“You wait here with some men, uncle, and build up the earthwork higher,

while I make a dash with a handful, and see if I cannot drive them down

the staircase.”

This suggestion was more palatable to Justinian than the former one, as

it gave him something to do, so he hastily told the men of Maurice’s

suggestion. A number of the Melnosians, who were lying on the ground

with their heads wrapped in their cloaks to escape the stifling smoke,

sprang up, on hearing this, with a joyous shout; so, hastily selecting

his men, Maurice unsheathed his sword, grasped his revolver, and made

ready for a dash. Owing to the fall of the palisade, the flames were now

very low, but the smoke still rolled upward in blinding clouds, thus

effectively concealing their movements from the enemy.

“Good-by, my lad! God bless you!” said the old lion, grasping his

nephew’s hand. “Drive them down as far as you can, and, while you keep

them at bay, I will have the barricade built up again, with sand-bags

and turf.”

Followed by Gurt and about twenty men, Maurice leaped up on the

earthwork, and dashed downward through the smouldering ruins of the

beams with a fierce cry. In a moment they were out of the smoke and into

the clear atmosphere, while the enemy, thrown into confusion by their

unexpected sally, recoiled in confusion. Alcibiades, however, seeing the

smallness of the party, soon rallied them with curses and prayers, so

the next instant Maurice and his men were in the thick of the fight.

It was now a hand-to-hand struggle, maintained with equal fierceness on

either side, but, fortunately, the narrowness of the tunnel prevented

the small band of the Melnosians being overwhelmed by their enemies,

while the fact that they were on the higher ground gave them a decided

advantage, which made up somewhat for lack of numbers. The electric

light again pierced the now thin veil of smoke, so that they could see

what they were doing, and the Melnosians used their cutlasses with

deadly effect, while those who had bayonets fixed to their guns stabbed

the enemy relentlessly, as they dashed forward again and again. Gurt

kept close beside Maurice, fighting like the old sea-dog he was, and got

a nasty stab in the thigh, which brought him to the ground. Alcibiades

saw this, and sprang forward to finish the unfortunate sailor, when

Maurice, having cut down a wiry Greek, who was pressing him closely,

turned just in time to see Alcibiades lift his sword for the blow. As

quickly as possible, he raised his revolver to firing level, and broke

the captain’s arm near the elbow, causing him to drop his weapon with a

yell of pain.

Hitherto the fighting had all been in one place, as neither party would

give way an inch; but now, disturbed by the reverse of their leader, the

enemy began to fall slowly back. Caliphronas indeed tried to rally them,

but, on seeing this, Maurice sprang forward to encounter him, clearing a

space for the fight by whirling his sabre round and round his head; but

the Greek, seized with sudden panic, flung himself into the centre of

his men, so that Roylands’ efforts to reach him were futile.

Maurice’s band was now much diminished, and he had serious thoughts of

retreating back to the barricade, which Justinian by this time must have

almost rebuilt, but seeing that the advantage was now on his side, he

was unwilling to lose it; so, with his men stretched out into a single

line from side to side, he continued advancing, driving the enemy step

by step down the staircase. Alcibiades, who was a brave man in spite of

his villany, had now shifted his sword to his left hand, as his right

arm hung useless at his side, and with many prayers, curses, entreaties,

and taunts, strove to rally his forces, but all to no purpose, for

slowly but surely they retreated before that devoted little band, who,

with flashing eyes and clinched teeth, pressed them steadily downward.

Gurt, having bound up his thigh with a piece torn from his shirt, was

again by Maurice’s side, fighting with a dogged determination, in spite

of all entreaties to retreat back to the barricade.

“Go back, Gurt! go back and tell Justinian to send more men.”

“What! and leave you with these devils? Not if I know it, sir. Hurrah!

England for ever!”

“But you are wounded.”

“Only a prod in the thigh. Look out, sir, for that black wretch!”

Maurice sprang aside, just in time to avoid a slashing-down blow, and,

turning on his foe, made a dash at him with his sabre. He managed to run

him through the left shoulder, but the Greek like lightning cut at his

defenceless head, and, but for Gurt, who intervened with his cutlass,

Maurice’s career would have been ended. As it was, the Greek’s weapon

smashed against the sailor’s sword, and before he could recover himself

for another blow, Maurice had slashed him through the neck, so that he

fell dead at once.

The enemy were fighting like demons, and, the electric light having been

shut off by the angle of the tunnel, the battle was raging in complete

darkness, save for the fitful glare of the torches held by Alcibiades’

men, and the pale glimmer of daylight forcing itself in at the cliff

entrance of the tunnel. As long as Maurice could keep his enemies in

front, and his line steadily advancing, he had no fear, while, owing to

the confusion of the retreat, the foe kept fighting the one with the

other in the semi-darkness. Step by step they fell backward, until

nearly the lowest platform of the staircase, when Maurice, having thus

accomplished his object, began to think of turning back, especially as

he had now but ten men left.

At the entrance of the tunnel, however, he saw the cowardly Caliphronas

in the rear, keeping out of harm’s way, and, forgetting his caution of

keeping the enemy in front, sprang forward to battle with the Greek.

Alcibiades saw the false move, and, when Maurice’s men followed him

rashly forward, dashed back with a handful of his troops, and in a

moment the little band was surrounded by a horde of howling savages.

This was immediately under the entrance of the tunnel, on level ground,

so, the advantage being with the enemy in every way, it seemed as though

the Englishman and his handful would be cut to pieces. Seeing his

mistake, Maurice, with his devoted followers, strove to fight his way

back up the stair, but, environed on all sides by a tumultuous crowd,

gave himself up for lost.

“My God! if Justinian would only come!” he prayed, as he fought back to

back with Gurt and surrounded by his band. “Will nothing save us?”

At that moment, as if in answer to his prayer, a low moaning sound came

sweeping over the ocean, making every heart sink with fear. The island

began to tremble, and for the moment so terrible was the suspense, that

the fighting ceased. Friend and foe stood alike pallid with fear, as the

ground began to shake convulsively, and the whole host looked as though

turned into stone. The ground, heaving convulsively, hurled every one to

the ground, including Maurice and his band, who were just beyond the

entrance of the tunnel. Suddenly there was a sound like thunder, and on

the prostrate mass of humanity lying on the quivering earth, a great

mass of rock fell from above. What with the dust, the noise, the yells

of fear, and the imprecations, Maurice was almost stunned, and when he

arose to his feet, he saw that the enormous slip caused by the

earthquake had not only killed a number of the enemy, but had also

blocked up the entrance to the tunnel.

Seeing that there was no hope to return that way, and well aware that

Alcibiades and those of his men who still survived would kill him as

soon as they recovered from their fright, Maurice sprang to his feet and

seized Gurt by the arm.

“To the boats! the boats!” he gasped, hurrying the astonished sailor

down to the water’s edge. “Tunnel closed. We must try the western pass.”

About four Melnosians had followed him, and these, with superhuman

strength, pushed off a boat from shore. When all six were afloat, the

islanders took the oars and commenced to pull outward, so as to skirt

the breakwater. By this time the enemy had recovered from their first

terror, and, seeing the escape of the fugitives, came rushing down to

the sea. There seemed to be about two hundred of them left, and being

pretty well used to such trifles as earthquakes, especially those who

came from Santorin, now that the danger was past, they were determined

to follow and kill the little band.

Luckily, Maurice, by his prompt action, had gained a good start, and was

already outside the breakwater, making for the western side of the

island, where he hoped to re-enter through the western pass. He could

see Alcibiades and Caliphronas gesticulating fiercely on the beach and

urging their companions to follow, so, just as the fugitives came in

sight of the wreck of The Eunice, their enemies started in pursuit.

“Thank God for that earthquake!” said Maurice thankfully, taking off his

cap. “It saved our lives.”

“Don’t holler till you’re out of the wood, sir,” said Gurt dryly,

pointing to the sea. “I’ve seed that sort o’ thing at Thera, and it

ain’t no child’s play.”

The waters around them were boiling like a furnace, and had changed from

their normal blue tint to the color of milk. Maurice, in astonishment,

dipped his hand over the side of the boat into this opalescent sea, but

withdrew it immediately with a cry of pain.

The water was boiling hot!

“Bless you, sir, there’s lots of that sort of thing about here.” said

Gurt in a philosophical tone. “I’ve seed it a-bilin’ round Santorin like

a kittle. These Greeks don’t mind it much.”

“Don’t they?” replied Maurice in a disbelieving tone. “Well, Alcibiades

and his lot seemed pretty sick.”

“While it lasts they’re frightened enough, but they soon get over it,

sir. Look at ’em follering.”

By this time they were rounding the angle of Melnos, and the breakwater

of the western harbor was in sight; but the boat containing Alcibiades,

manned by able rowers, was gradually gaining on them. Two of the

Melnosians, though they tugged away pluckily, were yet in great pain

from wounds, while Gurt, feeble from loss of blood, could hardly rise to

his feet.

“Give way, men!” cried Maurice in Greek, as he examined his revolver.

“I’ve got two shots left, Gurt, so, if that boat comes too near, I’ll

try to pick off one of the rowers.”

“We’re not far from home now, sir,” said Gurt hopefully; “and Mr.

Crispin will be at the gate.”

“I hope he will, Gurt; but this earthquake must have demoralized

everything, and perhaps Mr. Crispin went back to see Justinian.”

“Not he, sir; he’d send Temistocles. But Mr. Justinian must think us

dead.”

“It’s not improbable. However, we will soon show him we’re alive, though

the tunnel is closed up forever.”

“Good job too, sir,” replied Gurt cheerfully; “there’s no getting in

that way now; so if these villains want to take Melnos, they’ll only

have the western pass to enter by. I guess that there rock, sir, killed

a few.”

“What with the battle and the earthquake, they must have lost at least a

hundred men, while our deaths are comparatively small.”

“We’ve got nigh on a hundred left, I think, sir; but if it weren’t fur

you, sir, gittin’ that idear of the boat, we’d be all dead men, for

sure.”

“Egad, we’ll be dead men now, if we don’t look out!” said Maurice, as

the foremost boat of their pursuers came within pistol shot. “Look out,

Gurt; I’m going to pick off that fellow standing up in the prow.”

The Melnosians, in their sudden rush for the boat, had naturally enough

dropped their guns; but Maurice, with an Englishman’s determination to

stick to anything he has once got a grip of, had carried off his sword,

and still possessed his revolver. Gurt also had his cutlass, so, in the

event of their foes catching them on land before they could gain the

shelter of the stockade, Maurice and one of the Melnosians would have to

defend the three wounded men and the remaining one, who had no weapon.

Meanwhile, their boat, impelled by the rowers with the energy of

despair, had rounded the breakwater, and was rapidly sweeping inward to

the land. Some little distance above they could see the narrow entrance

of the pass, but, as Crispin and his men were intrenched behind the

palisade, farther up the gorge, of course the fugitives could not hope

for their help. Maurice, however, thought that the pistol-shots might

attract attention, as the sound carries far in that rarefied atmosphere,

and he also told his Melnosians to shout loudly, so as to let their

friends know they were in peril.

Just as the boat was nearly touching the land, a bullet from the rifle

of the man standing up in the prow whizzed past Maurice’s ear; but,

fortunately, being widely aimed, did not touch him. The Englishman,

resting his revolver muzzle on his left arm, fired carefully, and,

luckily, hit his enemy full in the chest; whereupon the man flung up his

hands and fell splash into the water. The rowers, startled at this,

paused for a moment; and in that time Maurice ran his boat ashore, and

giving Gurt, who could not walk, into the care of the two Melnosians,

one of whom was unhurt, and the other only wounded in the arm, thrust

Gurt’s cutlass into the hand of the remaining one, and began to retreat

slowly up the hill.

Alcibiades’ boat was yet far distant, but the one near shore, its rowers

having recovered from their surprise at the loss of their leader, landed

as quickly as possible, and began to run as fast as possible after the

fugitives. The Melnosians shouted with right good will for help, and,

while retreating slowly, Maurice managed to drop one of his pursuers

with his remaining cartridge. They had now nothing left to fight with

but a sword and cutlass, both of which were useless against the rifles

carried by their pursuers, and the look-out was all the worse, as

Captain Alcibiades, with a new crew of cut-throats, had now landed on

the beach.

The two Melnosians hurried Gurt along as quickly as possible, the other

wounded man ran ahead, shouting for help, and Maurice, with the

remaining islander, covered the retreat with stern determination.

Several shots sung past them, but their pursuers were evidently bad

marksmen, and they gained the entrance of the gorge without being hurt.

The palisade now could be seen some little distance away, and the

foremost fugitive had nearly reached it, so Maurice took heart, in spite

of the near proximity of Alcibiades and his men. In his heart, however,

he was praying that Crispin might be still at his post, as, if he were

not, the whole four of them would certainly be murdered on the spot.

