CHAPTER XV
A WHITE SQUALL
ALL hands were called at five o’clock, when daylight was beginning to break in the east; the anchor was got up, sail set, and the decks washed down, the usual scrubbing being for once omitted in order to avoid disturbing their passengers.
“What are we going to do about feeding them, Miller?” Horace asked. “It was all very well for the people we had on board before to get their meals anyhow they could, but these have been accustomed to wealth and luxury, and, as the leading merchants of Chios, were people of importance.”
“Your father and the two Greeks were talking it over yesterday evening before you landed, Horace. Of course it is out of the question that they could all take their meals in the cabin, which your father at first proposed to give up to them. Marco suggested that a table should be rigged on the quarterdeck. We reckoned that there would be about fifty grown up or nearly so, that was allowing five for each family. Of course the children would have their meals with their nurses below.”
“That would certainly be the pleasantest way, Miller. There is plenty of room for two tables, and as far as length goes twelve or fourteen could sit on each side easily enough without the tables extending forward of the mainmast. I see Tarleton is getting the awning rigged up already. But the tables will want to be cleared away after each meal, or there will be no room for anything.”
“Oh, yes, five minutes will be enough for that. The men will bring up all their mess tables, they can be rigged and unshipped in no time. The order is that the men are all to get into their white ducks at eight bells, as your father means to show these Greeks what an English yacht is. Your men have rigged up another stove in their cooking place, and have borrowed a couple of the sailors, I suppose to wash and cut up vegetables, and to act as kitchen-maids.”
At seven o’clock the Chiots began to come up. Mr. Beveridge was already on deck, and requested Horace to assist him to set them at their ease. The men were all of the best Greek type, courtly and gentle in manner, with refined faces. The older women were all more or less inclined to corpulence, while some of the young ones fully deserved the terms of praise in which Mr. Beveridge had spoken of them the evening before. At first they looked timid at finding themselves in scenes so strange to them, but they were soon chattering and laughing with each other. They were immensely astonished at the exquisite neatness and cleanliness of the vessel and her fittings.
“Are all English ships as white and clean as this?” one of them asked.
“All ships of war and yachts. A yacht is a vessel kept by a gentleman simply for his own amusement and not for trade. This is a yacht, though we have mounted guns, and have come out prepared to fight.”
“It would be a great pity to fight and spoil everything,” the girl said.
“Oh, we can fight without spoiling everything; though of course sometimes a shot may knock things about a bit, the damage would soon be repaired.”
“But you can’t have been fighting yet,” one of the younger men said, looking round.
“We have only had one fight, and that was when most of us were ashore. That officer, whom you see there, was on board, and he only had ten men with him; but for all that he engaged two Turkish frigates, and destroyed one of them.”
There was an exclamation of astonishment, mingled with a little incredulity, from the group round Horace, some of whom thought he was trying to make fun of them.
“I can assure you that it is a fact,” Horace said. “He first crippled her, and then set her on fire by firing red-hot balls into her.”
“Was that near Cyprus?” one of the young men asked.
“Yes; the rest of us were on shore there, and we brought off five hundred Christians from a village that was besieged by the Turks.”
“Yes, that is true,” the young fellow said. “I was told about it by one of the officers who lodged in our house. He said it was wonderful, and so it was; and the men you have here all look so quiet too.”
“They are on their best behaviour now,” Horace laughed; “but they are all picked men, and have all served in British men-of-war.”
As eight bells rang out a party of sailors came along to the quarter-deck, bringing with them half a dozen mess tables, which they arranged together, according to the direction of Zaimes.
“But these are nothing like enough, Zaimes,” Horace said, going over to him.
“We are not going to sit down, Mr. Horace. We shall have two meals—one at eleven and one at six. We shall put things on the table now, and let them eat standing.”
The cloth was soon spread, and upon it were placed fruit, bread and butter, and eggs, a great tureen filled with coffee, and another with hot milk; the whole of the cabin tea and coffee cups, and a score of the men’s mugs.
“Now, ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Beveridge said, “you must help yourselves. I am sorry to say that our breakfast service is quite insufficient for our needs, and that the gentlemen will have to put up with the sailors’ mugs.”
Everyone seemed to enjoy the meal; the women sat about on the deck in little groups, and the men waited upon them, the three officers making themselves very busy in this work.
“It is disgusting, Horace,” Miller said, “to hear you jabbering away with these girls, while we poor beggars can’t say a word to them.”
“But you speak a little Italian, don’t you, Miller?”
“Yes, I picked up a little when I was on the Mediterranean station.”
“Oh well, a little will go a long way sometimes, Miller, and some of them are sure to know something of Italian. I will soon find out which they are, and introduce them specially to you.”
Five or six of the girls knew a little Italian, and most of the young men could speak it, Italian being the general language of commerce in the Mediterranean, and Miller was soon engaged in conversation with some of them. Martyn had broken the ice for himself with a mixture of French and Italian; but Tarleton, who knew no language but his own, kept away from the quarter-deck.
“What’s the odds,” he said, when Horace tried to induce him to go aft. “If they were going to be on board for a year, I would try to get hold of a few Greek words, and do what I could; but as it is, it is not worth while bothering one’s self. It is no use my trying to make myself agreeable to girls when I haven’t a word to say to them. On the whole I am rather glad I can’t talk, to them. I never had any practice at that sort of thing; and if I ever do fall in love, I hope it will be with an Englishwoman. Look at Miller there,” he laughed, “jawing away with five or six girls at once, and I don’t believe one of them has the least idea of what he is saying, though they all try to look interested.”
“They understand he is trying to make himself agreeable, Tarleton, and I have no doubt they are grateful and pleased. I daresay some of them don’t understand any more Italian than he does. Still they are just as much amused, if not more, as if they understood him perfectly.”
After the meal was over some chairs and benches were brought up, but the ladies all preferred sitting on the deck, and were much pleased when a number of the men’s hammocks were brought up, unrolled, and laid down for them to sit upon. Mr. Beveridge chatted with the merchants, the younger men smoked and lounged about, Martyn and Miller and Horace devoting themselves to the ladies, until eleven o’clock, when two long tables were set. Zaimes arranged them tastefully with flowers and silver, and a very excellent meal was served. After the meal was finished, and the decks cleared, the men were exercised at cutlass drill and in getting down and setting the sails, and the Chiots were astonished at their discipline and activity.
“I have seen vessels get up sail at Chios hundreds of times,” one of the young men said to Horace, “and everyone shouts and bustles about; but with all the noise they take five or six times as long to get them up as your men do, and, except when the officer gives orders, there is no more sound than there would be if they were all dumb.”
“Captain Martyn says that he will have gun drill to-morrow,” Horace said, “and you will see that they are just as quiet at their work then as now. You see the three officers have all served in our navy as well as the men, and we have just the same discipline as there would be in a king’s ship.”
