IN THE HANDS OF THE TURKS
Towards the end of the cruise the schooner had just returned to the
coast of Asia Minor after having run across to Athens and taken on
board the officers and men who had sailed the last prizes taken there.
On the day after they took up their place on their cruising ground
they fell in with a large polacca brig. The vessel mounted ten small
guns, and fought with some obstinacy, and it was not until Martyn
placed the schooner so that she could rake the brig’s decks, which
were crowded with men, that she hauled down her flag.
“Lower two boats, Miller. You take charge of one and Tarleton the
other. By the look of those fellows I don’t believe they are Turks at
all. I believe they are from Algiers or Tunis; pirates at ordinary
times, but who have come here to pick up slaves cheap. They are
treacherous beggars, so be on your guard. There is a very strong crew.
Don’t row alongside till I lay the schooner broadside on.”
In five minutes Miller hailed from the deck of the prize, “You are
right, sir, they are Algerines, and as cut-throat a looking lot as
ever I came across. She is crowded below with Greek women and girls,
and as far as I can see at present she has no cargo of any sort. I
have sent one of the boats for Marco. He can speak to the women, who
are making a fearful hubbub down below.”
“Have you disarmed the crew, Mr. Miller?”
“Mr. Tarleton has just finished that. We have had to knock a good many
of the scoundrels down. They are as savage as wildcats.”
The schooner was brought alongside the polacca and lashed there. The
deck of the prize showed that the fire of the schooner had been
terribly destructive. Over twenty bodies lay scattered about,
principally round the guns.
“Are they all dead?” Martyn asked as he stepped on board.
“They are all dead now, but they were not when we boarded her. But as
they lay there they fired their pistols among us. Two or three
pretended to be dead, and then sprang up, knife in hand, and several
of the men have got nasty cuts; so that was soon put a stop to. Some
of the fellows below made quite a fight of it, and the men had to use
their cutlasses pretty freely. However, they are all disarmed and
bound now. I have no doubt they are Algerine pirates, and deserve to
be hung to the yard-arm every man-jack of them.”
“Have you overhauled the hold yet?”
“Yes, sir. It is filled with these unhappy slaves. She evidently came
merely in ballast, with money to buy them.”
“Well, no doubt these fellows have been pirates, Mr. Miller, but as we
have no means to prove it we must let them go as we have the others,
though it is a nuisance, for they only warn the people at the ports
against us. We won’t put them on the mainland this time, but land them
on one of the little islands. They may be some time in getting a craft
to take them to the mainland, and then they will find it rough work
making along the coast. However, we can settle upon that later. The
first thing to do is to get the decks roughly cleaned and the dead
bodies thrown overboard.”
A dozen men were set to work with mops and buckets, while others
fastened shot to the feet of the Algerines and dropped them overboard.
As soon as this was done Marco was sent below to tell the captives
that they could come on deck.
As the women poured up, looking almost dazed at their sudden release,
and at the bright sunlight after the stifling atmosphere of the dark
hold in which they had been confined for six days, Horace saw one of
them, a woman of some five-and-thirty years of age, to whose side a
girl of fifteen was clinging, looking round with an air of excitement,
in strong contrast to the comparative apathy of the others. She
glanced round at him and the men engaged in tidying up the deck,
and then with a cry sank fainting on the deck. He hurried up to her,
and partly raised her, when he was struck by the cry of the girl, “Oh,
mother, mother!” He looked at her in astonishment.
[Illustration: THE GREEK CAPTIVES ARE BROUGHT ON DECK]
“Are you English?” he exclaimed.
“Yes,” she cried, “we are English; but we have been seized and carried
away by these horrid Turks. Mother said she fancied she heard some
shouts in English, but she thought she must have been mistaken, as
only a Greek came down and spoke to us in the hold, and she did not
think it possible that it could be English. And have you rescued us
out of the hands of the Turks, sir? Mother said they were taking us
away to sell us as slaves.”
