THE “MISERICORDIA” AGAIN
Before starting, the disguises of Horace and the doctor were
perfected. They were so bronzed by the sun and air that their skin was
no fairer than that of many Turks of the better class; but it was
thought as well to apply a slight tinge of dye to them, and to darken
the doctor’s eyelashes and eyebrows with henna. The hair was cut
closely off the nape of the neck, below the line to which the turban,
properly adjusted, came down, and the skin was stained to match that
of their faces. The garments they wore formed part of Ahmed’s
wardrobe, and only needed somewhat more careful adjustment than they
had at first received. The ladies came up to bid them farewell; but,
as it had been arranged that in the course of a few days, when inquiry
should have ceased, the bey, with his wife and daughters, should also
proceed to their country residence, they would meet again ere long.
Mourad was to accompany them, and putting a large box on his
shoulders, filled with changes of clothes and other necessaries, he
followed them down the street.
In a short time they were in a busy thoroughfare, the number of people
becoming larger and larger as they went down towards the water.
Janissaries in their showy uniform swaggered along, soldiers of the
line, merchants, and peasants, while _hamals_ staggering along under
enormous burdens swung from bamboo poles, made their way, keeping up a
constant shout to the crowd to clear the road. State functionaries
moved gravely along on their way to the offices of the Porte. Veiled
women, with children in their arms or clinging to them, stopped to
talk to each other in the streets or bargained with the traders at the
little shops. Military officers and Turks of the upper class rode
along on showy horses, prancing and curvetting and scattering the foot
passengers right and left.
Ahmed and his companions kept straight on, paying apparently no
attention to what was going on around them, Ahmed occasionally making
a remark in Turkish, the others keeping silent.
When they reached the water-side a number of boatmen surrounded Ahmed,
who soon found two men whom he had frequently employed. The caique was
brought alongside. Ahmed had already told Horace to step in without
hesitation with his companion, and to take their seats at the bottom
of the boat in the stern, while he and Mourad would sit between them
and the boatmen. The latter took their places, and each seized a pair
of the sculls. These, which were much lighter than the sculls of an
English boat, were round with a long broad blade. They were not in
rollocks, but in a strap of leather fastened to a single thole-pin;
inside this they thickened to a bulk of three or four inches in
diameter, narrowing at the extremity for the grip of the hand. This
thick bulge gave an excellent balance to the sculls, and was rendered
necessary by the fact that the boats were high out of water, and the
length of the sculls outboard disproportionately large to that
inboard.
A few vigorous strokes by the rowers sent the boat out into the open
water. Then the forward oarsman let his sculls hang by their thongs
alongside, took out four long pipes from the bottom of the caique,
filled and lighted them, and passed them aft to the passengers, and
then again betook himself to his sculls. Bearing gradually across they
reached the other side below Scutari, and then kept along the shore at
a distance of a hundred yards from the land. Ahmed chatted to the
oarsman next to him, and to Mourad, occasionally making some remark to
the others in Turkish in reference to the pretty kiosks that fringed
the shore; enforcing what he said by pointing to the objects of which
he was speaking. They assumed an appearance of interest at what he was
saying, and occasionally Horace, who was next to him, talked to him in
low tones in Greek, so that the boatman should not catch the words,
Ahmed each time replying in Turkish in louder tones.
No class of boatmen in the world row with the vigour and strength with
which those of the Bosphorus--who are for the most part Albanians--ply
their sculls, and both Horace and the doctor were struck with surprise
and admiration at the steady and unflagging way in which the men
rowed, their breath seeming to come no quicker, though the
perspiration stood in beads on their brown faces and muscular arms,
and streamed down their swarthy chests, which were left bare by the
open shirts of almost filmy material of snowy whiteness. Once only in
the two hours’ journey did they cease rowing and indulge for five
minutes in a smoke; after which they renewed their labours with as
much vigour as when they first started.
