THE TOWER OF SEGRETI.
The next day happened to be the festival of a very important saint,
and it was of course out of the question that any drill should take
place. A burst of heavy firing early in the morning suggested that the
Roumis were presuming on the piety of the insurgents to make an attack
in the belief that they would not fight, but Wylie was able to
reassure his friends when he came to breakfast.
“Nothing but powder-play,” he said. “Simple wicked waste of cartridges
in honour of St Elijah, or whatever his name is. I have put a stop to
it, of course, but the men are very sick. The Assembly is summoned for
noon, Prince, and I’m afraid we shall have a long job.”
The Assembly was held by desire both of Maurice and of the men who had
taken part in the capture of Ahmed Pasha. He wished to impress upon
the whole body of insurgents the humanitarian principles held in such
high esteem by the Powers, and the heroes of the assault were eager to
defend themselves and claim the applause and support of their fellows.
They had not taken at all kindly to the indignant lecture Maurice
bestowed on them after his interview with the envoys from the fleet,
and it was evident that Prince Romanos sided with them in his heart,
though the sentiments to which he gave utterance were the most
civilised possible. There was a great deal at stake, and Zoe, who had
listened attentively to all the discussions beforehand, sat waiting
anxiously in the shadow of the gateway to hear what was decided. The
deliberations of the Assembly were unusually brief on this occasion,
but it was past five o’clock before she saw Wylie coming up the hill.
“Well?” she asked him eagerly.
“Oh, horribly unsatisfactory,” he replied, taking a seat beside her.
“Your brother and I simply lammed into the fellows about their methods
of barbarism, but they don’t see it a bit. Of course it’s perfectly
natural from their point of view. None of them would dream of asking
for quarter from a Roumi, and they have no idea of offering it. Why,
then, should they give quarter if a Roumi so far forgets the rules of
the game as to ask for his life? As to killing the wounded, they
themselves are just as dangerous wounded as sound--or rather more so,
since down on the ground they might escape notice--and the Roumis are
the same. And suppose they humoured your brother’s incomprehensible
scruples, what should they do with prisoners if they got them? There
was a wild ray of hope that he might wish to torture them for the sake
of extracting information, and they were ready to promise any number,
but that soon faded away. The idea of keeping them safe and treating
them kindly, merely for the sake of letting them go again, struck them
as sheer lunacy, and they insisted that there was no question of the
exchange of prisoners, because the Roumis never took any--or got any;
I don’t know which they meant to imply. It was no use whatever
appealing to them on the moral side, for they declared in all good
faith that Roumis were not human beings.”
“But Prince Romanos?” cried Zoe. “He seems to have such influence with
them, and he can’t believe all these absurd things.”
“I fancy there’s a good deal of the original Archipelago pirate left
under the Parisian poet,” said Wylie incautiously. “Not that I would
say a word against him,” he added hastily; “he stands in with us in
this like a man, whatever his personal views may be. As it is, your
brother has had to go in for simple expediency, very much against the
grain, but perhaps it made it easier for Prince Christodoridi to back
him. To turn the neutrality of the Powers into active hostility
appealed even to our children of nature as foolishness, though there
was some disposition to receive the warning as they did Admiral
Essiter’s on board the _Magniloquent_. But we got to a working
compromise--nominally, that is. I fear it only means that our fellows
will be more careful to finish off any wounded Roumis before we appear
in the neighbourhood.”
“But they don’t seem to have an idea of discipline,” said Zoe
despairingly. “How can you expect them to obey an order they don’t
like?”
“Ah, that is where our Sikhs will come in--when we get them. At
present the best we can do is to maintain order among the Slavs with
the help of the Greeks, and among the Greeks with the help of the
Slavs, so keeping the old sore open all the time--and with the risk
that at any moment Greek and Slav may come to the conclusion that they
dislike us rather worse than each other, and combine against us. Your
brother spoke his mind strongly on the refusal of quarter and the
killing of wounded men, and vowed that any man concerned in anything
of the kind after this should be shot without benefit of clergy, but
that’s a thing easier said than done. There’s hardly a man you could
depend upon to help arrest another in such a case, and if it came to
shooting--why, two revolvers are not many against a whole crowd with
rifles. The fact is, physical force is the only thing that appeals to
these fellows at their present stage, and your brother is coming to
see that they can’t be ruled by reason.”
Zoe had turned pale. “You mean that he--and you--are only safe among
them because you are known to be armed?” she said.