“One would scarcely think,” Horace remarked to his father that evening as they were standing together looking at the groups scattered about the deck, “that these people were fugitives who have just left their native land, probably for life.”
“I don’t think they quite realize that at present, Horace. One or two of the men have been telling me what anxiety they have suffered at Chios since the revolution broke out. When the news came of some of the massacres of the Greeks, they were in constant fear of a retaliation upon them by the Mussulmans, and they made sure that sooner or later, if the war went on, Chios would become involved in it. Of course they did not suppose that such a mad-brained expedition as that of Lykourgos would be undertaken, but supposed that a sufficient force would be sent to ensure the capture of the island, accompanied by a fleet that would protect it from that of the Turks; but even that was greatly dreaded by them.
“They knew that the Turkish provinces governed by Greek officials were much more heavily taxed and oppressed than those in which the Turks collected the taxation, and knew that the change would be, for them, very much for the worse. Except that they have the same religion, they have little in common with the Greeks in the mainland, and dreaded the thought of the Albanians, who would be sure to send over armed bands, who would harass and oppress them. Of course they have been for centuries under Turkish rule, and the island has certainly flourished exceedingly under it. Their trade has been almost entirely with Constantinople, and all their connections are Turkish. I can quite understand, therefore, their repugnance to a change which would ruin their trade and vastly increase their burdens; while, as to masters, I should imagine that no one in their senses could prefer Albanians to Turks.
“Seeing the storm coming, most of the wealthy Chiots have prepared in some way for it by sending much of their available capital, for safety, to correspondents abroad, or by investing in foreign securities. I believe that all these merchants have done so; and as the greater part of their money and valuables that remained are at present down in the hold, they will be able to live, if not in as great luxury as before, at any rate in comfort at Corfu, or wherever they may settle themselves; while several of them have told me that they intend again to embark in trade, and, if possible, under our flag. They have been asking me a good many questions about ourselves, and don’t seem at all able to comprehend the interest that the Greek revolution has created in Europe; still less that an Englishman like myself, who could live comfortably at home, should come out here to take part in a struggle that in no way concerns him.”
“What did you answer, father?” Horace asked with a slight smile.
“I told them that I was but half an Englishman, and that my mother was Greek, and that I was devoted to the study of the language and customs of the ancients.”
“I suppose they knew nothing about the ancients, father?”
“No,” Mr. Beveridge admitted reluctantly. “They had heard of the name of Homer, and had a vague sort of knowledge of the early history of Greece—about as vague as the ordinary Englishman has of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. An English school-boy of twelve knows more about ancient Greece than do nineteen Greeks out of twenty; though, seeing the interest felt by civilized Europe in the matter, it is the fashion among them now to pretend to feel great enthusiasm on the subject. No; I am not surprised at these poor people being cheerful, Horace. They have escaped the risk of a terrible fate; and as to patriotism, it is a feeling of which people who have been under foreign masters hundreds of years know absolutely nothing. They may regret their easy, quiet life in Chios; but beyond that, I think they have little feeling in the matter.”
The next morning, after breakfast, the sailors were exercised at the guns, three rounds being fired from each piece. Scarcely were the men dismissed from their quarters, and the guns secured, before the boatswain went up to Martyn.
“I beg your pardon, captain, but look over there. Do you see that white cloud?—how quick it rises. I know these seas, sir; and that is a white squall, or I am a Dutchman. We sha’n’t have more than three or four minutes before it is on us.”
“By Jove, you are right, Tom! All hands get off sail. Look smart, my lads; there is a bit of a squall coming down on us. Down topsails; in jibs. Miller, take six hands and get this awning off. Horace, get the ladies below at once.”
As Martyn began to give his orders, Tarleton had run forward to see them carried out; but Miller and Horace had continued their conversation without paying much attention to them, believing that he was only giving the orders as an exercise to the crew, and to show the passengers how quickly they could get off sail. His sharp, decided tone, however, soon showed them that he was in earnest. Horace looked round almost bewildered, for there was scarcely a breath of wind; the sky was a deep blue overhead. Miller’s experience in the Mediterranean, however, told him which way to look.
“White squall, by Jove!” he muttered, as his eye fell on the cloud that had attracted the boatswain’s attention. Springing forward he called six of the men, and ran aft with them again. Horace, still in ignorance of the reason for the order given him, at once proceeded to carry it out.
Calling out in Greek, “Please go below at once, ladies;” and then to the men, “Escort the ladies below as quickly as you can, please.” Then, running forward, he shouted to the Greek servants, “All below, all below! Take the children with you; you are in the way here. Hurry down.”
His orders on the quarter-deck were more quickly obeyed than he had expected, for the Chiots, accustomed to these sudden and tremendous squalls of the Ægean, glancing round when they heard the order, perceived the reason for it at once, and hurried the ladies below with all speed.
With so strong a crew it took but a minute to lower the gaff topsail from the mainmast and to get the foretop gallant sail and topsail down on the caps, and almost before the halliards had been let go a dozen men were aloft furling the sails. The foresail came down with a run, and the jibs flew in from the bowsprit. Martyn himself saw to the lowering of the mainsail.
“Belay there!” he called when it was half-way down. “Reef it down fully, Mr. Tarleton,” as the young officer, with twenty men, sprang to the reef-points. “Now haul on the reef-earing. That is it. Well together, lads. Harden it down; that will do. Now a pull on the main halliards; that is enough. Belay. Lower the peak a bit more; that will do. Now we are ready for it. Boatswain!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” came from forward.
“Lower that fore-staysail down, and reef it fully.”
He looked to windward. A white bank of clouds extended half-way up the sky, in front of which were white streamers blown out ahead of it. The schooner had already been brought round with her head in the direction of the wind, and an extra hand had been placed at the wheel.
“Starboard a little,” Martyn cried to the men at the wheel. “Slack off the mainsheet a bit, Mr. Miller. I don’t want to be taken aback.”
A minute later a white line was seen approaching them on the water with the speed of a race-horse, and then with a shriek the squall was upon them. Stripped as the vessel was of all her canvas, save the diminished fore-staysail, the mainsail being too far over to draw, she lay down until the water poured in over the lee gunwale from the pressure of wind on her masts and rigging. Her head payed off.
“Now haul on the mainsheet,” Martyn shouted to a dozen sailors who had hold of it, and dragged it in hand over hand. As the sail fluttered in her head again came up into the wind. “That will do. Belay there! keep her at that, lads,” Martyn said, taking his place by the side of the men at the helm. “Keep the staysail full, but nothing more.”
The schooner had now begun to move fast through the water as close-hauled to the wind as her sails would stand. Though still heeling over, her deck was now free of water, as that which she had taken on board had rushed out through the port-holes.
“She will do nicely now,” Martyn said to his first lieutenant. “You can get the peak up again, Mr. Miller; she will stand it now.”
The schooner was now retracing the course she had before been sailing on.