“That is the kiosk,” Ahmed said at last, pointing to one standing by
itself near the water’s edge on a projecting point of land, and in a
few minutes the caique swept in to the stairs. Ahmed had quietly
passed a few small silver coins into Horace’s hand, whispering in
Greek:
“Give them these as you land; an extra tip is always welcome.”
Then he paid the men as he got out, saying to them:
“I expect the ladies in a few days. You had better go up each morning
to the house, and then you can secure the job.”
Horace dropped the coins into the boatman’s hand, with a nod, as he
stepped out, and then they walked up to the house. The boatmen again
lighted their pipes for a smoke before starting back on their long
row. The kiosk was shut up. Mourad opened the door with a key, and
threw the shutters open.
“I wonder you leave the place entirely shut up,” Horace said.
“There is nothing to steal,” Ahmed laughed. “A few mats for the floors
and cushions for the divans. The cooking pots and crockery are locked
up in a big chest; there is little else. There are a few vases for
flowers and other ornaments stowed away in a cupboard somewhere, but
altogether there is little to tempt robbers; and, indeed, there are
very few of them about. The houses are always left so, and it is an
almost unknown thing for them to be disturbed. You see everything is
left clean and dusted, so the place is always ready when we like to
run down for a day or two. The house has not been used much lately,
for my parents and sisters have been two years at Athens, and I have
been frequently away at our estates, which lie some fifteen miles west
of Constantinople. Now we will take a turn round, while Mourad is
getting dinner ready.”
The latter had brought with him, in addition to the box, a large
basket containing charcoal, provisions, and several black bottles.
“There is a village half a mile farther along the shore, where he will
do his marketing to-morrow,” Ahmed had explained as he pointed to the
basket.
The garden was a rough triangle, two sides being washed by the water,
while a high wall running across the little promontory formed the
third side. It was some sixty or seventy yards each way; the house
stood nearly in the middle; the ground sloped down on either side of
it to the water, and was here clear of shrubs, which covered the rest
of the garden, interspersed with a few shady trees. There were seats
placed under these, and a small summer-house, surrounded on three
sides by high shrubs but open to the water, stood at the end of the
point.
“It is a little bit of a place, as you see,” Ahmed said; “but my
mother and the girls are very fond of it, and generally stay here
during the hot season. It is quite secluded, and at the same time they
have a good view of everything going up and down the Sea of Marmora;
and if there is any breeze at all, it sweeps right through the house.”
“It is charming,” Horace said. “With a boat here, one could not want
anything better.”
“We always have a boat, with two men, while we are here,” Ahmed said.
“The two men who rowed us have been with us two or three seasons. My
father often wants to go into Constantinople, and I generally go when
he does. We usually sleep at our house there, and come back the next
evening. If the ladies want to go out while we are away, they can get
a caique at the village.”
After they had taken a turn round the garden they went into the house
again. The principal room on the ground-floor was at the end of the
house, and occupied its full width. The windows extended entirely
round three sides of it, a divan, four feet wide, running below them.
“You see, on a hot day,” Ahmed said, “and with all these windows open,
it is almost like being in the open air; and whichever way the wind
is, we can open or close those on one side, according to its
strength.”
The ceiling and the wall on the fourth side of the room were coloured
pink, with arabesques in white. The windows extended from the level of
the divan up to the ceiling, and were of unpainted wood varnished, as
was the wood-work of the divan. The floor was very carefully and
evenly laid, and the planks planed and varnished. Beyond two or three
little tables of green-painted wood, there was no furniture whatever
in the room. Outside the windows were jalousies or perforated
shutters, which could be closed during the heat of the day to keep the
room dark and cool.
Mourad had already got out the cushions and pillows and spread them on
the divan; had placed a small iron bowl full of lighted charcoal in a
low box full of sand in the centre of the room, and a brass casket
full of tobacco on one of the tables. Half a dozen chibouks, with
amber mouthpieces and cherry or jasmine-wood stems, leant in a corner.