“Yes, we have rescued you,” Horace said. “You are free now. If you
will hold your mother’s head for a moment I will fetch the doctor; we
have one on board.”
“If you would get a little water, sir, she will soon come round. She
has fainted several times since we were captured.”
Horace, however, caught sight of Macfarlane.
“Doctor, here is an English lady among the captives. She has fainted.
Please see to her. I will run to get some water;” and he sprang over
the bulwark on to the deck of the schooner.
“Bring some brandy with you too,” Macfarlane said as he hurried to the
side of the fainting woman.
Horace rushed down to the cabin, and returned with a jug of water, a
decanter of brandy, and a tumbler. The doctor sprinkled some water on
the lady’s face, poured a few drops of spirits between her lips, and
in a minute or two she opened her eyes.
“It is all right now, madam,” he said as she looked round in a
confused way. “You are safe among friends and British sailors.”
“Thank God for His mercies!” she murmured, while tears fell down her
cheeks. “It seems almost too great happiness to be true.”
In a few minutes she was well enough to be assisted down to the cabin
of the schooner, where she was left to the care of her daughter for a
time. Half an hour later she was able to relate her story to Mr.
Beveridge. She was, she said, the wife of an English merchant at
Smyrna. They lived a short distance out of the town, and had, since
the troubles began, gone but little abroad, for although it was only
the Greeks who had been involved in the massacre that had taken place
there some months before, there was a good deal of hostility upon the
part of the lower class of the population against all Christians. One
evening she had been with her daughter in the garden, her husband
being engaged till late at his business in the town. It was just
getting dark, and she was about to re-enter the house, when five or
six ruffians of the lowest class rushed into the garden, seized her
and her daughter in spite of their shrieks, threw thick cloths over
their heads, and then carried them away. They were taken for some
distance, when they stopped, and she heard an animated conversation
and the clink of money. Then they were placed in a boat, and presently
carried up on to the deck of a ship and taken below.
When their mufflings were removed they found they were in the hold of
a vessel with a large number of Greek captives. She endeavoured in
vain to make herself understood by the sailors who came below, and
who, she perceived at once, were not Turks. She told them that she was
English, and that her husband would pay a large sum if she and her
daughter were set on shore unharmed. No attention was paid to her
entreaties, but on her persisting she was brutally knocked down, and
in a short time a man, who was evidently an officer, came down and
forced them both to take off their European dresses and put on others
that some of the Greek women were ordered to hand over to them. It was
now evident to her that they had been seized by some of the ruffians
of the town and sold to the Algerines, who were in no way particular
as to the nationality of their slaves, and that they were destined to
be sold in the slave-market of either Tunis or Algiers.
A few hours after they were taken on board they heard the anchor run
up, and could soon tell by the ripple of the water against the planks
that they were under weigh. All hope now left them, and they had
passed a terrible six days, overcome by despair, and half suffocated
by the foul air of the hold. Hope had again sprung up when a gun was
fired overhead, and it was soon evident that the vessel was engaged in
an encounter with an enemy. At last the firing ceased, then there was
a sound of shouting and the clashing of swords on the deck above their
heads. Presently the hatchways had been opened and a Greek had come
down and told them that the vessel had been captured from the Turks,
and that they were free. She fancied that she heard English voices,
but until she had reached the deck and saw the faces and uniforms of
the sailors, she thought that she must be mistaken. After that she
remembered no more until she heard the doctor’s voice.
“I am rejoiced indeed that I have been enabled to save you and your
daughter from the horrors of slavery,” Mr. Beveridge said. “We have
had the pleasure of rescuing many hundreds of Greek women and children
from the hands of the Turks, but I never expected to find a
countrywoman among them. This cabin will be at your disposal, except
that we must, I fear, take our meals here. The cabin adjoining will be
wholly yours. In the course of a week I hope to land you at Corfu,
thence you will be able to write to your husband and arrange either
for joining him again at Smyrna, or taking a passage for England,
which would, I should think in the present state of things, be the
wisest course. My purse will be entirely at your disposal. I am the
owner of this schooner, which is called the _Misericordia_, and
although we fight under the Greek flag, and have come out to assist
them to obtain their independence, we are principally devoting
ourselves to saving the unhappy victims of this war.”