“It is lucky it came when it did, Miller. Another couple of hours and we should have been in the thick of the islands. As it is now, we have clear water, and at any rate, if we are obliged to change our course, we can run down south comparatively clear of everything. It is lucky we saw it coming in time. It was the boatswain warned me. If we had not got the sail off her we should have lost our spars, and perhaps been dismasted, and with all these islands down to leeward we should have been in an awkward fix.”
“Yes, indeed;” Miller agreed. “We are all right now. Of course we shall get some sea soon, but these squalls don’t last many hours. It is only the first blow that is to be feared.”
“Do you think, Miller, you could get that pivot-gun sent down below? It is a big weight on deck, and when the sea gets up she will feel it.”
“I think so, sir. There is no sea on yet to speak of.”
The gun was amidships, half-way between the fore and mainmasts, and there was a hatchway just beyond the framework on which it travelled. Calling the crew together, Miller got tackles on the mainmast, and these with the blocks of the throat halliards of the foresail were hooked on to strops round the gun. Ropes were attached to it and manned to prevent it from swinging away to leeward when hoisted from the carriage.
“Now all ready,” Miller said. “Hoist on the falls handsomely, inch by inch. Stand fast to those stay-ropes; that is right. Now haul her aft. Lower away a little forward and let her swing gradually aft; that does it. Now she is over the hatchway. Lower away a little aft. Let her go down, breech foremost; that will do. Now a dozen of you go down to the main deck. You go down with them, Mr. Tarleton, and steer her clear through the lower hatchway.”
Gradually the muzzle of the heavy gun sank below the deck, and in five minutes it was safely stowed in the bottom of the hold. Then the hatches were put on again and battened down securely, and Miller went aft.
“That is a good job, Miller,” Martyn said. “The sea is getting up fast, and in another five minutes it would not have been safe to do it. It will make all the difference to us in such a short choppy sea as we shall be having.”
For six hours the wind blew with unabated force. A heavy sea got up, and, buoyant as she was, the schooner shipped water heavily over the bow, the seas being too short to give her time to rise and fall regularly over them. At the end of that time the wind fell almost as suddenly as it had risen, and half an hour later the schooner was on her course again, with all her lower sails set. It was not until evening that the sea had gone down sufficiently for the passengers to begin to make their appearance again on deck, looking worn out and exhausted by sea-sickness.
By this time the schooner was among the islands, and was passing through the Mykonos Channel, between the island of that name and Tenos. Syra rose above the water almost ahead, while Rhenea and Delos lay on her beam to the south. Her topsails were set now, and she was running fast through the water, her course being laid to pass between Seriphos and Siphnos, beyond which it was a straight course to Cape Malea, at the southern point of the Morea. A sharp look-out was kept at night for Anti-Melos on the one hand, and Falconera on the other. The former was made out, the land being high; but Falconera, a mere rock, was passed unobserved. In the morning the schooner was running through the Cervi Channel, between Cythera and Cervi, which island almost touches the mainland. A quiet night’s rest had completely restored the passengers, who came on deck early, and watched with interest the rocky shore of the Morea as they coasted along it.
Three days later the Misericordia dropped her anchor in the harbour of Corfu.
Mr. Beveridge was again overwhelmed with thanks by the grateful Chiots. Upon the way they had inquired of him if he had a wife or daughters, and were quite disappointed at hearing that he had no near female relatives, as they had intended to send a consignment of choice stuffs and embroideries to them in token of their gratitude. Before landing they handed to Martyn a hundred pounds to be divided among the crew, and on the day after landing sent off a very handsome case of pistols to each of the officers. As their goods were being got up from the hold they pointed out four barrels which were to remain behind.
“We brought them off specially for you, Mr. Beveridge,” they said. “They are the very choicest vintage of Chios, and we do hope that though you have refused to accept any substantial proof of our gratitude, you will not refuse to take these.”
The decks of the Misericordia seemed curiously still and deserted after the departure of their guests. It had been a very pleasant week while the Chiots had been on board, and Martyn and Miller both looked out of spirits, having temporarily lost their hearts to two of the Greek girls.
“We have the best of it now,” Tarleton laughed to the doctor. “What is the use of a week’s flirtation? Look at the parting at the end of it. The girls were pretty enough, no doubt; but what good would it be to take home a wife who did not speak your language, who was ignorant of English ways, and would be miserable in our climate, besides being of a different religion. I think it is just as well that the voyage was not longer; as it is, they will soon get over it.”
The captain and first officer had indeed but little time to think over it, for on the evening of the day after their arrival sail was again set on the schooner, and she started on her return to Chios, where, as Mr. Beveridge said, they were likely to find plenty more opportunities for doing good. The wind held steady, and they made a quick passage. Scarcely had they dropped anchor when a boat came off to them bearing an angry message from Lykourgos.
“You have assisted deserters to escape from the island,” he said, “and if any of you set foot on shore you will at once be arrested.”
They learned shortly afterwards from a boat that came alongside to sell fish that many of the richer inhabitants had been arrested and very heavily fined upon the accusation that they also intended to desert, and that all who had property had been compelled to pay considerable sums for protection against the excesses of the troops who had come, as they pretended, to deliver them. The officers were furious at the message from Lykourgos, and proposed going ashore with a strong party of armed sailors. Mr. Beveridge, however, decided that no steps should be taken for a day or two.
“We don’t want to become actually embroiled with these people unless it is necessary,” he said. “The Turkish fleet is expected here every day now, and Lykourgos and his crew will, we may be sure, take flight as soon as they appear, and we shall then have plenty of scope for our work. At any rate we will wait two or three days and see how matters turn up. If necessary we can then do as you propose, seize half a dozen of the ships, and tell the rest we will sink them if they don’t put to sea; that will bring the fellow to his senses at once. I don’t want to do it if I can help it, because we should afterwards be liable to attack at any of the islands we might happen to put into.”
A few hours later a fast Greek felucca came up and anchored between the schooner and the other vessels. A boat was lowered and rowed at once towards the transports.
“I fancy that fellow must have brought some news,” Martyn said. “Horace, will you go on board of him and find out where he comes from, and whether he has heard anything of the Turkish fleet?”
In ten minutes Horace reported:
“The Turks are only a few miles from the north of the island. The felucca has been watching them for the last week. They have been taking troops on board at all the ports on the mainland as they came down.”
Already the fleet had diminished by at least two-thirds since Lykourgos landed; but a small proportion of the plunder had fallen to the sailors, and as it was for this alone that the craft had taken part in the expedition, the greater portion soon became discontented and sailed away. As the Turkish fleet approached the island, a Turkish sloop, which had gone on ahead to ascertain the position of the Greeks, ran ashore and fell into the hands of the Greeks, who at once put to death every soul on board—the fate that had befallen every prisoner they had taken. Having thus done their utmost to exasperate the Turks, and to imperil the safety of the Christian inhabitants of the island, the Greeks made no effort to oppose the landing of the Mussulmans, but retired precipitately on their approach, and the Turks entered Chios, plundering the town of everything that had escaped the bands of Lykourgos, the irregulars who formed part of the army murdering every Christian they met.
