THE CONSULS TO THE RESCUE.
The confusion that prevailed in Ahmed Pasha after the fight was
nothing short of sickening to the orderly English mind. The mass of
the insurgents thought of nothing but holding an Assembly of their
own, and shouting their grievances into one another’s sympathetic
ears, and at last, in disgust, Wylie left them to do it. Maurice and
Dr Terminoff, with a score of men carrying litters, came hurrying from
Karakula, and with a few members of Wylie’s force who were able to
conquer the desire to talk, set to work to care for the wounded. Each
man, as soon as his hurts had been hastily bandaged, was sent to the
rear, which meant Eirene’s hospital at Skandalo--a long journey either
on mule-back or by litter, but there was no guarantee of even
temporary safety at this end of the peninsula. Maurice and Dr
Terminoff convoyed the long train of bearers, and Wylie, finding that
his forces were still too much inebriated with their own verbosity to
have any leisure for their military duties, took advantage of the fact
to look after the Roumi wounded. There were not many of these, but he
had placed several carefully in a sheltered spot near the shore, and
he knew there must be more in the valley. These he brought out and
laid near the rest, with the obedient but unwilling help of the few
men who had stuck to him, and leaving them guarded, beckoned Prince
Romanos quietly out of the Assembly, which had now, by sunset, reached
the pitch of excitement at which every one tried to speak at once.
“I am off to the fleet, to get them to take the Roumi wounded on
board,” he said. “Keep these fellows on the talk, until they’re got
rid of.”
“But they will shoot you at sight,” objected Prince Romanos. “And who
will row you out to the ships?”
“No one--not even one of my own men. I must row myself as best I can.
But one man alone won’t look very alarming. They’ll hardly fire.”
“My man Petros shall row you. He won’t like it, but he’ll do it for
me. You are wise, to send the poor wretches off before our friends
remember them.”
“The only chance,” agreed Wylie, and presently Prince Romanos helped
him to drag a small boat down to the beach, and he was soon being
rowed towards the fleet by the deeply disapproving Petros, who
objected equally to the errand, the darkness, and the danger.
“Halt! What boat’s that?” came a challenge, and a shape loomed up
close to the little vessel, not the huge towering bulk of one of the
warships, but a picket-boat which was patrolling the neighbourhood of
the fleet. The precaution surprised Wylie, until he remembered that
dynamite had always been one of the favourite weapons of the
insurgents in their career on the mainland, and that the Powers could
hardly imagine themselves to be enthusiastically beloved at this
particular moment. He explained his errand, and the officer in the
boat listened with surprise and evident incredulity, exchanging a few
sentences with a subordinate, among which the words, “Trap. Pay us out
for this afternoon,” were clearly audible.
“I am an Englishman myself--a British officer until two months ago,”
said Wylie, and a lantern was flashed suddenly in his face. The
scrutiny seemed to be satisfactory, for the lantern was turned to
another use by being employed to flash signals to the nearest ship,
and presently a steam-pinnace came swishing and panting through the
darkness, bearing the commander who had carried the Admirals’
remonstrance a few days before, and who was now charged, as he pointed
out, strictly to report upon the state of affairs. He invited Wylie
into the pinnace, and ordered his boat to be towed behind, but his
manner was the reverse of cordial.
“The Admiral has a high opinion of your impudence in asking us to do
your dirty work for you,” he said. “Why don’t you foot your own
butchers’ bill?”
“Our fellows are quite ready to do it,” returned Wylie in his driest
tone. “Unfortunately, the Powers would hardly approve of their
methods.”
“If you imagine we are going to help you out of the difficulties you
get into through being unable to control your associates----” began
the officer pugnaciously.
“Not at all. I propose to show you the Roumi wounded, whom Prince
Theophanis and I have collected out of all sorts of places--there are
fifteen of them. You will be good enough to satisfy yourself that they
have been treated as well as the absence of proper appliances permits.
If you take them on board, there will be no more trouble on the score
of humanity. If you refuse--well, the Prince and I and a few of our
men will protect them if we can, but the responsibility will not be
ours. And they must share with us such food as we have, and we are on
short commons already.”
The commander grunted, and on reaching the shore followed Wylie in
silence. He looked narrowly at the wounded Roumis lying behind their
screen of bushes, jerked out a question or two, and turned to Wylie
again.
“I’ll take ’em,” he said. “It’s not strictly correct, but your Prince
and you seem decent fellows, and there’s no need to let you in for
worse than you’re in for already.”
