Martyn. The Turkish army does not seem to be ready to
advance, and the Greeks are not troubling themselves to get up an army
at all. After the last affair every man made off with the booty he had
gathered to his own village; and there, I am afraid, they are all
likely to stay till a Turkish army invades them. Athens and Nauplia
may hold out for some time longer--for weeks, perhaps, possibly for
months. Therefore, for the present I leave it entirely with you to
cruise where you think best.”
“Then, sir, we will go south. Since we have come out we have not taken
a prize worth having; and I think that as prize-money was certainly
one of the inducements held out to the sailors when they joined, we
might as well try to pick up a few Turkish merchantmen. There is no
doubt that the ships from Smyrna and all the Syrian ports, as well as
from the islands, keep near land, and that even those bound for
Alexandria and the African ports coast round there also. Some of these
no doubt carry rich cargoes, and many will be taking Greek slaves to
Alexandria and Tunis; so we shall be carrying out your object by
releasing them, as well as picking up some prize-money. I think the
men well deserve a little indulgence in this way. Their work has not
been altogether pleasant for some time. They have been turned out of
their quarters, and have had to sleep under the awning forward. I have
heard no grumbling among them, for I am sure they were glad to do all
they could to help the poor creatures we have had on board. Still,
they will be glad of a chance of what they would consider legitimate
business.”
“Very well, Captain Martyn, let it be so. I quite agree with you as to
the excellent conduct of the men. They have certainly had a good deal
of hardship to put up with, for everything has been very uncomfortable
since our visit to Cyprus.”
In a few minutes the boatswain’s whistle was heard, followed by the
tramp of the men round the capstan and the stir of getting up sail.
Then the watch was set, and the schooner sped along under a gentle
breeze towards the south.
For the next two months the _Misericordia_ cruised on the coast of
Syria. Scarce a day passed without some vessel being overhauled. Many
of these were small coasters laden only with grain or other cargoes of
small value. These were permitted to proceed on their way without
interference. Of the larger vessels some contained mixed cargoes. In
the cases where no Greek captives were on board, the valuable portion
of the cargo was transferred to the schooner, and the ship was then
permitted to proceed on her voyage. Where Greek slaves were found on
board, the captain was given the choice of having the vessel burned,
or giving a bond for an amount equal to half her estimated value and
that of the cargo, signed by himself, the representative of the
owners, if there was one on board, and the principal passengers.
These bonds could not, perhaps, have been enforced in any court; but
Mr. Beveridge had confidence in the honesty of the Turks, and in every
case the amounts were duly forwarded to the agents he named. Seven
ships contained valuable cargoes of silks, tobacco, and wine. These
were all bound for Alexandria and Tunis, and carried a considerable
number of Greek women and children, the survivors of massacres in
towns in Asia Minor. In these cases the Turks were all placed in their
boats within two or three miles of land, and the vessels with prize
crews on board were consigned to Greeks at Corinth and Athens, who had
undertaken to act as Mr. Beveridge’s agents, and who were to dispose
of them and their cargoes to Greek merchants.