Lykourgos had retreated to the village of St. George, whence, after a feeble attempt at defence, he escaped with his followers on board some Psarian ships that had, fortunately for him, arrived. These islanders had strongly opposed the expedition to Chios, and had taken no part in it, fearing to bring down the Turkish fleet upon themselves, as Psara lay but a short distance north of Chios. They maintained their fleet in port to aid in its defence should the Turks attack them. As soon, however, as they saw the Turkish fleet sail past Psara on its way to Chios they at once put to sea with the intention of harassing the Turks and rendering some assistance to the Christians.
The vengeance of the Turks now fell upon the unfortunate Chiots, who had been perfectly innocent of all share in the proceedings of Lykourgos, and who had already suffered so heavily at the hands of him and his robber bands. In the city the wealthier class generally succeeded in purchasing the protection of Turks in authority by paying large sums of money, but the rest were either slaughtered or seized to be sold into slavery. Three thousand Chiots, mostly the peasantry that had come down from the hills, retired to the monastery of Aghios Minas, five miles south of the city. The Turks surrounded them and summoned them to surrender. They refused to surrender, and the building was carried by storm, and all within it put to death. Two thousand persons were similarly slain at the capture of the monastery of Nea Mone; most of them were put to death by the sword, and the rest perished in the conflagration of the monastery.
Kara Ali, the capitan-pasha, did all in his power to save the island from being laid waste, knowing that the loss of the revenue derived from the island would greatly vex the sultan and his seraglio, to whom this revenue was specially appropriated. The regular troops were kept fairly in order, but the Bashi-Bazouks, that is the volunteers who had flocked to his standard, scattered over the island, plundering and slaying, but more especially carrying off women and children for sale in the slave-markets. The sultan, determined to strike terror into the hearts of the Greeks of the island, executed at Constantinople some Chiot hostages that had been sent there, and ordered the archbishop and seventy-five other Chiots to be executed by the capitan-pasha. During the whole time Lykourgos had been there the vessels from Psara they had been carrying off the Chiots from small ports and quiet bays round the island, and it was estimated that some fifteen thousand had been taken off in this way either before the arrival of the Turks or during the continuance of the massacres by them. The work was carried on with great vigour by the Psarians who reaped a rich harvest from their operations, demanding and receiving all the valuables of the unfortunate fugitives as the price for their passage to another island. Thus large numbers of wealthy Chiots were reduced to the most abject poverty by the avarice and extortion of those who professed to save them.
The Misericordia was very busy during the three weeks that followed the Turkish re-occupation of the island. Cruising round and round she carried off large numbers of fugitives, conveying them across to the nearest Greek islands. After making three such trips, and carrying over some twelve hundred fugitives, she left the work of rescue to the Psarians, and took up her station between the island and the mainland to cut off the craft that were, as they learned, conveying the women and children to the slave-markets of Smyrna. As speed was here of the greatest utility, vessel after vessel was overhauled and compelled to bring to by her guns. Then the boats went alongside, forced the Turkish sailors and Bashi-Bazouks to take to their boats, and then after transporting the rescued women and children to the schooner, set fire to the ships.
No less than eighteen were overhauled and destroyed in the course of a week—fourteen hundred women and children being rescued, the first two batches being landed at Psara as the nearest Greek island, while the last batch was taken to Athens. On returning from that trip they found that the destruction they caused had so alarmed the ship-owners of Smyrna that the traffic by sea had almost entirely ceased, and that the slaves were now carried across in boats or small vessels to the mainland opposite the island, which was but six or seven miles away. Here it was difficult to interrupt it, for the Turkish fleet lay off the town of Chios, and the smaller ships cruised about in the channel.
Trusting to her superior sailing power, the Misericordia entered by the southern, which was the broader end of the straits, and kept hovering about between the island and the mainland. She was frequently chased by the Turks, and several times engaged their cruisers at a distance, the superior rapidity of her fire, and the ease with which she manœuvred, giving her a great advantage over her clumsy opponents. Two of the Turkish corvettes were so severely handled that they had to retire under the shelter of the guns of the fleet. Over a score of small craft were intercepted and destroyed, and two hundred and fifty more slaves rescued. At night she generally ran across and anchored in some indentation on the Turkish side, going in after nightfall, knowing that the Turkish cruisers always retired before dark to their anchorage off Chios.
One night they were at anchor in a deep bay near the narrow and northern mouth of the straits. At about three in the morning Horace was on the watch with Miller, and was walking up and down the quarter-deck with him, when one of the quarter-masters came aft.
“It seems to me, sir,” he said to the first lieutenant, “that I can hear some sort of noise out seaward.”
Miller stopped in his walk and listened intently. “There is some sort of noise, sure enough, quarter-master.”
It was a quiet night, not a breath of wind was stirring, but a confused sound was audible like that of small waves breaking on a stony beach. “What do you make it out to be?” he asked the quarter-master. “It is too irregular and confused for oars.”
“I don’t know, sir; it ain’t the sound of the oars of one boat or of two, but I should say that it might be the sound of a dozen.”
“I think you are right,” Miller said after listening for a while. “I don’t see what else it can be. Go down and call Captain Martyn.”
In two or three minutes Martyn was on deck. “You make out oars, I hear, Miller?”
“I am not sure that it is the sound of oars, but it may be.”
Martyn listened attentively.
“I have very little doubt it is that,” he said. “It is possible some boat may have gone over from this side with the news that we are here, or they may have arranged some fire signal and given notice in that way, and they have sent the boats of the fleet across to cut us out. Well, if so, we have got to fight; there is not a breath of wind. Call the other watch on deck, quarter-master.”
The men soon tumbled up.
“Will you see to getting the boarding nettings up, Mr. Miller. Mr. Tarleton, get a boat put in the water, ship a light anchor, and drop it a cable length of her quarter. Get springs into both cables, so that we can work her round and keep her broadside on to an attack. Horace, will you call up your father in the first place, and go down with the two Greeks to the lower deck and get all that mob of women and children down into the hold. Call the men to quarters, boatswain; open the magazine, get up canister and grape; let the men muster with muskets and boarding-pikes.”
The guns were run in and loaded, and when everything was in readiness a dead silence reigned fore and aft. The noise was now much louder, and there could be no doubt any longer that it was caused by the approach of a large number of boats; then Martyn spoke in a clear voice that could be heard from end to end of the schooner.