One of his pursuers was now close at hand, and raised his rifle to the

shoulder; but Maurice, with sudden inspiration, threw himself flat on

his face, and the ball passed over his head. Then, springing to his

feet, he commenced to run rapidly after his companions, followed by the

baffled marksman, who did not wait to reload.

Maurice heard a shout of joy from the palisade, so knew that Crispin was

at his post, and would bring him help; but at this moment the foremost

man caught up with him. The Englishman slashed at his neck with his

sabre, but the wily Greek dodged lightly, and, clubbing his musket,

brought it down on Roylands’ head with tremendous force. Instinctively

Maurice put up his sword to guard himself, but the weapon shivered to

pieces under the blow, and, stunned by the stroke, he fell insensible to

the ground.

CHAPTER XXXII.

THE WARNING OF HEPHAISTOS.

Hence, ye mortals! hence away!

Dare not on this isle to stay;

For in grim seclusion here

I a mighty forge would rear,

So that in this sea-girt grove

I can work for mighty Jove.

Thunder-bolts doth he require,

Swift to follow lightning’s fire,

When his wrath he would assuage,

And on mortals wreak his rage.

Never more will Melnos isle

With the corn of Ceres smile;

From its crater flames will rise,

Roaring to the frighted skies;

Bubbling from the depths below,

In its cup will lava glow;

And the sea around will boil

At my never-ceasing toil:

Therefore, mortals, haste away!

Dare not on this isle to stay.

When Maurice came to himself, he was lying on the grass inside the

palisade, and Crispin was bending over him with the greatest solicitude.

His head ached dully with the effects of the blow, and the blood was

clotted in a nasty scalp-wound on the right side of his skull, where the

butt of the musket had struck him. Dizzy as he was, yet by a violent

effort he managed to sit up and inquire in a feeble voice what had

become of the companions of his flight.

“Oh, they are all right, Maurice!” said Crispin, holding out his

brandy-flask. “Take a drink of this, and lie down again for a time.”

Maurice did as he was told, and resumed his recumbent attitude on the

grass; but, anxious to know everything, looked inquiringly at Crispin,

who at once replied to his mute questioning.

“I have been here ever since you left for the tunnel this morning,”

explained the poet quickly, “as Justinian sent word by Temistocles that

I was on no account to forsake my post. We heard your pistol-shots and

cries for help, but thought it was some stratagem on the part of the

enemy. Then Theodore, whom you sent on for aid, made his appearance at

the barricade, and gasped out some incoherent story. As soon as I

ascertained it was you, I sallied out with some men, and saw Gurt being

helped up the hill, and yourself, with Basil, protecting the rear.

Alcibiades and some others were scrambling up after you; and then we saw

you engage with that foremost blackguard. He knocked you over, and would

have finished you, but for Dick, who took a pot shot, and bowled him

over like a ninepin. Then we rushed up, and brought you here, with

Alcibiades and his friends yelling like fiends at the escape of their

prey.”

“And Alcibiades?”

“Oh, he and the other fellows have gone back in the boats to the eastern

harbor, I suppose. Jove! I was never so surprised in my life as when I

saw you scudding up that hill, for both Justinian and myself thought you

were dead!”

“Does Justinian know I am alive?”

“Yes. I sent Temistocles off to tell him as soon as you were in safety;

I expect he’ll be here every minute.”

“What about the earthquake?”

“Oh, we felt it, I can tell you. It was a tremendous shock, and has

filled up the tunnel completely.”

“At which, I suppose, my uncle is heart-broken?”

“No fear. He never thought about the tunnel while you were in danger.

But how did you manage to escape?”

“That is a long story,” said Maurice faintly, for he felt sick with

fatigue. “Give me some more brandy.”

“Here you are. Don’t talk any more till Justinian comes.”

“But tell me, where is Gurt?”

“Oh, he and the rest have gone off to the Acropolis to be looked after.

Now, do be quiet, Maurice, or you’ll be fainting again.”

Roylands closed his eyes, and obeyed; while Crispin, with a sponge and

water, brought by the swift-footed Temistocles, carefully bathed the

wound, and dexterously bound it up with lint and linen, so that Maurice

felt more comfortable.

“It’s only a flesh wound,” he said in a satisfied tone; “but it is a

mercy you did not get your head smashed.”

“What is the time?”

“Nearly ten o’clock in the morning. You’ve been fighting all night, so I

don’t wonder you are dead beat. The sun will be up over the eastern

peaks soon.”

It was indeed long after dawn, for in the darkness of the tunnel no one

had taken any count of the hours; and when the earthquake had occurred

it was just that time between the fading night and the coming day. So

upset and excited had Maurice been with the fight, the earthquake, and

the escape, that neither he nor any one else remembered that the

fighting had begun at midnight, and lasted till sunrise. And now he

remembered that the sun had risen while they were rounding the angle of

the island; but, having forgotten the flight of time, he had not thought

this strange. It was a great blessing that they had escaped in the boat

at daylight; else even in the luminous night it would have been

difficult, with the sea in such a perturbed condition, to have made the

voyage safely.

Very shortly Justinian arrived, full of thankfulness for Maurice’s

escape, and fear concerning his wound; but by this time the young man,

though much shaken, was quite himself again; and, leaning on the

Demarch’s arm, with occasional assistance from Crispin, managed to crawl

along as far as the Acropolis, where they were joyously received by

Helena.

As the tunnel was now completely closed up, there was no chance of the

pirates getting in that way; so Justinian sent all his men over to the

western pass, where, under the command of Dick, they remained on guard.

The women from the village came up the first thing in the morning with

provisions and wine to minister to their wants; so, thus, everything

being in order for the present, the Demarch was anxious to hear all the

details of his nephew’s miraculous escape.

He told them the whole story over the breakfast table, with occasional

help from Gurt, who was admitted to the symposium on account of his

bravery during the battle. The old Demarch, self-contained both by

nature and training, did not say much during the recital, beyond

expressing his heartfelt joy at the escape of his nephew, but it could

easily be seen that he was inordinately proud of Maurice’s prowess and

promptitude of action; for, though the hero himself modestly suppressed

such details as tended to self-glorification, Gurt, in his blunt sailor

way, came out with the true unvarnished facts of the case, which caused

Maurice to blush, and his audience to exclaim admiringly.

“By Jove, Maurice, you ought to be a V.C.!” cried Crispin, when the

story came to an end. “If you hadn’t had your wits about you, and seized

that boat, you would have been a dead man to a certainty!”

“It is the Roylands’ blood!” said Justinian proudly. “I knew I was not

mistaken in my estimate of your character, Maurice. You will make an

admirable ruler of Melnos!”

“That is, if there is any Melnos to rule over,” replied Maurice, with an

uneasy laugh; “for, by Jove, uncle, when that earthquake came, I thought

everything had gone to kingdom come.”

“Ah, you see, father, I was right about the earthquake last night!” said

Helena in triumph; “I felt that something was going to happen!”

“Yes, but you thought it would be an eruption,” answered Justinian, with

apparent indifference, though there was an anxious look on his face; “as

to an earthquake, why, these Greek islands are all volcanic, so that

means nothing.”

“How did you get on after I left you, uncle?”

“Why, I set my men to work, to build up the barricade again, with turf

and bags of sand. You were a long time gone, my son, and I became afraid

that you had been cut to pieces, so, when the work was done, I intended

taking some men and going after you. Then the earthquake occurred, and

we heard the fall of the roof at the cliff entrance. I thought you were

dead for sure, and cannot tell you of the anguish I felt at your loss.

However, Temistocles brought me the news of your safe arrival at the

western pass, and I breathed freely again. Oh, my dear Maurice,”

continued the Demarch, taking his nephew’s hand, “how fervently do I

thank God that you are alive! for if those scoundrels had killed you,

indeed I do not think I would have had the heart to continue living in

Melnos.”

Maurice was greatly touched with his uncle’s emotion, which was a rare

thing for the iron old Demarch to display, for as a rule he took both

good and bad fortune with the utmost equanimity, and seldom gave any

outward signs of his feelings on such occasions. His nephew, however,

was very dear to his heart, and he looked upon him with great pride,

both as his future son-in-law and successor, so it had been a terrible

blow to him, to think he had lost a young man on whom all his future

hopes depended.

As for Helena, she said nothing, but, genuine offspring of her father as

she was, bore up pluckily, though it could be plainly seen that she had

suffered much during the absence of her lover. Fortunately, the time

which had elapsed between Maurice’s supposed death and subsequent

reappearance had been too short to permit of her knowing of the

calamity, else, brave as she was, she would certainly have given way

under such a cruel misfortune. As it was, however, he now sat beside her

safe and sound, so all the terrible events which he detailed with such

coolness only seemed to be some hideous nightmare which had vanished at

the coming of morning.

She insisted upon Maurice’s going to bed for a good sleep after

breakfast, in which insistence she was supported by her father, who saw

that Maurice was more shaken by his late fatigue than he chose to

acknowledge.

“You can sleep for a few hours at all events, my son,” he said

affectionately, “for Alcibiades has lost too many men to think about

making another attack, at least for some time.”

“Are you not going to sleep yourself?”

“No, I am going down to the valley to look at those hot springs. This

earthquake has rather unnerved me, and I wish to see for myself if there

is any probability of an eruption. Crispin, will you come with me?”

“If you desire it; but, to tell you the truth, I also am rather tired.”

“Pshaw!” said the man of iron, with good-humored scorn; “you have no

stamina, Crispin. If you had been through all that Maurice has

undergone, you might talk. However, take your sleep for an hour or so.”

Crispin really was very delicately constituted, and could not do without

that sleep which Justinian despised, but, in order to be ready for any

emergency, he curled himself up on a divan in the court, and rested

there without removing his clothes. Maurice, on the contrary, completely

worn out with fatigue and anxiety, to say nothing of his scalp wound,

went straight to bed, and slept soundly most of the day, while Helena,

tenderly solicitous of his comfort, watched beside him the whole time,

with her little hand lying in his warm grasp.

Meanwhile, Justinian, who, in spite of his age, scarcely seemed to feel

the effect of the previous night’s vigil, took a cold bath to freshen

himself up, and then started on a journey of inspection round the

island. Like a careful general, his first visit was to the outposts at

the western pass, where he found everything in an extremely satisfactory

condition. Part of the men were sleeping, while the others kept guard,

waiting to take their turn of rest when their comrades awoke.

Notwithstanding the hard fighting, all those who had been engaged in the

defence of the tunnel seemed in a wonderfully good condition, while Dick

and his nine sailors, hardened by a seafaring life, seemed to feel no

fatigue whatsoever, in spite of constant watchfulness and anxiety.

With a view to seeing the position of the enemy, Justinian climbed up a

small path which led to the hills from the inner side of the outward

palisade, and, using his field-glass, soon discovered that Alcibiades

was concentrating his forces below in order to storm the pass. Boat

after boat filled with desperadoes came sweeping round the breakwater

into the smooth sea of the harbor, and tents were being erected on the

beach by the besiegers. Evidently they had discovered that there was no

chance of entering by the tunnel, which was completely blocked up by the

fallen rocks, so were determined to effect an entrance by the western

pass, where at least they would have the advantage of fighting in

daylight. Carefully surveying the disorderly host, Justinian calculated

that there still remained about two hundred men, against which he could

only bring ninety-five or thereabouts. Still, intrenched behind his

barricades, and having the pass swept by two cannon, he thought the

invaders would find it somewhat difficult to dislodge him from such a

strong position, the more so as they lacked discipline, and their

leaders were quite ignorant of military tactics.

Having ascertained all this, Justinian descended into the gorge again,

where he gave Dick his final instructions, which were simply to keep a

sharp lookout on the enemy, and, in the event of seeing any movement

uphill towards the mouth of the pass, to at once send off Temistocles to

the Acropolis with the information.

Dick having promised faithfully to obey these instructions, the Demarch,

escorted by a couple of his men, went along the mulberry avenue, in

order to survey the tunnel, which he had not entered since driven from

thence by the earthquake some hours previous. The electric light was

turned off, as the Demarch, now that the danger lay more in the west

than the east, judged it advisable to reserve all the power of the

dynamo for the one light which swept the western pass, and therefore,

bidding his men take torches, went downward into the darkness of the

tunnel with such illumination only.

