FIRE-SHIPS
The time passed slowly as they were waiting for the attack by the
Turkish boats. The men muttered and growled to each other at the
delay. In order to give them something to do, Miller sent all those
who were not stationed at the guns down below to fetch up a number of
32-pound shot and place them in the racks, and some of the men were
told off to jump up on to the rail as soon as the boats came
alongside, and to throw the shot over the top of the boarding-netting
down into the boats.
“I wish it was not so confoundedly dark, Miller, and that we could
make the fellows out,” Martyn said.
“I have got rockets and blue lights, sir. Shall I send a rocket up?
They are sure to find us, so we lose nothing by showing them where we
are.”
“Yes, they are sure to find us. I don’t like their being such a long
time in getting to us.”
“They do come wonderfully slow,” Miller agreed.
“Do you know, Miller, I have been thinking for some time that there
must be some cause for it, and the only reason I can see is that they
may be towing.”
“By Jove, so they may! I did not think of that. It will be awkward if
we have got a ship to fight as well as the boats.”
“Very awkward. Send up a rocket, we may as well settle the question.
Pass the word round for the men to train their guns as nearly as they
can in the direction in which we can hear the oars, and to fire when
they get light.”
A minute later a rocket shot up in the air. As it burst a number of
boats were seen crowded together, towing behind them two large brigs.
There was a moment’s pause while the men at the guns adjusted their
aim, then the pivot-gun roared out, and the four on the broadside
followed in quick succession. The distance was about six hundred
yards, and the crashing of wood, followed by a chorus of shouts and
cries, arose as the storm of grape swept down upon the boats.
“Load again, lads, as quick as you can,” Martyn shouted. “Show a
couple of blue lights, quarter-master. Boatswain, load the pivot with
ball, and fire as fast as you can at the brigs; never mind the boats,
we will attend to them.”
The blue lights were lit and a rocket sent up, so as to burst over the
enemy, and again a broadside of grape was poured in, while a shot from
the pivot-gun crashed into the bows of one of the brigs; these had
apparently been lashed together, so that the boats could tow them on a
broad front. A confused din came across the water; shouts, cries, and
orders mingled together. As far as could be seen everything was in
confusion. Some of the boats had sunk, and the occupants were being
pulled on board of the others. Some had thrown off their tow-ropes and
were heading for the schooner, others lay helpless in the water.
[Illustration: REPELLING THE TURKISH BOARDERS]
“Keep the rockets going, quarter-master,” Martyn said; “the more light
we have the better. Horace, tell the men at the aft and forward guns
to aim at the boats rowing towards us; let the two midship guns keep
on at the crowd in front of the brigs. They have sent a pretty strong
force against us. There must have been fully twenty of these boats at
first; there are about sixteen of them now, and they are all large
ones. Depress the guns on the other broadside as far as they will go,
Mr. Tarleton, we shall have some of them round on that side presently.
Cant them down as much as you can.”
Two more of the boats towing were disabled by the next broadside, and
the rest, throwing off the ropes, rowed straight for the schooner.
“Aim steadily, men!” Martyn shouted. “Pick out your boats before you
fire.”
Two of the boats were sunk as they approached, three others fell
behind crippled; but the others, with loud shouts, made straight at
the vessel. As they approached her they opened a fire of musketry,
which was answered by the rifles and muskets of the sailors. As they
swept up alongside shots were heaved down into them, and the crashing
of planks told that they had done their work. The guns on the
starboard side were silent at first, as the first boats came up so
close alongside that they could not reach them; but those that
followed were further out, and two were instantly sunk.
As the Turks strove to climb up the side and cut their way through the
boarding-netting, they were shot down by pistols or run through by
boarding-pikes. A few managed to climb over or force their way
through the netting, but these were cut down before they could obtain
a footing on deck. For ten minutes the fight went on by the flare of
the blue lights, and then eight Turkish boats, which alone floated,
rowed away, crowded with the survivors from the others. A loud cheer
broke from the schooner.
“Never mind them, my men,” Martyn shouted; “load with ball now and aim
at the brigs.”