“As you can hear for yourselves, men, it is evident that we are about to be attacked by a flotilla of boats. Well, we have got to beat them off. You know, without my telling you, that there is no mercy to be expected at the hands of the Turks if they become the masters of this ship, so we have got to beat them off; and as it is a choice between doing so and of being murdered afterwards, I am sure I need not tell you that we must fight to the last, and I for one have very little fear of what the result will be. We have done good work as British sailors in saving life up to this point, and now we have got to show them what British sailors can do when they are fighting for their own lives. Don’t cheer, lads, they might hear it across the water, and they may as well think they are going to take us by surprise; we will cheer when we have beaten them off.”
A hum of approval ran round the ship, and then the men stood to their guns with their pistols in their belts, and their muskets and boarding-pikes ready at hand. Mr. Beveridge with the two Greeks had taken their positions, armed with rifles, near the wheel.
“They must be coming very slowly, Tarleton,” Miller muttered impatiently. “They must be a mile away still.”
“I expect the boats are crowded with troops, Miller, and I daresay they are rowing easily so as to keep well in a body.”
“I suppose that is it; but I wish the beggars would make haste. I hate this waiting.”
“So do I,” Tarleton agreed. “Well, we shall give them a hot reception when they do come. If it were anyone but Turks, I should say we were going to have very hot work of it. The Turks are good fellows to fight on shore, but they are no good on the water, and I expect they will attack us pell-mell without the least plan or order. Well, we shall soon know; another ten minutes, and they will be near enough to begin.”
CHAPTER XVI
FIRE-SHIPS
THE time passed slowly as they were waiting for the attack by the Turkish boats. The men muttered and growled to each other at the delay. In order to give them something to do, Miller sent all those who were not stationed at the guns down below to fetch up a number of 32-pound shot and place them in the racks, and some of the men were told off to jump up on to the rail as soon as the boats came alongside, and to throw the shot over the top of the boarding-netting down into the boats.
“I wish it was not so confoundedly dark, Miller, and that we could make the fellows out,” Martyn said.
“I have got rockets and blue lights, sir. Shall I send a rocket up? They are sure to find us, so we lose nothing by showing them where we are.”
“Yes, they are sure to find us. I don’t like their being such a long time in getting to us.”
“They do come wonderfully slow,” Miller agreed.
“Do you know, Miller, I have been thinking for some time that there must be some cause for it, and the only reason I can see is that they may be towing.”
“By Jove, so they may! I did not think of that. It will be awkward if we have got a ship to fight as well as the boats.”
“Very awkward. Send up a rocket, we may as well settle the question. Pass the word round for the men to train their guns as nearly as they can in the direction in which we can hear the oars, and to fire when they get light.”
A minute later a rocket shot up in the air. As it burst a number of boats were seen crowded together, towing behind them two large brigs. There was a moment’s pause while the men at the guns adjusted their aim, then the pivot-gun roared out, and the four on the broadside followed in quick succession. The distance was about six hundred yards, and the crashing of wood, followed by a chorus of shouts and cries, arose as the storm of grape swept down upon the boats.
“Load again, lads, as quick as you can,” Martyn shouted. “Show a couple of blue lights, quarter-master. Boatswain, load the pivot with ball, and fire as fast as you can at the brigs; never mind the boats, we will attend to them.”
The blue lights were lit and a rocket sent up, so as to burst over the enemy, and again a broadside of grape was poured in, while a shot from the pivot-gun crashed into the bows of one of the brigs; these had apparently been lashed together, so that the boats could tow them on a broad front. A confused din came across the water; shouts, cries, and orders mingled together. As far as could be seen everything was in confusion. Some of the boats had sunk, and the occupants were being pulled on board of the others. Some had thrown off their tow-ropes and were heading for the schooner, others lay helpless in the water.
REPELLING THE TURKISH BOARDERS
“Keep the rockets going, quarter-master,” Martyn said; “the more light we have the better. Horace, tell the men at the aft and forward guns to aim at the boats rowing towards us; let the two midship guns keep on at the crowd in front of the brigs. They have sent a pretty strong force against us. There must have been fully twenty of these boats at first; there are about sixteen of them now, and they are all large ones. Depress the guns on the other broadside as far as they will go, Mr. Tarleton, we shall have some of them round on that side presently. Cant them down as much as you can.”
Two more of the boats towing were disabled by the next broadside, and the rest, throwing off the ropes, rowed straight for the schooner.
“Aim steadily, men!” Martyn shouted. “Pick out your boats before you fire.”
Two of the boats were sunk as they approached, three others fell behind crippled; but the others, with loud shouts, made straight at the vessel. As they approached her they opened a fire of musketry, which was answered by the rifles and muskets of the sailors. As they swept up alongside shots were heaved down into them, and the crashing of planks told that they had done their work. The guns on the starboard side were silent at first, as the first boats came up so close alongside that they could not reach them; but those that followed were further out, and two were instantly sunk.
As the Turks strove to climb up the side and cut their way through the boarding-netting, they were shot down by pistols or run through by boarding-pikes. A few managed to climb over or force their way through the netting, but these were cut down before they could obtain a footing on deck. For ten minutes the fight went on by the flare of the blue lights, and then eight Turkish boats, which alone floated, rowed away, crowded with the survivors from the others. A loud cheer broke from the schooner.
“Never mind them, my men,” Martyn shouted; “load with ball now and aim at the brigs.”
These had taken no part whatever in the fight. Left by the boats head on to the schooner, and almost without steerage-way, they had in vain endeavoured to get broadside on so as to bring their guns to bear. The lashings had been cut, and the rudders been put in opposite directions; they had drifted a little apart with their heads outwards, and as the boats rowed away from the schooner they opened fire with their bow-guns. The boatswain, with the men working the pivot-gun, had from the first continued steadily at their work regardless of the din around them, Horace taking his place beside them, in order to call them off to aid in repelling the Turks should they gain a footing anywhere on the deck. When the boarding-netting had been triced up, a gap had been left opposite the gun, and the fire at the brigs had been kept up without intermission, every shot raking one or other of them fore and aft.
As soon as the boats were fairly away, the guns from the starboard side were run across, the spare ports being thrown open, and the eight guns all brought into play to aid the pivot-gun. As soon as the boats reached the brigs they took shelter behind them, and in a short time both craft began to swing round, their guns firing as they were brought to bear.
“Eight guns a side,” Miller said; “but it would not matter if there were twenty, if they did not aim better than that;” for not a single shot had struck the schooner. One or two passed overhead, but the rest went wide.
Instead of the brigs being left broadside on as they had expected, their heads swept round until they were stern on to the schooner, then they began slowly to glide away.
“They have had enough of it,” Miller exclaimed, and another cheer broke from the schooner.
“Cease firing!” Martyn said. “If they leave us alone we are content to leave them alone; they must have suffered tremendously as it is.”