Passing down to the ruins of the palisade, where so fierce a fight had

taken place, he crossed that boundary, and, turning the angle of the

staircase, came in sight of the landslip caused by the earthquake. The

red flare of the torches but feebly showed the amount of damage done,

but Justinian saw sufficient to assure him that there was no chance of

the tunnel being made use of again for at least some months. Extending

from the cliff entrance to some considerable distance back, the whole

roof had collapsed, and tons of débris piled upward from floor to vault

completely sealed up the mouth of the passage. It would take a goodly

amount of dynamite and blasting powder to remove those massive blocks;

and, now that he knew Maurice was safe, the Demarch had time to grieve

over the damage done to his beloved tunnel. Justinian, however, was too

practical a man to waste time in useless lamentation, and promptly

decided that, as soon as Alcibiades was beaten back,—an event which he

was assured would come off without much difficulty,—he would set gangs

of men to clear away the obstruction, and restore, with as little delay

as possible, the tunnel to its pristine excellence. The burning of the

palisade also had taught him a lesson, and, to obviate the chances of

such defence being destroyed by fire, he decided to build a kind of

stone bastion in the same place, with loopholes for guns, and also to

fortify it with two field-pieces, which would simply mow down an enemy

advancing up the staircase like ripe corn.

The inspection of the tunnel being concluded, Justinian returned upward

to the light of day, and descended the grand staircase in order to pay a

visit to the springs. He looked upon these as a kind of thermometer,

useful in warning him of seismic disturbances, for, in spite of the long

silence of the volcano, Justinian knew that the subterranean forces were

still at work under the crust which covered the crater; and with the

remembrance of the great eruption of Vesuvius, in the year 79,

constantly in his mind, was not without certain fears that this

long-slumbering monster might reawaken from the sleep of centuries. The

volcanic forces, however, having a vent in the adjacent island of

Santorin, he had hitherto calculated that Melnos would remain quiescent,

but the terrible earthquake which had so unexpectedly occurred inspired

him with great uneasiness, and he was in deadly fear lest it should

prelude the renewed activity of the mountain.

As before described, the hot springs of Melnos somewhat resembled the

geysers of Iceland, save that they were less active, and did not send up

jets of water to any great height from their uncanny mouths. On this

day, however, when the Demarch approached the desolate gorge where they

had hitherto rested as slightly bubbling pools of water, he was

astonished and dismayed to find them in full activity. Clouds of thin

steam almost obscured the yellow, red, and green lava of the rocks

behind, and amid this ominous vapor the springs were spouting furiously

at intervals. Thick jets of boiling water would gush up from the ragged

clefts in the sulphur-streaked blocks to a considerable height, and,

after expending their fury, would sink down again into the bowels of the

earth. After a time the muttered bellowing of the monsters would be

heard, and amid groanings and gurglings, which told of the colossal

forces at work beneath, the great columns of water would again shoot

skyward with hideous roars.

The Demarch noticed this unusual disturbance of the springs with great

uneasiness, as during his whole forty years’ residence on the island

never had there been such signs of danger. Even where he stood, the

earth was cracked in many places, and little jets of steam escaped with

a whistling noise, which could be heard shrilly when the bellowing of

the geysers ceased. All the Melnosians were in a terrible state of

alarm, and it took all Justinian’s eloquence to persuade them that this

was simply a local disturbance caused by the earthquake, and that there

was no danger of an outbreak on the part of the long-sleeping volcano.

Truth to tell, in spite of his speech, he was not at all easy in his

mind as he climbed up the staircase to the Acropolis, for these ominous

signs boded but ill for the safety of the island, and he dreaded lest

without further warning the crater should burst out into full fury, in

which case every being therein would certainly be killed. He was

unwilling, however, to communicate his fears to Helena or to Maurice,

and thus disturb their minds at this critical period of the siege; but,

feeling that he must have some one with whom to talk, awoke Crispin from

his siesta, and, taking him into his own room, gave him a description of

the geysers’ activity.

“The deuce!” said Crispin in dismay, when he heard this unpleasant

recital. “I hope we are not going to have the destruction of Pompeii

over again; but I must say it looks uncommonly like it!”

“Do you think Melnos will break out again?”

“Those spouting geysers certainly don’t bode any good, sir, nor that

earthquake either. Perhaps it is a warning from Hephaistos that we had

better leave the island.”

“I won’t leave the island,” said Justinian obstinately, drawing his

iron-gray brows together: “after forty years of incessant toil, I would

indeed be a coward to leave Melnos simply because things look a trifle

ominous.”

“Yes; but volcanoes are delicate things to deal with. These signs are

slight; but who knows but what they may be followed by a blowing up of

the crater’s crust, in which case I am afraid everything in connection

with Melnos will be at an end.”

“But the volcano has been extinct for thousands of years!”

“So was Vesuvius,” replied Crispin coolly, “and that mountain in New

Zealand—Tarawera, was it not?—that awoke to activity after centuries of

quiescence. You can’t trust volcanoes, sir. They are most treacherous

monsters, and when least expected break out in full fury.”

“An eruption is going on at Thera.”

“All the more reason that the volcanic action will extend to Melnos.”

“There I don’t agree with you. If the subterranean forces find vent in

one place, there is less chance of them breaking out in another.

Besides, Thera has always been active. Herodotus, Appollonius, and

Plutarch all speak of previous eruptions. Then there was one in 1457,

when the Venetians occupied the island; another in 1707; and I think the

last outburst took place in 1866.”

“Well, according to Georgios, there is one going on now, which is a bad

sign for us.”

“On the contrary, a very good sign. Don’t you see, Crispin, that,

whereas Thera has burst out every hundred years or so for many

centuries, there is no record of Melnos being active. This temple of

Hephaistos was built long before Christ, during the supremacy of Hellas

in these seas, and had the crater not been extinct then, it could not

have been built on the inner cup, nor could any eruption have taken

place since, as it would have been destroyed; so as the mountain, to all

appearances, has been extinct for thousands of years, and the volcanic

forces find vent at Thera, I really do not see why, because of an

earthquake and a spouting geyser, we should think it likely the crater

will break out again.”

“Still, you see the Hellenes must have known this was a volcanic island,

and, perhaps, put up this temple to the god of fire in memory of an

eruption. If I remember rightly, the Rhodians built a temple to Poseidon

Asphalios after some early eruption, in order to propitiate the gods; so

this shrine may have been erected for a similar reason.”

“Scarcely, if the volcano was active then. I don’t think even the pious

Hellenes would have risked their lives in building a temple under the

very nose of Vulcan in full work. But what do you think is best to be

done?”

“Well, certainly it would be foolish to leave Melnos, after all the work

you have expended upon it, without very good reason, and, until

something more serious occurs, I should be inclined to remain. In spite

of these signs, the volcano has been as quiet as a lamb for thousands of

years; so I do not see why it should break out now, save out of sheer

contrariness. We had better go on defending Melnos from Alcibiades, and

take no notice of the volcano; but if anything serious occurs, we must

get away as quickly as possible.”

“But how? Alcibiades has destroyed all our boats.”

“Well, we will seize his; or else, as soon as I can guess The Eunice is

at Syra, I will go over and bring her to Melnos; so that in case of

danger I can save every one.”

“Over a hundred and fifty people! Impossible!”

“There won’t be a hundred and fifty people by the time Alcibiades is

beaten,” replied Crispin dryly. “It is not that I am afraid of; but if

such a contingency as the volcano becoming active does arise, my

difficulty will be to get through the besieging army out into the open

sea.”

“I’m afraid there’s no chance of that,” replied the Demarch gloomily.

“Well, it certainly looks impossible, but there’s nothing like trying.

However, there may be no necessity for such daring. Don’t trouble about

the volcano, Justinian; I’ve no doubt Hephaistos will warn us again

before proceeding to extremities.”

“I am of the same opinion myself. Still, your words have given no great

comfort, Crispin; for, after all the money and labor expended on this

island, it would indeed be a terrible thing if it became nothing but a

smoking mass of black lava, to say nothing of the destruction of my

schemes.”

“You won’t tell Maurice or Helena of this?”

“No. Maurice has quite enough on his mind already, and it would only

frighten Helena to death. She is brave enough at most dangers, but I

think a volcanic eruption would frighten the most stout-hearted. I have

to a great extent calmed the feelings of those in the village, so it

will be best for you and I to keep our own counsel, and not uselessly

alarm our friends.”

“I hope it is a useless alarm,” said Crispin uneasily. “But it is a very

unpleasant idea to think that one is living on top of a powder-magazine

which may explode at any moment.”

“As far at that goes,” answered the Demarch dryly, “the whole globe is

nothing but an egg full of fire, and we all live on the surface of an

explosive bombshell whirling through space, which may burst at any

moment. My island is only a sample of the whole earth.”

“I wish you wouldn’t look at things in such an unpleasant light,” cried

Crispin, laughing. “My nerves will be destroyed before I leave this

island. However, I am going to finish my sleep.”

“And Maurice?”

“He also is asleep, and I’ve no doubt will wake up quite fit for another

midnight attack.”

“Egad, and he’ll get it!” said the Demarch grimly. “That villain

Alcibiades is getting ready for another assault.”

“Well, in spite of the benefits conferred, it is to be hoped Hephaistos

won’t interfere this time with his earthquakes.”

“He has warned us twice,” replied Justinian, as he walked out into the

court with the poet; “once by the earthquake, again by the springs.

Heaven help us when the third warning comes!”

“Oh, there’s luck in odd numbers,” said Crispin flippantly. “And, in any

case, if we come to grief, our enemies will be in the same plight as

ourselves.”

CHAPTER XXXIII.

THE INVOCATION OF ARTEMIS.

O Moon! thou risest from the western seas,

A virgin Aphrodite fair and chaste,

And by thy votaress on bended knees

These stainless flowers are on thine altar placed:

Pale lilies, roses wan, and cyclamen,

Whose petals have ensnared thy pallid rays;

Frail hyacinth as chill as mountain snows

Beneath thy wintry ken;

With many blossoms plucked in dewy ways,

For thee, O goddess! who canst end my woes.

O Moon! I pray thee in thy tenderness,

Watch with thy silver eye my lover gone,

And soothe him with thy virginal caress,

For thou hadst also an Endymion.

Astarte! Dian! Tanith! Artemis!

Whate’er men name thee in thy mystic might,

With sacrifice and songs I worship thee:

So grant, O Moon! the bliss

Of feeling in my heart the pure delight,

Which tells my love is coming back to me.

Evidently Alcibiades had but little stomach for midnight fighting, for

he made no attempt to storm the pass under the cover of darkness, and

was apparently making preparations to begin the fight at the first flush

of the dawn. In thus deciding, he was wiser than he knew, for many of

his men had been killed in the tunnel by their own friends, owing to the

confusion which prevailed during the retreat down the staircase.

Moreover, with the electric light showing the position of the enemy to

the defenders, and dazzling their eyesight when they advanced to the

attack, there was nothing to be gained by a night sortie, and Alcibiades

thought it best to storm the pass by day, so that he, at least in the

matter of light, might have the same advantage as Justinian.

All day long, the Demarch and his nephew posted themselves on the

heights above the gorge, and from their vantage, with the aid of strong

field-glasses, saw the preparations which were being made for the final

attack. Alcibiades, with more military precision than of yore, had

divided his two hundred men into two bodies, one of which was commanded

by himself and the other by Count Caliphronas. Under these two leaders

were four other commanders responsible for fifty troops each, but these

deferred to Caliphronas and Alcibiades, while the Count in his turn took

his orders from the old pirate as the supreme head of the whole army.

Without doubt, Alcibiades desired to attack the island in two separate

places, for he knew, thanks to the treachery of Caliphronas, that

Justinian’s force was too few in numbers to admit of division, and thus,

while the one body was attacking the palisade in the gorge, the other

could get at the rear of the Melnosians by another way. Unfortunately

for this daring scheme, the cliffs on either side of the pass were

perfectly inaccessible, as they arose smooth and arid from the beach to

the height of two hundred feet, and as the besiegers had not wings, they

could scarcely hope to climb up these sterile steeps, which would not

have afforded foothold even for a goat. The only path available for this

plan was perfectly well known to Caliphronas, but, unluckily for the

besiegers, was inside the outer palisade, from whence it wound up to the

heights where the Demarch and his nephew were seated, and from thence

went through the altar glade, down to the back of the Acropolis.

Once the outer defence was taken, Caliphronas intended to lead his

century of men up this secret way, which he knew thoroughly, and thus

gain the heart of the island as exemplified by the Acropolis, while the

Demarch was keeping back the feigned attack at the stockade. This

stratagem was very clever and very feasible, but the difficulty in

carrying it out consisted in the fact that, before the path could be

ascended, the outer defence would have to be taken, which was no easy

task, when defended by such determined men as the Melnosians. However,

it was to all appearances the only chance of gaining speedy possession

of the island, without risking prolonged fighting; so Alcibiades adopted

the plan without hesitation, and arranged with his subordinates to

assault the palisade at early dawn, carry it with a dash, and then,

while he made a feigned attack at the inner defence, Caliphronas and his

men, gaining the interior of the island by this path, could attack the

defending party in the rear.

