Henty George Alfred
In Greek Waters: A Story of the Grecian War of Independence

“Capital, Miller, that was splendidly done!” Martyn exclaimed. “Fancy a schooner with ten men on board destroying a forty-gun frigate. That was a capital idea of yours of heating the shot.”

“The cook is in a great way,” Miller laughed, “for we pretty well melted the galley, and we shall have to get a fresh one next time we put into port. And now tell me about your share of the day’s work.”

“Well, we have done very well,” Martyn said; “but you have quite taken down any conceit we may have felt. I quite envy you.”

“You need not do that, Martyn,” Mr. Beveridge said; “one may be as proud of saving five hundred lives as of destroying a frigate, admirable as the action was. I will tell you about our doings. I have no doubt Martyn will be too modest to do justice to himself. Ah! what is that?” He broke off as he heard the report of a gun, followed by several others.

“The Turks venting their dissatisfaction,” Martyn said. “I expected it before this. Of course they heard our cheer, but at the distance they were they may not have made out it came from the water, and I expect they were some time before they crawled forward and found out that our lines were deserted. We will fire a round of grape over their heads as a hint to them that they had better clear off, and as there is no hope of either plunder or blood they will not care about risking their lives for nothing. Will you go up, Mr. Tarleton, and just touch off one of the port guns. Don’t fire in the direction they are shooting from. We only want to frighten and not to hurt them.”

In a couple of minutes the vessel quivered as an eighteen-pounder sent its contents rattling among the rocks. Tarleton soon rejoined the party, and Mr. Beveridge proceeded to relate to Miller the events of the day.

“The next time I land, Mr. Miller,” he concluded, “I shall take good care to ascertain the nature of the ground we have to cross. I have never been accustomed to active exercise, even as a boy I never cared for it; but I could not have believed that human lungs could have failed in their action so completely, or human heart bump as mine did in going up that hill. As for the scramble along it in the dark, it was a sort of nightmare. Martyn and Zaimes hauled me along like a helpless bundle. I was only conscious of my feet continually slipping from under me, of grasping at the grass, of having my knees bruised against rocks, and of thinking every moment that my coat collar must give way and that I must roll to the bottom of the hill. Zaimes had hold of that, and Martyn of my arm, and I should say that my flesh will be black and blue for weeks. I mentally registered a vow that though I was ready to fight for the Greeks I was not ready, and never would again undertake to climb among mountains for them. There is a limit to the endurance of human nature, and the limit was very distinctly passed upon that occasion. Moreover, my dignity as a man suffered. I was humiliated at my own helplessness, and was deeply impressed with the thought that my whole life had been a mistake when it resulted in my being hauled along by Zaimes, who is a year or two older than I am, I believe. I made a resolution to practise athletic exercises, but I am afraid that, like many other good resolutions, it will be dropped with the memory of that terrible hour.”

“Where are you thinking of landing all these people, Mr. Beveridge?”

“I have not the least idea, Martyn. Where do you think?”

“So that we get rid of them as quickly as possible, sir, it doesn’t matter in the slightest. There is one thing certain, it will be weeks before we shall get the decks white again, and I should say that a thorough fumigation of her from stem to stern will be advisable. I don’t suppose the British authorities would be grateful to us if we were to dump them all down in Zante or Corfu, because it is certain they would have to feed the greater portion of them for a considerable time. On the other hand, if you land them at any Greek port there is a very strong risk of their all dying of starvation; the new government have other things to think about.”

“It is very awkward, Captain Martyn, very awkward,” Mr. Beveridge said seriously. “However, it is evident that now we have rescued them they can’t be allowed to starve.”

“There is one thing, father,” Horace put in. “I think that money would be much better laid out in feeding them than in enabling the politicians and the Klephts to spend it in gaudy dresses and in keeping bands of armed ruffians round them.”

“Certainly it would, Horace. As to where they had better be landed, I should say that we might give them their choice of say four or five places. It would be much better that they should be divided, as they would in that way be more likely to get employment than if they were all turned out at one place. Some might be landed at some of the Greek islands, some in the Morea, others at Athens, and some, perhaps, in the Ionian Islands, where they would be under the British flag.”