These had taken no part whatever in the fight. Left by the boats head
on to the schooner, and almost without steerage-way, they had in vain
endeavoured to get broadside on so as to bring their guns to bear. The
lashings had been cut, and the rudders been put in opposite
directions; they had drifted a little apart with their heads outwards,
and as the boats rowed away from the schooner they opened fire with
their bow-guns. The boatswain, with the men working the pivot-gun, had
from the first continued steadily at their work regardless of the din
around them, Horace taking his place beside them, in order to call
them off to aid in repelling the Turks should they gain a footing
anywhere on the deck. When the boarding-netting had been triced up,
a gap had been left opposite the gun, and the fire at the brigs had
been kept up without intermission, every shot raking one or other of
them fore and aft.
As soon as the boats were fairly away, the guns from the starboard
side were run across, the spare ports being thrown open, and the eight
guns all brought into play to aid the pivot-gun. As soon as the boats
reached the brigs they took shelter behind them, and in a short time
both craft began to swing round, their guns firing as they were
brought to bear.
“Eight guns a side,” Miller said; “but it would not matter if there
were twenty, if they did not aim better than that;” for not a single
shot had struck the schooner. One or two passed overhead, but the rest
went wide.
Instead of the brigs being left broadside on as they had expected,
their heads swept round until they were stern on to the schooner, then
they began slowly to glide away.
“They have had enough of it,” Miller exclaimed, and another cheer
broke from the schooner.
“Cease firing!” Martyn said. “If they leave us alone we are content to
leave them alone; they must have suffered tremendously as it is.”
An examination was now made as to the casualties. Four men had been
killed, all were shot through the head, as they had fired over the
bulwark at the boats as they came alongside; six others were wounded
more or less seriously, by pistol shots that had been fired by the
Turks as they tried to climb on board--a small total indeed,
considering the nature of the attack. When morning dawned the brigs
could be made out near the opposite shore, they were still being towed
by the boats; but as they were looking at them, sail was made as a
light breeze sprang up. When the wind reached them, the mainmast of
one was seen to go over the side, having doubtless been wounded by the
raking fire, and carrying in its fall the fore top-gallant mast and
topmast. A quarter of an hour later the breeze reached the schooner.
The decks had been already washed down, and everything had resumed its
ordinary aspect, and before getting up the anchor the four men who had
fallen, and who had already been sewn up in hammocks, were committed
to the sea, Mr. Beveridge reading the funeral service over them. Mr.
Macfarlane reported that the wounded were all likely to do well.
As soon as the fight was over the women and children, who had been
suffering agonies of terror while it had been going on, had been
brought out from the hold and allowed to sleep as usual on the lower
deck, which had been entirely given up to them; and when the schooner
got under weigh they were permitted to come up on deck. Although they
had been assured by Zaimes and his brother that all danger was over,
their first action on coming up was to look round timidly, and they
were evidently greatly relieved when they saw that the sea was clear
of enemies. They looked much surprised at seeing everything going on
as usual, and at the absence of any signs of the terrible conflict
they had heard raging round them the night before--the bullet marks in
the bulwarks being the only evidences of what had passed. It had
already been decided to sail for Greece in the course of a day or two,
as they had as many fugitives on board as they could carry, and it was
now determined to do so at once. As they sailed west they made out a
large number of ships approaching, and were soon running through the
Greek fleet.
“I am sorry we left now,” Miller said; “we shall miss a fight.”
“I expect we shall be back in time,” Macfarlane remarked; “the Greeks
are in no great hurry to fight. It is two months since they were sent
for, when the landing was made at Chios; and after taking all this
time to make up their minds about it, they are likely to take a few
days before they make up their minds to have a tussle with the Turks.
The Greek mind, I observe, is full of contradictions; sometimes,
especially if there is plunder to be got, their eagerness is just
wonderful; but when it is a question of fighting, their caution is
very remarkable.”
Miller laughed. “I daresay you are right, doctor, and I don’t feel at
all confident that there will be a fight. So far the Greek fleet has
done nothing, and their only idea of fighting a Turkish ship has been
to launch a fire-ship against it.”