Three of the pipes were soon filled, and a piece of glowing charcoal,
taken from the fire with a pair of small tongs lying beside it, was
placed on each bowl. A few puffs were taken to get the tobacco alight,
then the pieces of charcoal were dropped into the fire again, and
shaking off their slippers they took their seats on the cushions of
the divan.
“It is very unfortunate that your friend does not speak Greek,” Ahmed
began.
“Yes, it is unfortunate for him,” Horace said as he translated the
remark to Macfarlane.
“If I had known that my lot was going to be cast out here,” the doctor
said, “I would have insisted on learning modern Greek instead of
ancient at school--that is, if I could have got a dominie who could
have taught me. It is a very serious drawback, especially when you
know that people are talking of things that may or may not mean that
you are going to get your throat cut in an hour or so. For the last
two days I seem to have been just drifting in the dark.”
“But I always translate to you as much as I can, doctor.”
“You do all that, Horace, and I will say this that you do your best;
but it is unsatisfactory getting things at second hand. One likes to
know precisely how things are said. However, as matters have gone
there is nothing to grumble at, though where one’s life is concerned
it is a natural weakness that one should like to have some sort of
say in the matter, instead of feeling that one is the helpless sport
of fate.”
Horace laughed, and Ahmed smiled gravely, when he translated the
doctor’s complaint.
“It comes all the harder to me,” the doctor went on, “because I have
always liked to know the why and the wherefore of a matter before I
did it. I must confess that since I have been in the navy that wish
has been very seldom gratified. Captains are not in the habit of
giving their reasons to their surgeons, overlooking the fact
altogether that these are scientific men, and that their opinion on
most subjects is valuable. They have too much of the spirit of the
centurion of old. They say ‘Do this,’ and it has to be done, ‘You will
accompany the boats, Dr. Macfarlane,’ or ‘You will not accompany the
boats.’ I wonder sometimes that, after an action, they don’t come down
into the cockpit and say, ‘You will cut off this leg,’ or ‘This arm is
not to be amputated.’ The highness-and-mightiness of a captain in His
Majesty’s navy is something that borders on the omnipotent. There is a
maxim that the king can do no wrong; but a king is a poor fallible
body in comparison with a captain.”
“Well, I don’t think you have anything to complain of with Martyn,”
Horace laughed.
“Martyn is only an acting-captain, Horace, and it is not till they get
the two swabs on their shoulders that the dignity of their position
makes itself felt. A first lieutenant begins, as a rule, to take the
disease badly, but it is not till he gets his step that it takes
entire possession of him. I have even known a first lieutenant listen
to argument. It’s rare, lad, very rare, but I have known such a thing;
as for a captain, argument is as bad as downright open mutiny. Well,
this is a comfortable place that we have got into, at least in hot
weather, but I should say that an ice-house would be preferable in
winter. These windows don’t fit anyhow, and there would be a draft
through them that would be calculated to establish acute rheumatism
in the system in the course of half an hour.”
“The house is not used at all in winter,” Ahmed said, when he
understood the nature of the doctor’s criticisms. “Almost all the
kiosks along here belong to people in the town, and are closed
entirely for four months of the year. We are fond of warmth, and when
the snow is on the ground, and there is a cold wind blowing, there
would be no living here in any comfort.”
Six days passed. Ahmed went once to Constantinople to learn what was
going on. He brought back news that the escape of the two English
prisoners had caused a great sensation at the Porte, that all the
officers in the regiments there had been paraded in order that the
boatmen and the officers of the brig might pick out the one who had
brought off the order, but that naturally no one had been identified.
The soldiers had also been inspected, but as none of these had been
particularly noticed by the boatmen, the search for those engaged had
been equally unsuccessful. Fazli Bey had been severely interrogated,
his servants questioned, and his house searched, but nothing had been
found to connect him in any way with the escape. A vigilant watch had
been set upon every European ship in port, and directions had been
sent that every vessel passing down the straits was to bring-to off
the castles, and to undergo a strict search.