“Lord!” It was Petros, who stood, breathing hard, at Wylie’s side; “a
word from the Lord Romanos. He said, ‘Tell the Lord Glafko that they
are brandishing their rifles. They will not talk much longer.’”
“No time to lose,” said Wylie, and he and the commander laid etiquette
aside and worked with the sailors from the pinnace in carrying the
wounded on board. Before the work was half done, torches began to move
about in the direction of Ahmed Pasha, and shouts were heard.
“They have remembered, and are coming to search the battlefield,” said
Wylie. “Heaven send they may go to the valley first!”
The torches were wandering in all directions, towards the valley and
the barricade, and also towards the scene of the fight on the shore,
across which the bearers were passing with their helpless burdens.
“Go on and get done as quick as you can,” said Wylie to the commander.
“I’ll lead them astray.”
The Roumi dead had been laid near the barricade, ready for burial on
the morrow, and Wylie shouted to the advancing warriors, asking if
they sought them. As they followed his voice, he led them away from
the beach, but to his surprise they seemed to have no thought of the
foe, whether dead or alive. They pressed round him and hustled him
back against the barricade, the construction of which he had himself
superintended the day before.
“Traitor! You and your master have betrayed us to the Europeans!” was
the cry, as the torchlight flickered on the fierce faces.
“There has been no betrayal,” said Wylie sharply. “You were warned
that the warships would fire if we fought on Roumi territory, but you
chose to do it.”
“You led us to the shore. You had covenanted with the Admirals to
betray us!”
“Right--oh!” came a long-drawn shout from the shore. “Can we take you
on board, Colonel?”
Then the wounded were safe. Wylie sent back a ringing “No, thanks.
Good night!” putting his hands to his mouth, and turned again to his
accusers. But their attention had been diverted from him for the
moment.
“Europeans--here!” was the cry, and for an instant there was every
prospect of a stampede. The bombardment of the afternoon had left its
mark. But in the silence the sound of the pinnace’s engine as she
steamed away was distinctly audible, and it was obviously retreating.
“Glafko’s friends came to rescue him,” suggested some one. “They are
frightened, and have gone away.” The inference was clear. Glafko was
defenceless; and the rush of accusations came shrill and confused.
Maurice and Wylie were agents of the Powers for betraying the
insurgents to Roum. They were agents of Roum for betraying them to the
Powers. They were escaped criminals, who had excited such violent
resentment in the breasts of the Powers that their presence among the
innocent Emathians brought down punishment upon them also. The various
charges clashed hopelessly, but the general result was universally
accepted. Wylie had been instrumental in inducing the guileless
insurgents to expect the sympathy of the Powers, and had led them to
expose themselves to a treacherous attack. Defence was as useless as
it would have been inaudible, for the insurgents were as ready to
forget as they had shown themselves unable to appreciate the many
warnings they had received against relying on the support of Europe. A
man who had seen Wylie set off for the fleet this evening added his
testimony, and another, one of his unwilling helpers, told how the
Roumi wounded had been carefully tended and laid in one place, from
which they had now been removed. Quite half the crowd immediately went
to verify this last fact, and returned to add fresh curses to those
already raining upon Wylie. No one had as yet ventured to lay hands
upon him, and he had not drawn his revolver, but he was anxiously
calculating his chances. The party at the monastery ought to be
warned, for Maurice would not dream of mutiny on the part of his own
men. If he fired now, he must fire to kill, and that would hardly
improve matters, but who was there to whom he could entrust a message
with any hope of its being delivered?
It was Wylie’s salvation on this occasion that the ascendency he had
established even over the men who disliked him was so strong that no
one cared to strike the first blow, and also that his back was
defended by the barricade. The men who shouted most loudly against him
were those on the outskirts of the crowd, and they made no attempt to
go beyond words, though one stone flung towards him would have been
the signal for a storm. Nor did they offer any opposition when Prince
Romanos pushed his way through them, and placed himself at Wylie’s
side.
“What is this?” he cried.
A dozen voices answered him, repeating the various accusations. He
raised his hand in silence.
“This behaviour is unworthy of free men--of patriots,” he said loudly.
