In Greek Waters: A Story of the Grecian War of Independence

“What, that dirty looking brig, doctor, with her sides looking as rusty as if she had not had a coat of paint for the last year!”

“It’s the schooner disguised. It is easy enough, lad, to alter the rig, and to get hold of dirty sails and to dirty the paint, but you can’t alter the shape. No Greek, or Turk either, ever turned out the hull of that brig.”

“It is marvellously like the schooner,” Horace said. “I should almost have sworn that it was her.”

“It is the schooner, lad. How she got there, and what she is doing, I don’t know, but it is her.”

“What is it?” Ahmed asked. “What is there curious in that brig that you are so interested in her?”

“We both think it is our schooner, Ahmed; the one in which we took your father and mother from Athens in.”

“That!” Ahmed exclaimed incredulously; “why, my sisters were always saying what a beautiful vessel it was, with snow-white sails.”

“So she had, Ahmed; but if it is the schooner she is disguised altogether. They have taken down her top-masts and put those stumpy spars in instead; they have put up yards and turned her into a brig; they have got sails from somewhere and slackened all her ropes, and made her look dirty and untidy; still we both think that it is her. Please tell the boatmen to cross to the vessel and row alongside.”

Ahmed gave the order, and as the caique shot away from the shore said: “But how could it be your ship? Do you think that she has been captured? If not, she could not have ventured up here.”

“She has not been captured,” Horace said confidently, “and if she had been her captors would not have taken the trouble to spoil her appearance. If that is the schooner they have come up to make inquiries about us, and to try to rescue us if possible.”

It was fully two miles across, and as they approached the brig the doctor and Horace became more and more convinced that they were not mistaken.

“Please tell the men to pull in behind her,” Horace said, “so that we can see her better. There can be no mistake about her if we can catch a sight of her fore and aft.”

When they fell into the brig’s wake they were some three hundred yards astern of her, and the last vestige of doubt disappeared as they saw her great breadth and fine run.

“That is my father’s craft, Ahmed, I could swear to her now. Will you tell the men to row up alongside.”

There were only four or five men visible on deck in the ordinary dress of Turkish sailors. As the caique came alongside a man put his head over the rail and asked in Turkish “what they wanted?”

“We want to come on board,” Ahmed said; “we have business with the captain.”

“I am the captain,” the man said; “are you one of the port officers?”

“Drop astern to the chains,” Ahmed said to the boatmen, who were hanging on by a boat-hook. They let the caique fall aft her own length, and then, seizing the shrouds, the doctor and Horace sprang up on to the chains and then leapt on board, Ahmed following them more slowly. There was no doubt that it was the schooner, though her decks were covered with dirt and litter, and the paint of her bulwarks discoloured as if they had been daubed with mud which had been allowed to dry. The sailors looked up as if in surprise at the sudden appearance of the strangers on their deck. Horace glanced at them. He knew none of their faces.

“Well, sir,” the captain said, coming up, “may I again ask what you want with us?”

“You talk to him, Ahmed,” Horace said in Greek. “We will run below;” and at a bound he was at the top of the companion and sprang down into the cabin. “Father,” he shouted, “are you here?”

The door of the main cabin opened, and a Turk with a flowing white beard made his appearance.

“My dear father, is it you?”

“Why, Horace, Horace, my dear boy, where do you come from, what miracle is this?” And in a moment they were clasped in each other’s arms. A moment later a tall Nubian rushed out and seized Horace’s hand.

“Why, Martyn, you don’t mean to say it is you in this disguise?”

“It is indeed, Horace. I am delighted to see you, lad; and you too, doctor. I had never thought to clap eyes on you again;” and he shook hands heartily with Macfarlane, as also did Mr. Beveridge.

“I seem to be in a dream,” the latter said; “how do you come here, what has happened?”

“I may say the same, father; but first, where are Miller, Tarleton, and the crew?”

“They are all down in the hold,” Martyn said; “they are all in hiding.”