Ahmed said that his father had heard from Fazli Bey that while the
Sultan was furious at the manner in which the prisoners had been
released, it was against those who had taken part in it that his anger
was principally directed, and that it was thought he was at heart not
altogether sorry that the two men who had befriended the Turks at
Athens had got off, although he would not have wavered in his own
expressed determination to put to death without exception all
foreigners who had aided the Greeks. “My father has not at present
thought of any plan for getting you away,” Ahmed said. “The search is
too rigorous, and no master of a vessel would dare to carry you off;
but in a short time the matter will be forgotten, and the search in
the port and in the Dardanelles will be slackened. It causes a great
deal of trouble and inconvenience, and the officials will soon begin
to relax their efforts. It is one of our national characteristics, you
know, to hate trouble. My father will be here with the others in a
couple of days, and then we will hold a council over it.”
The next day a boat arrived with carpets and hangings for the rooms
upstairs, which were entirely devoted to the females of the household;
and on the following evening Osman Bey, with his wife and daughters,
arrived in the same caique that Ahmed had come in, two female servants
with a quantity of luggage coming in another boat. The next few days
passed very pleasantly. The ladies took their meals apart upstairs,
but at other times sat in the room below, treating Horace and the
doctor as if they were members of the family. There were many
discussions as to the best method of effecting their escape, and Ahmed
went twice to Constantinople to ascertain whether the search for them
was being relaxed.
At last he and his father agreed that it would be the best plan for
them to go to Izmid, and to take a passage from there if some small
craft could be found sailing for Chios, or one of the southern ports
or islands. Ahmed was to accompany them, and was first to go to Izmid
to make the necessary arrangements. He knew many merchants in the
port, and as some of these were intimate friends they would probably
be disposed to assist those who had rendered so great a service to
Osman Bey and his family, but at the same time Ahmed said: “You must
not be impatient. The news of your being carried off by sham soldiers,
as they say, after their having assaulted and robbed the officer who
was bearer of the order for your delivery, has made a great talk, and
I shall have to be very careful as to how I open the subject.”
“Pray run no risks,” Horace said. “You have all done so already, and
we should be unhappy, indeed, were any ill-fortune to befall you or
your family for what you have done for us. We are very comfortable
here. I would much rather wait for some really favourable opportunity
than hazard your safety, to say nothing of our own, by impatience. It
is but a fortnight since we made our escape.”
“I am going up the Bosphorus to-morrow,” Ahmed said. “I have to see
a bey whose property adjoins ours, and who has a kiosk some distance
above Scutari. It is only a question of business, and I shall not be
many minutes. I shall be glad if you will go with me; you can remain
in the boat. The rowers are so accustomed to see you that they can
have no curiosity about you; besides, now that they are regularly in
our service, and sleep and live here, there is no one for them to
gossip with, and, indeed, as we are good patrons of theirs I do not
think they would say anything about you, whatever they might suspect.”
“I suppose you can take us both, Ahmed?”
“Certainly I meant that, of course. Your friend would find it dull
indeed alone here.”
Accordingly the next morning they started. When they neared Scutari
they saw on the other side of the water a brig making her way in from
the Dardanelles.
“That is a slovenly-looking craft, doctor, with those dirty
ill-fitting sails; rather a contrast that to our schooner. I wonder
where she is and what she is doing. That brig is about her size too,
and the hull is not unlike hers, looking at it from here.”
The doctor gazed at the craft intently. “Eh, man,” he said in low
tones, grasping his companion’s arm tightly, “I believe that it is our
craft, Horace.”
“What, that dirty looking brig, doctor, with her sides looking as
rusty as if she had not had a coat of paint for the last year!”
“It’s the schooner disguised. It is easy enough, lad, to alter the
rig, and to get hold of dirty sails and to dirty the paint, but you
can’t alter the shape. No Greek, or Turk either, ever turned out the
hull of that brig.”
“It is marvellously like the schooner,” Horace said. “I should almost
have sworn that it was her.”
“It is the schooner, lad. How she got there, and what she is doing, I
don’t know, but it is her.”
“What is it?” Ahmed asked. “What is there curious in that brig that
you are so interested in her?”