“Oh no, it’s not quite as bad as that. There is such a thing as moral
influence, you know. Besides, I believe our fellows themselves would
condemn to death--and execute--any man that tried to murder him or me,
if it was done in an underhand way, that is, not in the course of a
gentlemanly argument in the Assembly. Any one attempting to blow up
one of the warships would be treated in the same way, because that’s
the sort of thing the Powers might naturally resent; but they can’t
see why the Powers should take it upon themselves to interfere with
their domestic customs. Your brother can only back his orders by the
threat of leaving the insurgents to themselves, and in some moods they
would a good deal rather be without him. So we may yet find ourselves
in more danger from our own men than from the Roumis--certainly more
than from the Powers.”
He stopped abruptly, and Zoe looked at him in surprise. He was pulling
at his moustache in an undecided way.
“I want to speak to you on a personal matter,” he said, in a notably
unconciliatory tone.
“Personal to you, or to me?” asked Zoe.
“To you.”
Zoe raised her eyebrows. “I can only promise to listen to you, not to
take your advice--which I have not asked for.”
“I know that. You sent Christodoridi back his flag?”
“Most certainly. I never liked the idea of keeping it, and when I
found it was the trophy of an ‘infamous massacre,’ I returned it to
him at once.”
“Meaning to snub him as horribly as possible?”
“Meaning to show him that attentions from him were distasteful.” Zoe’s
words came out with great clearness.
“Do you think you are treating the poor wretch properly?” Wylie spoke
with the first approach to diffidence he had shown, and she triumphed.
“Yes, I think I am taking the right and honourable course,” she said,
slowly and thoughtfully. “As nothing would induce me to marry him, I
think it is only fair to let him see it plainly. But really, what this
has to do with you----”
He raised his hand, and she wondered whether the gesture spelt appeal
or command. He seemed to be wavering between the two. “You ought to
marry him,” he said. “It is your duty--the best thing for you.”
“Then I am quite sure I shall not do my duty,” said Zoe calmly. “But
since you are taking this kind interest in my future, perhaps you will
explain why it should be the best thing for me?”
She had herself well in hand, and spoke with extreme precision, while
he brought out his words with difficulty. She could have pitied him if
he had not been so persistently wrong-headed, so determined to make
misery for himself. “It is in case of trouble--if anything happened,”
he said incoherently. “If he married you, it would be his duty to take
you away from here at once. No one could think the worse of him for
it.”
“Except his wife. That wouldn’t signify, of course. And you still
think I would escape and leave Eirene here?”
“Oh, the Princess and Con would go too, naturally.”
“Very naturally. And you and Maurice?”
“Oh, you know what your brother is. I should stay with him, of
course.”
“And now you will know what I am. I shall stay with him too, of
course.” The conversation should have ended with this retort, but Zoe
was incapable of letting matters remain as they were. The man deserved
punishment, and he should have it. “And now that I have answered your
questions, perhaps you will let me know the reason of your sudden
concern for me?” she asked.
“As your brother’s friend--servant----”
“Indeed! If you had said that the memory of old times, or the fear
that another deserving young man might be as badly treated as you
were, had made you speak, it would be a different thing. It would have
given you a personal standing in the matter. But to say what you have
said, merely as a servant or friend of the family, is unpardonable. It
is a piece of gross impertinence.”
She expected an outburst of anger, but he controlled himself
admirably. “You can say what you like to me,” he said, and once again
Zoe’s heart played her false. Severity was obviously the proper
course, but she could not be severe when he was meek.
“There is one other reason--only one--that might justify you,” she
said hurriedly, looking on the ground. “If you could say honestly, ‘I
have a part to play, and I have made up my mind to play it. I will not
be tempted to throw it up, and I am afraid of being tempted--I am
tempted----’”
Her voice failed, and her head had sunk so low that he could not see
her face. If she could have forced herself to look up, and their eyes
had met, the barrier between them must have been broken down; but he
had time to recover himself, and his voice was harsh as he answered--
“You have no right to say that. Such a supposition is unpardonable. It
is a piece of----”
“Oh!” cried Zoe, covering her ears as she recognised the echo of her
own words, and shrinking away from him. The humiliation of his
presence was intolerable, and she was stung at last into speaking
again. “Would you kindly go?” she asked, still not looking at him.
“Forgive me. I was a--a cad to say it.” He brought out the odious word
with a fierce satisfaction, as if he desired to hear Zoe confirm his
self-condemnation. But she looked steadily away from him.
“I will forgive you when you forgive yourself,” she said, and Wylie
left her, cursing his own evil temper, the memory of his past wrongs,
the present danger, and all the other circumstances that had conspired
to make him behave like a brute, when he had honestly intended to play
a high and heroic part. It had seemed such a suitable
punishment--well, not exactly punishment; say recompense--to carry the
unselfish sentiments he had enunciated when Zoe refused him long ago
to the point of promoting this politically desirable marriage for her,
and they ought both to have felt it an excellent arrangement. But Zoe
saw fit to object, and what was more absurd still, he discovered that
in his use of moral suasion he had hurt himself as much as he had her.