“I think they would be a deal better off there, father, than in Greece or the Greek islands, where at present everyone is thinking of war, and the fields are going out of cultivation. They certainly would do a great deal better in Corfu, Cephalonia, and the other islands than they would elsewhere; and if they were landed in small batches they might find work. I expect most of them have got a little money, and as living is very cheap, if you were to give them a couple of pounds a head it would enable them to live a long time while they are looking for work. Besides, there are committees on those islands for helping refugees; so I do think it would be better to land all those who have no friends in Greece, or any particular wish to go there, in our islands. I should say Zaimes and Marco might go round among them in the morning and ask if any of them have friends in the Greek islands or the mainland, and to put it to the others, that though they can be landed in Greece if they like, they will probably be better off and certainly much more free from anxiety and danger, in the Ionian Isles.”

“I think that that would be a very good plan,” Mr. Beveridge said. “When are you going to get under sail again, Captain Martyn?”

“As soon as I have finished this cup of coffee, Mr. Beveridge, we will get a boat lowered and find the buoy and pick up the anchor Miller slipped this morning. I don’t want to lose that, and the chain. As soon as we have got it on board we will be off. There is not much breeze here after dark, but we may as well get what benefit we can from it. I have no fear of the other Turkish frigate looking in here on her way back; and if she did, now that we have got all our crew on board, I have no doubt we could give a good account of her. But I want to be under weigh. There will be no comfort on board till we have got rid of our passengers. Whereabout do you think the buoy is lying, Miller?”

“I fancy we were anchored a couple of hundred yards or so farther out, and a quarter of a mile astern. You know where you landed last night. You had to march along the beach some little distance before you came to the path on the hills.”

“That is so, Miller. I am afraid we shall have some little trouble in finding it. However, we will have a try. It is just eight bells now, and it won’t be light for another six hours. I don’t want to waste that time if I can help it.”

“Well, I will take one of the gigs, and Tarleton can take the other. We will take some blue lights with us, and I expect we shall soon find it.”

“Very well. Directly you do, hang on to the buoy-rope and get the end of the chain into your gig. Hail me, and send Tarleton back. We will get up her anchor at once, and the gig and the long-boat shall tow the schooner up to you. Then you can pass the end of the chain on board, and we will get it round the capstan and have the anchor up in no time. Now, Mr. Beveridge, if you will take my advice you will turn in at once. You only got a couple of hours’ sleep last night in that orchard, and have had twenty-four hours’ really hard work.”

“I will take your advice, Martyn;” and Mr. Beveridge touched the hand-bell beside him. “Marco, you must help me to my cabin, for I am so stiff I don’t think I could get out of my chair by myself.”

“We will help you in, sir,” Martyn said; and he and Miller raised Mr. Beveridge from his chair and almost carried him into his cabin. Then they lit their pipes and went on deck.

The buoy was found after a few minutes’ search, and in another ten minutes the schooner was under-weigh and stealing out from the land.

“I will take the watch,” Miller said. “You had better all turn in. I will put a couple of the hands who remained with me at the wheel, and let all the rest lie down. As they will be on deck one can rouse them up in a minute if they are wanted.”

The next day the two Greeks went among the fugitives and questioned the heads of each family as to the number of their party, the means they possessed, and whether they had any friends in Greece. Most of them possessed a little money, the proceeds of their last harvest and vintage, and some eight or ten had sums varying from a hundred to four hundred pounds, besides the jewels of their females, which, in their cases, were of considerable value. Some of the poorer ones had literally nothing beyond the clothes in which they stood and a few almost worthless trinkets. There were not half a dozen of the whole number who had friends or connections in Greece. Some thirty of the unmarried men expressed their desire to join the Greek army and fight against the Turks; the rest thankfully embraced the offer of being landed on islands under the protection of the British flag. It took a whole day to ascertain all these particulars, and on the following day the exiles were asked to divide themselves into parties according to the villages from which they came, in order that acquaintances and relations should be landed together.