The lady, whose name was Mrs. Herbert, expressed her deep gratitude,
and Mr. Beveridge at once took possession of Miller’s cabin, as the
lieutenant would, he had no doubt, remain in charge of the prize. When
the capture was made, the schooner was some eighty miles to the east
of Rhodes, and after talking the matter over with Miller, Martyn
decided to land the Algerines on Caxo, an islet lying some fifty miles
to the south-west of Rhodes. Miller and Tarleton were for the present
to continue on board the prize. The prisoners, forty-eight in number,
were transferred into the schooner. The next evening they arrived off
Caxo, where the Algerines were landed in boats. Martyn then went on
board the polacca.
“I have been thinking, Miller, that as we seem to have frightened all
the Turks into remaining in port for the present, I will leave you and
Tarleton on board the polacca, and give you twenty men and let you
cruise on your own account, while we take these women and children
round to the Ionian Isles. We will shift two of the eighteen-pounders
on board this craft. No one will suspect you, and you will have a good
chance of picking up some more prizes, while the sight of our white
sails sends everything running into port as far off as they can be
seen. We can rendezvous here again this day fortnight.”
“I should like that very much,” Miller said, “and I think it is a
capital plan. I must ask Mr. Beveridge to let me have Marco, or I
shall have no means of making myself understood either by Turk or
Greek.”
A fortnight later the schooner returned to the island. She had had
rough weather for the last three days of her voyage, but the sky had
now cleared again.
“There is the island,” Martyn said, as Horace came up at six o’clock
in the morning to take charge of the watch, for he had now command of
the starboard watch, and Tom Burdett had the port. “There is the
island, but there is no sign of the polacca yet. I wonder Miller is
not here first. If we had been having calms I should not have been the
least surprised at his not turning up, but with this strong southerly
wind there is no reason why he should not have been here. Go up to the
main-top, Horace, and take a look round.”
But Horace could see no sail in sight.
“You are not uneasy about Miller surely,” Mr. Beveridge said at
breakfast, seeing that Martyn was not in his usual spirits.
“Well, I am rather uneasy, sir. Miller would be more likely to be a
day too soon than too late, and with the wind from the south he could
have calculated his time here from wherever he happened to be, within
an hour or two. The wind has been strong with us, and for aught I know
it may have been blowing a gale more to the east. We don’t know much
about the sailing qualities of the polacca, certainly she was very
light in ballast, and if she has been caught off a lee shore in a
heavy gale she may not have been able to claw off, especially if she
happened to be embayed when it came on. Of course we must give him
twenty-four hours more, but if he does not come then we will shape our
course north-east and cruise along the coast; as we get eastward we
may pick up some fishing craft or small coaster and hear what the
weather has been there, possibly even get news of the polacca. If
Miller gets here after we have left, he will guess what course we have
taken. Very likely he will land a boat and learn that we have been
here, and the course we took when we sailed away, and would then be
guided by circumstances. At any rate, if nothing has happened to him,
we are sure to meet sooner or later.”
“Do just as you think best, Captain Martyn. I most sincerely trust
that there are no grounds for your uneasiness. Hitherto everything has
gone well with us, and it would be terrible indeed if anything should
have happened to our two friends and so many of our brave fellows.”
The day passed slowly. A look-out was kept in the top, but until the
sun went down no sail was seen above the horizon. The crew shared the
anxiety of their captain, and gathering in groups, discussed what
could have occurred to prevent their consort arriving at the
rendezvous.
