“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.”

“Do just as you think best, Captain Martyn. I most sincerely trust that there are no grounds for your uneasiness. Hitherto everything has gone well with us, and it would be terrible indeed if anything should have happened to our two friends and so many of our brave fellows.”

The day passed slowly. A look-out was kept in the top, but until the sun went down no sail was seen above the horizon. The crew shared the anxiety of their captain, and gathering in groups, discussed what could have occurred to prevent their consort arriving at the rendezvous.

“I don’t believe as the Turks have caught them,” one of the sailors said. “You won’t never gammon me into taking in such a yarn as that. I don’t believe as there is a Turk living would get the weather gauge of Lieutenant Miller. As to tempests, that is different. We don’t care for tempests one way or the other on board the schooner, but then she is a craft such as you don’t see twice in a v’yage round the world. If they had been in her I shouldn’t have felt noways uneasy; but seeing as how they are in a outlandish brig whose ways they don’t understand, it may be that if they was caught off a lee shore by a heavy gale, even the first lieutenant with our men at his back couldn’t get her out of the mess.”

“I said all along,” another sailor put in, shaking his head, “as there was bad luck coming. Three days ago I dreamed of a black cat, and everyone as knows anything knows as there ain’t nothin’ more unlucky to dream about than a black cat.”

“Surely, Bill,” another said, shaking his head gravely.

“Well, mates, it is my opinion,” Tom Burdett said gruffly, “as there is something in dreams, but in nine cases out of ten it is something as has gone afore and not what comes after. I know once when I came back from a v’yage I had written a letter to tell my old woman what time I should arrive. I reckoned to be in to dinner. Well, the coach broke down and I did not get in till nine o’clock. The old woman had made a plum-duff pretty nigh as big as my head, knowing as I was fond of it, and she was in such a taking at my not having been in to eat it at dinner that I sat down and I finished that there pudding cold for supper. Well, I dreamt of about ten million black cats and about as many sharks mixed up together, but if you will believe me nothing came of it; and ever since that I have held to the opinion that when you have a bad dream, what you have got to think about when you wake ain’t what it means in the future, but what you have been having for supper.

“Now, I expect if Bill there was to turn his mind back he would remember that the night as he had that dream, he had been filling hisself up with fruit or such like trash afore he turned in. I don’t say as nothing has happened to Lieutenant Miller and our mates, but I am cocksure as that black cat Bill said he dreamt on hadn’t nothing to do with it either way. Why, bless me, in my village there is hundreds of women as thinks of nothing but dreams and tokens. It is no matter what you dream of, they have got a ’terpretation of it, and if the ’terpretation happens to be a bad one they bother their husbands and brothers and sons, as the case may be, not to put to sea, and there is many a good fisherman whose cupboard is bare half the year, through listening to them. I may have my ideas as to whether harm are come to that polacca or not, but if every seaman on board the ship was to dream of a black tom-cat and his wife and family, it wouldn’t make not so much as a shade of difference, in my opinion.”

Martyn did not wait for daylight, but when the middle watch was relieved sail was made, and the schooner bore away to the north-east. Land was sighted about four o’clock, and by nightfall they were coasting along at the distance of about a mile. When it became dark they stood on and off the shore, as Martyn wished to examine every inlet and bay as they went on. As soon as it was daylight the schooner proceeded on her way. The sails of several craft were made out seaward during the course of the day, but none of these resembled the canvas of the polacca, and attention was concentrated upon the shore, every rock being closely scanned with glasses, and a sharp look-out kept for signals of any kind.

In the evening a small fishing-boat was overhauled as it made its way into a village. The fishermen were interrogated by Zaimes, who understood a little Turkish. They had seen nothing of any craft answering to a description of the polacca. Interrogated about the weather, they replied that the storm four days before had been an exceptionally severe one, coming on very suddenly and blowing with tremendous force for some hours.

The next morning they were at the mouth of the Gulf of Adalia.

“If Miller has gone to grief anywhere,” Martyn said to Horace, “it is as likely as not to be somewhere in this bay. He might very well have been cruising about in here to pick up anything coming out of Adalia, which is the principal port along this part of the coast. It is a large bay, you see, and if he happened to be well up it when he was caught in that sudden gale it is probable enough that he would not be able to beat out in that craft. I see on the map there are three or four small towns between this Cape and Adalia. I don’t want to show ourselves inside the cape, for the probability is the schooner would be recognized directly. What I think will be the best plan would be for you and Zaimes to take one of the boats and coast along close in to the cape. There is a place called Grambusa a mile or two around the corner, and another place called Yanar a little farther on. I want you either to board a fishing-boat and find out whether they have news of a wreck between this and Adalia, or have heard of any Greek or European prisoners being brought there from farther east. If you can’t succeed in getting hold of a fishing-boat, Zaimes might land and try to pick up the news at some cottage in the outskirts of the village. There are Greeks in all these sea-side villages, for most of the fishing is in their hands, and though in the towns there were massacres I don’t suppose they would be disturbed in quiet villages where they had been settled for generations.”