An examination was now made as to the casualties. Four men had been killed, all were shot through the head, as they had fired over the bulwark at the boats as they came alongside; six others were wounded more or less seriously, by pistol shots that had been fired by the Turks as they tried to climb on board—a small total indeed, considering the nature of the attack. When morning dawned the brigs could be made out near the opposite shore, they were still being towed by the boats; but as they were looking at them, sail was made as a light breeze sprang up. When the wind reached them, the mainmast of one was seen to go over the side, having doubtless been wounded by the raking fire, and carrying in its fall the fore top-gallant mast and topmast. A quarter of an hour later the breeze reached the schooner. The decks had been already washed down, and everything had resumed its ordinary aspect, and before getting up the anchor the four men who had fallen, and who had already been sewn up in hammocks, were committed to the sea, Mr. Beveridge reading the funeral service over them. Mr. Macfarlane reported that the wounded were all likely to do well.
As soon as the fight was over the women and children, who had been suffering agonies of terror while it had been going on, had been brought out from the hold and allowed to sleep as usual on the lower deck, which had been entirely given up to them; and when the schooner got under weigh they were permitted to come up on deck. Although they had been assured by Zaimes and his brother that all danger was over, their first action on coming up was to look round timidly, and they were evidently greatly relieved when they saw that the sea was clear of enemies. They looked much surprised at seeing everything going on as usual, and at the absence of any signs of the terrible conflict they had heard raging round them the night before—the bullet marks in the bulwarks being the only evidences of what had passed. It had already been decided to sail for Greece in the course of a day or two, as they had as many fugitives on board as they could carry, and it was now determined to do so at once. As they sailed west they made out a large number of ships approaching, and were soon running through the Greek fleet.
“I am sorry we left now,” Miller said; “we shall miss a fight.”
“I expect we shall be back in time,” Macfarlane remarked; “the Greeks are in no great hurry to fight. It is two months since they were sent for, when the landing was made at Chios; and after taking all this time to make up their minds about it, they are likely to take a few days before they make up their minds to have a tussle with the Turks. The Greek mind, I observe, is full of contradictions; sometimes, especially if there is plunder to be got, their eagerness is just wonderful; but when it is a question of fighting, their caution is very remarkable.”
Miller laughed. “I daresay you are right, doctor, and I don’t feel at all confident that there will be a fight. So far the Greek fleet has done nothing, and their only idea of fighting a Turkish ship has been to launch a fire-ship against it.”
“Fire-ships are no good against enemies who know what they are doing,” Martyn said. “A couple of boats can always tow a fire-ship clear; but the Turks are lubberly sailors, and these fire-ships seem almost to paralyse them.”
“I can’t make it out,” Miller put in, “why the Turks should manœuvre their vessels so badly, considering that their sailors are for the most part Thessalians, drawn from the Mohammedan sea-side villages, Albanians by blood, just as the Hydriots are.”
“They want British officers,” the doctor said. “Officers are always the weak point with the Turks. There are no braver soldiers in the world when they are well led. But they never are well led now; their pashas seem to be chosen for stupidity and obstinacy. It is a great pity that we did not make up our minds to take Turkey instead of India. Eh, man! we should have made a grand country of it when we had once got it into order.”
“We shall make a grand country of India some day, doctor. I have never been out there; but there is no doubt that just what you say about the Turks is true of the natives there, and they make very good soldiers when they have British officers to lead them.”
“So they say, Captain Martyn: but you must remember that they have only fought against other natives without British officers to lead them. We must wait till we see them fighting against European troops of some other nation before we can say that they are fine soldiers.”
“If we wait till then, we are likely to wait a long time, doctor. Besides, you must remember they did fight well against the French troops under Dupleix.”
“So they did, but not till they got the idea that our soldiers were better than the French. But, as you say, it will be a long time before they get the chance again. The French are no longer a power in India; nor are the Dutch; and the distance is too long for either ever to send out an army big enough to wrest India from us; and as to marching by land—well, it could not be done.”
“The next day they reached the port of Athens, and got rid of their cargo of passengers, and then, with every sail set, hurried back to Chios, touching at Psara on the way, as, from the direction in which the Greeks were steering, they thought it probable they might have made a stay there. A small Psariot vessel had just come in from the fleet, and Horace, who had gone ashore with Marco, learned that Miaoulis, the Greek admiral, had coasted along the north of Chios, and that the Turks had at once weighed anchor and gone out to engage him. The Greeks, not caring to fight in the narrow waters, where their power of manœuvring would be thrown away, had stood out, and an engagement had taken place at the mouth of the Gulf of Smyrna.”
“We fought most valiantly,” the Greek said, “and it was a drawn battle.”
“But what was done?” Horace asked. “How many vessels were sunk on each side?”
“Oh, there were no vessels sunk. They fired at us, and we fired at them.”
“Were there many killed and wounded?”
“No; I don’t think there were any killed and wounded. You see we manœuvred round the Turks. We could not go near, because their guns were much heavier than ours. We sent down a fire-ship among them; but unfortunately they evaded it, and some of our most daring captains ventured so close that their ships were struck by the Turkish shot. Yesterday the combat was renewed again. The cannonading was like thunder, and this morning we again fought. Then we needed rest, and to get fresh meat we sailed back.”
Horace had difficulty in restraining his expressions of disgust at the conduct of the fleet that had, after two months’ delay, at last sailed to annihilate the Turks; and as they walked back to their boat Marco poured out, in an undertone, volumes of execrations in choice Greek.
As they reached the schooner the doctor looked over the side. “We are not too late, Horace; there’s the Greek fleet rounding the point. As we can’t make out with our glass a shot-hole in their sails or a splinter on their bulwarks, it is evident that I was right, and that we are in plenty of time to see the engagement.”
“You are mistaken, doctor,” Horace said as he reached the deck. “There has been a great naval battle, lasting three days. There are no killed or wounded; but one or two ships, commanded by daring captains, ventured within gun-shot of the Turks, and were struck. That is the exact history of the affair, as I learned it from one of the heroes.”
“Is that really the story you have heard, Horace?” Mr. Beveridge asked.
“It is, father; almost in the words that it was told to me.”
“I really think,” Martyn said, seeing how depressed Mr. Beveridge looked at the news, “that much more could hardly be expected from the Greeks. Their ships are for the most part small, and their metal very light. They have not the slightest idea of discipline or of working in concert. A Turkish broadside would sink half a dozen of them if they ventured to close quarters; and of course their superior seamanship is not of the slightest avail as long as they fight at a distance.”
“It would avail if they had pluck,” Horace said bitterly. “The English ships that went out to engage the great galleons of the Spanish Armada were as inferior in tonnage and in weight of metal as the Greeks are; but for all that they gave a good account of them.”
“Yes, Horace; but you must remember that the English sailors had been fighting and thrashing the Spaniards for years before, and had come almost to despise them; while the Greeks have never fought before, have no confidence in themselves, and hold the Turks in high respect.”
“You can’t expect,” the doctor put in, “that bulldogs are going to be manufactured out of mongrels in one generation, Horace. A fighting race grows up little by little. The Greeks fought just as pluckily in the old days, against big odds, as we ever did, and may do it again in time; but they have got to be built up to it.”