It never for a moment struck Messrs. Alcibiades & Company that Justinian

was far too wide awake not to have thought of this contingency, and had

made his preparations in consequence. The entrance of the path from the

gorge was up a narrow, winding staircase, cut in the live rock, which

could only hold two men abreast, so, in the event of the outer defence

being beaten down, this staircase could be easily defended by a dozen or

so of men. Added to this, an iron gate closely locked was placed at the

entrance; therefore, even if the enemy did gain an entrance into the

pass, they had considerable difficulties to overcome before marching in

triumph into the Acropolis. Justinian would, indeed, have been a bad

general had he not foreseen this danger, but even though he thus guarded

against it to the best of his ability, he trusted that his men would be

able to hold the outer defence until Alcibiades retired in discomfiture.

As a matter-of-fact, the fiery old adventurer would have liked nothing

better than to sally forth at the head of his handful of men and drive

his enemy into the sea, but he was no longer the reckless Rudolph

Roylands of the past, and judged it best to be cautious, nor risk the

chance of a pitched battle in the open with unequal numbers. Intrenched

in the strong outworks of the pass, his little band could hope to face

their enemies with more than a fair chance of victory, but if he was

foolish enough to make a sally, his ninety-five men would, in spite of

their bravery, be quickly cut to pieces by more than double the number.

Of course their military precision would doubtless tell against the

undisciplined hordes of Alcibiades; still the risk was too great, and

Justinian, much as he desired to make a bold dash for victory, deemed it

best to take advantage of all the shelter and advantage his

fortifications afforded.

The western pass was not unlike the tunnel in conformation, for,

extending from inside to outside, a distance of a quarter of a mile, it

ran upward from the cliffs of the beach for some little way, then,

turning in an abrupt angle, pursued a straight way into the interior of

the crater. Evidently created by a volcanic eruption for the outlet of

lava, the sides, rent apart by some convulsion, arose precipitous and

sterile to the height of over two hundred feet. No vegetation softened

the nakedness of these rugged rocks, which, streaked with green, yellow,

and red, presented a singularly forbidding appearance. On the top grew

ancient pines, whose sombre branches, nearly touching one another as

they stretched across the gulf, only permitted a thin streak of sky to

be seen; so that the depths below were singularly gloomy, and to the

imaginative Hellenes might well have suggested the thought that it was

the Gate of Hades, by which name it was traditionally known. Justinian,

however, abandoned such cognomen as of evil omen, and called it “The

Western Pass,” by which title it was generally called by the Melnosians.

It was indeed a remarkably eerie place even on the brightest day, and

the light which filtered downward from between the branches of the pines

but half revealed, in a glimmering gloom, the horrent rocks, the lack of

flowers and grasses, and the chill, vault-like seeming of the whole

tremendous cleft.

Maurice, having slept all day, felt wonderfully refreshed when he awoke,

just as the sun set, and, though his head was still painful with the

wound, yet his brain was perfectly bright and clear; so, after making a

hearty meal, he started with his uncle and Crispin for the western pass,

where he was to remain all night. The enemy might, or might not, make a

night attack, and Justinian rather inclined to the belief that they

would wait till daylight. Nevertheless, to guard against any chance of

such a thing occurring, he resolved that every one, both leaders and

men, should remain in the pass during the hours of darkness.

The men thus being at the front, a number of the women were sleeping up

at the Acropolis with Helena, so as to be near their relations, and the

interior of the island was thus given over entirely to feminine

influence; while the extreme end of the pass, near to the outer

palisade, was occupied by the male defenders. At times the sunlight came

into this cliff entrance, so there was a scanty vegetation for some

distance inward, so on this sparse grass Justinian and his men made

themselves comfortable. Many of the soldiers, wearied out with watching,

were sleeping around, but there was a strong guard at the barricade,

under the command of Gurt, who was much better, and had insisted upon

coming to the front.

Round a fire sat the Demarch, his nephew, Crispin, and Dick, all talking

earnestly about the coming struggle, for the bos’n, having snatched a

few hours of sleep during the afternoon, was now quite alert and active.

The fire was lighted more for the sake of comfort than because of cold,

though, indeed, the bottom of this abyss was chilly enough, and the

cheerful flames flickered redly in the intense darkness, while high

above glimmered the pale stars, and to the right arose the frowning mass

of the palisade black against the faint gleam of the luminous night. To

their nostrils came the salt savor of the sea, and at intervals they

could hear the songs and revelry of their foes on the beach below. What

with the recumbent forms of the sleeping men, the firelight hollowing

out a space for itself in the blackness, and the intense stillness of

the night, broken only by the pacing of the sentries, and the fitful

snatches of song from the near distance, the whole scene was

extraordinarily weird, so much so, that Crispin, with his impressionable

poet’s nature, soon relapsed into silence.

“Crispin, why don’t you think of business?” said Maurice mischievously,

as he noticed the poet’s abstraction.

“I was thinking of—of—other things.”

“My niece for instance,” observed the Demarch, with a grave smile.

“It’s not improbable,” replied Crispin, reddening a trifle; “but, after

all, I am in good company, for Maurice is doubtless thinking of Helena.”

Maurice, smiling, did not deny this remarkably accurate guess, and his

uncle, smoothing his silver beard, laughed silently.

“I’m afraid Dick and myself are the only persons who are thinking of

war.”

“I’m certain of it as far as you are concerned, but I will not answer

for Dick there.”

“Dick, Dick!” said Justinian, shaking his head gravely; “what is this I

hear?”

“About Zoe, sir,” answered the bos’n innocently.

“Oh, it is my daughter’s maid!”

“Well, you see, sir,” said Dick bashfully, “it was like this, sir. Zoe,

you see, gentlemen, likes me, and I like Zoe; so, with your permission,

Mr. Justinian, we were thinking of marriage.”

“My permission!” echoed the Demarch, with a lurking smile; “as far as

that goes, it doesn’t seem to be needed. This is surely pairing time,

for you three young men seem to be all choosing mates. Eunice, Helena,

Zoe! Maurice, when your old tutor arrives, we must have a triple

marriage.”

“We’ve got to drive away Alcibiades first, uncle.”

“No doubt; but that, though difficult, is not impossible.”

“I hope not. Crispin, wake up, sir! You are thinking about Eunice

again.”

“Indeed I am not,” answered Crispin, with some dismay. “I am thinking of

my revolver, which I have left behind at the Acropolis.”

“There’s a warrior for you,” said the Demarch, with a hearty laugh; “he

forgets the modern substitute for a shield. Well, my lad, as your

revolver is an important matter, you had better go back and get it.”

Crispin jumped gayly to his feet.

“I’ll go at once,” he said, putting on his sombrero; “but I hope the

battle will not begin without me.”

“I think you may make up your mind there will be no row till dawn, sir,”

said Dick, who was peering between the bars of the palisade; “there

would not be all that kick-up going on down there if they meant

business.”

“In that case,” observed Maurice, rising slowly, “I think I’ll go back

for your revolver, Crispin.”

“Or for your heart,” replied the poet, laughing.

“Oh, I don’t wish to bring that back, especially in wartime. It is safer

with Helena. Uncle, can I go?”

“By all means. I agree with Dick, and do not think there is any chance

of a night attack. However, you had better make haste to come back to

your post.”

“So Paris flies harsh war’s alarms

For dalliance in fair Helen’s arms.”

“Crispin, keep your rude couplets to yourself, or I’ll forget to bring

back your revolver. Adieu, gentlemen. I will return anon.”

Maurice stalked away up the gorge, like a tragedy actor, much to the

amusement of Justinian. Indeed, this light-hearted, desultory

conversation did a good deal to keep up their spirits, and, in spite of

the serious danger at their gates, all the Englishmen were wonderfully

merry. It is characteristic of the British, that, if they take their

pleasures solemnly, they keep the balance even by being gay in the

presence of danger, and he who doubts the truth of this statement has

only to read Kinglake’s account of the battle of the Alma, in order to

assure himself of its truth.

As before mentioned, the gorge was very dark, but Maurice knew every

inch of the way, and, being sure-footed as a goat, never stumbled in his

step, but strode merrily along in the darkness, whistling “Garryowen.”

It was curious, amid all this Greek life, revival of paganism, and

piratical invasion, to hear the quaint Irish air, but Maurice found it

an admirable melody to which to march, and moved his legs so rapidly to

the tune, that in a very short space of time he emerged from the pass

into the moonlit road skirting the crater.

It was only about ten o’clock in the evening, and the moon, full and

round, burned like a lamp in the sky near the Milky Way, which she was

slowly drawing near. Brightly gleamed Sirius amid the feebler twinkle of

minor stars, and eastward like a ruby glittered Mars, the planet of the

soldier, foreboding war and blood. The wind gently moved the branches of

the mulberry-trees above the head of the pedestrian, and, moderating his

pace, he strolled lazily along the shadow-strewn road, while the

nightingales sang in every thicket, thrilling his heart with their

delicious notes.

Soon, however, another song mingled with theirs, a strange, wild melody,

which, chanted in a clear, high voice, arose and fell sadly in the chill

moonlight; then an imploring chorus of voices sounded in unison. Again

the one singer cried in an appealing manner; then silence and the

hurried notes of the hidden birds.

Curious to know the meaning of this strange singing, Maurice walked

rapidly onward, bounded up the steps of the Acropolis, and entered into

the vestibule. The music, shrill and fitful, sounded close at hand, so,

stealthily approaching the curtains hanging before the entrance of the

court, Roylands peered in, to discover the reason of such fantastic

melodies. He was evidently disturbing the mysteries of the Bona Dea, for

the court was thronged with women, and they seemed to be engaged in the

performance of some rite—a kind of invocation to the moon, which

appeared shining brilliantly in the sky through the hypæthral opening of

the building.

A small brazier filled with burning coals, and elevated on a tripod,

stood near the fountain, before which stood Helena, in her long white

robe, with loosely flowing hair and slender arms outstretched towards

the serene planet above. Around the court knelt a number of Melnosian

women in their long chitons; but Maurice’s eyes were fastened on that

beautiful central figure which stood so motionless before the tripod.

The moonlight softly fell on her lovely upturned face, on her snowy

robe, her milky arms, and touched with chilly beam the disordered gold

of her hair. Maurice, who felt that he was looking on at some ceremony

not meant for masculine eyes, would have stepped forward and announced

his presence, but at that moment, Helena broke out into a song so wild

and thrilling, that he involuntarily paused in amazement. The words were

in Greek, but he was now sufficiently master of the language to

understand them. They were evidently some antique invocation to the

inviolate Artemis, and he wondered where she could have discovered them,

as they rippled from her lips, rising and falling with fitful sobbings,

like the voice of some complaining wind on a lonely beach.

HELENA.

Oh, waning moon! why hidest thou thy face?

Fair is the night, but less fair than my lover absent;

Unveil thyself from the jealous cloud-woof,

And thou wilt see how fair is he I worship.

CHORUS.

O Dian! sun of the lovers’ night, I call thee.

HELENA.

Thou canst control the tides of ocean,

The tides obedient, who are slaves to thee,

Surely then thou canst control the heart of my lover,

And make him long to return to my arms so loving.

CHORUS.

O Baalit! mistress of the tides, I call thee.

HELENA.

Save him from danger, for he is daring, my lover,

He rides the surges of battle as thou ridest the flying clouds.

Save him, Tanith!

And bring him safely to the arms of her who calleth.

CHORUS.

O Ashtoreth! thou also hast loved! I call thee.

At this moment, Helena took something from her bosom, and, throwing a

few grains of incense on the coals, held it in the thick white smoke

which arose. Afterwards she advanced to the fountain and dipped it

thrice, singing all the time that strange melody.

HELENA.

This amber heart I place in the rising odors,

So that thy virtues may pass into it;

Thrice do I dip it in lustrous water in which thou hast beheld thine

image;

For thus will it draw the magic from thy breast,

On my lover’s neck will I place it—on his beating heart will it rest,

And it will save him when red runs the blood of battle.

CHORUS.

Hecate! controller of spells, I call thee.

When she ended, the chorus of women arose to their feet, and slowly

filed out of one of the side doors, leaving the court empty, and Helena

still standing by the brazier, from whence the burning incense still

rolled skyward. Maurice, quite astonished at this strange scene of

magical incantation, stole quietly forward, and, looking over her

shoulder, saw that she was gazing at the amber heart, which she had

converted into an amulet by her moon spells.

“Helena!”

She turned with a cry of astonishment, and then fell into his arms with

a joyous laugh.

“Oh, Maurice! my dearest! my darling! Are the old stories true, and have

my spells drawn you back to my side?”

She was much excited, so Maurice drew her gently to one of the chairs

near the fountain, and, placing her therein, knelt at her feet,

smoothing her two hands, which he held between his own, to quieten her

alarm at his sudden appearance.