“I have a friend on deck, father; he is the son of one of the Turks we saved at Athens. He and his friends saved our lives, and have been concealing us since they got us away. I expect he is having some difficulty with the man who calls himself captain.”

“Come up with me then, Horace, and we will fetch him down; and I will tell Iskos that it is all right.”

As soon as they reached the deck Mr. Beveridge explained to the supposed captain that these were the friends he had come to find, and that all was well.

Martyn had also come up. “What had we better do now, Martyn?”

Martyn looked up at the sails, and at the water, “Fortunately the wind is dying out fast,” he said. “I don’t think we are making way against the current now, and we shall certainly not do so long. Hold on a few minutes longer, Iskos, and then anchor. It will seem as if we could not get up against the stream to the other shipping. If you see a boat coming off, let us know. They will probably be sending off to look at our papers; but perhaps they may not trouble about it till we get up to the regular anchorage. Now, Mr. Beveridge, we will go down below and gladden their hearts there.”

The main-deck was filled with casks, bales, and merchandise of all sorts, and the hatchways of the hold covered with sacks of flour. Macfarlane joined them, and aided Martyn and Horace in removing the sacks. Horace saw as he did so that what appeared a solid pile was really hollow, and that the hatchway was only partially closed so as to allow a certain amount of air to pass down below. The bags were but partly removed when there was a rush from below, Miller and Tarleton with their cutlasses in hand, followed by the sailors with boarding-pikes dashed through the opening. They paused in astonishment upon seeing only Martyn, Mr. Beveridge, and three Turkish gentlemen, but as they recognized Horace and the doctor, the officers threw down their swords and with a shout of joy seized them by the hand. The sailors close behind them broke into a cheer which swelled into a roar as the men below gathered the news that their two officers had returned.

“The men can come up between decks, Miller,” Martyn said. “Let them have a stiff ration of grog all round. Boatswain, see that the sacks are piled again as before, leaving two or three out of their place to allow the men to go down again if necessary. If the word is passed that a boat is coming off, let them hurry back again and replace the sacks carefully after them as they go down.”

The sailors continued pouring up through the hatchway, and behind them came the two Greeks, whose joy at seeing Horace was excessive.

“Now,” Mr. Beveridge said, “let us adjourn to the cabin and hear all about this wonderful story.”

On entering the main cabin Horace found that its appearance, like that of the rest of the ship, had been completely altered, all the handsome fittings had been removed, and the whole of the woodwork painted with what he thought must have been a mixture of white paint and mud, so dirty and dingy did it appear.

“Now, father, in the first place I must properly introduce my friend Ahmed to you all. He is the son of Osman Bey, who was one of the principal Turks of the party we took to Tenedos, as no doubt you remember; it is to him and his father, aided by Fazli Bey, and the bimbashi who was in command of the troops, and some of the soldiers, that we owe our lives.”

This was said in Greek, and while Mr. Beveridge was expressing his gratitude to Ahmed, Horace repeated the same in English to the three officers, who warmly shook hands with the young Turk. Marco and his brother placed refreshments of all kinds on the table.

Ahmed partook of them sparingly, and then said to Horace: “Of course you will not be returning with me now. I think I had better be going on, it will be dark before I have done my business and get back again; and besides, the boatmen will be wondering at my long stay here.”

“I am afraid your father will think us horribly ungrateful if we go off without thanking him and your mother for all their kindness to us,” Horace said; “but of course we must be getting out of this as soon as we can.”

“My father and mother will be delighted to hear that you have so suddenly and unexpectedly got out of your difficulties,” Ahmed said, “and that in a manner from which no suspicion can possibly arise to us. What we have done has been but a small return for the service you rendered us.”

Mr. Beveridge added his warmest thanks to those of Horace, and Ahmed then went up with the others on to the deck and took his place in the caique; Horace making a present of a small gold piece to each of the boatmen. Ahmed said good-bye to him and the doctor in Turkish, expressing the hope that when they got back to Cyprus they would write to him, a message that Iskos afterwards translated to Horace. As soon as he had rowed away the rest of them returned to the cabin.

