THE BRITISH FLAG.
Crouching behind the piled stones, Wylie tried to get a clear view
of the enemy attacking from behind, but they had found such good cover
that this was difficult. They were on a much lower level, which was
fortunate, since they had no mark but the stones, yet the broken
country afforded such facilities for concealment that they might at
any time climb unperceived to a higher point, and fire down into the
sangar. Everything depended on the most extreme watchfulness, so that
if they did gain one of the heights they might be shot before they
could shoot. Wylie looked round at Zoe, the tension of a few moments
before forgotten.
“You have good sight,” he said. “Lie down on the seaward side, and
keep a look-out. Let me know if you see anything among the Roumis down
there to show that they have noticed us.”
“If we fire, they must notice us,” said Zoe.
“If we don’t, the fellows behind will wipe us out,” said he.
Without further objection, Zoe obeyed, lying flat at the edge of the
rock, her face supported on her hands, peering between two stones. At
present there was no sign of movement among the Roumis below, for a
solitary shot, even if they had heard it, was not likely to arouse
their suspicions. But as Zoe watched, the eight rifles behind her
crashed out simultaneously, and at once there was a scurrying in the
lines beneath, and an eager turning of eyes to the ridge. She warned
Wylie, and received his order to tell him the moment any man or men
began to scale the hill. But her next words gave him far different
news.
“There is a steam pinnace coming towards the opening in the bay!” she
cried.
“Better late than never!” said Wylie grimly.
Bullets were flying overhead now from the unseen enemy behind, and
every few minutes a rifle or two cracked, as one man or another caught
a glimpse of the snipers. The Roumis in front were now evidently
persuaded that something out of the common was occurring on the
hill-top, and a small detachment was ordered up to inquire into it.
Warned by Zoe, Wylie transferred his whole force to that side, and as
soon as the Roumis began to mount the hill, they were met with so hot
a fire from the eight rifles that they withdrew hastily to seek cover
from which to take long shots. But the momentary transference of the
garrison had afforded the enemy behind an opportunity of establishing
themselves somewhat higher up, and one or two of their bullets even
entered the loopholes. One of the insurgents was hit in the arm, but
with a handkerchief tied round the injured limb he remained at his
post.
“Have you anything that will make a flag?” asked Wylie of Zoe, without
turning round. “Handkerchiefs? Right. Then hold it up straight--don’t
show yourself, mind--and wave it towards the right. Our men can get
round the end of the Roumi line in that direction.”
Seeing that, as he said, the cordon on that side was not complete, Zoe
took heart again, though when the bullets came whizzing through the
enclosure she had given up all for lost. She and Eirene unfastened the
kerchiefs from their heads, and knotting them and their
pocket-handkerchiefs together, she manufactured a small flag, and was
tying it to the stick which Wylie had used to help him on the march
when Zeko turned round and saw what she was doing. With a snarl of
fury he tore the stick from her hand, and lifted his rifle as if to
dash out her brains. Her involuntary cry made Wylie turn to see what
was the matter, and he seized Zeko’s arm. The brigand offered no
apology, but pointed for justification to the flag and to Zoe, pouring
out a bitter accusation which she was too much shaken to understand.
“It’s all right,” said Wylie. “He thought you were trying to surrender
behind our backs--hoisting the white flag, you know. I’ll explain.”