Zaimes was summoned, and agreed at once to land, as both Martyn and Horace were of opinion that there was more probability of their getting trustworthy information that way than from fishermen, who would be scared at finding their boat suddenly overhauled. Accordingly, taking a gig with six men Horace and Zaimes started for the shore, while the schooner turned her head west.

“I shall cruise backward and forward,” Martyn said. “I sha’n’t go more than four miles from the cape; so when you come out again you will only have to lie on your oars till I come back for you.”

They rowed direct to shore, crept along close to it till they saw the village half a mile ahead, and then rowed in and landed Zaimes. He was absent an hour, and his walk assured Horace that he had bad news even before he reached the side of the boat.

“I am afraid you have bad news, Zaimes.”

Zaimes shook his head. “Very bad; it could hardly be worse. There are several Christians in the village, and I learned from them that four days ago a brig that was caught in the storm was driven ashore close to Adalia. It was found that she was a Turkish vessel which had been captured by pirates. The people would have torn them to pieces, but the pasha, who had come down to the shore with a body of troops to try and save those on board the ship when she was seen to be driving ashore, protected them from the mob and lodged them in prison. They say that he has sent off to Smyrna, where the governor of Anatolia resides, to ask for instructions, and it is expected that orders will come for their execution in a day or two.”

“Stretch to your oars, men,” Horace said. “The others have been wrecked and captured by the Turks, and the sooner we are on board with the news the better.”

The men bent to their oars and made the boat fly through the water, and when they rounded Cape Khelidonia they saw the schooner a quarter of a mile away in the act of going about. They were seen almost as soon as they caught sight of her, and she remained thrown up in the wind until they got alongside. Martyn and Mr. Beveridge were both on deck, and as soon as Zaimes had told his story they went down into the cabin for a consultation.

“What on earth is to be done?” Martyn said; “Adalia is a large town. Zaimes says there are troops there, likely enough a whole regiment. It would be hopeless to try to attack it with thirty men. The only thing I can see at present would be for us to sail right in, anchor off the town, and threaten to bombard it with red-hot shot if they don’t give up the prisoners. The objection is that they are likely to have some batteries there, and in that case we might get the worst of it. Besides, it is likely enough that they might hang Miller and the rest of them at the first shot we fired.”

“No, that is not to be thought of,” Mr. Beveridge said. “It seems to me that we might anchor within sight of the place, send a boat ashore with a white flag, and offer to pay any ransom they might fix for the prisoners. I would rather pay ten thousand pounds than that harm should come to them. What do you think, Horace?”

“If we could have got at the pasha before he sent off to Smyrna that might have done, father; but having once referred the case to Smyrna, I am afraid he might consider it too risky to let them go. But we might try that if everything else fails.”

“But what else is there, Horace?”

“Well, I should say, father, the best thing would be to land Zaimes and myself again. He has already made some acquaintances in the village here, and no doubt they could rig us both up in dresses like their own. Then we could go boldly on to Adalia, find out exactly how things stand, what sort of a place they are imprisoned in, how strong is the guard, and how close the barrack of the troops is to the prison. I should suggest that you sail away west, so that if, as it is likely enough, the schooner has been noticed by any of the peasants in the villages scattered about among the hills and word sent to Adalia, the report may also go that it has sailed right away. Then you should capture a small Turkish craft; a large fishing-boat would do. Leave ten men on board the schooner, and sail in the prize nearly up to Adalia. If you anchor, say a couple of miles this side of the town, and hoist a little flag, say a red flag over a white, to your mast-head we should recognize you and come down to the beach.

“If it is in the daytime you will make us out with your glasses easily enough, and send a boat ashore for us. If it is nighttime we will empty out a little powder, moisten it, and flash it off; then you can send ashore for us. I should order the schooner to come every night, keeping three or four miles off shore, sailing up nearly to Adalia, and then returning so as to be round the cape again before daylight. In that way we could communicate with her and go on board again when we liked. Till we examine the place there is no saying whether there is a possibility of rescue or not. If we find that there is no possibility of anything being done in that direction we can embark on board the schooner again, and carry out the plan you suggested: anchor off Adalia, and send in to offer a ransom, with the alternative that if it is not accepted we will bombard the place about their ears. In that way, you see, we shall anyhow lose nothing by this expedition of Zaimes and myself ashore.”

“I think your plan is an excellent one, Horace,” Martyn said, and Mr. Beveridge equally approved of it.