“I don’t believe as the Turks have caught them,” one of the sailors
said. “You won’t never gammon me into taking in such a yarn as that. I
don’t believe as there is a Turk living would get the weather gauge of
Lieutenant Miller. As to tempests, that is different. We don’t care
for tempests one way or the other on board the schooner, but then she
is a craft such as you don’t see twice in a v’yage round the world. If
they had been in her I shouldn’t have felt noways uneasy; but seeing
as how they are in a outlandish brig whose ways they don’t understand,
it may be that if they was caught off a lee shore by a heavy gale,
even the first lieutenant with our men at his back couldn’t get her
out of the mess.”
“I said all along,” another sailor put in, shaking his head, “as there
was bad luck coming. Three days ago I dreamed of a black cat, and
everyone as knows anything knows as there ain’t nothin’ more unlucky
to dream about than a black cat.”
“Surely, Bill,” another said, shaking his head gravely.
“Well, mates, it is my opinion,” Tom Burdett said gruffly, “as there
is something in dreams, but in nine cases out of ten it is something
as has gone afore and not what comes after. I know once when I came
back from a v’yage I had written a letter to tell my old woman what
time I should arrive. I reckoned to be in to dinner. Well, the coach
broke down and I did not get in till nine o’clock. The old woman had
made a plum-duff pretty nigh as big as my head, knowing as I was fond
of it, and she was in such a taking at my not having been in to eat it
at dinner that I sat down and I finished that there pudding cold for
supper. Well, I dreamt of about ten million black cats and about as
many sharks mixed up together, but if you will believe me nothing came
of it; and ever since that I have held to the opinion that when you
have a bad dream, what you have got to think about when you wake ain’t
what it means in the future, but what you have been having for supper.
“Now, I expect if Bill there was to turn his mind back he would
remember that the night as he had that dream, he had been filling
hisself up with fruit or such like trash afore he turned in. I don’t
say as nothing has happened to Lieutenant Miller and our mates, but I
am cocksure as that black cat Bill said he dreamt on hadn’t nothing to
do with it either way. Why, bless me, in my village there is hundreds
of women as thinks of nothing but dreams and tokens. It is no matter
what you dream of, they have got a ’terpretation of it, and if the
’terpretation happens to be a bad one they bother their husbands and
brothers and sons, as the case may be, not to put to sea, and there is
many a good fisherman whose cupboard is bare half the year, through
listening to them. I may have my ideas as to whether harm are come to
that polacca or not, but if every seaman on board the ship was to
dream of a black tom-cat and his wife and family, it wouldn’t make not
so much as a shade of difference, in my opinion.”
Martyn did not wait for daylight, but when the middle watch was
relieved sail was made, and the schooner bore away to the north-east.
Land was sighted about four o’clock, and by nightfall they were
coasting along at the distance of about a mile. When it became dark
they stood on and off the shore, as Martyn wished to examine every
inlet and bay as they went on. As soon as it was daylight the schooner
proceeded on her way. The sails of several craft were made out seaward
during the course of the day, but none of these resembled the canvas
of the polacca, and attention was concentrated upon the shore, every
rock being closely scanned with glasses, and a sharp look-out kept for
signals of any kind.
In the evening a small fishing-boat was overhauled as it made its way
into a village. The fishermen were interrogated by Zaimes, who
understood a little Turkish. They had seen nothing of any craft
answering to a description of the polacca. Interrogated about the
weather, they replied that the storm four days before had been an
exceptionally severe one, coming on very suddenly and blowing with
tremendous force for some hours.
The next morning they were at the mouth of the Gulf of Adalia.
“If Miller has gone to grief anywhere,” Martyn said to Horace, “it is
as likely as not to be somewhere in this bay. He might very well have
been cruising about in here to pick up anything coming out of Adalia,
which is the principal port along this part of the coast. It is a
large bay, you see, and if he happened to be well up it when he was
caught in that sudden gale it is probable enough that he would not be
able to beat out in that craft. I see on the map there are three or
four small towns between this Cape and Adalia. I don’t want to show
ourselves inside the cape, for the probability is the schooner would
be recognized directly. What I think will be the best plan would be
for you and Zaimes to take one of the boats and coast along close in
to the cape. There is a place called Grambusa a mile or two around the
corner, and another place called Yanar a little farther on. I want you
either to board a fishing-boat and find out whether they have news of
a wreck between this and Adalia, or have heard of any Greek or
European prisoners being brought there from farther east. If you can’t
succeed in getting hold of a fishing-boat, Zaimes might land and try
to pick up the news at some cottage in the outskirts of the village.