The scowl left Zeko’s brow gradually, but it was clear that his
objection to the flag remained. At length, with an air of yielding
gracefully to Wylie’s unreasonable demands, he pulled the bandage
roughly from the arm of the man who had been hurt, and applied the
flag to the wound until it was stained everywhere with blood. Then he
handed it back to Zoe with a grin, and she conquered her disgust
sufficiently to receive it and fasten it to the stick. It blew out
well in the wind, but this made it very difficult to hold, as she lay
behind the stones, alternately raising the stick erect and bending it
down to the right, with the sun beating on her uncovered head. It was
almost a relief when a bullet hit the stick--the flag served as an
excellent mark for the enemy in front--and broke it in two, the wind
immediately carrying the flag away. Noticing how hot the fire was
getting, Wylie moved to the front with three of his men, and told Zoe
to take her place with Eirene and Constantine in the most sheltered
corner. There they crouched on the ground, in what ought to have been
comparative safety, but it seemed a sort of imprisonment to Zoe, who
could no longer see what was happening, or watch for the first sight
of the relieving force. Moreover, the place, though the best they
could find, was not really safe. As she and Eirene sat huddled
together, a bullet entered at the loophole nearest them, passing
through the head of the wounded insurgent, who sprang up convulsively
and fell forward over the barricade, and striking one of the largest
stones, which it shattered. Constantine, who had been watching the
firing with intense interest, sprang into his mother’s arms with a
frightened cry as the flying dust and fragments of rock filled the
air. She drew the shawl about him, and he gave a little sigh as he hid
his face in her bosom.
“Poor little Con!” said Zoe, when she could find her voice, “how tired
he is! Think of going to sleep in the middle of this firing!”
Eirene looked up quickly. “Yes, of course he is tired--terribly
tired.” The vague anxiety left her eyes, and her voice grew stronger
as she repeated firmly, “It is just that. He is so tired.”
“No harm done, I hope?” said Wylie, looking round. “Keep as low down
as you can.”
They obeyed, comforting themselves with the thought that no other
bullet was likely to strike in the same place. But as Zoe watched, it
seemed to her that the bullets were coming now from a different
direction. One even came over the barricade from the back, and struck
the ground. The enemy were firing down instead of up. She called out
to Wylie.
“Yes, they’ve managed to get up there,” he answered in jerks, without
turning his head. “It was when that unlucky shot killed Demo.”
Another man rolled over on his side, and his rifle clattered as it
fell. Zeko reached across and took away his cartridge-belt, displaying
to Wylie the few cartridges left, and muttering something which Zoe
understood to be a prediction that if the women were not killed soon
the Roumis would rush the sangar and get possession of them after all.
Wylie took out his watch, but the face was smashed.
“Is your watch going?” he called to Zoe. “The sailors ought to be here
in twenty minutes. Zeko, find out exactly how many cartridges we have
left--for six rifles--and we will allot them accordingly. The Lady Zoe
will tell us as each five minutes passes. Don’t let the men fire more
than one at a time, unless there comes a rush.”
Zeko made his calculation with an impatient grunt, and at Wylie’s
orders divided the cartridges into four parts, one for each five
minutes, while Zoe crouched with her watch in her hand, feeling that
minutes had never moved so slowly before. Divergent counsels appeared
to prevail among the enemy in front, for they fired only in a
half-hearted sort of way, but those behind, elated by their position,
took full advantage of it. It was impossible to lift a head above the
parapet without attracting a bullet, and Wylie and the two men in
front were exposed to their fire if they changed their place in the
slightest. Still, so long as they remained quiet, they could only be
hit by accident, and the persevering foes therefore transferred their
attention to the breastwork, trying to knock away the stones, and thus
leave the defenders shelterless. They succeeded best at the end
opposite to that at which Eirene and Zoe were crouching, where the
ridge was very steep, but as there was no attack on that side this did
no immediate harm. Through the opening thus made there came a sound of
distant music, which roused Zoe’s curiosity. Surely the rescuers could
not be bringing a band with them? Crawling forward a little, she saw,
as if in a stone frame, the advancing column. The officer at the head,
in whom she thought she recognised Lieutenant Cotway, was driving
before him a Roumi bugler, who was sounding the “Cease fire!”
spasmodically with all his might, admonished by frequent reminders
from behind. Close at hand walked a midshipman, displaying boldly,
even ostentatiously, a large-sized Union Jack, and some
five-and-twenty sailors in marching order followed. The slackness of
the fire in front was now accounted for, since Lieutenant Cotway had
evidently arrived at an explanation of some sort with the Roumis,
though its effects were only gradual, but so far the frenzied
exertions of the bugler did not seem to have penetrated to the
consciousness of the snipers at the back. Even if they did, the
column, climbing its painful path, would not come into sight until it
had all but reached the top of the hill, and it was only too probable
that until the truth was brought home to them by the actual sight of
the White Ensign, the enemy would prefer to assure themselves that the
bugler was playing tunes for his own delectation.