“I don’t think there will be any great danger about it, Martyn. There seems no reason why any suspicion should fall upon him and Zaimes if they are dressed in the same way as the Greeks in these villages.”

“No, I don’t see why there should. Of course they will only speak with other Greeks. I certainly think the plan of our getting hold of a small native craft and anchoring near the town is a capital one. It will save a great deal of time, for it is somewhere about fifty miles from the cape to the town, and it would, in fact, save a whole day, as, if they come off to us in the evening we could do what there is to do that night, whereas, if they had to walk all the way down the coast to the cape and come on board there it would be too late to do anything that night, and we should have to wait until the next.”

Zaimes was called in, and eagerly embraced the proposal when it was explained to him. He was passionately fond of his brother, from whom he had never been separated, and was ready to dare anything to attempt his rescue. It was agreed they had better wait till dark before they landed. Accordingly the schooner sailed west for some hours and did not return to the cape until after darkness had fallen. Then Zaimes and Horace were landed, and as soon as the boat returned the schooner again sailed away. Before leaving the ship Horace had dressed himself as a Greek, and on landing they walked to the village.

“You had best remain outside for a few minutes, Mr. Horace,” Zaimes said, “while I see the man I conversed with this morning. I told him then that my brother was on board the polacca that was wrecked, and that I should endeavour to get the ear of some person of importance at Adalia. He said that he was sure that I could do nothing, but anything he could do to help me he would, for his people came years ago from Naxos, which, as you know, is our native place. I will just go in first to see if he is alone and to tell him that I have a friend with me. As soon as I see that he is in the same mood I will call you in.”

In three or four minutes the door of the cottage opened again and Horace was called in.

“This is the young friend who accompanies me,” Zaimes said to the man. “He is not a relation, but he has been with my brother ever since he was born, and is willing to join me in the effort to save him.”

“It is quite hopeless,” the peasant said. “You are only risking your lives. Still, that is your business. You are ready, you say, to buy of me two suits of our clothes. I have one suit belonging to my son, who is at present away in a coasting ship, and I have a suit of my own that I can let you have.”

Zaimes and Horace had both brought on shore a considerable amount of gold stowed in belts beneath their clothes, in case they should find any opportunity of bribing a prison official, and had in their pockets an ample sum for any ordinary expenditure. As the peasant only asked about three times the amount which the clothes would cost new, they paid for them without bargaining, and at once put them on.

“I have a brother at Adalia,” the man said, well pleased with the bargain he had made; “and if you go to him and say that you come from me, his brother Alexis, of this village, I am sure he will be glad to lodge you, especially when you tell him that you too belong to Naxos.”

After receiving instructions as to how to find the man’s brother in Adalia they started at once upon their journey. They lay down for three hours in the middle of the night in a wood, and entered Adalia at eight o’clock in the morning. They went straight to the address the peasant had given them. It was a small house with but two rooms, and its master was a cobbler. As soon as Zaimes mentioned his brother’s name, and said that they were ready to pay for the accommodation, the shoemaker agreed at once to receive them. He was a chatty fellow, and was very anxious to hear news about affairs in Greece, when they told him that they had but lately arrived from there.

“Now,” he said, “what is your business? Of course I can see that you do not belong to us. You are from Naxos, as you say; I notice a few turns of speech such as my father used to use. But what have you come here for? and why have you bought my brother’s clothes from him, for I recognized them directly you came in? I like to know things, not because I am inquisitive, but because I do not want to have the pasha’s executioner suddenly coming in at the door and taking off my head, without even explaining the reason why.”

“I am what I told you, a Greek of Naxos,” Zaimes said; “and as I explained to your brother, I have a brother who is one of the crew of that ship that was wrecked here six days ago; and I have come to see whether, by greasing the palms of some of the officials, I can manage to get him out.”

“That you can’t,” the man said decidedly. “If he were in the civil prison it might be done; but the pasha, guessing perhaps that many of us Christians would sympathize with them, or possibly having an idea that the mob might rise, handed them over to the soldiers, and they are confined in a room in the military prison in the centre of the barracks, where there are lots of sentries. The gates have been closed since they were taken there, and no civilian is allowed to enter under any pretence. So you see there is no bribing to be done. Of course the sentries are changed frequently. There is no knowing what officer has the prisoners specially under his charge. And even if he were bribed, there would be no getting them past the sentries. So you can give up the idea altogether of getting your brother out.”

“How long does it take for a messenger to go from here to Smyrna?” Zaimes asked, with a slight glance at Horace to show that he was changing the conversation purposely.

“By ordinary travelling some two weeks; but a mounted messenger, with relays of horses, can do it in four days.”

“Then in another three days the answer may come from Smyrna?”