“Fire-ships are no good against enemies who know what they are doing,”
Martyn said. “A couple of boats can always tow a fire-ship clear; but
the Turks are lubberly sailors, and these fire-ships seem almost to
paralyse them.”
“I can’t make it out,” Miller put in, “why the Turks should
manœuvre their vessels so badly, considering that their sailors are
for the most part Thessalians, drawn from the Mohammedan sea-side
villages, Albanians by blood, just as the Hydriots are.”
“They want British officers,” the doctor said. “Officers are always
the weak point with the Turks. There are no braver soldiers in the
world when they are well led. But they never are well led now; their
pashas seem to be chosen for stupidity and obstinacy. It is a great
pity that we did not make up our minds to take Turkey instead of
India. Eh, man! we should have made a grand country of it when we had
once got it into order.”
“We shall make a grand country of India some day, doctor. I have never
been out there; but there is no doubt that just what you say about the
Turks is true of the natives there, and they make very good soldiers
when they have British officers to lead them.”
“So they say, Captain Martyn: but you must remember that they have
only fought against other natives without British officers to lead
them. We must wait till we see them fighting against European troops
of some other nation before we can say that they are fine soldiers.”
“If we wait till then, we are likely to wait a long time, doctor.
Besides, you must remember they did fight well against the French
troops under Dupleix.”
“So they did, but not till they got the idea that our soldiers were
better than the French. But, as you say, it will be a long time before
they get the chance again. The French are no longer a power in India;
nor are the Dutch; and the distance is too long for either ever to
send out an army big enough to wrest India from us; and as to marching
by land--well, it could not be done.”
“The next day they reached the port of Athens, and got rid of their
cargo of passengers, and then, with every sail set, hurried back to
Chios, touching at Psara on the way, as, from the direction in which
the Greeks were steering, they thought it probable they might have
made a stay there. A small Psariot vessel had just come in from the
fleet, and Horace, who had gone ashore with Marco, learned that
Miaoulis, the Greek admiral, had coasted along the north of Chios, and
that the Turks had at once weighed anchor and gone out to engage him.
The Greeks, not caring to fight in the narrow waters, where their
power of manœuvring would be thrown away, had stood out, and an
engagement had taken place at the mouth of the Gulf of Smyrna.”
“We fought most valiantly,” the Greek said, “and it was a drawn
battle.”
“But what was done?” Horace asked. “How many vessels were sunk on each
side?”
“Oh, there were no vessels sunk. They fired at us, and we fired at
them.”
“Were there many killed and wounded?”
“No; I don’t think there were any killed and wounded. You see we
manœuvred round the Turks. We could not go near, because their guns
were much heavier than ours. We sent down a fire-ship among them; but
unfortunately they evaded it, and some of our most daring captains
ventured so close that their ships were struck by the Turkish shot.
Yesterday the combat was renewed again. The cannonading was like
thunder, and this morning we again fought. Then we needed rest, and to
get fresh meat we sailed back.”
Horace had difficulty in restraining his expressions of disgust at the
conduct of the fleet that had, after two months’ delay, at last sailed
to annihilate the Turks; and as they walked back to their boat Marco
poured out, in an undertone, volumes of execrations in choice Greek.
As they reached the schooner the doctor looked over the side. “We are
not too late, Horace; there’s the Greek fleet rounding the point. As
we can’t make out with our glass a shot-hole in their sails or a
splinter on their bulwarks, it is evident that I was right, and that
we are in plenty of time to see the engagement.”
“You are mistaken, doctor,” Horace said as he reached the deck. “There
has been a great naval battle, lasting three days. There are no killed
or wounded; but one or two ships, commanded by daring captains,
ventured within gun-shot of the Turks, and were struck. That is the
exact history of the affair, as I learned it from one of the heroes.”
“Is that really the story you have heard, Horace?” Mr. Beveridge
asked.
“It is, father; almost in the words that it was told to me.”