“My dearest Helena, I came back to fetch Crispin’s revolver, which he

has left behind. Hearing you singing, I looked in.”

“Oh!” cried Helena, with a blush; “and what did you see?”

“Nothing very dreadful,” he replied, laughing, “I only saw a symposium

of women, and felt like Clodius surveying the mysteries of the Bona Dea.

What on earth were you doing?”

“Oh, it was only a game, Maurice,” she replied, burying her head on his

shoulder. “I am ashamed you should have seen me acting so childishly,

but, the fact is, there is a woman here who told me about it.”

“About what?”

“This incantation to the moon. In spite of father’s being so particular

about purity of blood, some of the women are of Arab descent. This one

who told me how to make a talisman, comes from Africa, and, I believe,

is a descendant of the old Carthaginians.”

“Nonsense! they were all stamped out by the Romans. Well, what about

this modern Dido?”

“Well, she saw how anxious I was about you, and told me if I invoked the

moon, and bathed some small article in moon-water and incense, it would

become endowed with powerful virtues, and protect its wearer from

danger.”

“You foolish child!” said Maurice, tenderly stroking her loose hair;

“and was all this mummery on my account?”

“Yes; but if you laugh at it, the talisman will lose its power.”

“Then I’ll be as grave as a judge. Where is this wonderful amulet?”

Helena held out the amber heart which lay in the centre of her little

white palm, from which Maurice lifted it daintily, and pressed his

mustache against her hand.

“And am I to wear this?”

“Round your neck.”

“But there is nothing to fasten it there.”

“Oh dear me, I must get some string, or silk, or—Oh,” she cried, struck

with a sudden thought, “have you a knife?”

“No.”

“Then lend me your sword.”

“What! are you going to cut my head off for overlooking your Bona Dea

ceremonies?” he said laughingly, drawing the keen weapon from its

sheath.

For answer, she arose to her feet, and shook the loose gold of her hair

over her shoulders. Carefully selecting one long tress, she smoothed it

down with her hands, and held it out towards her lover.

“Cut it off.”

“What! your beautiful hair!” cried Maurice, who stood before her with

his sword gleaming in the moonlight. “Oh, Helena, I could not do that.”

“Then give me your sword, and I’ll do it myself.”

“My dearest, you would hurt yourself. Why do you want to cut this lock?”

“To make a chain for the heart.”

“There’s a chain round my heart already,” said her lover, still

hesitating. “Won’t it spoil your hair?”

“Maurice! how tiresome you are! Cut it off at once.”

She stamped her foot with pretty petulance, so, seeing she was

obstinate, he carefully sheared off the tress close to her head. This

being done, she shook her locks over the shorn place, and, sitting down

in her chair once more, began to weave the shining hair into a delicate

chain.

“You silly child, making me despoil you of your glory!” said Maurice,

touched by her action. “There, let me put my sword up again, and I will

help you.”

“Hold the end of the chain then, and do not talk, or you will break the

charm.”

Maurice, sheathing his sword, knelt down before her, and, taking one end

of the glittering coil daintily between finger and thumb, watched her

weaving the threads rapidly together, crooning the while a strange old

song in a low voice.

“Weave the threads of golden hair,

Golden future also weaving.

Happy be thy fortunes fair,

Plenteous joy but scanty grieving.

In and out, and out and in,

Thus thy coming life I spin.

Bind the chain to golden heart,

Golden heart to thee be binding,

Meet together ne’er to part,

Love will come with little finding.

In and out and out and in,

Thus thy future life I spin.”

“There!” said Helena, having finished the chain; “now let me tie up the

ends—give me the heart.”

“My heart?”

“I have that already,” she answered mischievously. “The amber heart,

please; I must bind it to the chain.”

“Where did you learn that song?”

“I made it up all by myself,” said Helena triumphantly, dangling the

chain before him. “Do you think that only Crispin is a poet?”

“No, my Sappho.”

“There is a chain of my hair and a talisman attached to keep you from

harm, so bend your head, my knight, and I will give it to you.”

Maurice, entering into the spirit of her charming humor, bowed his head,

over which she flung the slender chain of hair, then, kissing him on the

forehead, leaned back and clapped her hands gayly.

“There! now you are safe. Nothing can harm you while you wear that.”

“Nothing can harm me while I think of you,” he whispered tenderly,

taking her in his arms; “your love is my safeguard both in peace and

war.”

“Oh dear me!” sighed Helena, as she pillowed her head on his shoulder;

“what nonsense it is, Maurice! Still, it’s very pleasant nonsense.”

“Very pleasant.”

“And I am very nice?”

“You are very vain,” he said, kissing her and rising to his feet.

“There, you charming sorceress!”

“A new Circe.”

“Precisely; but I must not stay with Circe any longer. Let me go to

Crispin’s room for his revolver, and then good-by.”

As quickly as possible he ran into the poet’s bedroom, and found the

weapon on the bed, where the neglectful poet had left it. Slipping it

into his belt, he came back to say good-by to Helena.

“Now mind you go to bed, dear,” he said, kissing her tenderly; “no more

magical ceremonies to-night.”

“No, I will go to bed. Oh, do take care of yourself, Maurice!”

“I will, both for your sake and my own. Besides, your talisman.”

Helena threw her arms impulsively round his neck.

“I give you the talisman, and I give you my love.”

He bent down and kissed her, then without a word went away into the

moonlit night on his way to battle, and perhaps—death.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

A MODERN THERMOPYLÆ.

In the gap say fifty fighters waiting for the coming shock,

Guns and sabres, pikes and bayonets holding tight,

And two hundred stormers dashing up, like surges on a rock,

With a grim determination for their foes’ extermination

In the fight.

Clash of weapons, cannon’s thunder, and the rifle’s deadly crack,

Mingle fiercely with the shrieking of the wounded in their pain,

Till, in spite of all their toiling,

Valor stanch their efforts foiling,

Down the slope again recoiling,

Reels the shattered column back,

All their dauntlessness in vain,

And the battle-ground is cumbered with a multitude unnumbered

Of the slain.

At the first flush of dawn in the gray eastern skies, the Melnosians

were on the alert and ready for the fight. Owing to the early hour, and

the fact of their having passed the night in the open air, many of the

men were shivering with cold, on noticing which, Justinian ordered hot

coffee to be served out all round. They also took a light meal, then

went through a few evolutions on the narrow space of their bivouac

ground, which suppled their limbs, and sent the lethargic blood once

more speeding rapidly through their veins. Both Crispin and Maurice felt

somewhat stiff, especially the latter, owing to his wound, but the hot

coffee, the food, and an indulgence in a few gymnastic exercises soon

brought them back to their normal condition of physical fitness. Unlike

their less seasoned frames, Justinian’s iron constitution never seemed

to feel the strain to which it was subjected, and, in spite of his

years, he was as brisk and active as the youngest member of his band.

As it was imperative that this outer defence should be held against all

odds, owing to the proximity of the side path, the Demarch had the two

cannons which were planted inside the second barricade brought down as

rapidly as possible, and placed them on either side of the entrance to

the gorge, in order to sweep down the enemy as they dashed up the

sloping ground from the beach. Their muzzles, protruding from the

earthworks, could pour confusion into the ranks of the stormers in a

most effective fashion, especially as they were loaded with grape-shot,

which would scatter widely in the discharge. As in the tunnel palisade,

a thick wall of turf was built half-way up against the beams, while on

this sand-bags and gabions, with loopholes for the rifle barrels, were

also laid. The whole front of the battery was therefore bristling with

danger to the besiegers, while the garrison, intrenched behind their

outworks, were in comparative safety. The inner palisade farther up the

pass was defended in a similar manner, saving in the matter of cannon;

but Justinian determined to use his best endeavors finally to crush the

enemy in his present position, so as to do away with the danger of their

gaining possession of the side path which led into the heart of the

island.

Directly in front of the battery, the ground sloped away down to the

beach in a gentle declivity, and up this a winding road was cut by

slight gradations which afforded a sufficiently easy approach. Still, so

undisciplined were the troops of Alcibiades, that the Demarch thought,

instead of marching along the road in a regular line, they would

scramble confusedly upward either by the path or by the slope, so that

his guns could play on their scattered ranks with deadly effect.

Maurice and his uncle took their field-glasses up to the point of

vantage above the side path, from whence they could survey the

preparations of the enemy, who were now deploying in irregular lines

under the amateur leadership of Alcibiades and the traitor Greek.

Justinian laughed contemptuously as he saw the confusion into which

Caliphronas was throwing his men, and, without removing the glass from

his eyes, remarked on this bad generalship to Maurice.

“I always thought Andros had a certain amount of brains, but, seeing

what a mess he is making of things after all my training, I am wrong in

believing him capable of anything except grinning in the mirror.”

“Well, he has very bad soldiers, uncle. They seem to be ignorant of the

simplest rules of discipline.”

“And no wonder! The very scum of the Levant. Peasants, sailors, Turkish

scamps, and stupid islanders. Still, even out of the most hopeless

materials a good commander can form a disciplined corps, and I am sure

they have had plenty of time to drill their men; but Andros has not the

slightest capability for military matters. As for Alcibiades”—

The Demarch’s opinion of Alcibiades’ generalship was so bad that he

could not find words sufficiently contemptuous to express his scorn; but

as at this moment the enemy began to move irregularly towards the road

which led to the mouth of the pass, he shut up his glass and went down

to his men, followed by Maurice.

“The dance is about to begin,” said Crispin, when the garrison were all

in order at their several posts. “I expect it will be a merry one.”

“Faith! we will be the pipers,” replied Justinian grimly, pointing to

his cannon; “they will caper gayly enough when these play the tune.”

“We had better lose no time in beginning then,” said Maurice, who was

looking at the approaching enemy, “for here come the dancers.”

As Justinian had foreseen, the stormers, instead of advancing by the

road in a compact body, and thus neutralizing the danger of the opening

fire, rushed irregularly up the slope in hopeless confusion, yelling

wildly in order to keep up their courage.

“Scum!” cried Justinian scornfully, as he saw the motley crowd climbing

upward. “Give it ’em, lads!”

Dick presided over one of the guns, Gurt at the other, as both of them,

having been in the English navy, knew all the necessary business for

loading, adjusting the sight, and firing the cannon. The Demarch’s

finances had not run to the expense of importing cannon of the new type,

so these brass guns were somewhat old-fashioned; still, loaded with

grape-shot, they were very effective when fired, especially when sighted

with considerable science by the old men-of-war’s-men.

Up came the enemy, shrieking like fiends, and broken into irregular

bands, dotting the green slope with patches of blue topped by the red of

their Turkish headgear. Dick, who was to fire first, waited till they

were within an easy distance, and then put the lighted match to the

touch-hole of his cannon. There was a roar as the deadly grape-shot

splashed among the advancing crowd, and then a shriek of rage as the

column reeled, wavered, and for the moment paused. Encouraged by

Alcibiades, they still advanced, only to be mown down by the dozen with

the discharge of Gurt’s cannon, upon which, dismayed at the carnage,

they retreated down the hill in confusion, leaving the ground thick with

the slain.

On seeing this, the sailors set up a hearty British cheer, in which all

joined but Justinian, who smiled grimly at the effective work done by

his guns. Alcibiades was stamping with rage, for his little scheme of

firing the barricade, as on the previous occasion, was quite

impracticable, owing to those deadly muzzles which gaped through the

palisade.

With considerable caution, however, he scattered his men so as to avert

the danger of huddled masses being cut down by the grape-shot, and kept

up a continuous fire at the frowning front of the battery. The

Melnosians returned the fire with their Martini-Henry rifles, and

managed to pick off a few of the sharp-shooters, while, protected by

their gabions, they managed to escape without the loss of a single man;

for the bullets either buried themselves with a dull thud in the

sand-bags or else went ripping above their heads to flatten themselves

harmlessly against the lava walls of the pass.

“They can’t last long against our cannon, uncle,” said Maurice, who was

watching Dick reloading his gun; “that first dash has lost them nearly

twenty men.”

“It will take some time to polish off two hundred,” replied Justinian,

who had his glass to his eyes; “besides, Alcibiades has some scheme in

his head. All this sharp-shooting is done to divert our attention. I

thought so!”

“What’s up now?”

“He’s bringing up a field-piece to that hill.”

“The deuce!” cried Maurice, hastily focussing his glasses. “We must

silence that. Dick, do you think you could bring one of the guns to bear

on that hill to the right?”