“That is so. I wonder myself that the pasha took the trouble of sending to the governor of Anatolia, instead of hanging the prisoners at once.”

“I suppose he thought that the governor might like to have them sent to him, so that he could forward them to Constantinople.”

“Are you thinking of delaying the messenger’s return? That might be done, you know.” And the man drew his finger across his throat significantly.

“I don’t see that the delay would be of any use,” Zaimes replied. “If there is no chance of getting my brother out, it matters not whether the messenger arrives to-day or a fortnight hence. However, it is a matter that may be worth thinking over later. At any rate we will go out and have a look at the barracks. Will you go with us? I am not without money, and can make it well worth your while to aid us by your advice.”

“I am ready enough,” the man said. “Trade is dull, and a man must live; and besides, I would gladly save a Christian and a native of my own island from the Turks.”

“I would not trust him too far,” Zaimes said in an undertone to Horace when the man went into the apartment behind to speak to his wife. “He is now inclined to help us, especially if he thinks that he will be well paid for it. But we had better not let him know anything of our plans. When he saw there was danger, what with fear as to his own safety and the hope of a bigger reward than he could expect to get from us, he might decide to turn traitor. We had better let him suppose that we have given up all hope.”

“I agree with you, Zaimes. His hint about the messenger may be a useful one. I don’t mean, of course, that we should cut the poor beggar’s throat; but we might bind him and fasten him up for a few days if we find there is need of time to make our preparations.”

“I am afraid time will not help us,” Zaimes said. “The fellow can have no motive for lying; and if what he says is a fact, I don’t see a shadow of a chance of our getting them out, even if we had all the crew of the schooner here.”

“We shall know more about it when we have seen the place, Zaimes. I expected they would be securely locked up, and it is not much worse than I looked for. It is hard if we can’t hit on some plan for getting them out.”

CHAPTER XII
PLANNING A RESCUE

EVEN Horace was obliged to admit, when he with Zaimes and their guide had walked round the barracks, that he saw no chance whatever of being able to get the prisoners out by force. The barracks consisted of an old castle, a portion of which was, as the shoemaker told them, now used as a military prison; and round this at some distance ran a strong wall some fifteen feet high, loopholed for musketry. The troops were lodged in huts between this wall and the castle.

“There you see,” the guide said, “what I said was true. You could not get a bird out of that place, much less a man.”

“That is so,” Zaimes agreed. “Well, what cannot be done, cannot. However, we will talk it over this evening at your house. Now let us walk about and view the city. Truly it is a fine one.”

Few towns, indeed, have a finer situation than Adalia, standing as it does at the head of a noble bay, a great portion of which is fringed with lofty and precipitous cliffs. The town, which at that time contained some ten thousand inhabitants, stands on ground sloping upwards from the sea in terraces rising one above another. It was surrounded by a ditch and a double wall of massive construction, with square towers every fifty yards. Beyond the walls stretched gardens and groves of orange, lemon, and mulberry trees. Ten mosques with their domes and minarets reared themselves above the houses, and there were several churches belonging to the Christian population, which was, the guide told them, about two thousand in number, the great proportion of whom spoke only the Turkish language. “I can talk equally well in both, for it is but fifty years since my father settled here, and we always talked Greek in the family as long as he lived. Now I always speak Turkish; it is safer, and does not remind the Turks continually that we are of Greek race.”

“Where does the pasha reside?” Horace asked presently.

“I will show you his place; it is at the lower corner of the north wall. His gardens stretch down to the wall by the water, and another high wall on this side separates them from the town.”

Passing through several streets they arrived opposite the residence of the pasha of the sanjak of Tekeh, of which Adalia is the chief town. The residence itself stood at the angle of the two walls dividing the garden from the town. It was a massive building. Some soldiers sat on benches at either side of the gate that opened into the court-yard, and townspeople and officials passed in and out.

“The public offices are in the court-yard,” the guide said. “The pasha’s private dwelling and his harem lie behind it.”

“I suppose we can walk in?”

“Certainly,” the guide said; and they passed through the gates into the court-yard. On one side was a guard-room, stables, and other offices; on the other were the rooms of the secretaries and officials and that in which the pasha transacted business and received visitors. The portion of the house facing the gates was blank on the basement story, except that a door faced the gateway. Above were a line of windows, all closed with jalousies. “That is the dwelling-house,” their guide said. “I believe all the apartments of the family face the garden. Those windows you see there are only those of the apartments of the servants and slaves.”