“We both think it is our schooner, Ahmed; the one in which we took
your father and mother from Athens in.”
“That!” Ahmed exclaimed incredulously; “why, my sisters were always
saying what a beautiful vessel it was, with snow-white sails.”
“So she had, Ahmed; but if it is the schooner she is disguised
altogether. They have taken down her top-masts and put those stumpy
spars in instead; they have put up yards and turned her into a brig;
they have got sails from somewhere and slackened all her ropes, and
made her look dirty and untidy; still we both think that it is her.
Please tell the boatmen to cross to the vessel and row alongside.”
Ahmed gave the order, and as the caique shot away from the shore said:
“But how could it be your ship? Do you think that she has been
captured? If not, she could not have ventured up here.”
“She has not been captured,” Horace said confidently, “and if she had
been her captors would not have taken the trouble to spoil her
appearance. If that is the schooner they have come up to make
inquiries about us, and to try to rescue us if possible.”
It was fully two miles across, and as they approached the brig the
doctor and Horace became more and more convinced that they were not
mistaken.
“Please tell the men to pull in behind her,” Horace said, “so that we
can see her better. There can be no mistake about her if we can catch
a sight of her fore and aft.”
When they fell into the brig’s wake they were some three hundred yards
astern of her, and the last vestige of doubt disappeared as they saw
her great breadth and fine run.
“That is my father’s craft, Ahmed, I could swear to her now. Will you
tell the men to row up alongside.”
There were only four or five men visible on deck in the ordinary dress
of Turkish sailors. As the caique came alongside a man put his head
over the rail and asked in Turkish “what they wanted?”
“We want to come on board,” Ahmed said; “we have business with the
captain.”
“I am the captain,” the man said; “are you one of the port officers?”
“Drop astern to the chains,” Ahmed said to the boatmen, who were
hanging on by a boat-hook. They let the caique fall aft her own
length, and then, seizing the shrouds, the doctor and Horace sprang up
on to the chains and then leapt on board, Ahmed following them more
slowly. There was no doubt that it was the schooner, though her decks
were covered with dirt and litter, and the paint of her bulwarks
discoloured as if they had been daubed with mud which had been allowed
to dry. The sailors looked up as if in surprise at the sudden
appearance of the strangers on their deck. Horace glanced at them. He
knew none of their faces.
“Well, sir,” the captain said, coming up, “may I again ask what you
want with us?”
“You talk to him, Ahmed,” Horace said in Greek. “We will run below;”
and at a bound he was at the top of the companion and sprang down into
the cabin. “Father,” he shouted, “are you here?”
The door of the main cabin opened, and a Turk with a flowing white
beard made his appearance.
“My dear father, is it you?”
“Why, Horace, Horace, my dear boy, where do you come from, what
miracle is this?” And in a moment they were clasped in each other’s
arms. A moment later a tall Nubian rushed out and seized Horace’s
hand.
“Why, Martyn, you don’t mean to say it is you in this disguise?”
“It is indeed, Horace. I am delighted to see you, lad; and you too,
doctor. I had never thought to clap eyes on you again;” and he shook
hands heartily with Macfarlane, as also did Mr. Beveridge.
“I seem to be in a dream,” the latter said; “how do you come here,
what has happened?”
“I may say the same, father; but first, where are Miller, Tarleton,
and the crew?”
“They are all down in the hold,” Martyn said; “they are all in
hiding.”
“I have a friend on deck, father; he is the son of one of the Turks we
saved at Athens. He and his friends saved our lives, and have been
concealing us since they got us away. I expect he is having some
difficulty with the man who calls himself captain.”
“Come up with me then, Horace, and we will fetch him down; and I will
tell Iskos that it is all right.”
As soon as they reached the deck Mr. Beveridge explained to the
supposed captain that these were the friends he had come to find, and
that all was well.
Martyn had also come up. “What had we better do now, Martyn?”