“And now for the story,” Mr. Beveridge said as they took their places round the table.

“The doctor shall tell it,” Horace said. “He has had no chance of talking for the last fortnight, and it is only fair he should have his turn now.”

The doctor accordingly, in his slow and deliberate way, related the whole story of their adventures from the time they landed from the schooner until their return on board, a narration which lasted nearly two hours.

Then Martyn related what had happened on board since. “You know,” he said, “that directly we heard the firing on shore and saw the boat rowing off we began to get ready to send a strong party off. You can imagine how horrified we were when, on the boat coming alongside, we found you were both missing. The beggars fired away at us as we rowed ashore, but they bolted before we reached it, and when we made a rush into the village, it was empty. We could find no one to ask questions of, for, as we found afterwards, they had all made off while the brigands were firing at us. However, as there were no signs of you it was evident the only thing to do was to follow the ruffians, and off we set. We chased them four miles, but they scattered directly they left the village and we only came up with two of them. Unfortunately they showed fight, and the sailors cut them down before we could come up.

“After searching about for some time we thought the best plan was to go back to the village. There we quartered ourselves among the houses, and, as you have been telling us, the man came with a letter. We noticed how you had worded it and had underscored the names, and we saw the fellows did not know that you were the son of the owner, so your father pretended to hang back for a bit. As soon as the man had gone off with the message we thought that it was all right, and everyone was in the highest spirits. Of course there was nothing to do next day, but the following morning Mr. Beveridge and Miller went off with thirty men, as the time named for giving you up was one o’clock.

“We began to expect them back at four, and as the hours went on I was in a regular stew. I did not like to land, and as I had only twenty men I was afraid of weakening her further, as we should have been in an awkward fix if a Turkish man-of-war had come along; however, at nine o’clock I sent Tarleton ashore with five men to see if he could gather some news from the villagers, who had all come back again soon after the brigands had left. It was not till after eleven o’clock that he came off, with the news that the party had returned and had heard nothing of you.

“Next morning one of the boats came off with Mr. Beveridge. Half an hour before a Greek had come in and stated that he was one of the party bringing you down to the place agreed upon when they were suddenly fired upon from a wood. Two of the party fell dead and the rest ran and were hotly pursued for some distance. He was unable to say what had become of you, nor did he know who the men were who had attacked them, except that they were certainly Albanians. We held a council, and then I started off with Tarleton and ten men and Marco. Mr. Beveridge wanted to go, but I persuaded him not to, for it was morally certain that we should not find you, and all we could hope for was to get some sort of clue, and if the Albanians were still in the neighbourhood Marco would have opened negotiations with them for a ransom. The man who had brought the news acted as guide. We found the bodies of his comrades who had been killed, but no signs of you, which was a comfort in one way. It was pretty evident that you had both been carried off.

“We had taken with us a dozen men from the village to which you were to have been sent, and we offered what to them must have been a big reward for news as to these Albanians. So after finding the bodies we sent them off in different directions, and went back to their village. Late in the evening they straggled in. They had done their work well, spreading all over the country and getting hold of shepherds and charcoal-burners and wood-cutters; and they were able to tell us for certain that the Albanians had come over the range of hills between us and Thessaly. They had been doing a good deal of plundering and some murdering, had destroyed two small villages at the foot of the mountains, and had been seen soon after the hour at which you must have been captured making their way back. They assured us that the troops of Ali Pasha lay in the plain beyond the hills, and that, doubtless, the Albanians had taken you to him. We had a good long rest in the afternoon, and as I knew what a state of anxiety your father was in we started at once and got on board at four o’clock in the morning. We had a long talk over what was the best thing to be done, and resolved at any rate to sail out of the bay and round the Cape, and then keep along the coast until we were off Thessaly.