“I really think,” Martyn said, seeing how depressed Mr. Beveridge
looked at the news, “that much more could hardly be expected from the
Greeks. Their ships are for the most part small, and their metal very
light. They have not the slightest idea of discipline or of working in
concert. A Turkish broadside would sink half a dozen of them if they
ventured to close quarters; and of course their superior seamanship is
not of the slightest avail as long as they fight at a distance.”
“It would avail if they had pluck,” Horace said bitterly. “The English
ships that went out to engage the great galleons of the Spanish Armada
were as inferior in tonnage and in weight of metal as the Greeks are;
but for all that they gave a good account of them.”
“Yes, Horace; but you must remember that the English sailors had been
fighting and thrashing the Spaniards for years before, and had come
almost to despise them; while the Greeks have never fought before,
have no confidence in themselves, and hold the Turks in high respect.”
“You can’t expect,” the doctor put in, “that bulldogs are going to be
manufactured out of mongrels in one generation, Horace. A fighting
race grows up little by little. The Greeks fought just as pluckily in
the old days, against big odds, as we ever did, and may do it again in
time; but they have got to be built up to it.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Mr. Beveridge said. “We keep on forgetting that
the Greeks have been slaves, and that slaves lose all their military
virtues. It was just the same thing with the Britons. Their valour
excited the admiration of Cæsar; but after being under the domination
of the Romans for generations, they completely lost all their manhood,
and fell easy victims to the Saxons. We must not be too hard on the
Greeks, Horace, or expect them to behave as men whose fathers have
been free and independent.”
In the evening Miller went ashore with Mr. Beveridge and had a talk
with some Philhellenes who had joined the expedition. They all agreed
that Miaoulis had manœuvred his ships well, always keeping the
weather-gauge of the Turks; but there was no shadow of discipline
among the ships, and their fire was as wild and inefficient as that of
the Turks, the men loading and firing as quickly as they could, quite
regardless of the direction or distance of their shot, the great part
of which entered the sea half-way between the combatants.
“Kanaris is here,” they said, “and you will see that he at least will
attempt something against the Turks before he is done.”
It was not, however, until fifteen days later that any move was made.
Kanaris had paid a visit to the _Misericordia_, and was greatly struck
by the order and discipline that prevailed.
“Our men will not submit to it, Mr. Beveridge. It is in vain to assure
them that nothing can be done unless we can introduce discipline such
as prevails on ships of war of other nations. Unfortunately they have
been accustomed to another state of things. The sailors are always
paid by a share in the profits of our voyages, and everyone has a say
as to the ports to be visited and the course to be steered. Before any
change is made there is always a general council of all on board, and
the matter is decided by vote. Such being the habit, you can
understand the difficulty of getting these men to submit to anything
like discipline. Another thing is, that the ships belong to private
persons, and not to the state, although they may receive pay from
government. They are therefore very chary of exposing their vessels to
the risk of loss, for which, more likely than not, they would never
receive a penny from the central government, which has plenty of
objects of much greater interest to its members to spend its money
upon. Until some total change takes place in the organization and
manning of our fleet, I can see no hope of any improvement.”
On the 18th of June two ships got up anchor and sailed. On board the
schooner their progress was watched with interest. Kanaris had
confided to Mr. Beveridge that the ships were loaded with
combustibles, and that he was going to attempt to set fire to the
Turkish fleet. The wind was contrary, and the two craft tacked
backwards and forwards off the north of Chios as if intending to beat
up the Gulf of Smyrna. Four hours after they had started the schooner
also got under way, as all were anxious to see what would take place,
and Mr. Beveridge had told Kanaris that he would go within a short
distance of the Turkish fleet and burn a blue light, so that the boats
on leaving the fire-ships could row off to him and be taken back to
Psara.
It was the last day of the Ramazan, and a number of the principal
officers of the Turkish fleet had been invited by the Capitan Pasha to
dine with him on board his flag-ship to celebrate the feast of Bairam.
The night was a dark one, but the whole of the Turkish vessels were
illuminated in honour of the festival, and their outlines were clearly
visible. The _Misericordia_ had entered the northern passage an hour
after nightfall; the two Greek ships being, when last seen, about
three miles ahead. The schooner lay to a couple of miles distant from
the anchorage. They had scarcely done so when they made out the sails
of two vessels between them and the lines of light on the Turkish
war-ships.