There are Greeks in all these sea-side villages, for most of the
fishing is in their hands, and though in the towns there were
massacres I don’t suppose they would be disturbed in quiet villages
where they had been settled for generations.”
Zaimes was summoned, and agreed at once to land, as both Martyn and
Horace were of opinion that there was more probability of their
getting trustworthy information that way than from fishermen, who
would be scared at finding their boat suddenly overhauled.
Accordingly, taking a gig with six men Horace and Zaimes started for
the shore, while the schooner turned her head west.
“I shall cruise backward and forward,” Martyn said. “I sha’n’t go more
than four miles from the cape; so when you come out again you will
only have to lie on your oars till I come back for you.”
They rowed direct to shore, crept along close to it till they saw the
village half a mile ahead, and then rowed in and landed Zaimes. He was
absent an hour, and his walk assured Horace that he had bad news even
before he reached the side of the boat.
“I am afraid you have bad news, Zaimes.”
Zaimes shook his head. “Very bad; it could hardly be worse. There are
several Christians in the village, and I learned from them that four
days ago a brig that was caught in the storm was driven ashore close
to Adalia. It was found that she was a Turkish vessel which had been
captured by pirates. The people would have torn them to pieces, but
the pasha, who had come down to the shore with a body of troops to try
and save those on board the ship when she was seen to be driving
ashore, protected them from the mob and lodged them in prison. They
say that he has sent off to Smyrna, where the governor of Anatolia
resides, to ask for instructions, and it is expected that orders will
come for their execution in a day or two.”
“Stretch to your oars, men,” Horace said. “The others have been
wrecked and captured by the Turks, and the sooner we are on board with
the news the better.”
The men bent to their oars and made the boat fly through the water,
and when they rounded Cape Khelidonia they saw the schooner a quarter
of a mile away in the act of going about. They were seen almost as
soon as they caught sight of her, and she remained thrown up in the
wind until they got alongside. Martyn and Mr. Beveridge were both on
deck, and as soon as Zaimes had told his story they went down into the
cabin for a consultation.
“What on earth is to be done?” Martyn said; “Adalia is a large town.
Zaimes says there are troops there, likely enough a whole regiment. It
would be hopeless to try to attack it with thirty men. The only thing
I can see at present would be for us to sail right in, anchor off the
town, and threaten to bombard it with red-hot shot if they don’t give
up the prisoners. The objection is that they are likely to have some
batteries there, and in that case we might get the worst of it.
Besides, it is likely enough that they might hang Miller and the rest
of them at the first shot we fired.”
“No, that is not to be thought of,” Mr. Beveridge said. “It seems to
me that we might anchor within sight of the place, send a boat ashore
with a white flag, and offer to pay any ransom they might fix for the
prisoners. I would rather pay ten thousand pounds than that harm
should come to them. What do you think, Horace?”
“If we could have got at the pasha before he sent off to Smyrna that
might have done, father; but having once referred the case to Smyrna,
I am afraid he might consider it too risky to let them go. But we
might try that if everything else fails.”
“But what else is there, Horace?”
“Well, I should say, father, the best thing would be to land Zaimes
and myself again. He has already made some acquaintances in the
village here, and no doubt they could rig us both up in dresses like
their own. Then we could go boldly on to Adalia, find out exactly how
things stand, what sort of a place they are imprisoned in, how strong
is the guard, and how close the barrack of the troops is to the
prison. I should suggest that you sail away west, so that if, as it is
likely enough, the schooner has been noticed by any of the peasants in
the villages scattered about among the hills and word sent to Adalia,
the report may also go that it has sailed right away. Then you should
capture a small Turkish craft; a large fishing-boat would do. Leave
ten men on board the schooner, and sail in the prize nearly up to
Adalia. If you anchor, say a couple of miles this side of the town,
and hoist a little flag, say a red flag over a white, to your
mast-head we should recognize you and come down to the beach.