“As soon as it was daylight we weighed anchor. The wind was so light that it took us two days to get there, and half that time at least, I should say, the men were in the boats towing. Marco had volunteered to land and make his way to the Turkish camp to try to find out what had become of you. We landed him at night; he bought from some of the villagers a suit of their clothes, and in twenty-four hours came down again to the boat we had sent ashore for him with the news that you had been sent to Constantinople; that you had been taken by an escort of cavalry down to the little port at the mouth of the river that flows in between Ossa and Olympus; that he had seen some of the soldiers who formed your escort, who told him that they had seen you go on board a Turkish brig-of-war with their officer and two of their comrades who had accompanied you.

“This was horrible news, and as the brig had got four days’ start there was little chance of our catching her. For another three days we were almost becalmed. We had every stitch of canvas set and yet most of the time we had not even steerage-way. The men behaved splendidly, and all the time, day and night, we had two boats out ahead towing; and on the fourth day we arrived off Tenedos. Then we got a breeze again, and soon afterwards picked up a fishing-boat. From them we learned that the brig had lain becalmed two days off the town, that some of the people that we brought from Athens had gone out with little presents of fruit to you and had seen you.

“We anchored that night a short distance from the town, for there were no Turkish ships of war there. At night a boat came off with a woman whom we had brought from Athens, and she told us that her husband, a discharged soldier, had gone to Constantinople to tell some of the people whom we brought from Athens that two of our officers had been captured, and to ask them to do what they could to save your lives. We did not think anything of it, though of course it was pleasant to see that some of the people were grateful, and Mr. Beveridge made her a handsome present, which I will do her the justice to say she refused until he almost had to force it upon her. Knowing how bitter the Sultan is against foreigners in the Greek service, and that after the harm we had done he was not likely to be specially well disposed towards us, the thing seemed almost hopeless. The two Greeks volunteered if we would put them ashore to the west of the straits to make their way to Constantinople, but as it did not seem to us that they could do any good that idea was given up.

“At last Tarleton proposed that we should disguise the schooner and go up ourselves. He admitted that the betting was a hundred to one against our being able to help you in any way, especially as it was almost certain you would have been hung a few hours after you got there. Still, if that had been put off, and you should be in a prison, there was just the possibility we might land at night, make our way to the prison, blow in the gate, get you out, and make our way across the country to some place where the boats would be waiting for us, and be on board before daylight. It was certainly a desperate undertaking, but as none of us could think of any other plan, we agreed it would be well to try it, so we sailed at once to Athens.

“We had a great debate whether it would not be better to buy some Turkish brig that had been brought in as a prize; but we finally agreed to stick to the schooner, for if we were discovered on the way, or if we did get you on board, we should have to sail, and we knew that nothing the Turks have got could outsail the schooner. We worked hard at Athens. We sent down the tall spars, got those clumsy poles up in their place, got up yards, and turned her into a brig. Then we bought a lot of old sails, and, as you see, turned her into as lubberly-looking a craft as you will meet even in these seas. Then we filled her up between decks with goods we bought out of some prizes brought in by the Hydriots, dirtied her decks, threw acid down her sides to take off the paint, took down the cabin fittings, as you see, and daubed over the woodwork with dirty paint. It was enough to make one cry to see the Misericordia spoilt. It was like disguising a girl of fashion as a dirty gipsy.

“While we had been at this work the two Greeks had been on shore, and had gathered up eight men who spoke Turkish as well as Greek. The most intelligent we made captain, with two officers under him. We got the papers from a Turkish prize, a brig about the same size which had been captured by the Hydriots on her way from Rhodes to Constantinople. Then it was agreed that your father should disguise himself as a Turk, a respectable land-owner of Rhodes, going as a passenger to Constantinople, with myself as his Nubian servant. That way we could stay on deck. When all was ready we started. The crew kept on deck till we got near the Dardanelles, and then stowed themselves away in the hold as you saw. We were stopped at the castle, but as the papers were all right there was no suspicion excited, and nothing happened till Iskos came down and told us a caique was coming alongside, and then a minute or two later we heard your voice.”

CHAPTER XXII

ALL ENDS WELL

THE hours passed on. It was still a dead calm, and, as Martyn had thought likely, no visit was paid by the Turkish port officials, as the brig was lying a good mile below the usual anchorage, and would no doubt move up to the wharves as soon as she got the wind. Horace went to the main deck and gave a sketch of his adventures to Tom Burdett, who he knew would retail them to the crew.