“There they go,” Martyn said, “steering straight in. One of them is
making straight for the Capitan Pasha’s own ship. No doubt that is
Kanaris himself. The other is making for that seventy-four that
carries the flag of the Reala Bey. You can tell them by the variegated
lamps along their yards. The Turks evidently have not caught sight of
them yet or they would open fire. On such a dark night as this I don’t
suppose they will make them out till they are close alongside.”
Kanaris, a man of the greatest calmness and courage, was himself at
the helm of his craft. Running straight before the wind, he steered
down upon the eighty-gun ship of the Capitan Pasha. Not until he was
within a ship’s length was he observed, when a startled hail sounded
from the deck of the Turkish ship. Steering straight on he ran his
bowsprit through one of her port-holes. The sailors instantly threw
some grapnels to retain her in her position, and then jumped into
their boat lying alongside. As soon as they did so Kanaris fired his
pistol into the train. The fire flashed along the deck, there were a
series of sharp explosions, and then the flames ran aloft, the
riggings and sails being soaked with turpentine; and Kanaris had
scarcely stepped into his boat before the ship was in a mass of
flames.
Lying to windward of the Turk the flames were blown on to her, and
pouring in at the open port-holes at once set fire to a quantity of
tents stowed on the lower deck, rushed up the hatches, and, mingling
with the flames from the sails which had ignited the awning extending
over the deck, ran up the rigging and spars of the man-of-war. The
most terrible confusion instantly prevailed throughout the ship. The
few boats alongside were sunk by the crowds who leapt into them. The
crews of the ships lying round at once began to haul them farther away
from the blazing vessel, and the boats that were lowered feared to
approach it because of the falling spars and the flames that poured
from the lower port-holes.
In addition to her crew, the soldiers on board, and the Pasha’s
guests, were a great number of prisoners who had been brought off from
the island to be taken to Constantinople, and the shrieks and cries as
they were caught by the flames, or sprang overboard to evade them,
were terrible. Kara Ali himself sprang from the ship into a boat that
approached near enough for the purpose of saving him; but before it
could put off a blazing spar fell on it, and the Capitan Pasha was so
severely wounded that he died shortly after being carried on shore.
His loss was a severe one for the Turks, for he was their most skilful
naval officer. A few of those who leapt overboard were picked up by
boats, or swam to the other ships; but with these exceptions the whole
of those on board the vessel perished. The other fire-ship had been
less calmly and skilfully managed. In his haste and excitement the
commander, after running her alongside the ship of the Reala Bey,
fired the train and made off without attaching her to it, consequently
the fire-ship drifted away without the flames communicating to the
Turk, and burned out harmlessly.
As soon as it was seen that Kanaris had succeeded, a blue light was
burned on board the schooner, and in twenty minutes the two boats
rowed alongside. Not a shot had been fired at either, the Turks being
too much occupied with the danger of fire to pay any attention to
them. Kanaris was heartily congratulated on his success when he
reached the schooner, which at once set sail and was back at Psara in
the morning, where the news of the destruction of the Turkish
man-of-war was received with the wildest enthusiasm.
The Turkish vessels, leaving a strong garrison on the island, sailed
north a few days later. They were pursued by the Greek fleet, which,
however, did not venture to interfere with them, although they stopped
at two ports on the way, and finally anchored under the guns of the
forts of the Dardanelles. The _Misericordia_ took no part in harassing
the Turkish fleet. Martyn had asked Mr. Beveridge’s opinion upon the
subject, he himself being in favour of doing so.
“I think we could give the Greeks a lesson or two in this sort of
thing, sir, and show them what can be done, even against a fleet, by a
craft that means business.”
“I am sure you could do all that, Martyn, but I do not think we should
be justified in running the slightest risk of loss of life among the
men merely for that purpose. We could do no more than the Greeks do
unless we were willing to expose ourselves more. You could not hope
either to capture or sink one of the Turkish ships in the face of
their whole fleet. I know you would give them a great deal of trouble,
but more than that you could not do. When the Greeks show themselves
willing to fight we will fight by their side, but not before.”