Martyn looked up at the sails, and at the water, “Fortunately the wind
is dying out fast,” he said. “I don’t think we are making way against
the current now, and we shall certainly not do so long. Hold on a few
minutes longer, Iskos, and then anchor. It will seem as if we could
not get up against the stream to the other shipping. If you see a boat
coming off, let us know. They will probably be sending off to look at
our papers; but perhaps they may not trouble about it till we get up
to the regular anchorage. Now, Mr. Beveridge, we will go down below
and gladden their hearts there.”
The main-deck was filled with casks, bales, and merchandise of all
sorts, and the hatchways of the hold covered with sacks of flour.
Macfarlane joined them, and aided Martyn and Horace in removing the
sacks. Horace saw as he did so that what appeared a solid pile was
really hollow, and that the hatchway was only partially closed so as
to allow a certain amount of air to pass down below. The bags were but
partly removed when there was a rush from below, Miller and Tarleton
with their cutlasses in hand, followed by the sailors with
boarding-pikes dashed through the opening. They paused in astonishment
upon seeing only Martyn, Mr. Beveridge, and three Turkish gentlemen,
but as they recognized Horace and the doctor, the officers threw down
their swords and with a shout of joy seized them by the hand. The
sailors close behind them broke into a cheer which swelled into a roar
as the men below gathered the news that their two officers had
returned.
“The men can come up between decks, Miller,” Martyn said. “Let them
have a stiff ration of grog all round. Boatswain, see that the sacks
are piled again as before, leaving two or three out of their place to
allow the men to go down again if necessary. If the word is passed
that a boat is coming off, let them hurry back again and replace the
sacks carefully after them as they go down.”
The sailors continued pouring up through the hatchway, and behind them
came the two Greeks, whose joy at seeing Horace was excessive.
“Now,” Mr. Beveridge said, “let us adjourn to the cabin and hear all
about this wonderful story.”
On entering the main cabin Horace found that its appearance, like that
of the rest of the ship, had been completely altered, all the handsome
fittings had been removed, and the whole of the woodwork painted with
what he thought must have been a mixture of white paint and mud, so
dirty and dingy did it appear.
“Now, father, in the first place I must properly introduce my friend
Ahmed to you all. He is the son of Osman Bey, who was one of the
principal Turks of the party we took to Tenedos, as no doubt you
remember; it is to him and his father, aided by Fazli Bey, and the
bimbashi who was in command of the troops, and some of the
soldiers, that we owe our lives.”
[Illustration: THE DOCTOR TELLS THE STORY]
This was said in Greek, and while Mr. Beveridge was expressing his
gratitude to Ahmed, Horace repeated the same in English to the three
officers, who warmly shook hands with the young Turk. Marco and his
brother placed refreshments of all kinds on the table.
Ahmed partook of them sparingly, and then said to Horace: “Of course
you will not be returning with me now. I think I had better be going
on, it will be dark before I have done my business and get back again;
and besides, the boatmen will be wondering at my long stay here.”
“I am afraid your father will think us horribly ungrateful if we go
off without thanking him and your mother for all their kindness to
us,” Horace said; “but of course we must be getting out of this as
soon as we can.”
“My father and mother will be delighted to hear that you have so
suddenly and unexpectedly got out of your difficulties,” Ahmed said,
“and that in a manner from which no suspicion can possibly arise to
us. What we have done has been but a small return for the service you
rendered us.”
Mr. Beveridge added his warmest thanks to those of Horace, and Ahmed
then went up with the others on to the deck and took his place in the
caique; Horace making a present of a small gold piece to each of the
boatmen. Ahmed said good-bye to him and the doctor in Turkish,
expressing the hope that when they got back to Cyprus they would write
to him, a message that Iskos afterwards translated to Horace. As soon
as he had rowed away the rest of them returned to the cabin.
“And now for the story,” Mr. Beveridge said as they took their places
round the table.
“The doctor shall tell it,” Horace said. “He has had no chance of
talking for the last fortnight, and it is only fair he should have his
turn now.”