Dick, after some consideration, thought he could, and did; for, with the

assistance of his sailors, he wheeled round the gun-carriage to an angle

of thirty-five degrees, so as to bring the muzzle of his piece in a

direct line with the conical-shaped mound up which the enemy were

dragging their battery. This hill, which was slightly to the right of

the pass, would have been utilized long before for his guns by any able

commander; but not until the loss of twenty men had taught Alcibiades

experience, did he think of making use of the position. The crest of the

mound was slightly lower than the palisade; but, by depressing the

muzzle of his gun, Dick got a fair opportunity of disabling the battery

of the enemy. Owing to their numbers, they soon succeeded in dragging

the field-piece up to the top, and, placing it in position, raised the

mouth slightly, so as to aim at the upper part of the barricade. Just as

they were preparing to fire, Dick, who had loaded with round shot,

discharged his cannon, and the great mass of iron went hurtling

viciously through the air.

“Badly aimed, Dick,” said Maurice, who had his glasses up. “Your eye is

not quite in. Look out, they are returning the compliment.”

There was a puff of smoke, a sudden flash, an infinitesimal pause, and a

ball came ripping along at tremendous speed, only to strike the ground

in front of the battery, and ricochet harmlessly down the hill.

“Their gunner isn’t much better than myself, sir,” cried Dick, carefully

training the sight of his piece; “but I won’t miss this time.”

His aim was much better, for the second shot, while not touching the

cannon, knocked over two men standing near, who dropped down quickly

over the brow of the hill.

“Egad! I wish those two had been the leaders,” said Justinian

cheerfully; “both the scamps are there. Here’s the return fire.”

This time the ball struck the palisade fair in the top centre, and

smashed down several of the cross-beams. The sharp-shooters, seeing

this, gave a cry of triumph, which was echoed by those on the hill, and

the gunner rapidly loaded again, so as to follow up the advantage

gained. Dick, however, was already prepared, and before the cannon of

the enemy could be fired again, a shot from his gun struck it on the

carriage, causing it to fall out of position. The besiegers set at once

to work about restoring it to its former level; but by this time Gurt

also had directed his gun towards the battery, and shot after shot from

the two cannon followed so rapidly that in a short time the enemy had to

vacate their position.

“I wish I could make a dash, and spike that gun,” said Maurice, as the

Melnosians cheered loudly.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort, sir,” replied Justinian sharply. “I

don’t want to run the chance of losing you again. Besides, Alcibiades is

going to make a dash for the gate.”

“Old fool!” said Crispin scornfully. “He can’t bring his men up against

our guns.”

“He’s going to try, at all events, as he evidently thinks his shot has

told heavily on our defences.”

All this time there was a constant flash, flash, flash along the line of

sharp-shooters, as they kept up a continuous fire; and, in spite of all

precautions, two Melnosians were killed. Under cover of this musketry it

was apparent that Alcibiades was about to make a dash; but, having

learned a lesson from the previous advance, he led his men along the

right side, close under the cliffs, where the cannon could not reach

them. Justinian saw this manœuvre, and, rapidly serving out fresh

ammunition, told his men to be in readiness.

Round the right corner of the battery came a furious crowd, headed by a

huge negro, for Alcibiades had no liking for heading such a forlorn

hope. The attack was received by the garrison with a volley from their

muskets; but, in spite of many dropping off dead and wounded, the

besiegers still continued to struggle fiercely up the outward beams, in

order to reach the upper gap made by the cannon. The sharp-shooters had,

of course, to cease fire, lest they should hit their comrades; and,

seeing that they had swarmed up nearly to the top of the barrier, ran

forward to help them. The Melnosians, in two lines, one kneeling, the

other standing at the back, fired continuously at the writhing mass,

while those behind the gabions stabbed with bayonet and cutlass with

right good will. Both cannon were discharged, cutting two lanes of blood

through the furious throng; yet, notwithstanding their losses, the

stormers still stuck to their intention, and it became evident that

nothing now remained to the garrison but to beat them back in a

hand-to-hand fight.

One pirate leaped from the parapet through the gap, but was speedily

despatched by a bayonet-thrust in the chest. Others, however, followed

like a flock of sheep, and there was little doubt but that the

Melnosians would have been driven back had they not been so expert in

the use of the bayonet. Justinian, an old army man, had taught them the

exercise splendidly, and, raising the bayonets first high, and then back

over the right shoulder, their weapons told in every thrust; so they

were thus enabled to keep the foe at bay.

While the top of the barrier was thus being assaulted, a number of men,

under Caliphronas, were hacking away at the lower beams; for, unwilling

to harm his men, Alcibiades refrained from setting fire to the palisade

as he had done before. The weight of the stormers on the top made the

now weakened lower portion rock ominously, and it was evident the whole

structure would soon be in ruins. When this happened, the danger would

be imminent, as Justinian knew that the enemy far exceeded in numbers

his own little band, and, even with the advantage of the narrow gorge,

it was doubtful if he could hold his ground. Giving way, however, meant

that the side path would be left to Alcibiades, and, however bravely

defended, would be certain to be captured at once. Besides, he dared not

leave the guns in possession of the enemy, as they would at once use

them with deadly effect against his own men.

Rendered reckless by despair, the Melnosians fought like demons against

the enemy, and, though Alcibiades hurled body after body of men against

them, they stood their ground, and did not give way one inch. At any

moment, however, the barrier might fall, and Justinian lost no time in

rendering the guns innocuous, if he were forced to retreat up the gorge.

“Dick! Gurt! spike the guns! spike the guns!” he roared in English, and

the Greeks, not understanding the language, did not guess how important

was the order. Caliphronas, however, heard it on the other side of the

barrier, and made immediate report to Alcibiades, who grasped the idea

at once.

“Make for the guns! capture the guns!” he yelled in Greek; “they will

spike them!”

A body of men leaped down from the parapet and made for the gun held by

Dick, but Maurice sprang in front of it, and, while the bos’n was busy

putting in the spike, kept the enemy at bay. He soon emptied his

revolver, and thus had to fight solely with the sword, but the Demarch,

seeing his danger, re-enforced him with four Melnosians, who speedily

beat back the assailants. However, Dick’s task was accomplished, and,

Gurt having also obeyed orders, both guns were now spiked and perfectly

useless, should the enemy gain possession of them. The only danger

remaining was the side path, which, in spite of its iron door, might be

forced; so the Demarch and his men stanchly held their ground, in spite

of the havoc which was being made in their ranks by the overwhelming

force of the enemy.

Fighting fiercely, with obstinate determination not to give way one

inch, slowly but surely the Melnosians drove back the stormers to the

barrier, clambering up over the heaps of slain in their efforts to force

the enemy to vacate their position. The air was blinding with gunpowder

smoke; the clash of the swords, the fierce shouts of the besiegers, and

the cheers of the Melnosians created a most infernal din; but high above

this was heard the crash of the palisade, as, yielding to the axes of

the enemy, it fell outward. Many were unable to retreat in time, owing

to the crush behind,—for Alcibiades had long ago given up every attempt

to keep order,—and in its fall a great number were crushed to death,

while their comrades, not heeding their death agonies, rushed forward

across the platform thus formed, in order to follow up their advantage

as speedily as possible.

At this critical juncture Justinian bethought himself of the stratagem

of scaring the enemy by a fictitious force, and hastily bade Temistocles

to run to the Acropolis and tell all the women to come down the gorge

with drums beating and colors flying. There were plenty of kettledrums

and flags at the Acropolis, which Justinian had not cared to use, so

these, used by the women advancing down the pass, might inspire the

enemy with fear that re-enforcements had arrived. The only proviso that

Justinian made was that the women, on their arrival, should keep out of

musket-shot and not risk their lives.

Temistocles sped away like a deer, and Justinian hastily advanced to the

front, in order to assist Maurice and Crispin, who were both fighting

with the desperation of despair. The Melnosians, two deep, extending

right across the gorge, and, being at close quarters, were using their

bayonets for stabbing, and their clubbed muskets for dealing blows. The

sailors were almost in a ring round Maurice and Crispin, slashing away

vigorously with their cutlasses, cutting principally at the faces and

necks of their assailants, so as not to transfix their blades in the

bodies, and thus render themselves defenceless.

Maurice, whose stature gave him considerable advantage over his

opponents, was sweeping his sword as rapidly as possible among the

enemy, cutting, thrusting, slashing, and stabbing; but he was much

encumbered by one of the wounded enemy, who was clutching his leg, and

thus impeding his movements. Justinian saw this, and, firing at the

wretch, knocked his brains out; while Maurice, thus freed, sprang

resolutely forward, followed by his sailors, in order to get at

Alcibiades, who was urging on his men to the attack from the

vantage-ground of the fallen palisade. Justinian and Crispin, thus left

alone in front of their line, fought vigorously to keep back the enemy,

while the old Demarch, seeing his nephew’s aim, shouted out words of

encouragement.

“Cut off the head and the body will follow!” he cried in English, then

rapidly added in Greek, “Close up, men! close up! give them no chance of

getting to the rear.”

In obedience to this command, as soon as a man in the front rank fell,

another stepped in from the rear to fill up a gap, or else the foremost

soldiers closed up shoulder to shoulder so as to preserve an unbroken

front. By this means they kept the enemy in front, and, notwithstanding

the fierceness of the fight, held their ground stanchly, waiting the

signal to advance. Between them and the fallen palisade was a furious

crowd heaving like a stormy sea, and at the back Alcibiades giving his

orders, which, however, were not heeded. Justinian was waiting until

Maurice killed Alcibiades, when he determined to advance with all his

force, and thus drive the disheartened enemy over the verge of the

barrier.

It was with some difficulty that Maurice managed to fight his way

through the crowd, but, protected in the rear by Dick and his sailors,

he at length managed to get clear, and, leaping on the parapet,

confronted Alcibiades, bare-headed, but waving his sword with a stern

resolve to kill the pirate. Alcibiades was no coward, but had kept in

the background, as he deemed his life too valuable to risk, as indeed it

was, for lacking a head the invading army would be worse than useless.

Face to face with the Englishman, however, he did not shirk the combat,

but, whirling his sword with a fierce cry, dashed boldly at his enemy.

He could not call upon his followers to aid him, as the sailors with

their cutlasses kept a clear ring for the combat; so he saw plainly it

was a duel to the death, and one upon which depended the whole issue of

the battle.

Not having the reach of arm or the stature of the Englishman, he found

himself at considerable disadvantage, but nevertheless fought on

bravely, and, adopting stabbing tactics more than slashing, tried his

best to give his opponent a mortal wound. Maurice, however, having a

quick eye, was enabled to ward off his blows by a dexterous use of his

now emptied revolver, and made rapid play with his sword firmly grasped

in his right hand. The pirate captain managed to wound him in the left

arm just below the elbow, but at that moment Maurice passed his sword

through his chest. Alcibiades, though not fatally wounded, gasped out

“Christos!” and fell back over the palisade into the outward mass of his

men, who would have carried him off, but Justinian, hearing the distant

roll of a drum, and seeing that Maurice was alone on the parapet, gave

the order to advance.

On observing his uncle’s action, Maurice cried out in Greek, “Alcibiades

is dead!” whereupon the intervening enemy were filled with alarm, and

began to retreat before the advancing Melnosians. Dick, the sailors, and

Maurice leaped down to take Alcibiades prisoner, and, while busily

engaged in fighting, the whole inward crowd, driven forward, came

rolling pell-mell over the fallen barrier, carrying those who would have

fain stayed with them. Maurice had enough to do to keep his feet against

the torrent, but managed to divide it into two streams with the use of

his sword and the aid of his sailors.

In another moment Justinian and Crispin were by his side, and down the

slope fled the foe in headlong confusion, with the Melnosians in full

chase.

“Keep together, men! keep together!” yelled the Demarch, as he raced

down the slope like a school-boy; but the Melnosians had been too long

held back to pay any attention to his orders. Right and left fled the

enemy, making for the boats, but Gurt, seeing this, tried to intercept

them with a few sailors. Unfortunately he could not run, owing to his

wound, so he had to abandon the pursuit, and the foremost fugitives

managed to get afloat. Justinian had forbidden all useless killing, but

his islanders, frenzied at the loss of their comrades, and elated by

their victory, were quite beyond control. Those who could not reach the

boats were slaughtered on the spot, and the Demarch, in despair of

saving the lives of any, could do nothing but stand on the beach with

Maurice and Crispin beside him. A goodly number of the fugitives,

however, were now pulling for the open sea, among them Caliphronas, who,

standing up in the boat, shook his two hands with despair on beholding

the rout. In a short space of time, what with the fierceness of the

Melnosians, who gave no quarter, and the flight of the fugitives, there

remained not a single enemy on the island, except the wounded men who

had been unable to fly.