They were indeed glad that they so decided, for on the evening before
the Greeks set sail a boat arrived at Psara with six fugitives from
Chios. They reported that the destruction of the Capitan Pasha’s ship
with all on board had brought fresh misfortunes upon the Christians,
for that the Mussulmans, infuriated by the details of the disaster,
had fallen upon the Christians all over the island, even in the
villages where hitherto there had been no trouble.
The second massacre was indeed far more fatal than the first, the
women and children being, as before, spared as slaves, many thousands
being carried away. Small craft from Psara hovered round the island
and succeeded in taking off numbers of fugitives, while the schooner
returned to her cruising grounds between the island and the mainland,
or up the Gulf of Smyrna, where she captured and burnt large numbers
of small craft laden with slaves. They had to make four trips to the
islands to clear her crowded decks of the hapless Chiots.
The news of the massacres of Chios, which, unlike those committed by
themselves, the Greeks spread sedulously over Europe, excited deep and
general horror and indignation. The numbers of those killed or sold
into slavery were never known. The estimates varied considerably, some
putting them down at twenty thousand while others maintained that
those figures could be doubled without exaggeration. It is probable,
however, that they really exceeded thirty thousand.
The details of the terrible massacres, which they learnt from the
women they rescued, aroused among the officers and crew of the
_Misericordia_ a far deeper feeling of enthusiasm for the cause of
Greece than they had hitherto felt. Since they came out their interest
in the cause had been steadily waning. The tales of wholesale and
brutal massacre, the constant violation of the terms of surrender, the
cowardice of the Greeks in action and their eagerness for plunder, the
incessant disputes between the various parties, and the absence of any
general attempt to concert measures for defence, had completely damped
their sympathy for them; but the sight of these hundreds of women and
children widowed and orphaned, and torn away from their native land
and sold into slavery, set their blood boiling with indignation. The
two Greeks took care to translate the narratives of the weeping women
to the sailors, and these excited among them a passionate desire to
punish the authors of these outrages; and had any of the craft they
overhauled made an active resistance little mercy would have been
shown to the Turks. As it was they were bundled headlong into their
boats with many a hearty kick and cuff from the sailors, and the
destruction of their vessels was effected with the alacrity and
satisfaction of men performing an act of righteous retribution.
“The poor creatures seemed terribly cast down,” Martyn said one day at
dinner as they sailed with the last batch of Chiots for Corfu. They
had transported the three previous cargoes to the Ionian Islands, as
the former ones had been most unwillingly received in the Greek ports,
the authorities saying that they had no means of affording subsistence
to the fugitives who were daily arriving. In the Ionian Islands
committees had been formed, and these distributed money sent out from
England for their support, while rations were issued to them by the
British authorities of the islands.
“One can’t wonder at that,” Miller said. “Still, I must say that the
women even at first don’t seem as delighted as one would expect at
getting out of the hands of the Turks.”
“I am not so very sure, Miller, that they are delighted at all,”
Macfarlane said quietly. “You think you are doing them the greatest
service possible, but in my opinion it is more than doubtful whether
they see it in the same light.”
“What! not thankful at being rescued from being sold as slaves to the
Turks?”
“That sounds very terrible, and no doubt it would not be a pleasant
lot for you, seeing that they would set you to work, and your life
would be worse than a dog’s. But you have got to put yourself in the
position of these unfortunate women and girls, and then you would see
that you might think differently about it. To begin with, till now
there has been no animosity between them and the Turks. It is
admitted that the Turks have been gentle masters to Chios, and the
people have been happy, contented, and prosperous. Their misfortunes
have been brought upon them, not by the Turks, but by the Greeks, who
came to the island contrary to their entreaties, plundered and ill
used them, and then left them to the vengeance of the Turks. So if
they have any preference for either, it will certainly not be for the
Greeks.