The doctor accordingly, in his slow and deliberate way, related the
whole story of their adventures from the time they landed from the
schooner until their return on board, a narration which lasted nearly
two hours.
Then Martyn related what had happened on board since. “You know,” he
said, “that directly we heard the firing on shore and saw the boat
rowing off we began to get ready to send a strong party off. You can
imagine how horrified we were when, on the boat coming alongside, we
found you were both missing. The beggars fired away at us as we rowed
ashore, but they bolted before we reached it, and when we made a rush
into the village, it was empty. We could find no one to ask questions
of, for, as we found afterwards, they had all made off while the
brigands were firing at us. However, as there were no signs of you it
was evident the only thing to do was to follow the ruffians, and off
we set. We chased them four miles, but they scattered directly they
left the village and we only came up with two of them. Unfortunately
they showed fight, and the sailors cut them down before we could come
up.
“After searching about for some time we thought the best plan was to
go back to the village. There we quartered ourselves among the houses,
and, as you have been telling us, the man came with a letter. We
noticed how you had worded it and had underscored the names, and we
saw the fellows did not know that you were the son of the owner, so
your father pretended to hang back for a bit. As soon as the man had
gone off with the message we thought that it was all right, and
everyone was in the highest spirits. Of course there was nothing to do
next day, but the following morning Mr. Beveridge and Miller went off
with thirty men, as the time named for giving you up was one o’clock.
“We began to expect them back at four, and as the hours went on I was
in a regular stew. I did not like to land, and as I had only twenty
men I was afraid of weakening her further, as we should have been in
an awkward fix if a Turkish man-of-war had come along; however, at
nine o’clock I sent Tarleton ashore with five men to see if he could
gather some news from the villagers, who had all come back again soon
after the brigands had left. It was not till after eleven o’clock that
he came off, with the news that the party had returned and had heard
nothing of you.
“Next morning one of the boats came off with Mr. Beveridge. Half an
hour before a Greek had come in and stated that he was one of the
party bringing you down to the place agreed upon when they were
suddenly fired upon from a wood. Two of the party fell dead and the
rest ran and were hotly pursued for some distance. He was unable to
say what had become of you, nor did he know who the men were who had
attacked them, except that they were certainly Albanians. We held a
council, and then I started off with Tarleton and ten men and Marco.
Mr. Beveridge wanted to go, but I persuaded him not to, for it was
morally certain that we should not find you, and all we could hope for
was to get some sort of clue, and if the Albanians were still in the
neighbourhood Marco would have opened negotiations with them for a
ransom. The man who had brought the news acted as guide. We found the
bodies of his comrades who had been killed, but no signs of you, which
was a comfort in one way. It was pretty evident that you had both been
carried off.
“We had taken with us a dozen men from the village to which you were
to have been sent, and we offered what to them must have been a big
reward for news as to these Albanians. So after finding the bodies we
sent them off in different directions, and went back to their village.
Late in the evening they straggled in. They had done their work well,
spreading all over the country and getting hold of shepherds and
charcoal-burners and wood-cutters; and they were able to tell us for
certain that the Albanians had come over the range of hills between us
and Thessaly. They had been doing a good deal of plundering and some
murdering, had destroyed two small villages at the foot of the
mountains, and had been seen soon after the hour at which you must
have been captured making their way back. They assured us that the
troops of Ali Pasha lay in the plain beyond the hills, and that,
doubtless, the Albanians had taken you to him. We had a good long rest
in the afternoon, and as I knew what a state of anxiety your father
was in we started at once and got on board at four o’clock in the
morning. We had a long talk over what was the best thing to be done,
and resolved at any rate to sail out of the bay and round the Cape,
and then keep along the coast until we were off Thessaly.