When this had been done, Zaimes distributed, in the name of Mr. Beveridge, to the head of each family a sum amounting to two pounds for each of its members, except to those whose resources were sufficient to maintain them for a considerable time.

The wind was very light, and it was six days after they weighed anchor before they entered the port of Zante. Another week was spent in landing the fugitives among the Ionian Islands, each party being in proportion to the size of the island and the facilities of obtaining employment there. The gratitude of the poor people to Mr. Beveridge, and indeed to all on board the schooner, was very great, but they were all much depressed on landing. At first their delight at having escaped with their lives was unbounded. But as the days went on, and the feeling that they had lost all else, were separated for ever from their birthplace and home, and were in future to live among strangers, overwhelmed them.

Mr. Beveridge went a great deal among them, and endeavoured to cheer them with the assurance that the war could not last very long, and that at its termination, whenever that might be, there would certainly be a general amnesty, and that all fugitives would then be permitted to return to their homes. He therefore advised them to keep this always in mind, and to lay by every penny they could spare of their earnings, so that they would eventually be able to return to Cyprus and resume their former life. When the Misericordia left Cyprus there remained on board only some half a dozen families who had friends in Greece, and the young men who intended to join the Greek army. Never did a vessel undergo a more thorough washing and cleaning up than the schooner on her voyage round to Athens. The deck was scrubbed and holy-stoned twice a day; the lower deck was equally cleaned, and, in addition, the woodwork received two coats of fresh paint, after having been thoroughly fumigated.

“The Greeks may have their virtues,” Martyn remarked to Miller, “but cleanliness on board ship is marked by its absence.”

“There is no doubt about that,” Miller agreed. “I have always heard that a cargo of Mohammedan pilgrims to Mecca was about the most painful experience a sailor could have; but I back the Greeks against them. I don’t think the schooner herself liked it. She seemed to have lost all her liveliness and to be depressed at being turned into a human pig-stye. I don’t believe it was worse between decks when she had a cargo of slaves on board.”

“Mr. Beveridge has just told me,” Martyn said, “that I am to tell the crew that at the next pay he shall give three pounds a head to each man as a reward for their work at Cyprus and the inconveniences they have been since put to.”

“They will appreciate that,” Miller said. “They certainly have been put about a good deal, and they will be pleased at the recognition of it as much as with the money. Besides, the same thing may happen again, and it is a good thing to keep them all in a good humour, especially as at present there hasn’t been any chance whatever of prize-money.”

“What are the next orders, sir?” Martyn asked Mr. Beveridge when they had finished supper.

“There will be nothing particular going on for some time, I should imagine, Captain Martyn. The Turkish army does not seem to be ready to advance, and the Greeks are not troubling themselves to get up an army at all. After the last affair every man made off with the booty he had gathered to his own village; and there, I am afraid, they are all likely to stay till a Turkish army invades them. Athens and Nauplia may hold out for some time longer – for weeks, perhaps, possibly for months. Therefore, for the present I leave it entirely with you to cruise where you think best.”

“Then, sir, we will go south. Since we have come out we have not taken a prize worth having; and I think that as prize-money was certainly one of the inducements held out to the sailors when they joined, we might as well try to pick up a few Turkish merchantmen. There is no doubt that the ships from Smyrna and all the Syrian ports, as well as from the islands, keep near land, and that even those bound for Alexandria and the African ports coast round there also. Some of these no doubt carry rich cargoes, and many will be taking Greek slaves to Alexandria and Tunis; so we shall be carrying out your object by releasing them, as well as picking up some prize-money. I think the men well deserve a little indulgence in this way. Their work has not been altogether pleasant for some time. They have been turned out of their quarters, and have had to sleep under the awning forward. I have heard no grumbling among them, for I am sure they were glad to do all they could to help the poor creatures we have had on board. Still, they will be glad of a chance of what they would consider legitimate business.”

“Very well, Captain Martyn, let it be so. I quite agree with you as to the excellent conduct of the men. They have certainly had a good deal of hardship to put up with, for everything has been very uncomfortable since our visit to Cyprus.”