“Ten minutes!” said Zoe, returning to her place, and Zeko reached
eagerly for the third supply of cartridges. As he did so, a bullet
struck the heap, and a violent explosion flung him backwards. Three of
his fingers were torn off, and he was much scorched, but even in his
agony what appealed to him most was the fact that save for two or
three cartridges in the magazines of the rifles not yet emptied, the
ammunition was gone. Zoe crawled to him to try and tie up his hand,
but he waved her away angrily, and did it himself with the other hand
and his teeth, then took out his knife and lay down to wait. But there
was little prospect now of the enemy’s trying to rush the breastwork,
for the sound of the explosion must have told them what had happened,
and they were not likely to trust themselves within stabbing distance
of the four bruised, scorched men who now alone remained. The front of
the sangar had been blown clean out, and the back, which stood on
level ground, was now no longer a wall, but a heap, affording next to
no shelter. Wylie took possession of the three undischarged rifles,
and trained them on one particular point, forbidding the men to fire
until he gave the word. Sooner or later the snipers would advance to a
height from which they could fire straight down into the place, and
unless they could be checked in this, there would be no one left to
save when the rescuers arrived. Presently the rifle he held went off,
and by the muttered exclamations of joy from the men, Zoe knew that
one of the enemy, at any rate, had fallen in the attempt to reach the
coveted spot. Then the other two were discharged simultaneously, and
Wylie turned savagely upon the culprits, who had wasted two precious
cartridges upon one Roumi. All that remained now was one cartridge
still in his rifle, and that was soon expended, not so successfully as
before, since the Roumi at whom he fired was only wounded.
“Close in now, and shelter the ladies,” he said, and the men obeyed.
Wylie thrust his revolver into Zoe’s hand.
“If we are all done for before the sailors get up,” he said, and she
understood, and laid it down beside her. The Roumis were on the height
now, but they had not got the exact range, and the bullets were
dropping beyond the group. Then Zeko sprang up and spun round wildly,
made a vain attempt to hurl his knife at the foe, and fell with a
horrible crash. Zoe hid her face.
“Oh, do it, do it now!” she entreated of Wylie. “I shall go mad if
this goes on.”
“Quiet. Wait!” he said firmly. “I thought I saw--yes, there they are.
Here, here!” he shouted, putting his hands to his mouth.
“Where?” cried another voice. “Yes, all right. Cease firing up there,
or I fire!”
The firing ceased as if by magic, and Lieutenant Cotway hurried across
the piece of open ground, followed by his seamen. Mr Suter, with great
presence of mind, wedged the flagstaff into the heap of stones, and
held it up straight.
“Only just in time!” said Wylie, getting up.
“So it seems. Ladies not hurt, I hope? Well, you have made a good
fight of it. Sorry to be obliged to put you and your survivors under
arrest--Admiral’s orders. Is Prince Theophanis here? No? The old man
will be disgusted--hoped to get you all out of mischief at one blow.
Well, better toddle back to the boat with what we have got, for our
Roumi friends are not exactly charmed by our interference.”
“Send the ladies on in front,” said Wylie. “We must look after our
poor fellows, you know.”
Was the man frightened? wondered Lieutenant Cotway. His teeth
chattered and his face was white, and he leaned against the rock as
though he could scarcely stand. “Collapse, possibly,” the sailor said
to himself, and turned to offer his hand to help Eirene to rise.
“Sorry to meet you again in such circumstances, ma’am. Afraid you’ve
had a bad time? But once we get you on board it’ll be better. I’m
going to send you on ahead with Mr Suter while we rig up some sort of
contrivance for the wounded. Is that my young friend Con you have
there? Don’t wonder you are tired if you have been carrying him all
the way from the monastery. This man will take him for you.”
The big sailor he indicated handed his rifle to a comrade and held out
his arms, but Eirene only clasped her boy closer. There was a furtive,
almost suspicious, look in her eyes. “No, no,” she said breathlessly,
“I will carry him. I am not tired. No one shall take him from me.”