After leaving the pasha’s they walked down to the bottom of the town, where two gates with strong flanking powers opened upon the port, which was smaller than Horace had expected to find it. However, he was glad to see that there were several craft anchored in the roadstead, some near the port, some at a distance, showing that vessels did not come in unless for shelter in bad weather or to discharge heavy cargoes. Whatever the craft, then, in which the crew of the schooner might arrive, it would not attract attention by anchoring outside the port, as arranged. They returned with their guide to his house and had a meal there. Zaimes was profoundly discouraged. He saw no prospect whatever of rescuing his brother or the other prisoners, and the strength of the walls and the guns that were mounted upon them—a step which, the host told him, had been taken a few months before to defend the town against the Greek fleet, should it make its appearance there—showed that there was no prospect of the Turks being alarmed by the appearance or threats of a craft like the schooner.

“It seems altogether hopeless,” Zaimes said to the Greek.

The latter shook his head, “I can see no possible way,” he replied. “If it had been an ordinary prisoner in the jail it could be managed without difficulty. I could have got one of our countrymen of some influence to have approached the prison officers, or I myself could have worked with the warders; a small sum of money would have done it. But now it seems to me hopeless, and even if we stop the messenger and gain another eight days while the pasha sends again to Smyrna, we should only run some risk and gain nothing.”

Zaimes assented mournfully.

“You had better make the man a present, Zaimes,” Horace said when they were alone for a minute after the meal was finished. “Tell him that it seems to us to be hopeless, and that we shall probably go right away; but that if, thinking it over, we can hit upon any possible plan we will be back again this evening and sleep here.”

Zaimes carried out the suggestion, gave their host a gold coin, and said that they saw no use in staying longer, but would think it over in every way and might return that evening.

“If you go outside the town you must be back by sunset,” the man said; “the gates are closed at that hour.”

“We will not forget, but I do not think you will see us again.”

“Even if our people don’t arrive this evening, Zaimes, I think it will be just as well not to go back into the town,” Horace said as they issued out through the gates into the country. “I don’t say for a moment that the man is not honest, but it is just as well not to put temptation in his way. He knows that we are friends of the prisoners, and he, no doubt, guesses that we belong to the craft that captured the polacca that was wrecked. No doubt he would not openly betray us; that would bring him into discredit with all the Christians in the town. But a few words whispered to some Turk, and an agreement to share any reward that may be given for our capture, would answer the purpose just as well. I don’t say he would do it, you know, but it would be just as well not to run the risk.”

On issuing from the gate, Horace saw that there was a narrow road running between a deep dry ditch at the foot of the city walls and the outlying gardens and orchards.

“This will be our shortest way down to the water, Zaimes, let us follow it.”

The Greek turned without question. When they had gone half-way down between the gate and the bottom of the hill, Horace stopped. “Now, let us have a good look at this place. On the other side of that wall is the garden of the pasha’s house. I counted the number of steps up from the house to the cross-road leading to the gateway, and I have counted them coming down again; we are about fifty yards below the upper wall of the garden.”

“I daresay it is so,” Zaimes replied listlessly.

“This ditch is about ten feet deep, and from the bottom of the ditch to the top of that first wall is from five-and-twenty to thirty; between that wall and the higher one inside it is about fifteen feet; and the inner wall is about fifteen feet higher than the outer one; those square towers form junctions between the two walls. Now, we may be quite sure that there are no sentries either on the wall or on the square towers. I don’t suppose there are sentries anywhere except in the batteries on the water-face, but there certainly won’t be here, for they would command a view down into the pasha’s garden; so we may quite conclude that except for the trouble of scaling the walls there is nothing to prevent our getting over. A couple of rope-ladders and one or two twenty-foot planks with bits nailed across them to give a foothold would take us on to the inner wall; then we should need another long ladder to get down into the garden. That would be about thirty-five feet, I should say.”

“Yes, I see all that,” Zaimes, whose face had again become animated as he listened, agreed; “but what would be the good of getting into the pasha’s garden?”

“No good at all, if we were by ourselves, Zaimes, but with Martyn and twenty men from the schooner a good deal of good, I should say. We have only got to make a sudden rush into the house, which will, of course, be open to the garden, seize the pasha, and carry him and some of his wives and children off to the craft that our fellows come in, and then on to the schooner. Then we can send ashore to say that unless the prisoners are sent off in a boat to us by twelve o’clock in the day we shall hang the pasha. Maybe when we get hold of the pasha there will be no occasion to carry him and his women off; the mere threat of it might be enough. We can tell him that it will be painful to us to have to hoist them up to the top of the wall in sacks, but that we shall be obliged to do it unless he signs an order for the prisoners’ release, and sends it off at once by an officer to the jail. A handsome bribe that will enable him to make his peace with his superior at Smyrna may help to quicken his perception.”