In a few minutes the boatswain’s whistle was heard, followed by the tramp of the men round the capstan and the stir of getting up sail. Then the watch was set, and the schooner sped along under a gentle breeze towards the south.

For the next two months the Misericordia cruised on the coast of Syria. Scarce a day passed without some vessel being overhauled. Many of these were small coasters laden only with grain or other cargoes of small value. These were permitted to proceed on their way without interference. Of the larger vessels some contained mixed cargoes. In the cases where no Greek captives were on board, the valuable portion of the cargo was transferred to the schooner, and the ship was then permitted to proceed on her voyage. Where Greek slaves were found on board, the captain was given the choice of having the vessel burned, or giving a bond for an amount equal to half her estimated value and that of the cargo, signed by himself, the representative of the owners, if there was one on board, and the principal passengers.

These bonds could not, perhaps, have been enforced in any court; but Mr. Beveridge had confidence in the honesty of the Turks, and in every case the amounts were duly forwarded to the agents he named. Seven ships contained valuable cargoes of silks, tobacco, and wine. These were all bound for Alexandria and Tunis, and carried a considerable number of Greek women and children, the survivors of massacres in towns in Asia Minor. In these cases the Turks were all placed in their boats within two or three miles of land, and the vessels with prize crews on board were consigned to Greeks at Corinth and Athens, who had undertaken to act as Mr. Beveridge’s agents, and who were to dispose of them and their cargoes to Greek merchants.

CHAPTER XI
IN THE HANDS OF THE TURKS

TOWARDS the end of the cruise the schooner had just returned to the coast of Asia Minor after having run across to Athens and taken on board the officers and men who had sailed the last prizes taken there. On the day after they took up their place on their cruising ground they fell in with a large polacca brig. The vessel mounted ten small guns, and fought with some obstinacy, and it was not until Martyn placed the schooner so that she could rake the brig’s decks, which were crowded with men, that she hauled down her flag.

“Lower two boats, Miller. You take charge of one and Tarleton the other. By the look of those fellows I don’t believe they are Turks at all. I believe they are from Algiers or Tunis; pirates at ordinary times, but who have come here to pick up slaves cheap. They are treacherous beggars, so be on your guard. There is a very strong crew. Don’t row alongside till I lay the schooner broadside on.”

In five minutes Miller hailed from the deck of the prize, “You are right, sir, they are Algerines, and as cut-throat a looking lot as ever I came across. She is crowded below with Greek women and girls, and as far as I can see at present she has no cargo of any sort. I have sent one of the boats for Marco. He can speak to the women, who are making a fearful hubbub down below.”

“Have you disarmed the crew, Mr. Miller?”

“Mr. Tarleton has just finished that. We have had to knock a good many of the scoundrels down. They are as savage as wildcats.”

The schooner was brought alongside the polacca and lashed there. The deck of the prize showed that the fire of the schooner had been terribly destructive. Over twenty bodies lay scattered about, principally round the guns.

“Are they all dead?” Martyn asked as he stepped on board.

“They are all dead now, but they were not when we boarded her. But as they lay there they fired their pistols among us. Two or three pretended to be dead, and then sprang up, knife in hand, and several of the men have got nasty cuts; so that was soon put a stop to. Some of the fellows below made quite a fight of it, and the men had to use their cutlasses pretty freely. However, they are all disarmed and bound now. I have no doubt they are Algerine pirates, and deserve to be hung to the yard-arm every man-jack of them.”

“Have you overhauled the hold yet?”

“Yes, sir. It is filled with these unhappy slaves. She evidently came merely in ballast, with money to buy them.”

“Well, no doubt these fellows have been pirates, Mr. Miller, but as we have no means to prove it we must let them go as we have the others, though it is a nuisance, for they only warn the people at the ports against us. We won’t put them on the mainland this time, but land them on one of the little islands. They may be some time in getting a craft to take them to the mainland, and then they will find it rough work making along the coast. However, we can settle upon that later. The first thing to do is to get the decks roughly cleaned and the dead bodies thrown overboard.”