Very wisely, but a little late, he registered a vow to leave Prince
Romanos to fight his own battles in future.
Fortunately for Zoe, she was not called upon to meet Wylie again for
the present. The Assembly, before receiving Maurice’s pronouncement on
the subject of the usages of war, had declared emphatically in favour
of retaining Ahmed Pasha and proceeding to the capture of the tower of
Segreti. Maurice and Wylie had urged in vain the danger of finding
their forces divided by a surprise attack delivered at the narrowest
part of the isthmus; not a man would support them in withdrawing from
the first spot liberated on the mainland. If Ahmed Pasha was to be
held, it was very clear that Segreti must be taken, since its
defenders, should they be well supplied with ammunition, could render
the village untenable. That they had not done so already was
presumably due to lack of supplies, since they had left off wasting
cartridges on long shots, and only fired when they saw any
considerable body of insurgents together, but this might be merely a
ruse. Wylie had urged that since the tower was to be taken, it would
be best to storm it, but this advice ran counter to all the instincts
of his followers. A frontal attack on an enemy ensconced behind stone
walls was out of the question in their eyes. A foe might be ambushed,
surprised, taken in the rear, but never attacked in front. The
cutting-off of the water-supply, now nearly completed, would soon
begin to cause the garrison inconvenience, and the insurgents need
only post themselves round the tower at a discreet distance, to see
that no one escaped.
This last comforting doctrine Wylie opposed with more success.
Jalal-ud-din’s apparent supineness hitherto had inclined the
insurgents to consider him a negligible quantity, but they allowed
themselves, after much argument, to be convinced that he could not
possibly remain passive under the cutting-up of the Ahmed Pasha
detachment. His obvious objective was the tower of Segreti, since to
relieve that would mean also the recapture of the village, while to
allow the garrison to be annihilated would expose him to eternal
disgrace--as well as to very mundane penalties from his master. This
fact having been impressed upon the minds of the Assembly, Wylie was
empowered to take such means, short of storming the tower, as
commended themselves to him for repulsing the expected Roumi force,
and he transferred his headquarters to Ahmed Pasha the same evening.
His first duty on the morrow was to try and induce the garrison of the
tower to surrender, which he did by pointing out that their water was
now cut off, and that they must be short both of provisions and
ammunition. Their reply was simply to invite him to come up and attack
them, assuring him that they had plenty of ammunition left to repel
any force he could muster. In the meantime they jeered both at his
promise of a safe-conduct to the Roumi lines if they surrendered, and
his warnings of their certain fate if they remained obstinate. Since
nothing would induce his unsatisfactory and independent troops to
embark upon the series of harassing night assaults and feigned attacks
with which he would have tried to tire out the defenders and exhaust
their stores, his only hope was to prepare a warm reception for the
relieving force.
In this course he had the satisfaction of finding that his men were
thoroughly with him. A guerilla warfare was something they could
understand, and his previous training had sharpened their natural
faculty for taking advantage of the rugged nature of the country.
There were two possible ways of approach for a force coming from the
direction of Therma--one by paths through the hills, the other along
the sea-shore--and under Wylie’s orders the insurgents rendered both
as difficult as possible. The work on the shore had to be conducted
with the greatest secrecy, in view of the presence of the warships,
which were apt to turn their search-lights landwards at inconvenient
moments during the night; but the track was already so rough, and so
frequently interrupted by projecting headlands, that there was little
likelihood of its being chosen for the advance. More attention was
therefore bestowed on the inland route, and the two days which were
all the breathing-space that Jalal-ud-din allowed his foes were turned
to good account. Great excitement prevailed on the third night after
the capture, when Wylie’s scouts came in to announce that a column was
actually advancing with the Pasha himself in command, and that it was
guarding a train of baggage-animals conveying supplies for the
garrison of Segreti. Wylie made a final inspection of his force, saw
that the members of the various bands were at the posts he had
assigned them, and not at those to which their own sweet will
inclined, and hurried back for a final conference with Maurice, who
was in command at Karakula, lest the moment of the fight should be
chosen for an attack upon the isthmus.