Zaimes seized Horace’s hand with fervour, shook it wildly, clasped his hands on his breast, raised them to heaven, and poured forth a stream of exclamations of delight. The quiet habits of many years had been thrown to the winds in a moment, and the excitable Greek nature burst through all restraints. “You have given me new life,” he exclaimed as soon as he had calmed down a little. “Just now there did not seem even a shadow of hope. Now there is a chance that once again I may clasp my brother in my arms. Your plan is difficult, it is dangerous, and yet we may succeed. It is a desperate undertaking, but what is that? I would give my life for my brother, and your sailors would all risk theirs for their comrades.”

“Let us sit down here quietly for a few minutes, Zaimes, and take a good look at these walls. It is evident by the look of this road that it is very little used, and even if anyone did come up they would only think that we had been working in the orange groves behind us and were taking a quiet smoke. It is lucky that there is a moon to-night; it would be an awfully difficult job to get over those walls and into a place we know nothing of if it were a dark night. There will be no difficulty in throwing up a grapnel and getting on to the first wall. The greatest difficulty will be in crossing from that one to the one behind it. Of course with a regular gangway it would be easy enough, but we should not be able to get materials for making one. However, with a couple of stout spars put up a foot apart with ropes between them a foot from each other so as to make ratlings, we could get up, though it wouldn’t be a very easy job passing women down. Still, I hope it won’t come to that. I should think if we capture the pasha and his children, if he has any—and I suppose with half-a-dozen wives he will be sure to have some—we might leave the women alone, though, of course, we should threaten to take them. But I’ll tell you what we shall want, and that is a man who can speak Turkish well, so as to explain exactly to the pasha the fix he is in.”

“Yes, we shall want such a man,” Zaimes agreed.

“Very well, Zaimes, then I think you had better go back to our friend at once. Even if he did mean treachery, he would have taken no steps yet, as he won’t expect us back till the evening if we come at all. Tell him that you want a service of him in which he will run no personal danger—for you know we can dress him up in some of our things, and put a bit of black cloth as a mask half over his face—and that he will be paid twenty pieces of gold for a night’s work. That will be a fortune to him.”

“That will be the best plan,” Zaimes said. “Where shall we meet you?”

“I will go down the hill to the bottom to see what sort of a road there is along the sea, and I will wait there for you. If the road is exposed to the view of the sentries on the batteries at the sea wall we must make our way through the orchards to this point; if not, we will move along there.”

“Do you think that Captain Martyn is sure to be here this evening?”

“He is quite certain to be. He knows that every hour is of importance, and he will get hold of some craft or other early this morning even if he has to go into a fishing port to get it.”

Zaimes retraced his steps up the hill, while Horace sauntered down until he came out on to the road leading to the port along the shore. A good many small houses were scattered along by its side, and some fishing-boats drawn up on the beach. At the angle of the wall there was a battery. Three guns pointed along the road and the Turkish sentry was leaning against the parapet by the side of them.

“We shall have to make our way through the orchards,” he said to himself. “There will be no getting along this road with the moon up. The sentry would notice us a quarter of a mile away. Besides, the tramp of so many feet would be certain to bring people to their doors. And we must come early if we can, so as to catch the pasha before he goes to bed.”

In half an hour Zaimes and the cobbler came up.

“It is agreed,” the former said in English; “twenty pounds will make him what he considers rich, and he declares he is ready to run any risk for a single night’s work in order to gain it. I think he is an honest fellow. I watched him closely when I went in, and if he had any thought whatever of betraying us, I think I should have seen it in his face.”

It was now four o’clock in the afternoon, and they soon made out a small brigantine anchored a quarter of a mile out, and about a mile and a half along the shore.

“I expect that is her,” Horace said. “She has only just come in, for there are some men upon the yards stowing away the sails, and that is just the position we agreed she should take up.”

When they had gone a mile farther they could see that she had small red and white flags at her mast-head. When they got opposite to her they went down to the water’s edge. Horace waved a white handkerchief for a moment and then sat down. A minute later the boat towing behind the brigantine was hauled up. Two men got into her and rowed leisurely to the shore. They were dressed as Turkish sailors, but Horace recognized them as they came close as two of the crew. They stepped in at once, and the boat rowed out again.

“Have you any news of Mr. Miller and the others, Mr. Horace,” one of them said, “if I might make so bold as to ask?”

“Certainly you may. They are in prison, and there is no possibility of getting them out with the strength we have got; it would need three or four hundred men at least. But we have another plan, which we hope will be successful.”

“You will find the captain down in the cabin with your father, Mr. Horace. Everyone is keeping below except three or four of our chaps, who are got up, like us, in the clothes of the crew of the craft.”

“Come along, Zaimes,” Horace said as he stepped on board. “You had better come with me. This man is going to help us, Davidson, so make him as comfortable as you can till Zaimes comes out again.”