A dozen men were set to work with mops and buckets, while others fastened shot to the feet of the Algerines and dropped them overboard. As soon as this was done Marco was sent below to tell the captives that they could come on deck.

As the women poured up, looking almost dazed at their sudden release, and at the bright sunlight after the stifling atmosphere of the dark hold in which they had been confined for six days, Horace saw one of them, a woman of some five-and-thirty years of age, to whose side a girl of fifteen was clinging, looking round with an air of excitement, in strong contrast to the comparative apathy of the others. She glanced round at him and the men engaged in tidying up the deck, and then with a cry sank fainting on the deck. He hurried up to her, and partly raised her, when he was struck by the cry of the girl, “Oh, mother, mother!” He looked at her in astonishment.

“Are you English?” he exclaimed.

“Yes,” she cried, “we are English; but we have been seized and carried away by these horrid Turks. Mother said she fancied she heard some shouts in English, but she thought she must have been mistaken, as only a Greek came down and spoke to us in the hold, and she did not think it possible that it could be English. And have you rescued us out of the hands of the Turks, sir? Mother said they were taking us away to sell us as slaves.”

“Yes, we have rescued you,” Horace said. “You are free now. If you will hold your mother’s head for a moment I will fetch the doctor; we have one on board.”

“If you would get a little water, sir, she will soon come round. She has fainted several times since we were captured.”

Horace, however, caught sight of Macfarlane.

“Doctor, here is an English lady among the captives. She has fainted. Please see to her. I will run to get some water;” and he sprang over the bulwark on to the deck of the schooner.

“Bring some brandy with you too,” Macfarlane said as he hurried to the side of the fainting woman.

Horace rushed down to the cabin, and returned with a jug of water, a decanter of brandy, and a tumbler. The doctor sprinkled some water on the lady’s face, poured a few drops of spirits between her lips, and in a minute or two she opened her eyes.

“It is all right now, madam,” he said as she looked round in a confused way. “You are safe among friends and British sailors.”

“Thank God for His mercies!” she murmured, while tears fell down her cheeks. “It seems almost too great happiness to be true.”

In a few minutes she was well enough to be assisted down to the cabin of the schooner, where she was left to the care of her daughter for a time. Half an hour later she was able to relate her story to Mr. Beveridge. She was, she said, the wife of an English merchant at Smyrna. They lived a short distance out of the town, and had, since the troubles began, gone but little abroad, for although it was only the Greeks who had been involved in the massacre that had taken place there some months before, there was a good deal of hostility upon the part of the lower class of the population against all Christians. One evening she had been with her daughter in the garden, her husband being engaged till late at his business in the town. It was just getting dark, and she was about to re-enter the house, when five or six ruffians of the lowest class rushed into the garden, seized her and her daughter in spite of their shrieks, threw thick cloths over their heads, and then carried them away. They were taken for some distance, when they stopped, and she heard an animated conversation and the clink of money. Then they were placed in a boat, and presently carried up on to the deck of a ship and taken below.

When their mufflings were removed they found they were in the hold of a vessel with a large number of Greek captives. She endeavoured in vain to make herself understood by the sailors who came below, and who, she perceived at once, were not Turks. She told them that she was English, and that her husband would pay a large sum if she and her daughter were set on shore unharmed. No attention was paid to her entreaties, but on her persisting she was brutally knocked down, and in a short time a man, who was evidently an officer, came down and forced them both to take off their European dresses and put on others that some of the Greek women were ordered to hand over to them. It was now evident to her that they had been seized by some of the ruffians of the town and sold to the Algerines, who were in no way particular as to the nationality of their slaves, and that they were destined to be sold in the slave-market of either Tunis or Algiers.