“Of course not,” said Mr Cotway soothingly. “I thought it might be a
relief to you, that’s all. You persuade your sister to rest if you get
a chance,” he added to Zoe. “One can see she’s had a pretty hard
time.”
“Yes, yes,” said Zoe. “Oh, tell me,” she said anxiously, lowering her
voice,--the tall lieutenant was standing between her and the
rest,--“you are going to bring Colonel Wylie on board? You are not
going to--to shoot him?”
The sailor repressed a laugh with difficulty. “Don’t be afraid,
there’s no deception,” he assured her. “‘We are here for all your
goods,’ don’t you know?”
“But Maurice--my brother--can you save him?”
“Can’t tell till I hear more about it. But the sooner you get on board
and pour everything into the sympathetic ears of Point Seven, the
better. He has been like a bear dancing on a hot plate the last few
days. He’ll strain the resources of the Concert to breaking-point if
there’s anything he can do. Got your ten men, Mr Suter?”
The ten men were waiting, and Mr Suter, proud of his independent
command, led them off in fine style. As soon as they and their charges
had passed over the edge of the plateau, Lieutenant Cotway turned to
Wylie.
“I say, you must be wounded. What is it?”
“No, merely fever. I’m afraid I must ask you to let one of your men
give me an arm down the hill. But there was one of our fellows I hoped
wasn’t dead.”
Together they examined the bodies strewn about the ruins of the
sangar, but no life remained in any of them. To those acquainted with
Roumi methods of warfare, their disposal presented a difficulty, but
one of the two remaining insurgents suggested a cairn, and the corpses
were laid in the centre of the space which had witnessed their last
fight, and the stones piled over them. Then the man drew a circle
round the heap with his knife, and scrawled cabalistic figures inside
and outside it, muttering the while. “It is magic,” he said, as he
rose from his knees. “Even the accursed will not dare to disturb that
grave, and in the years to come the relics of the martyrs shall be
carried to a shrine worthy of them.”
“Your people seem to be full of spirit still,” said Lieutenant Cotway
as he helped Wylie down the hill, a sailor supporting him on the other
side; “but I’m afraid your cause is in a bad way. What’s your Prince
doing?”
“He was proposing to surrender to-day, as being more dignified than
finding himself handed over by traitors on his own side,” said Wylie.
Mr Cotway whistled. “Isn’t it slightly confiding to treat with the
Roumis without giving the Admirals a chance to see fair?” he asked.
“Unfortunately the Admirals were at an Olympian distance, and the
Roumis in between. We simply couldn’t get at you. But there is just a
chance that you may be in time to prevent a massacre yet.”
“With twenty-five men? Oh, I see, you mean the representatives of
Europe generally. Well, my orders are to escort the ladies on board,
but I think old Point Seven would agree that it was a case for
discretion. I shall send you aboard with Suter, and hold Ephestilo,
for fear our landing should be disputed. The Roumis will hardly yearn
for publicity.”
“You will want a guide,” said Wylie thickly.
“Well, I don’t intend to engage you for the post. One of your men
might do. I suppose there’s a straight road from Ephestilo to your
headquarters?”
“Yes, but the Roumis are lying across it.”
“They ought to know which side their bread is buttered by this time.
The Roumis won’t take any trouble to spare the susceptibilities of
their warmest friends, but they will probably not care to fire on
armed Europe. Ah, here we are on the level at last! Now we shall get
on faster. Take my arm again. Baines, go on giving Colonel Wylie an
arm on the other side. There are the ladies, I see. Why won’t Princess
Theophanis let some one else carry that heavy child? I suppose she
gave him something last night to keep him quiet?”
“No. He talked a good deal till quite lately.” Wylie spoke with
difficulty.
“Hope there’s nothing wrong, then. He seemed very quiet. I say,” as
Wylie stumbled, “what’s up? I don’t think you’ll get as far as the
_Magniloquent_ this morning. Can you keep up till we get to Ephestilo,
or shall I send a man on to get some sort of litter?”