Horace found his father, Martyn, and the doctor in the little cabin. He was heartily welcomed back, and eagerly questioned as to his news. He first told them of the impossibility of doing anything to effect the rescue of the prisoners, guarded as they were; and then explained the position of the pasha’s house and garden, and his own plan.

“Well, it is a bold scheme, Horace, but I should think it might succeed,” Martyn said when he concluded. “We ought certainly to be able to get hold of the pasha before an alarm is given, and if we do we might manage to make terms with him without the women knowing anything about it. That would be a great point, if it could be managed, for if they begin screaming they will bring the whole town upon us. You say there is one door from that part of the house into the court-yard on the other side, and of course there is a communication from the public rooms into the house. The first thing to do when we get in will be to post a couple of men at each of these doors to prevent anyone from running out and giving them the alarm. After that we can tackle the pasha quietly. As you say, though we may threaten, there would be no getting women up over those walls; they would have to be slung up like bales, and if the alarm were given we should have the town upon us before we had half finished the job. We could bundle the pasha off, tied up if he would not walk, and take a dozen children if there are as many, for the sailors could carry them if they were small; if not, they could be gagged and made to walk with a pistol at their heads; but with women, and especially Turkish women, it would be an awful business. Many of them are fat, and some of them I suppose would faint. If we can get the pasha himself and some of his children that will be enough; but as you say, I expect he will give in when he finds himself in our hands, and we tell him that we are going to carry him and his whole family off. Your idea of a bribe in addition is a very good one. Of course, as you say, if we were sure the men at Smyrna would send an order for them to be sent to him, we should be all right, for we could attack their guard at some lonely spot along the road; but the betting is ten to one that he orders them to be hung at once, and if the pasha here writes in return describing how he has been obliged to give them up, and sending a handsome present, he will hear nothing more about it. What time do you think we had better start, Horace?”

“About nine o’clock, I should say. It will take us a good hour getting from here and scaling the walls. It is not likely the pasha will be turning in before eleven, but it is as well to give a good margin.”

“I should recommend you not to go, Mr. Beveridge,” Martyn said. “You are not accustomed to climb rope-ladders. It is a job that is only fit for sailors.”

“I do not think I should be of much use,” Mr. Beveridge replied. “If I did, I would go gladly; but after the hindrance I was to you all at Cyprus, I will take your advice and stay here.”

“I will leave a couple of men with you.”

“No, Captain Martyn, you may want every man. Zaimes will remain with me. If you were going to attack the prison no doubt he would wish to be there and help to rescue his brother; but as it is, someone must stay here as we have eight prisoners down in the hold, and as he is no more accustomed to climbing ropes than I am, it is better that he should remain here.”

“Very well, sir, then I will see about getting the things we shall want made.”

The crew were at once set to work to prepare the ladders.

“We had better not make regular rope-ladders,” Martyn said. “They are well enough for us; but if we have to get people over the wall, we had better put in wooden rungs.”

Accordingly some spare oars were sawn up into lengths, and with these and four ropes, two ladders each forty feet long were manufactured. Then two spars twenty-five feet long were chosen. Cross-pieces were nailed to these a foot apart, and a long piece of canvas was nailed under this gangway, so that, as Martyn said, if any of the captives made a false step in going across it, they would not fall through. A single block was fastened to a grapnel, and a long rope attached for getting up the ladder to the top of the first wall. All this was but an hour’s work for twenty men. The doctor had been asked whether he would prefer staying on board or going with the party. He decided upon staying.

“If you were going to fight I would certainly go with you, Martyn; but I am no more accustomed to climbing up ropes than Mr. Beveridge is, and I should only be in your way, so I will stay with him and Zaimes and keep watch on board.”

“I think that is the best plan, doctor. It is sailors’ work. We shall have trouble as it is in hoisting that fellow Horace brought on board over the walls.”

The cobbler had turned pale with fright when Zaimes explained to him that they were going to take the pasha a prisoner, and that he would be wanted to interpret to him, and he protested that nothing could tempt him to undertake such a business.

“Nonsense, man!” Zaimes said. “You will run no more risks than the others. Look at them laughing and joking. They don’t look like men who are about to embark on a perilous expedition. However, I promised you twenty pounds, but if you do your work well and speak out boldly and firmly what you are told, you shall have another five.”

“It is a big sum for a poor man,” the cobbler replied. “I will do it, but I won’t answer for speaking out loud and bold; my teeth chatter at the very thought of it. If he should ever recognize me again, he would chop me up into mince meat.”

“How can he recognize you? You can either fasten a piece of black cloth over your face, or what will do just as well, get a cork and burn it, and rub it over your face till you are as black as coal. Your own brother wouldn’t know you then, and the pasha will have enough to think about without staring at you.”

“I like that better than the cloth,” the man said. “If there is a scuffle the black cloth may come off.”