A few hours after they were taken on board they heard the anchor run up, and could soon tell by the ripple of the water against the planks that they were under weigh. All hope now left them, and they had passed a terrible six days, overcome by despair, and half suffocated by the foul air of the hold. Hope had again sprung up when a gun was fired overhead, and it was soon evident that the vessel was engaged in an encounter with an enemy. At last the firing ceased, then there was a sound of shouting and the clashing of swords on the deck above their heads. Presently the hatchways had been opened and a Greek had come down and told them that the vessel had been captured from the Turks, and that they were free. She fancied that she heard English voices, but until she had reached the deck and saw the faces and uniforms of the sailors, she thought that she must be mistaken. After that she remembered no more until she heard the doctor’s voice.

“I am rejoiced indeed that I have been enabled to save you and your daughter from the horrors of slavery,” Mr. Beveridge said. “We have had the pleasure of rescuing many hundreds of Greek women and children from the hands of the Turks, but I never expected to find a countrywoman among them. This cabin will be at your disposal, except that we must, I fear, take our meals here. The cabin adjoining will be wholly yours. In the course of a week I hope to land you at Corfu, thence you will be able to write to your husband and arrange either for joining him again at Smyrna, or taking a passage for England, which would, I should think in the present state of things, be the wisest course. My purse will be entirely at your disposal. I am the owner of this schooner, which is called the Misericordia, and although we fight under the Greek flag, and have come out to assist them to obtain their independence, we are principally devoting ourselves to saving the unhappy victims of this war.”

The lady, whose name was Mrs. Herbert, expressed her deep gratitude, and Mr. Beveridge at once took possession of Miller’s cabin, as the lieutenant would, he had no doubt, remain in charge of the prize. When the capture was made, the schooner was some eighty miles to the east of Rhodes, and after talking the matter over with Miller, Martyn decided to land the Algerines on Caxo, an islet lying some fifty miles to the south-west of Rhodes. Miller and Tarleton were for the present to continue on board the prize. The prisoners, forty-eight in number, were transferred into the schooner. The next evening they arrived off Caxo, where the Algerines were landed in boats. Martyn then went on board the polacca.

“I have been thinking, Miller, that as we seem to have frightened all the Turks into remaining in port for the present, I will leave you and Tarleton on board the polacca, and give you twenty men and let you cruise on your own account, while we take these women and children round to the Ionian Isles. We will shift two of the eighteen-pounders on board this craft. No one will suspect you, and you will have a good chance of picking up some more prizes, while the sight of our white sails sends everything running into port as far off as they can be seen. We can rendezvous here again this day fortnight.”

“I should like that very much,” Miller said, “and I think it is a capital plan. I must ask Mr. Beveridge to let me have Marco, or I shall have no means of making myself understood either by Turk or Greek.”

A fortnight later the schooner returned to the island. She had had rough weather for the last three days of her voyage, but the sky had now cleared again.

“There is the island,” Martyn said, as Horace came up at six o’clock in the morning to take charge of the watch, for he had now command of the starboard watch, and Tom Burdett had the port. “There is the island, but there is no sign of the polacca yet. I wonder Miller is not here first. If we had been having calms I should not have been the least surprised at his not turning up, but with this strong southerly wind there is no reason why he should not have been here. Go up to the main-top, Horace, and take a look round.”

But Horace could see no sail in sight.

“You are not uneasy about Miller surely,” Mr. Beveridge said at breakfast, seeing that Martyn was not in his usual spirits.

“Well, I am rather uneasy, sir. Miller would be more likely to be a day too soon than too late, and with the wind from the south he could have calculated his time here from wherever he happened to be, within an hour or two. The wind has been strong with us, and for aught I know it may have been blowing a gale more to the east. We don’t know much about the sailing qualities of the polacca, certainly she was very light in ballast, and if she has been caught off a lee shore in a heavy gale she may not have been able to claw off, especially if she happened to be embayed when it came on. Of course we must give him twenty-four hours more, but if he does not come then we will shape our course north-east and cruise along the coast; as we get eastward we may pick up some fishing craft or small coaster and hear what the weather has been there, possibly even get news of the polacca. If Miller gets here after we have left, he will guess what course we have taken. Very likely he will land a boat and learn that we have been here, and the course we took when we sailed away, and would then be guided by circumstances. At any rate, if nothing has happened to him, we are sure to meet sooner or later.”