“For weeks we have warned you that there was no help to be looked for
from the Powers. Their great war-vessels are hemming us in for the
express purpose of keeping away from us friends and supplies, and
watching our dying agonies. Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie are
not likely to obtain any sympathy from England; rather their love for
Emathia has brought her displeasure upon them. We have only one friend
in all Europe, and that is not one of the Great Powers. My unhappy
country stands aside, longing to assist her brothers, but bound hand
and foot. She has suffered too sorely already for her sympathy to dare
to disregard the threats now showered upon her. Sons of Emathia, you
bear me no malice because my country cannot help you. Then why accuse
Prince Theophanis of treachery because his country helps Roum? He and
I are alike powerless.”
Wylie listened with startled attention. Put in this way, there was a
considerable difference between the attitude of Morea and that of the
European Concert, and he could hardly expect that the Emathians would
fail to see it. That they did not miss the point was shown by a voice
from the back which called out, “Romanos for Prince!” and the
approving shout which greeted the words. Prince Romanos silenced the
voices again.
“Now you are trenching on the functions of the Constitutional
Assembly,” he said. “Such words should not be uttered until peace is
attained. But that will never be if you reward by ungrateful attacks
the gentlemen who have given up so much in England to come to our
help.”
The meeting broke up in enthusiasm, amid renewed shouts of “Romanos
for Prince!” and Wylie and Prince Romanos walked back to Ahmed Pasha
and made joint arrangements for the defence. Wylie’s mind dwelt
gratefully and lovingly on the agreement into which he had entered
with Lieutenant Cotway, and on the pathway he had so carefully
prepared from the monastery to Ephestilo. It was possible that the
escape of the ladies would have to be managed before very long now.
There was no romantic loyalty about the insurgents.
The untoward events of that day and evening appeared to pass off
without serious consequences. Wylie doubled the guard at the
monastery, and Maurice, on hearing what had happened, insisted that
his friend should never go about without a bodyguard of his own,
picked from among the Slavs on whose fidelity it was possible, so far
as could be known, to count. One of them was the Zeko with whom the
party had made acquaintance long before in his brigand days, who
seemed to take an almost paternal interest in Wylie, and was quite
ready to slay any number of Greeks in his defence. Thus attended,
Wylie remained at Ahmed Pasha, watching from a distance the
unfortunate garrison of Segreti, who had seen their hope of relief
swept away, but remained as determined as ever not to surrender. It
seemed impossible that either the Roumis or the Powers should leave
them to starve, and therefore Wylie felt little surprise when a boat
from the fleet, bearing a flag of truce, landed the dragoman who had
already visited him, to announce that the Consuls of the Powers had
decided to effect the relief of Segreti on behalf of their respective
Governments, purely for the sake of humanity. They would arrive under
a flag of truce, bringing with them no Roumi troops, but merely a
naval guard, adequate to the dignity of each Consul, drawn from the
fleet of his particular Power, and unless opposition was offered to
their landing, would not interfere with the insurgents. Of the
difficulty which the insurgents’ unfortunate leaders would have in
reconciling them to this arrangement, the Consuls could hardly be
expected to take account.
“What in the world do they want to make such a fuss about it for?”
grumbled Wylie to Prince Romanos. “We could have managed it any night
if they had had the sense to communicate with us privately. Now our
fellows must stand by and see their prey snatched away from them.”
“Suggest to the Powers that a Roumi attack should be arranged for the
same time at the monastery end,” proposed Prince Romanos.
“And suppose it came off? Besides, we don’t want to give our fellows
reason to suspect any more plots. No, we shall have to explain things
openly. I think they have just sense enough not to wish to provoke a
conflict with the Powers.”
“How do you mean to dispose of them on the occasion?”
“Why, the proper thing would be to have them drawn up to salute the
Consuls, of course. But I daren’t venture on such close quarters. I
should like to withdraw them to Karakula, but I know they wouldn’t go,
lest the Powers should put the Roumis back in Ahmed Pasha. I suppose
they must stay here, but if any consideration on earth can induce them
to pile arms, they shall do it.”
The temper of the insurgents proved to be exactly what Wylie had
expected. The news that the Powers were intervening to rescue the
defiant opponents whose ultimate discomfiture they had anticipated
with so much certainty provoked many new accusations of treachery, and
it required some hours of talking before the prudence of those who
realised the divinity that doth hedge the person of a Consul could
prevail over the truculence of the rest. Distasteful as the sight of
the pacific removal of the garrison would be, however, every man was
resolved to witness it, and a sullen mob crowded the roofs of Ahmed
Pasha when the Consuls were expected. Prince Romanos had exerted
himself nobly to second Wylie in insisting that the rifles should be
left behind under guard, and they were doubly thankful that they had
done so when they observed the vigorous pantomime by which the
garrison of Segreti expressed their delight at the approaching
release--on the ramparts, so as to be clearly visible against the sky,
with the amiable object of exasperating their helpless foes as much as
possible.