There was a roll of many drums, a shrill cry of delight, and, turning

their faces landward, the three men saw Helena, with a company of women,

standing on the ruins of the palisade. The setting sun illumined the

group, and, grasping the staff whence floated the victorious folds of

the Union Jack, she seemed to be the Goddess of Victory come down to

sanctify with her presence the triumph of the Melnosians. Her women

behind her, the blackened ruins of the barrier beneath her feet, and the

Englishmen below on the beach, she lifted up the staff proudly, and the

great flag flung out its mighty folds to the breeze, as if it too

rejoiced in the triumph of success. The three Englishmen’s hearts

thrilled with patriotic pride as they saw the symbol of victory

flaunting in the wind, and the British sailors, uncovering their heads,

saluted the invincible flag with three ringing cheers.

CHAPTER XXXV.

A COUNCIL OF WAR.

The snake is scotched, but is not dead,

Beware! the snare!

Soon will it lift again its head,

Beware! nor dare!

The fangs contain their poison still,

The wounded creature yet may kill,

Beware! take care!

With cautious speech, good council take,

Beware! the snare!

Nor trust the seeming lifeless snake,

Beware! nor dare!

For unexpected it may spring,

And slay thee with its venomed sting,

Beware! take care!

The immediate danger was over, but Justinian was by no means inclined to

think that, even with the death of Alcibiades, the island would be left

in peace, particularly as Caliphronas was still alive. That the foiled

Greek would tamely submit to be beaten thus, was out of the question,

and the Demarch was quite certain that he would again gather an army to

assault Melnos. If such an event took place, matters would become very

serious, as, notwithstanding their loss was less than that of the enemy,

scarcely fifty Melnosians survived, and many of these were severely

hurt. Four sailors had also been killed, so the total of able men left

to defend the island, making allowance for those incapable through

wounds, amounted to scarcely forty souls, or thereabouts. Even with the

carnage which had ensued during the battle, Justinian felt sure that

nearly a hundred men had escaped in boats, and, as Caliphronas must know

that the garrison was considerably weakened by loss of men, the Demarch

feared lest he should return almost immediately with added numbers and

risk another battle, in which case it seemed impossible for the

Melnosians escaping total extermination.

This belief was confirmed in a strange way on his return to the

palisade, for Alcibiades was found under a heap of corpses, apparently

lifeless, and though for a short time he was revived with brandy, had

died immediately afterwards, assuring Justinian that re-enforcements

were on their way to avenge his death. Whether this was mere bravado or

not, Justinian was not quite sure, yet, in spite of his intimate

knowledge of the dead smuggler’s rascality, he hardly thought even such

a scamp would die with a deliberate falsehood on his lips, therefore at

once hastened to rebuild the barrier, in case of invasion by possible

foes. Some of the women went back to the village for provisions, while

others remained behind to look after the wounded. There was no time to

bury the dead, present safety being the great question of the hour, so

the bodies of friend and foe were laid gently down on the beach under

the cliffs, to be buried as soon as possible, when all danger was past.

The gorge thus being cleared of the slain, Justinian made his men sit

down to refresh themselves with wine and food, after which, wearied as

they were, all hands went bravely forward to rebuild the barrier. Even

the women helped in this important task, and by the time it was ten

o’clock in the evening, a goodly portion of the desired barricade was

erected.

As soon as he heard about the approaching re-enforcements from the dying

Alcibiades, the Demarch foresaw that, to be prepared for such an

emergency as a fresh attack, his men would have to work all night,

therefore desired Alexandros to bring down the electric light, so as to

permit the toil to be carried on continuously until the battery was

finished. This was easily done, by the electrician joining other wires

on to those already at the head of the pass, and then fixing the

apparatus near the outer entrance. So speedily did he perform this

difficult task, that in a few hours all was in order, and the powerful

rays flooded not only the immediate neighborhood of the works, but even

the beach and a portion of the harbor inside the breakwater.

Helena had obstinately refused to go back to the Acropolis, and, as the

other women remained to help, her father did not insist on her return,

so she attended to Maurice’s wound, which, after all, was a mere

scratch. In common with the rest, she also took her turn at nursing, and

aided to carry the wounded into the interior of the island, for so busy

were the men at the repairing of the barrier, that none could be spared,

so the women, proving themselves thorough heroines, took all the

hospital work on their shoulders.

“I wonder, in your scheme, you did not include a doctor, uncle,” said

Maurice, as he stood by the Demarch, superintending the rebuilding of

the palisade. “A medical man would have come in handy now.”

“That is true! Had Crispin not left me as he did, I would have sent him

to study medicine, but, as it is, I put off the affair from time to

time, and now, when I most need one, I find myself without a surgeon.”

“I could never have been a surgeon, Justinian,” said Crispin, with a

shudder; “cutting up people makes me feel quite ill.”

“You cut up a good many to-day without being much disturbed,” said the

Demarch, with a laugh; “but, of course, I know that was in hot blood.

However, it is no use longing for the impossible, so it is to be hoped

my Melnosians will recover without the aid of medical science.”

“Is your wound hurting you, Maurice?” asked Helena, who, though

tender-hearted as a rule, seemed on this occasion to think solely of her

lover, despite the fact that so many men had been killed.

“Pooh! not a bit—a mere scratch!”

“You’ve got to thank my amber heart for your safety.”

“Or your golden hair,” he retorted, smiling; “but, in faith, Helena, I

fancy my good luck has had most to do with my safety.”

“Don’t undervalue your fighting powers, Maurice,” said the Demarch, who

overheard this remark; “your tussle with Alcibiades was no light one.”

“Well, I certainly got the better of him, but his wound was only a

trifle, and, had he not tumbled over the parapet, the fight would have

lasted much longer. As it was, the poor devil was really trampled to

death during the retreat of the enemy. Still, if you like, Helena, we

will put it all down to your amber heart.”

“What amber heart are you talking about?” asked Justinian inquiringly.

“Ah, that is a secret between Helena and myself,” said Maurice, with a

meaning look at the blushing girl,—“a very charming secret indeed. Well,

Gurt, and how do you find yourself?”

The sailor, who had been working outside the palisade, gave his trousers

a hitch and pulled his forelock.

“I’m as right as a trivet, sir. I hop a little with that there dig I got

yesterday, but Lor’ bless you, sir! ’tain’t nothin’. But if I may make

so bold, Mr. Justinian, I wants to speak, sir.”

“What is it, Gurt?”

“Growin’ tired of bricklayin’, sir, I goes down a bit for a breath of

air, and there, sir, as I’m a sinner, I hears the dip of oars.”

“Boats coming!” cried the Demarch and Maurice in one breath.

“Yes, sir. I jest came up like a shot. Turn on the light, sir, t’ th’

north, an’ if you don’t see them lubbers comin’ back, I’m a Dutchman!”

Maurice ran off to tell Alexandros, who at once sent the white glare

across the sea, and there, pulling straight for the breakwater, they saw

a long string of boats. The men therein guessed by the sudden flash of

the light that they were discovered, and gave a yell of anger, for they

had hoped to pull in under cover of darkness, and take the Melnosians by

surprise. Thanks, however, to Gurt’s quick ear, and the serviceable

electric light, their little scheme was frustrated at nearly the moment

of its fulfilment.

“Ten boats!” cried Justinian, counting them rapidly. “Push on the work,

my men. Here, some of you, take up your guns. What about those cannon,

Dick?”

“All right now, sir,” said the sailor, saluting; “got the spikes out.”

“See if you can knock a few of those boats to splinters. Helena, you and

the women go back to the Acropolis.”

“Oh no, no, father! let me remain here. And see! all the women are

helping to build the wall.”

“Well, well, we need all hands; but, for God’s sake, my child, keep in a

place of safety!”

“Do you think they will attack to-night?” asked Crispin, who had raced

full speed down the gorge, and was out of breath.

“No. In the first place, they have had a good thrashing to-day, and in

the second, Caliphronas is too much of a coward to lead them on until he

has recovered his nerve. They’ve got re-enforcements, however. I expect

those flying met the new men coming, and persuaded them to come back. Is

that gun ready, Dick?”

“In a minute, sir. Just turn the light on the water so as I can train

the gun.”

Alexandros did so, and Dick carefully sighted the piece, so as to allow

for the way the boats were making through the water. Evidently unaware

of their danger, instead of keeping widely apart, and thus neutralizing

the chance of the shot hitting them, they all made for the beach in a

dense bunch. The electric light showed their position as clearly as if

it were day, and the round shot went with a roar right into the

conglomerate mass, doing considerable damage. The advancing Greeks

yelled with fear, but, seeing their only chance of safety was to get

under the level of the guns, pulled in like madmen to the beach. Then by

the white radiance of the light, it was seen that two boats had been

sunk, and many of their occupants killed, but the survivors, fish in the

water, like all insular Greeks, were swimming rapidly to land.

Caliphronas, foolish though he was in military matters, yet knew

sufficient of the formation of the ground and the nature of cannon to be

aware that it was impossible the muzzles of the guns could be depressed

sufficiently to do damage to his men on the beach, therefore, feeling

themselves comparatively safe, the newly-landed pirates hastened to put

up tents, evidently intending to rest that night and continue the

assault in the morning. Knowing that the little garrison must be worn

out with the long fight during the day, they did not trouble themselves

in any way to guard against an attack, not even placing sentries at the

outposts.

As all their movements were revealed by the glare of the search light,

Justinian noted this fact, and regretted bitterly that he had not a

sufficient force at his command to sally forth against this ill-guarded

camp.

“Egad, Maurice!” he said in vexation; “with fifty men at our backs we

could sweep them off the island before dawn. The rascals evidently know

how weak we are in numbers, else they would not be so careless of their

camp. How is that work going on?”

“Nearly finished, sir,” reported Dick, who was overseer. “They won’t get

over that wall in a hurry, I’ll bet.”

“Transfer your command to one of your men and come here; I wish to hold

a council of war.”

Dick saluted, and having instructed one of his messmates to attend to

the final details of the parapet, came forward as Justinian desired.

Helena, in company with some of the women, had gone up the gorge, in

order to attend to the wounded, so the five men, for Gurt was also

included in the council, sat down on the grass some little distance away

from the workers, and began to discuss the situation in low tones.

Sentries had been posted at the barrier, and the electric light was full

on the camp of the enemy, so in the event of any movement being made for

an assault, which was not likely, Justinian knew he would be informed at

once. After all, with the barrier, the heavy guns, and their muskets,

they could hope to hold the pass for some time, but in the end it was

doubtful if they would not have to give in, which catastrophe would mean

death to every soul on the island.

“You can see for yourselves, gentlemen, that the danger is very grave,”

said the Demarch anxiously; “we are only forty in number, and with these

re-enforcements the enemy must be at least one hundred and fifty. It

took us all our time to beat them off to-day when we were stronger and

not fatigued, but to-morrow, with such a small force, all worn out with

fighting and want of sleep, I dread the worst.”

“There is one thing in our favor,” observed Maurice in a satisfied tone;

“bad leader as Alcibiades was, he had more pluck than Caliphronas; and,

as he is the general now, he will not inspire his men with confidence.

However brave the followers are, unless the leader is equally so, their

valor is not of much use, as it lacks discipline and trust in the

general.”

“There’s one thing, sir,” remarked Dick, addressing Justinian,—“there is

one thing I’d like to say. All these Greeks have bare feet, so I think

it ’ud be a good plan to strew the front of the palisade with broken

glass, which would cut them up a bit.”

“That’s a good idea, Dick; and then, when they are in confusion, we can

do some damage with our cannon. By the way, what about that gun? we

should have brought that in.”

“It’s a pity we didn’t, sir; but it ain’t much good to them, for I’ve

spiked it proper.”

“You’ve got dynamite, Justinian, have you not?” said Crispin, who had

been thinking.

“Yes; plenty.”

“Then why not make a mine on the slope of the hill, and blow it up with

electricity when the enemy are coming up?”

“Egad! I’ll do that at once. The dynamite can be brought down in about

half an hour; it won’t take long to dig a trench and lay a wire: so we

ought to have the whole thing ready by the time they assault the battery

at dawn. Dick, take Temistocles and some other men up to the magazine.”

Dick went off to obey this order with alacrity; and Justinian, whose

spirits were rising at the feasibility of these schemes to conquer his

enemies, went on talking hopefully of the future.

“What with cannon, dynamite, and broken bottles to cut their bare feet,

I fancy those scoundrels will get a warm reception. Ah, if I only had

the full strength of my Melnosians again, I would soon drive these

scoundrels back to the ocean!”

“If we smash them up to-morrow with dynamite, they won’t come again,

uncle.”

“I trust not; but Alcibiades seems to have made extensive preparations

in the way of re-enforcements, and for all I know, a fresh batch may

arrive to-morrow; while at every assault our numbers diminish. If we

only could get more men! but I fear that is impossible.”

“Not so impossible as you think,” said Crispin deliberately. “Suppose I

go to Syra, and get the Eparch there to send you re-enforcements?”