“As soon as it was daylight we weighed anchor. The wind was so light
that it took us two days to get there, and half that time at least, I
should say, the men were in the boats towing. Marco had volunteered to
land and make his way to the Turkish camp to try to find out what had
become of you. We landed him at night; he bought from some of the
villagers a suit of their clothes, and in twenty-four hours came down
again to the boat we had sent ashore for him with the news that you
had been sent to Constantinople; that you had been taken by an escort
of cavalry down to the little port at the mouth of the river that
flows in between Ossa and Olympus; that he had seen some of the
soldiers who formed your escort, who told him that they had seen you
go on board a Turkish brig-of-war with their officer and two of their
comrades who had accompanied you.
“This was horrible news, and as the brig had got four days’ start
there was little chance of our catching her. For another three days we
were almost becalmed. We had every stitch of canvas set and yet most
of the time we had not even steerage-way. The men behaved splendidly,
and all the time, day and night, we had two boats out ahead towing;
and on the fourth day we arrived off Tenedos. Then we got a breeze
again, and soon afterwards picked up a fishing-boat. From them we
learned that the brig had lain becalmed two days off the town, that
some of the people that we brought from Athens had gone out with
little presents of fruit to you and had seen you.
“We anchored that night a short distance from the town, for there
were no Turkish ships of war there. At night a boat came off with a
woman whom we had brought from Athens, and she told us that her
husband, a discharged soldier, had gone to Constantinople to tell some
of the people whom we brought from Athens that two of our officers had
been captured, and to ask them to do what they could to save your
lives. We did not think anything of it, though of course it was
pleasant to see that some of the people were grateful, and Mr.
Beveridge made her a handsome present, which I will do her the justice
to say she refused until he almost had to force it upon her. Knowing
how bitter the Sultan is against foreigners in the Greek service, and
that after the harm we had done he was not likely to be specially well
disposed towards us, the thing seemed almost hopeless. The two Greeks
volunteered if we would put them ashore to the west of the straits to
make their way to Constantinople, but as it did not seem to us that
they could do any good that idea was given up.
“At last Tarleton proposed that we should disguise the schooner and go
up ourselves. He admitted that the betting was a hundred to one
against our being able to help you in any way, especially as it was
almost certain you would have been hung a few hours after you got
there. Still, if that had been put off, and you should be in a prison,
there was just the possibility we might land at night, make our way to
the prison, blow in the gate, get you out, and make our way across the
country to some place where the boats would be waiting for us, and be
on board before daylight. It was certainly a desperate undertaking,
but as none of us could think of any other plan, we agreed it would be
well to try it, so we sailed at once to Athens.
“We had a great debate whether it would not be better to buy some
Turkish brig that had been brought in as a prize; but we finally
agreed to stick to the schooner, for if we were discovered on the way,
or if we did get you on board, we should have to sail, and we knew
that nothing the Turks have got could outsail the schooner. We worked
hard at Athens. We sent down the tall spars, got those clumsy poles
up in their place, got up yards, and turned her into a brig. Then we
bought a lot of old sails, and, as you see, turned her into as
lubberly-looking a craft as you will meet even in these seas. Then we
filled her up between decks with goods we bought out of some prizes
brought in by the Hydriots, dirtied her decks, threw acid down her
sides to take off the paint, took down the cabin fittings, as you see,
and daubed over the woodwork with dirty paint. It was enough to make
one cry to see the _Misericordia_ spoilt. It was like disguising a
girl of fashion as a dirty gipsy.
“While we had been at this work the two Greeks had been on shore, and
had gathered up eight men who spoke Turkish as well as Greek. The most
intelligent we made captain, with two officers under him. We got the
papers from a Turkish prize, a brig about the same size which had been
captured by the Hydriots on her way from Rhodes to Constantinople.
Then it was agreed that your father should disguise himself as a Turk,
a respectable land-owner of Rhodes, going as a passenger to
Constantinople, with myself as his Nubian servant. That way we could
stay on deck. When all was ready we started. The crew kept on deck
till we got near the Dardanelles, and then stowed themselves away in
the hold as you saw. We were stopped at the castle, but as the papers
were all right there was no suspicion excited, and nothing happened
till Iskos came down and told us a caique was coming alongside, and
then a minute or two later we heard your voice.”