The progress of the Consuls on their work of mercy was imposing in the
extreme. The boats from the various fleets were marshalled in
squadrons, and the precedence of each squadron was determined by the
seniority of the Consul it escorted. In every other respect, the size
of the boats and the number of men they carried, the squadrons were
equal in all cases--a mute testimony to the mutual jealousy of the
Powers. The British Consul-General, Sir Frank Francis, happened to be
the senior official present, and to him Wylie addressed himself as
soon as he landed, begging him to hasten his work as much as possible,
and to restrain the rescued Roumis from offering provocation to the
insurgents. Sir Frank looked at him as though he was presuming on old
acquaintance, and replied shortly that the relief would be
accomplished with due formality, and that the Consuls intended to take
advantage of the occasion to make one more appeal to the common-sense
of the insurgents. Wylie shrugged his shoulders and washed his hands
of all responsibility, but returned to beg that the Consuls would time
their appeal to coincide with the actual relief, so as to divide the
attention of the insurgents as far as possible. Sir Frank would make
no promises, and Wylie and his guard stood aside while other
gold-laced and decorated gentlemen joined their leader, and successive
bodies of armed sailors landed and formed up on the beach.
In stately procession the Consuls and their guards marched up from the
beach to the tower, the watchers at Ahmed Pasha looking on with angry
eyes, and the besieged came forth to meet them with extravagant
demonstrations of rejoicing. There was some delay while the garrison
collected their personal property, and exhibited in ocular evidence
the straits to which they had been reduced, and in the meantime a
discussion of some sort seemed to be going on among the highly
ornamented group of diplomatists outside the tower. To Wylie, watching
through his glass, it appeared that Sir Frank was urging the other
Consuls to accompany him on his mission of conciliation to Ahmed
Pasha, but that the unamiable attitude of the insurgents, as observed
through the binoculars of the naval auxiliaries, inclined his
colleagues to consider that a dragoman was the best person to go,
while the senior dragoman present gave it as his honest opinion that
the task was not one on which any man below the rank of Consul ought
to be sent. The difficulty was evidently solved at last by Sir Frank’s
undertaking the duty himself, amid the protests of the other Consuls,
for, accompanied by a portion of his guard, he began to cross the
rough slope which lay between Segreti and Ahmed Pasha. Wylie went out
to meet him, but the stout-hearted old diplomatist declined to regard
him as a suitable object for conciliation. Waving the intruder aside,
Sir Frank advanced to within fifty feet of the village, and addressed
himself to the scowling occupants of the roofs. His principle was
evidently to use the knife before applying the plaster.
“The Powers have effected the relief of Segreti on the score of
humanity alone,” he informed his audience, in sharp explosive
sentences. “At the same time, they will not allow you to derive any
advantage from it. The tower is mined, and will be blown up with the
Roumi flag flying.”
A howl of rage answered him, and there was a sudden movement among the
men on the roofs. He took no notice of either, but when Wylie, alarmed
lest the bolder spirits should be rushing for their rifles, would have
gone to prevent them, he detained him by an imperious gesture.
“We know quite well that the end of your resources is in sight,” he
went on. “You must now realise that the foreign adventurers who have
led you astray can give you no help. Through the clemency of his
Majesty the Grand Seignior, safety is still open to you. On giving up
your arms and your leaders, you will be permitted to return to your
homes.”
“As marked men!” cried Prince Romanos, standing forth as spokesman.
“And the rights for which we have fought--the Constitution--what of
them?”
“The Powers will do their best to secure the execution of the reforms
already granted. They promise nothing more.”
“Then we stand fast. Am I right?” cried Prince Romanos, appealing to
the rest, and a shout of approval answered him. “We lay down our arms
when the concessions we have already demanded are granted by the Grand
Seignior and guaranteed by the Powers, and not till then!” he shouted
to Sir Frank.
“I can only regret your decision,” was the reply, as the
Consul-General turned to depart, careless of the angry shouts which
pursued him from the walls. Wylie stepped forward to accompany him out
of range, but again Sir Frank waved him back. “I do not require the
protection of a renegade Englishman,” he said, and Wylie bowed and
remained.
“Glafko! Glafko!” Prince Romanos was calling to him loudly. “Come at
once. They have overpowered the guard and got at the rifles. And some
of them are already on the way to the tower.”