“I can keep up,” declared Wylie, and he stumbled on between his two
supporters, and succeeded in reaching the outskirts of Ephestilo. The
inhabitants, who had forsaken their homes for hiding-places among the
rocks on the approach of the Roumis, were returning now, with a
pathetic confidence in the power of the little pinnace lying at the
rude quay, and the people whose house Wylie had occupied during his
illness met him and claimed him as a guest,--not, perhaps, without an
eye to the special protection this would probably involve. Leaving him
in their charge, Lieutenant Cotway hurried to the quay, from which
Eirene and Zoe were just embarking.
“Tell the Admiral the whole state of things, Princess,” he said to
Zoe, for Eirene was too much engrossed with her boy to have any ears
for him. “I am staying on shore for the present, and keeping Colonel
Wylie with me, and I only hope we may be able to bring your brother
off safely to-night.”
The short voyage from Ephestilo to the flagship was accomplished
almost in silence. Zoe was hastily conning over in her mind the facts
of the situation, and trying wildly to put them into the fewest words
that would suffice to move the Admiral to instant action. Mr Suter’s
usual flow of talk was checked. He and his crew were alike uneasily
conscious of the silent woman with the terror-haunted eyes, who sat
huddled by herself, clasping a bundle to her breast--an image of dread
that must have filled Zoe with foreboding had not her mind been fully
preoccupied with the effort to save Maurice from his impending fate.
They reached the ship at last, and the Admiral himself came down the
ladder to welcome them and help them to the deck.
“I fear you have had a most unpleasant journey,” he said kindly to
Eirene. “Be sure that whatever we can do to make you forget it--ah,
what’s that? the baby got hurt?”
“Mr Cotway said he was afraid there was something wrong with it, sir,”
said Mr Suter, in what he imagined to be a whisper. It roused Eirene
at once.
“There is nothing wrong with him!” she cried, glaring round on the
officers. “He is all right--only frightened by so many strangers. He
always hides his face when he is shy--doesn’t he, Zoe? doesn’t he? You
know he does.” Her voice rose almost to a scream. “He will be quite
good when he is once alone with me--quite good.”
“Yes, of course,” said the Admiral gently. “Bring him in here, and put
him on the bed. No, don’t be afraid; we will all go away. But you
would like the doctor, wouldn’t you?--just in case there is any little
scratch or bruise, you know.”
He signed to the surgeon to enter the cabin, and came out, shutting
the door noiselessly. Then he turned to Zoe.
“Now what is it you want to tell me?” for she had been trying to
attract his attention ever since they arrived. “About your brother?
Dear me, a sad change since you were here last!”
“The Roumis will hear of nothing but unconditional surrender,” said
Zoe breathlessly; “and Maurice is holding out in hope of getting
better terms, but he has reason to be afraid of treachery from some of
the men on our own side.”
“Unconditional surrender? The Powers have made it plain to the Roumis
from the first that the rank and file of the insurgents were to go
free if they laid down their arms. Why did your brother not apply for
our mediation?”
“The Roumis would let no one pass, and that Hercynian who is in their
camp, Gratrian Bey, sided with Jalal-ud-din.”
“So I should imagine. Well, this must be looked into, even if it
breaks up the Concert. Ask Admiral Scartazzini and Admiral d’Anville
if they will co-operate with me in sending landing-parties on shore at
once,” he said to an officer. “What are the best roads into the
interior of the peninsula?” he asked Zoe.
“The one from Ephestilo is the nearest, but the one from Karakula is
the easiest to find. From Skandalo you can’t find your way without a
guide.”
“But there are some of your party left to serve as guides? Still, we
won’t try Skandalo, for the Hercynians are guarding it. The Neustrians
had better start from Karakula, and the Magnagrecians and ourselves
from Ephestilo. Then I hope---- Well, what news?” as the surgeon came
out of the cabin.
“The poor child is dead, sir.”
“Dead?” cried Zoe and the Admiral together.
“Hours ago. The merest bruise on the temple--from a flying stone, I
imagine. It must have been instantaneous. The mother is
distracted--refuses to believe it even now; but I think she must have
guessed.”