“Thank you, doctor,” Mr. Beveridge said. “We keep on forgetting that the Greeks have been slaves, and that slaves lose all their military virtues. It was just the same thing with the Britons. Their valour excited the admiration of Cæsar; but after being under the domination of the Romans for generations, they completely lost all their manhood, and fell easy victims to the Saxons. We must not be too hard on the Greeks, Horace, or expect them to behave as men whose fathers have been free and independent.”
In the evening Miller went ashore with Mr. Beveridge and had a talk with some Philhellenes who had joined the expedition. They all agreed that Miaoulis had manœuvred his ships well, always keeping the weather-gauge of the Turks; but there was no shadow of discipline among the ships, and their fire was as wild and inefficient as that of the Turks, the men loading and firing as quickly as they could, quite regardless of the direction or distance of their shot, the great part of which entered the sea half-way between the combatants.
“Kanaris is here,” they said, “and you will see that he at least will attempt something against the Turks before he is done.”
It was not, however, until fifteen days later that any move was made. Kanaris had paid a visit to the Misericordia, and was greatly struck by the order and discipline that prevailed.
“Our men will not submit to it, Mr. Beveridge. It is in vain to assure them that nothing can be done unless we can introduce discipline such as prevails on ships of war of other nations. Unfortunately they have been accustomed to another state of things. The sailors are always paid by a share in the profits of our voyages, and everyone has a say as to the ports to be visited and the course to be steered. Before any change is made there is always a general council of all on board, and the matter is decided by vote. Such being the habit, you can understand the difficulty of getting these men to submit to anything like discipline. Another thing is, that the ships belong to private persons, and not to the state, although they may receive pay from government. They are therefore very chary of exposing their vessels to the risk of loss, for which, more likely than not, they would never receive a penny from the central government, which has plenty of objects of much greater interest to its members to spend its money upon. Until some total change takes place in the organization and manning of our fleet, I can see no hope of any improvement.”
On the 18th of June two ships got up anchor and sailed. On board the schooner their progress was watched with interest. Kanaris had confided to Mr. Beveridge that the ships were loaded with combustibles, and that he was going to attempt to set fire to the Turkish fleet. The wind was contrary, and the two craft tacked backwards and forwards off the north of Chios as if intending to beat up the Gulf of Smyrna. Four hours after they had started the schooner also got under way, as all were anxious to see what would take place, and Mr. Beveridge had told Kanaris that he would go within a short distance of the Turkish fleet and burn a blue light, so that the boats on leaving the fire-ships could row off to him and be taken back to Psara.
It was the last day of the Ramazan, and a number of the principal officers of the Turkish fleet had been invited by the Capitan Pasha to dine with him on board his flag-ship to celebrate the feast of Bairam. The night was a dark one, but the whole of the Turkish vessels were illuminated in honour of the festival, and their outlines were clearly visible. The Misericordia had entered the northern passage an hour after nightfall; the two Greek ships being, when last seen, about three miles ahead. The schooner lay to a couple of miles distant from the anchorage. They had scarcely done so when they made out the sails of two vessels between them and the lines of light on the Turkish war-ships.
“There they go,” Martyn said, “steering straight in. One of them is making straight for the Capitan Pasha’s own ship. No doubt that is Kanaris himself. The other is making for that seventy-four that carries the flag of the Reala Bey. You can tell them by the variegated lamps along their yards. The Turks evidently have not caught sight of them yet or they would open fire. On such a dark night as this I don’t suppose they will make them out till they are close alongside.”
Kanaris, a man of the greatest calmness and courage, was himself at the helm of his craft. Running straight before the wind, he steered down upon the eighty-gun ship of the Capitan Pasha. Not until he was within a ship’s length was he observed, when a startled hail sounded from the deck of the Turkish ship. Steering straight on he ran his bowsprit through one of her port-holes. The sailors instantly threw some grapnels to retain her in her position, and then jumped into their boat lying alongside. As soon as they did so Kanaris fired his pistol into the train. The fire flashed along the deck, there were a series of sharp explosions, and then the flames ran aloft, the riggings and sails being soaked with turpentine; and Kanaris had scarcely stepped into his boat before the ship was in a mass of flames.
Lying to windward of the Turk the flames were blown on to her, and pouring in at the open port-holes at once set fire to a quantity of tents stowed on the lower deck, rushed up the hatches, and, mingling with the flames from the sails which had ignited the awning extending over the deck, ran up the rigging and spars of the man-of-war. The most terrible confusion instantly prevailed throughout the ship. The few boats alongside were sunk by the crowds who leapt into them. The crews of the ships lying round at once began to haul them farther away from the blazing vessel, and the boats that were lowered feared to approach it because of the falling spars and the flames that poured from the lower port-holes.
In addition to her crew, the soldiers on board, and the Pasha’s guests, were a great number of prisoners who had been brought off from the island to be taken to Constantinople, and the shrieks and cries as they were caught by the flames, or sprang overboard to evade them, were terrible. Kara Ali himself sprang from the ship into a boat that approached near enough for the purpose of saving him; but before it could put off a blazing spar fell on it, and the Capitan Pasha was so severely wounded that he died shortly after being carried on shore.
His loss was a severe one for the Turks, for he was their most skilful naval officer. A few of those who leapt overboard were picked up by boats, or swam to the other ships; but with these exceptions the whole of those on board the vessel perished. The other fire-ship had been less calmly and skilfully managed. In his haste and excitement the commander, after running her alongside the ship of the Reala Bey, fired the train and made off without attaching her to it, consequently the fire-ship drifted away without the flames communicating to the Turk, and burned out harmlessly.
As soon as it was seen that Kanaris had succeeded, a blue light was burned on board the schooner, and in twenty minutes the two boats rowed alongside. Not a shot had been fired at either, the Turks being too much occupied with the danger of fire to pay any attention to them. Kanaris was heartily congratulated on his success when he reached the schooner, which at once set sail and was back at Psara in the morning, where the news of the destruction of the Turkish man-of-war was received with the wildest enthusiasm.
The Turkish vessels, leaving a strong garrison on the island, sailed north a few days later. They were pursued by the Greek fleet, which, however, did not venture to interfere with them, although they stopped at two ports on the way, and finally anchored under the guns of the forts of the Dardanelles. The Misericordia took no part in harassing the Turkish fleet. Martyn had asked Mr. Beveridge’s opinion upon the subject, he himself being in favour of doing so.
“I think we could give the Greeks a lesson or two in this sort of thing, sir, and show them what can be done, even against a fleet, by a craft that means business.”
“I am sure you could do all that, Martyn, but I do not think we should be justified in running the slightest risk of loss of life among the men merely for that purpose. We could do no more than the Greeks do unless we were willing to expose ourselves more. You could not hope either to capture or sink one of the Turkish ships in the face of their whole fleet. I know you would give them a great deal of trouble, but more than that you could not do. When the Greeks show themselves willing to fight we will fight by their side, but not before.”