“If it is in the daytime you will make us out with your glasses easily
enough, and send a boat ashore for us. If it is nighttime we will
empty out a little powder, moisten it, and flash it off; then you can
send ashore for us. I should order the schooner to come every night,
keeping three or four miles off shore, sailing up nearly to Adalia,
and then returning so as to be round the cape again before daylight.
In that way we could communicate with her and go on board again when
we liked. Till we examine the place there is no saying whether there
is a possibility of rescue or not. If we find that there is no
possibility of anything being done in that direction we can embark on
board the schooner again, and carry out the plan you suggested: anchor
off Adalia, and send in to offer a ransom, with the alternative that
if it is not accepted we will bombard the place about their ears. In
that way, you see, we shall anyhow lose nothing by this expedition of
Zaimes and myself ashore.”
“I think your plan is an excellent one, Horace,” Martyn said, and Mr.
Beveridge equally approved of it.
“I don’t think there will be any great danger about it, Martyn. There
seems no reason why any suspicion should fall upon him and Zaimes if
they are dressed in the same way as the Greeks in these villages.”
“No, I don’t see why there should. Of course they will only speak with
other Greeks. I certainly think the plan of our getting hold of a
small native craft and anchoring near the town is a capital one. It
will save a great deal of time, for it is somewhere about fifty miles
from the cape to the town, and it would, in fact, save a whole day,
as, if they come off to us in the evening we could do what there is to
do that night, whereas, if they had to walk all the way down the coast
to the cape and come on board there it would be too late to do
anything that night, and we should have to wait until the next.”
Zaimes was called in, and eagerly embraced the proposal when it was
explained to him. He was passionately fond of his brother, from whom
he had never been separated, and was ready to dare anything to attempt
his rescue. It was agreed they had better wait till dark before they
landed. Accordingly the schooner sailed west for some hours and did
not return to the cape until after darkness had fallen. Then Zaimes
and Horace were landed, and as soon as the boat returned the schooner
again sailed away. Before leaving the ship Horace had dressed himself
as a Greek, and on landing they walked to the village.
“You had best remain outside for a few minutes, Mr. Horace,” Zaimes
said, “while I see the man I conversed with this morning. I told him
then that my brother was on board the polacca that was wrecked, and
that I should endeavour to get the ear of some person of importance at
Adalia. He said that he was sure that I could do nothing, but anything
he could do to help me he would, for his people came years ago from
Naxos, which, as you know, is our native place. I will just go in
first to see if he is alone and to tell him that I have a friend with
me. As soon as I see that he is in the same mood I will call you in.”
In three or four minutes the door of the cottage opened again and
Horace was called in.
“This is the young friend who accompanies me,” Zaimes said to the man.
“He is not a relation, but he has been with my brother ever since he
was born, and is willing to join me in the effort to save him.”
“It is quite hopeless,” the peasant said. “You are only risking your
lives. Still, that is your business. You are ready, you say, to buy of
me two suits of our clothes. I have one suit belonging to my son, who
is at present away in a coasting ship, and I have a suit of my own
that I can let you have.”
Zaimes and Horace had both brought on shore a considerable amount of
gold stowed in belts beneath their clothes, in case they should find
any opportunity of bribing a prison official, and had in their pockets
an ample sum for any ordinary expenditure. As the peasant only asked
about three times the amount which the clothes would cost new, they
paid for them without bargaining, and at once put them on.
“I have a brother at Adalia,” the man said, well pleased with the
bargain he had made; “and if you go to him and say that you come from
me, his brother Alexis, of this village, I am sure he will be glad to
lodge you, especially when you tell him that you too belong to Naxos.”