“Well, Mr. Horace,” the boatswain said, “you are certainly a good one at getting out of scrapes.”

“I had nothing to do with getting out of it, Tom; it was all done without any effort on my part.”

“It was mighty well done, sir, and I would not have given them Turks credit for putting such a plan together. I always liked the chaps myself when I served with them as a young fellow in that Egyptian business under Abercrombie. Good-natured sort of coves they was, and wonderful good-tempered considering what shocking bad grub they had; but I never looked upon them as sharp. Still, there you are; you see, one never knows what a chap can do till he is pushed. Well, there is one thing, Mr. Horace, I don’t care how many Turkish fugitives we may take on board this ship in future, they will be heartily welcome by every man Jack on board for the sake of what these fellows did for you. I wish I had known it when you first came on board. I should have liked to have given that young Turk a hearty shake of the hand, and the men would have given him as good a cheer as ever you heard come from fifty British sailors.”

“It is just as well you didn’t know, Tom, for if they had given a cheer together on deck it would have been heard from shore to shore, and everyone who heard it would have known that it never came from Turkish throats.”

As soon as it was dark the anchor was weighed, and the vessel drifted down with the current, a boat towing ahead so as to give her steerage-way, while the rest of the crew set to work to unbend her sails.

“You are not going to put up her own sails, are you, Captain Martyn?” Horace asked, for as soon as it got dusk Martyn had removed the stain from his skin, and exchanged the Nubian attire for his uniform.

“No, Horace, the white sails would tell their tale at once. We got two suits at Athens, one that miserable lot you saw on us to-day, the other we had cut up to fit us as we are sparred now. They are not very clean, but that won’t affect her sailing, and though I don’t mean to say she will walk along as she would under her proper canvas, I fancy she is likely to sail as fast as anything we shall meet. I shall only get her foresail, a jib, and that square top-sail on her, as we want to go along as slowly as possible. I want to manage to anchor below Gallipoli after sunset; or if I can’t manage that I shall anchor a mile or two this side of the town, so as not to be visited by any of the port officers. Then when it gets quite dark we will get up all sail and run down the straits. It is against the rules to pass through at night, and if the forts catch sight of us no doubt they will send a few shots after us, but we must risk that. It is not easy to hit a moving mark when it is so dark that you can scarcely see her outline. There are half a dozen of their ships-of-war lying abreast of the forts. We must keep as far as we dare over on the other shore. I am not afraid of the ships. We shall be a mile away before the crews wake up and load, but I expect they keep a pretty sharp look-out in the forts, though most likely their attention is chiefly directed below them.”

It took a couple of hours’ work to unbend all the sails and bend on fresh ones. Horace spent the evening in the cabin chatting with his father, and when the others came down at ten o’clock for a glass of grog he heard that the boat had been run up and housed, and that the brig was now under easy sail.

“There is very little wind,” Martyn said, “but there is enough to give steerage-way. I shall not count you in for duty until to-morrow.”

“Oh, I am ready to take my watch as usual. I have been living a very lazy life for the last three weeks, and shall be very glad to be on duty again.”

“I shall get the guns up the first thing in the morning, Miller. We will throw a tarpaulin over them when we get into the narrow part of the straits.”

“Will you have the pivot-gun up too?”

“Yes, I think so; if we have to fight, we may as well fight as hard as we can. When we get it mounted we can put a few barrels along each side of it, cover the whole over with a sailcloth, and stow one of the gigs at the top of all. No one would have a suspicion that there was a gun there then, and if we wanted to use it we could clear it in a minute.”

“The Turkish custom-house officers will stare in the morning when they see the brig gone,” Miller said, “and will wonder what has become of her.”

“If they think of her at all, Miller, they will think she has got up sail at daylight and gone up the Bosphorus on her way to Varna or one of the Black Sea ports.”

“It would require a good deal more breeze than there is now.”