They were indeed glad that they so decided, for on the evening before the Greeks set sail a boat arrived at Psara with six fugitives from Chios. They reported that the destruction of the Capitan Pasha’s ship with all on board had brought fresh misfortunes upon the Christians, for that the Mussulmans, infuriated by the details of the disaster, had fallen upon the Christians all over the island, even in the villages where hitherto there had been no trouble.
The second massacre was indeed far more fatal than the first, the women and children being, as before, spared as slaves, many thousands being carried away. Small craft from Psara hovered round the island and succeeded in taking off numbers of fugitives, while the schooner returned to her cruising grounds between the island and the mainland, or up the Gulf of Smyrna, where she captured and burnt large numbers of small craft laden with slaves. They had to make four trips to the islands to clear her crowded decks of the hapless Chiots.
The news of the massacres of Chios, which, unlike those committed by themselves, the Greeks spread sedulously over Europe, excited deep and general horror and indignation. The numbers of those killed or sold into slavery were never known. The estimates varied considerably, some putting them down at twenty thousand while others maintained that those figures could be doubled without exaggeration. It is probable, however, that they really exceeded thirty thousand.
The details of the terrible massacres, which they learnt from the women they rescued, aroused among the officers and crew of the Misericordia a far deeper feeling of enthusiasm for the cause of Greece than they had hitherto felt. Since they came out their interest in the cause had been steadily waning. The tales of wholesale and brutal massacre, the constant violation of the terms of surrender, the cowardice of the Greeks in action and their eagerness for plunder, the incessant disputes between the various parties, and the absence of any general attempt to concert measures for defence, had completely damped their sympathy for them; but the sight of these hundreds of women and children widowed and orphaned, and torn away from their native land and sold into slavery, set their blood boiling with indignation. The two Greeks took care to translate the narratives of the weeping women to the sailors, and these excited among them a passionate desire to punish the authors of these outrages; and had any of the craft they overhauled made an active resistance little mercy would have been shown to the Turks. As it was they were bundled headlong into their boats with many a hearty kick and cuff from the sailors, and the destruction of their vessels was effected with the alacrity and satisfaction of men performing an act of righteous retribution.
“The poor creatures seemed terribly cast down,” Martyn said one day at dinner as they sailed with the last batch of Chiots for Corfu. They had transported the three previous cargoes to the Ionian Islands, as the former ones had been most unwillingly received in the Greek ports, the authorities saying that they had no means of affording subsistence to the fugitives who were daily arriving. In the Ionian Islands committees had been formed, and these distributed money sent out from England for their support, while rations were issued to them by the British authorities of the islands.
“One can’t wonder at that,” Miller said. “Still, I must say that the women even at first don’t seem as delighted as one would expect at getting out of the hands of the Turks.”
“I am not so very sure, Miller, that they are delighted at all,” Macfarlane said quietly. “You think you are doing them the greatest service possible, but in my opinion it is more than doubtful whether they see it in the same light.”
“What! not thankful at being rescued from being sold as slaves to the Turks?”
“That sounds very terrible, and no doubt it would not be a pleasant lot for you, seeing that they would set you to work, and your life would be worse than a dog’s. But you have got to put yourself in the position of these unfortunate women and girls, and then you would see that you might think differently about it. To begin with, till now there has been no animosity between them and the Turks. It is admitted that the Turks have been gentle masters to Chios, and the people have been happy, contented, and prosperous. Their misfortunes have been brought upon them, not by the Turks, but by the Greeks, who came to the island contrary to their entreaties, plundered and ill used them, and then left them to the vengeance of the Turks. So if they have any preference for either, it will certainly not be for the Greeks.
“As to their being sold as slaves, I do not suppose they view it at all in the same way we do. They are not going to be sold to work in the fields, or anything of that sort, and the Turks treat their domestic slaves kindly. To one of these Chiot girls there is nothing very terrible in being a slave in the household of a rich Turk. You know that the Georgian and Circassian girls look forward to being sold to the Turks. They know that the life at Constantinople is vastly easier and more luxurious than that at home. I do not say for a moment that these women would not prefer a life of ease among their own people and friends. But what is the life before them now?—to have to work for their own living in the fields, or to go as servants among Greek and Italian families. A dark and uncertain future. I tell you, man, we think we are doing them a mighty service, but I doubt whether there is one of them that thinks so. The Chiots are celebrated for their docility and intelligence, and these women and children would fetch high prices in the market, and be purchased by wealthy Turks, and their lot would be an enviable one in comparison to that which awaits most of them.
“The word slavery is hateful to us, but it is not so many years since we were sending people out in hundreds to work as slaves in the plantations of Virginia. The word slavery in the East has not the same terror as it has with us, and I doubt if the feelings of a Chiot peasant girl on her way to be sold are not a good deal like those of a girl who goes up from a Scotch or English village to Edinburgh or London, to go into service in a grand family. She thinks she is going to better herself, to have fine clothes, and to live among fine people; and, as it turns out, maybe she is better off than she was before, maybe she is worse.”
“You are a most disagreeable man, Macfarlane,” Martyn said after a pause. “Here have we been thinking that we have been doing a good action, and you put us altogether out of conceit with ourselves.”
“We have been doing a good action,” the doctor said. “We have been acting according to our lights. To us it is an abominable thing that a Greek woman or child should be sold as a slave to the heathen Turk. I am only pointing out to you that from their point of view there is nothing so terrible in their lot, and that we have no reason to expect any very lively gratitude from them; and that, looking at the matter only from a material point of view, they are not likely to be benefited by the change. I know that, if I were a Greek woman, I would rather be a slave in the family of a rich Turk than working as a drudge, say, in the family of a Maltese shopkeeper, though, if I were a Scotch girl, I should certainly choose the other way.”
They all sat silent for a minute or two. The idea was a wholly new one to them, and they could not deny that, according to the point of view of these Chiot captives, it was a reasonable one. Mr. Beveridge was the first to speak.
“What you say has certainly given me a shock, doctor, but I cannot deny that there is some truth in it. Still, you know there is something beyond mere material advantages.”
“I do not deny it, sir, and, as I say, we, as Britons and Christians, feel that we are doing a good work. Still, we can hardly be surprised that these Chiots naturally view it differently. Their Christianity is, like that of all Eastern Christians, of a very debased form; and living so long among the Turks, they have no very great horror of Mohammedanism. You know, on the mainland, tens of thousands of the Albanians have become Mohammedans. We think that we are justified in inflicting what one cannot but see is, from the material point of view, a distinct injury to these people, because, as Christians, we feel it is for their moral advantage; but then, that is just the same feeling that caused the Spaniards to exterminate the natives of the West Indian Islands who declined to become Christians.”