“As to their being sold as slaves, I do not suppose they view it at
all in the same way we do. They are not going to be sold to work in
the fields, or anything of that sort, and the Turks treat their
domestic slaves kindly. To one of these Chiot girls there is nothing
very terrible in being a slave in the household of a rich Turk. You
know that the Georgian and Circassian girls look forward to being sold
to the Turks. They know that the life at Constantinople is vastly
easier and more luxurious than that at home. I do not say for a moment
that these women would not prefer a life of ease among their own
people and friends. But what is the life before them now?--to have to
work for their own living in the fields, or to go as servants among
Greek and Italian families. A dark and uncertain future. I tell you,
man, we think we are doing them a mighty service, but I doubt whether
there is one of them that thinks so. The Chiots are celebrated for
their docility and intelligence, and these women and children would
fetch high prices in the market, and be purchased by wealthy Turks,
and their lot would be an enviable one in comparison to that which
awaits most of them.
“The word slavery is hateful to us, but it is not so many years since
we were sending people out in hundreds to work as slaves in the
plantations of Virginia. The word slavery in the East has not the same
terror as it has with us, and I doubt if the feelings of a Chiot
peasant girl on her way to be sold are not a good deal like those of a
girl who goes up from a Scotch or English village to Edinburgh or
London, to go into service in a grand family. She thinks she is going
to better herself, to have fine clothes, and to live among fine
people; and, as it turns out, maybe she is better off than she was
before, maybe she is worse.”
“You are a most disagreeable man, Macfarlane,” Martyn said after a
pause. “Here have we been thinking that we have been doing a good
action, and you put us altogether out of conceit with ourselves.”
“We have been doing a good action,” the doctor said. “We have been
acting according to our lights. To us it is an abominable thing that a
Greek woman or child should be sold as a slave to the heathen Turk. I
am only pointing out to you that from their point of view there is
nothing so terrible in their lot, and that we have no reason to expect
any very lively gratitude from them; and that, looking at the matter
only from a material point of view, they are not likely to be
benefited by the change. I know that, if I were a Greek woman, I would
rather be a slave in the family of a rich Turk than working as a
drudge, say, in the family of a Maltese shopkeeper, though, if I were
a Scotch girl, I should certainly choose the other way.”
They all sat silent for a minute or two. The idea was a wholly new one
to them, and they could not deny that, according to the point of view
of these Chiot captives, it was a reasonable one. Mr. Beveridge was
the first to speak.
“What you say has certainly given me a shock, doctor, but I cannot
deny that there is some truth in it. Still, you know there is
something beyond mere material advantages.”
“I do not deny it, sir, and, as I say, we, as Britons and Christians,
feel that we are doing a good work. Still, we can hardly be surprised
that these Chiots naturally view it differently. Their Christianity
is, like that of all Eastern Christians, of a very debased form; and
living so long among the Turks, they have no very great horror of
Mohammedanism. You know, on the mainland, tens of thousands of the
Albanians have become Mohammedans. We think that we are justified in
inflicting what one cannot but see is, from the material point of
view, a distinct injury to these people, because, as Christians, we
feel it is for their moral advantage; but then, that is just the same
feeling that caused the Spaniards to exterminate the natives of the
West Indian Islands who declined to become Christians.”
“Oh, I say, doctor, that is too strong altogether,” Miller exclaimed
indignantly.
“Well, prove it by argument,” the doctor replied calmly. “I am not
saying that from our point of view we are not more than justified. I
am simply explaining why these Chiots do not feel any extraordinary
gratitude to us. We are benefiting them, if they did but know it. We
are saving them, body and soul; but that is not the light in which
they see it.”
“You are right, doctor,” Mr. Beveridge said. “And now you put it
before us, I am really not surprised that these poor creatures do not
feel any very lively gratitude. They are fond of ease and comfort, and
have been accustomed to it, and to them the utter uncertainty of their
life among strangers is not unreasonably more terrible than the
prospects of an easy life as a favoured slave in a Turkish household.
It is sad that it should be so; but it is human nature. Still, the
consideration must not weigh with us in carrying out what we know to
be a good work. We have saved in all more than three thousand souls
from Turkish slavery, and can only trust that in the long run most of
them will recognize the inestimable service we have rendered them.”