The day that followed was a long and exciting one. It seemed that
Jalal-ud-din Pasha imagined that the mere sight of his array was
sufficient to quell opposition, for he disdained to take the obvious
precaution of searching the country ahead of him and on either side of
his line of march. Therefore his progress was a succession of small
fights. A burst of firing from a scarcely discernible trench on a
hillside, or from a thicket that looked too small to shelter a single
rifleman; then a halt, during which his troops blazed away lustily,
while a detachment detailed for the purpose climbed the hill
laboriously to clear out the hornets’ nest, and returned disappointed
to report that the assailants had vanished. The number of wounded
increased steadily, and the nerves even of the stolid Roumi
rank-and-file became affected. There was no opportunity of catching
the insurgents in a body, and it was very rarely that even an odd man
or two showed themselves. Jalal-ud-din set his teeth and continued to
advance. Once through these defiles, his force could sweep away
anything that ventured to oppose it, and Segreti must be relieved,
even if it were not now as dangerous to turn back as to go on. One
more long narrow valley, and the relieving column would emerge on the
comparatively level ground round Ahmed Pasha.
This last valley was full of terrors for the Roumi troops. There was
no more haphazard firing from the heights; each man here was a
marksman, and each bullet found its billet, until no attempt was made
to care for the wounded as they fell, for the common impulse to get
through and get out hurried every man on. It was a demoralised and
disorderly body of men, encumbered and mixed up with driverless mules
and horses which had lost their riders, that approached the mouth of
the valley at last. The only way open before them was the one leading
to the shore, for that to Ahmed Pasha was blocked by a rough barricade
of earth, stones, sods, anything that could be obtained, and from it
there broke a hail of fire, utterly unexpected. Jalal-ud-din tried to
rally his men, but this last surprise was too much for them, and they
hurried panic-stricken down the road to the shore, still galled by the
fire from the barricade, which did terrible execution upon the mass
pressed together in the narrow space. On the shore things were no
better, for bullets came from the cliffs behind and the walls and
roofs of Ahmed Pasha away to the left, while the defenders of the
barricade were beginning to climb over it and form themselves into a
line in front.
This was the crucial moment for Wylie’s scheme. Mere slaughter was not
what he aimed at. If the provisions and stores convoyed by the column
could be secured, Jalal-ud-din and the remains of his force were free
to make the best of their way home by the beach. The insurgents’
orders were to strike for the baggage-animals, and let the soldiers
alone unless they tried to make a stand, and if they had obeyed them a
notable triumph might have been secured. But the sight of the
hereditary foe, confused and in retreat, was too much for the
mountaineers, and instead of following Wylie into the thickest of the
press, they swerved, as if by instinct, to the right, so as to cut off
the Roumi retreat. In the wild _mêlée_ which ensued all order was
lost, and every man fought the nearest available foe with cold steel,
for rifles were useless, save as clubs. Wylie, escaping imminent death
over and over again almost by a miracle, used voice and whistle in
vain to call off his men, but what he could not do was effected by an
outside agent. There was a distant boom, and something came singing
overhead, at the sound of which the Roumis promptly flung themselves
on the ground. The insurgents, conspicuous in their white kilts or
grey homespun among the darker uniforms, stared at them in amazement,
but were about to take full advantage of their unlooked-for cowardice
when there came another boom, and something fell into the mass of men
on the right of the fight and exploded. Wylie was the first to realise
what had happened. The Admirals had fulfilled their threat, and were
shelling the rebels who had ventured to pass the limit they had laid
down. All the ships in sight were firing now, the _Magniloquent_, as
the nearest, leading, and dropping her shells, with terrible
precision, exactly where the insurgents were thickest. For a moment
they looked about them with a kind of stupid wonder, then, as Wylie
had always known they would do if confronted with modern artillery,
they broke and fled wildly, with shrieks and cries, the warships
completing their discomfiture by planting more shells wherever ten or
a dozen men ran together. Rather by good fortune than calculation, a
considerable number sought refuge in the mouth of the valley through
which the Roumis had come, and here, where shells could only be
dropped by guesswork, Wylie got them into some sort of order, pointing
out that Jalal-ud-din must run the gauntlet of their fire even now to
reach Segreti.
The firing from the ships ceased, and Wylie expected every moment to
see the head of the Roumi column appear, but he waited in vain. At
last, followed in fear and trembling by one bold man, he crept out to
reconnoitre, but to his astonishment found the scene of the battle
left solitary. Looking along the seaside road to the right, he saw in
the distance a disorderly crowd making its way back towards Therma.
Jalal-ud-din’s force was in retreat, considering discretion the better
part of valour in spite of the assistance of the ships. Another shell
buried itself in the sand unpleasantly near Wylie and his kilted
companion, and he returned hastily to his men, sending orders to Ahmed
Pasha that a white flag was to be hoisted while he led the search for
the dead and wounded. Segreti was not relieved, at any rate, but the
supplies for which he had hoped were irrevocably lost, and the
warships of the Powers had fired upon the insurgents.