After receiving instructions as to how to find the man’s brother in
Adalia they started at once upon their journey. They lay down for
three hours in the middle of the night in a wood, and entered Adalia
at eight o’clock in the morning. They went straight to the address the
peasant had given them. It was a small house with but two rooms, and
its master was a cobbler. As soon as Zaimes mentioned his brother’s
name, and said that they were ready to pay for the accommodation, the
shoemaker agreed at once to receive them. He was a chatty fellow, and
was very anxious to hear news about affairs in Greece, when they told
him that they had but lately arrived from there.
“Now,” he said, “what is your business? Of course I can see that you
do not belong to us. You are from Naxos, as you say; I notice a few
turns of speech such as my father used to use. But what have you come
here for? and why have you bought my brother’s clothes from him, for I
recognized them directly you came in? I like to know things, not
because I am inquisitive, but because I do not want to have the
pasha’s executioner suddenly coming in at the door and taking off my
head, without even explaining the reason why.”
“I am what I told you, a Greek of Naxos,” Zaimes said; “and as I
explained to your brother, I have a brother who is one of the crew of
that ship that was wrecked here six days ago; and I have come to see
whether, by greasing the palms of some of the officials, I can manage
to get him out.”
“That you can’t,” the man said decidedly. “If he were in the civil
prison it might be done; but the pasha, guessing perhaps that many of
us Christians would sympathize with them, or possibly having an idea
that the mob might rise, handed them over to the soldiers, and they
are confined in a room in the military prison in the centre of the
barracks, where there are lots of sentries. The gates have been
closed since they were taken there, and no civilian is allowed to
enter under any pretence. So you see there is no bribing to be done.
Of course the sentries are changed frequently. There is no knowing
what officer has the prisoners specially under his charge. And even if
he were bribed, there would be no getting them past the sentries. So
you can give up the idea altogether of getting your brother out.”
“How long does it take for a messenger to go from here to Smyrna?”
Zaimes asked, with a slight glance at Horace to show that he was
changing the conversation purposely.
“By ordinary travelling some two weeks; but a mounted messenger, with
relays of horses, can do it in four days.”
“Then in another three days the answer may come from Smyrna?”
“That is so. I wonder myself that the pasha took the trouble of
sending to the governor of Anatolia, instead of hanging the prisoners
at once.”
“I suppose he thought that the governor might like to have them sent
to him, so that he could forward them to Constantinople.”
“Are you thinking of delaying the messenger’s return? That might be
done, you know.” And the man drew his finger across his throat
significantly.
“I don’t see that the delay would be of any use,” Zaimes replied. “If
there is no chance of getting my brother out, it matters not whether
the messenger arrives to-day or a fortnight hence. However, it is a
matter that may be worth thinking over later. At any rate we will go
out and have a look at the barracks. Will you go with us? I am not
without money, and can make it well worth your while to aid us by your
advice.”
“I am ready enough,” the man said. “Trade is dull, and a man must
live; and besides, I would gladly save a Christian and a native of my
own island from the Turks.”
“I would not trust him too far,” Zaimes said in an undertone to
Horace when the man went into the apartment behind to speak to his
wife. “He is now inclined to help us, especially if he thinks that he
will be well paid for it. But we had better not let him know anything
of our plans. When he saw there was danger, what with fear as to his
own safety and the hope of a bigger reward than he could expect to get
from us, he might decide to turn traitor. We had better let him
suppose that we have given up all hope.”
“I agree with you, Zaimes. His hint about the messenger may be a
useful one. I don’t mean, of course, that we should cut the poor
beggar’s throat; but we might bind him and fasten him up for a few
days if we find there is need of time to make our preparations.”
“I am afraid time will not help us,” Zaimes said. “The fellow can have
no motive for lying; and if what he says is a fact, I don’t see a
shadow of a chance of our getting them out, even if we had all the
crew of the schooner here.”
“We shall know more about it when we have seen the place, Zaimes. I
expected they would be securely locked up, and it is not much worse
than I looked for. It is hard if we can’t hit on some plan for getting
them out.”