“True; he’s a friend of mine; and if he did not send regular soldiers,

he could at least let me have some men of the same fighting powers as

these scoundrels. But how are you to get to Syra? and how are you going

to bring the troops back?”

“As to bringing them back, by this time my yacht must be there, so it

would not take long for me to steam here with a good number of men.”

“Well, but you can’t go. We are beleaguered.”

“All the enemy are asleep; so if Gurt here, who knows these waters

thoroughly, will come with me, I think we could steal down to the

breakwater and obtain one of their boats. A good breeze is blowing; so,

if we put up the sail, we could soon cut across the course of one of

those Cretan steamers which sail to Syra from Khanea, in which case it

would take but a little time to reach the yacht. Once at Syra, I would

get as many men as possible, and come back at once.”

“It is a wild scheme, but not impossible,” said Justinian thoughtfully.

“You’d have to sail about thirty miles; and then there is the chance of

your getting picked up by a steamer.”

“With this ’ere breeze, sir,” remarked Gurt, who was not averse to the

adventure, “I guess we’d get in the track of one of them Cretans in

about twelve hours, more or less. Once in the line, and there’s lots of

’em plying to and fro, so the chances are we’d soon be picked up. I’m

game for it, if Mr. Crispin is, sir.”

“But are you not too tired?”

“I am not,” said the poet, stretching himself; “besides anything is

better than this suspense. The only thing I’m afraid of is Gurt’s

wound.”

“Don’t you be afeared o’ that, sir,” replied Gurt bluntly. “I’ve lost

some blood, but ’tain’t nothin’. I ain’t no babby to squake fur nothin’.

If we kin git a boat, I’m ready to start this minit.”

“What do you say, Maurice?”

Roylands had been listening to these propositions not without a certain

amount of approval, which was, however, mingled with a feeling that such

a scheme was somewhat foolhardy.

“I hardly know what to say,” he observed at length. “There is one thing

certain, if we wish to hold the island, we must have more men; and, as

far as I can see, Crispin’s scheme is the only way of getting them. The

mere sight of the yacht filled with troops would frighten the life out

of these scoundrels, and cause them to clear out; but the difficulty is

how to get a boat without being seen by the enemy.”

“I think we can manage that,” said Justinian, indicating points with his

finger; for, of course, with the electric light, there was no difficulty

in following his actions. “You see, the camp of the enemy is here, to

the right of the harbor. I noticed that several of the larger boats were

tied to the breakwater; so if Crispin and Gurt get down there, and walk

along the breakwater itself, they can loosen one of the boats and tow it

outward to the mouth of the harbor. There they can get in, and row off

to the west, without any chance of the dip of their oars being heard by

the enemy.”

“That is all very well, uncle; but how are they to get down to the

beach? No doubt the enemy are all asleep, and, as we know, have not

posted sentries; still, if Crispin goes out by the palisade, he might be

seen, in spite of all precautions. Caliphronas is sure to be on the

alert.”

“I expect Caliphronas is too weary with his day’s work to keep awake,”

replied the Demarch dryly; “and he is not the man to deny himself rest,

let the consequences be what they may. However, if you don’t object to a

little danger, Crispin, I think we can get you out by another way.”

“In any case there is danger, so a little more makes no difference.”

“Then we will go up to the point above the side path; and, from there,

you know, the cliff slopes down sheer two hundred feet. We can let you

and Gurt down there by ropes, and you can steal along in the darkness

down to the breakwater. Once there, and the rest will be easy.”

“It’s a risk.”

“Certainly; the whole enterprise is risky; but we will keep the electric

light full on the camp, so, while you can see all the movements of the

enemy, they can see nothing of you in the darkness. To tell you the

truth, however, they have such a belief that we can do nothing, that

they are all sound asleep; so I don’t think you will run much risk.

Well, what do you say?”

“I’ll do it.”

“So will I, sir.”

“Good! We will trust to Providence for the rest. Let me see, Crispin. It

is now past midnight; so, if you can catch one of those steamers before

to-morrow night, you will be in Syra by the next day. In twenty-four

hours, I have no doubt, the Eparch will give you plenty of men; and it

will not take a very long time for a steamer to reach here. Altogether,

if all goes well, you ought to be back in four or five days. The

question is, can we hold the island till then?”

“We must!” said Maurice decisively. “If the worst comes to the worst, we

can blast those overhanging rocks yonder with dynamite, and thus close

up the pass entirely. True, we will shut ourselves up as in a prison;

still, we will be safe until aid arrives; for, once the gorge is closed

up, no enemy can possibly get into the interior without almost

superhuman exertions.”

“We must hope for the best,” answered Justinian, rising to his feet.

“Well, Crispin, I thank you for your offer, and will accept it. When

will you start?”

“At once. There is nothing to be gained by waiting. We will take enough

of these provisions to last us for three days, in case we miss the

steamer; and, for the rest, trust to Providence.”

“There is a good deal of trusting in Providence about the whole scheme,”

said Justinian, with a sigh. “You may run the gantlet to the breakwater

successfully, you may get safely off in a boat without being seen by the

enemy, you may be picked up by a Cretan steamer, and you may find your

yacht lying at Syra. It’s all chance, my boy; and really I think it

would be better for us to adopt Maurice’s plan in closing up the pass,

so as the enemy can’t possibly get in.”

“And we can’t possibly get out,” replied Crispin significantly; “it is

too dangerous. Remember our conversation the other day about the

volcano: if you blow up the pass, all means of exit will be cut off;

and, should the crater burst out, no one of us would be left alive.”

“Then go, and God speed you!” cried the Demarch, who saw plainly that it

was a case of Scylla and Charybdis.

Maurice had not heard this conversation about the volcano, much to his

uncle’s satisfaction, having gone forward to meet Dick, who had just

come back from the magazine with the dynamite. The bos’n expressed great

satisfaction when he heard of the proposed scheme, and would dearly have

liked to go himself in place of Gurt, only he knew Justinian could not

spare him. However, he was well aware that Crispin could not have a

better companion than Gurt, for the old sailor was well acquainted with

the course they would have to take towards the west; and, moreover,

having had something to do with the line of steamers between Khanea and

Syra, knew better than any one as to the possibility of being picked up

by one of them without loss of time.

The scheme was put into working order at once, and a sufficiency of

provisions was made ready for the adventurers. Crispin filled his

brandy-flask and took his revolver, in case he might be stopped on the

beach by the enemy; and both himself and Gurt took heavy woollen cloaks

to protect them from the chill sea-breeze. It was agreed that Justinian

and Maurice only should go up with the rope to let down their companions

to the beach below, as it was necessary for Dick to remain, in order to

attend to the dynamite mine. Nothing was told to the Melnosians about

the proposed scheme, lest they, seeing how desperate affairs were,

should lose heart; and, beyond the four leaders, Gurt, and Helena, every

one was in ignorance of the daring attempt about to be made.

After Helena, who was deeply affected by Crispin’s bravery, had said

good-by to him and Gurt, she went back to the Acropolis with a number of

women to obtain some rest, having arranged with her father to come down

at early morning with plenty of broken glass, in order to protect the

front of the palisade. Dick and his men were already hard at work just

on the brow of the slope, about one hundred yards away, digging the mine

for the dynamite; so, all things going on thus fairly well, and there

being no sign of movement in the camp of the enemy, the Demarch, with

his nephew and the two adventurers, unlocked the iron gate, in order to

ascend to the top of the cliff, from whence Crispin and Gurt were to be

lowered to the beach below.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

THE FORLORN HOPE.

The night is dark,

The cliff is high,

No moon illumes

The cloudy sky;

Below we mark

The fearful glooms

Which in their night

Hide sombrely the way of flight.

To slender rope

We cling with dread,

And hanging there

As by a thread,

With fearful hope

We downward fare,

Till on the strand

In safety for a time we land.

Fortunately for the success of the enterprise, the sky was cloudy, so

that the moon, thickly veiled by vapors, was unable to betray the

adventurers by her tell-tale light. A strong breeze was blowing seaward

from the land and ruffling the surface of the black water to ragged caps

of white, which promised anything but a pleasant journey to Crispin and

his companion.

They were warmly clothed in thick garments of blue-dyed wool, consisting

of tight-fitting jackets and loose trousers, tucked into high boots of

untanned leather. In his belt Crispin carried a dagger and his revolver,

while Gurt’s cutlass dangled by his side, and both men also wore those

red fishermen’s caps common to the Ægean, with ample woollen capotes to

protect them from the keen winds. Standing on the height of the lofty

cliff, they could not see the beach for the profound gloom below, but to

the left saw the camp of the enemy clearly defined in the fierce rays of

the electric light. Everything there seemed to be as still as the grave,

and the pirates were evidently sound asleep under canvas, for not a

sound broke the stillness, save the whistle of the breeze and the sullen

rolling of the waves on the sands below.

Maurice and the poet had brought up two coils of strong rope, each over

a hundred feet in length; so, as the cliff measured but two hundred,

there would be no difficulty about the ropes being too short. They tied

these firmly together, then, making one end fast to a strong pine tree

which grew some distance back from the verge, flung the other into the

abyss below. The rope paid itself out rapidly, until, when only a few

coils were left, it ceased running, which showed that it had touched

bottom. Now the two adventurers prepared to descend, and shook hands

with the Demarch and his nephew, both of whom were much affected. None

of the four knew if they would meet again, for two were bound on a

perilous voyage, and the others were beleaguered in a dangerous volcanic

island by bloodthirsty enemies. If they reached the boat safely, and

managed to push off into the open sea unseen by their enemies, they were

to send up a rocket as a signal of success to the watchers on land. Gurt

carried this useful article, and was the first to descend the slender

rope, to which he clung like a spider to its thread, and dropped swiftly

down until the thickening gloom hid him from their anxious eyes. After a

time the rope slacked, and a gentle vibration stealing up it showed that

Gurt had landed safely.

“Good-by, my dear lad,” said Justinian, as he embraced the brave poet.

“You are sure you have everything?”

“My revolver, cartridges, cloak, a satchel filled with food, your letter

to the Eparch. Yes, I think that is all. Gurt has the water-bottles and

the rocket. Good-by, Maurice.”

“Good-by, old fellow,” replied Maurice, and then they grasped each

other’s hand in token of farewell, with that stolid composure with which

Englishmen in trying circumstances conceal their emotion. “Take care of

yourself for the sake of Eunice.”

“Certainly I will, and for yours also. If all goes well, you will see

the white wings of The Eunice off this coast in a few days. But don’t

surrender the island before then.”

“Not much,” retorted Maurice grimly. “I’ll blow up all the rocks in the

pass first, and if the enemy want to get in, they will have to fly over

such a barrier. Good-by once more, my boy. Over you go!”

Crispin, even at this supreme moment of parting, could not restrain a

merry laugh at his friend’s coolness, and, laying himself down on the

brow of the cliff, grasped the rope, and prepared to descend. As soon as

Gurt, below, felt from the quiver that his master was fairly on his way

down, he pulled the rope taut with all his strength, so as to render the

descent easier.

“Look out for the rocket,” cried Crispin, as he dropped slowly downward

into the blackness; “and keep the light turned on the camp, so that we

can see what those wretches are up to.”

“All right,” shouted Maurice, who, lying flat on his stomach, was

peering over. “Good-by.”

A faint farewell floated up through the intense gloom, as Crispin, with

his hands tightly grasping the rope, and his legs twisted round it, went

sliding down like a spider on his self-spun thread. Thanks to Gurt, who

was holding out the cord widely from the rugged face of the cliff, he

found no difficulty in descending, and soon landed safely beside the

sailor on the damp sand.

Shaking the rope vigorously as a sign to those on top that they were now

on _terra firma_, they walked carefully forward in the darkness towards

the land end of the breakwater. Gradually their eyes, now relieved from

the dazzle of the electric light, became accustomed to the gloom, and

they could see to some extent a good distance ahead. Stealing along

silently, their boots made no sound in the dead sand, and they arrived

without mischance at the rocky wall of the harbor. Against this several

boats were floating, tied to iron rings welded into the masonry, but

rejecting the first three or four, which were too cumbersome for two

people to manage, they selected a small light caique, with masts, sail,

and oars, which lay nearest to the sea.

Gurt pulled this in easily by the painter, and then bade Crispin get

into it, so as to keep it off from the wall as it was towed along. As

the sailor was the more powerful of the two, Crispin obeyed without

hesitation, and, with the aid of an oar, kept the craft out from the

masonry, while Gurt, with the rope over his shoulder and bent form,

pulled it with some difficulty towards the entrance. All this time

things had gone smoothly with them, for the electric light kept up a

steady glare on the camp of their sleeping enemies, and they could see

no movement to lead them to suspect that the pirates were aware of their

daring attempt.