“We will rig you up in the clothes of one of the sailors here. You can put them on over your own if you like, and then you will have nothing to do but to throw them away, wash your face, and walk boldly into the town in the morning.”

The brigantine had two boats. These were, as soon as it became dark, lowered, and a quarter before nine the landing party mustered. The men had already torn up some blankets and old sail-cloth, and wrapped them round their cutlasses and muskets so as to deaden the sound should these strike against the wall. The guns were not loaded, but each man carried thirty rounds of ammunition and a brace of pistols, which were to be loaded as soon as they got down into the garden, Martyn, however, giving the strictest orders that whatever happened not a shot was to be fired without his permission.

“I do not think it is likely that we shall meet with any resistance, lads,” he said before they stepped down into the boats. “If there is, knock them down with your fists; or if there is anything serious, use your cutlasses. Mr. Horace will place the four men told off for the doors, at their posts. These will follow him through the house regardless of anything that is going on around. Everything depends upon our preventing anyone from leaving the house and giving the alarm. I shall myself post men at all the lower windows before we enter. Their duty will be to prevent anyone from coming out into the garden. If there is yelling or shrieking in the garden it will alarm the town. As long as they only shriek in the house there is no fear of its being heard. Now you each know what you have got to do. As to scaling the wall, this must be done as quietly as if you were making sail on board a smart frigate.”

CHAPTER XIII
THE PASHA OF ADALIA

PACKED closely in the two boats of the Turkish craft the landing party rowed for the shore. As soon as they reached it the boats were drawn up on the strand, and in silence Martyn led his men across the road. Then he struck off into the orchard on the other side, so as to escape the notice of any of the people in the houses by the road. The cobbler and Horace went first, Martyn and the men followed a short distance behind. Half an hour’s walking took them to the edge of the ditch, and after a short search they found a bough that Horace and Zaimes had cut off and thrown down by the side of the path, to mark the spot where they were to make the ascent.

Two sailors were posted on the path, at fifty yards above and below them, in case anyone should come along, although the risk of this was exceedingly small. There was no difficulty in scrambling down into the ditch. As soon as they did so the sailor who carried the grapnel advanced to the foot of the wall, and at the second attempt succeeded in getting it to hold on the parapet. Another, with one of the rope-ladders, went forward, fastened the rope to it, and the two of them hauled the ladder up to the block, and kept the rope taut while Martyn mounted. He found, as he had expected, that there was a platform behind the wall for men to stand on while firing. Taking his place on it he took hold of the ladder rope and told the men below to loosen their end. Holding it partly up he fastened it at the block. Then two men joined him, hauled the wooden gangway up, and planted it against the top of the inner wall. The rest of the men followed, and Martyn led the way across. The others soon stood beside him, all stooping down on the platform as soon as they had crossed, so that their heads should not show above the skyline, should anyone happen to be looking out from the windows of the house.

Two sailors helped the cobbler across the gangway. Horace was the last to mount, with the exception of the two sentries, whom he summoned with a low whistle as soon as the others were up. When they reached the top they hauled the rope-ladder after them, and laid it ready for lowering again. By the time Horace crossed to the inner wall Martyn and most of the men had already descended to the garden by the second rope-ladder.

“That has all been managed well,” Martyn said when Horace joined him below. “Now, you and I will go forward and reconnoitre a bit.”

The house was seventy or eighty yards away. There were lights in several windows on the ground-floor, and at almost all the windows on the flat above it.

“We had better take off our shoes, Horace. It is no use running any risks. Shove them in your sash beside your pistols.”

They stole noiselessly up to the house and looked in at the windows. In one room were a group of servants sitting round a brazier, smoking; another room was empty; but in the third, which was much the largest, four Turkish officials were seated on a divan, and a Nubian slave was handing them coffee.

“That old chap is the pasha, no doubt,” Martyn whispered. “He is evidently master of the house. You see he is giving some order or other to the slave. Here is the garden door into a hall; let us see if it is open. Yes; that is all right. Well, I think now we will bring up the men. Now, as soon as we are in, Horace, you take four men; go in first and post them at the doors leading out of the house. I will take six men and seize the pasha and his friends. Other four will pounce upon the servants. Your cobbler fellow had better go with them to tell the servants that if they make the least row they will have their throats cut. The other men will scatter about in the passages and down stairs, and pounce upon anybody who may come along. As soon as you have posted your men, go to the room where the servants are, and bring the interpreter in to me. Tell the sailors to bind the fellows and lay them down, and put a couple of guards over them.”

They returned to the men and told them off to their several duties. All were ordered to take their shoes off, and put them in their belts.

“Now, you can draw your cutlasses, lads,” Martyn said. “Have you all loaded your pistols?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, mind they are not to be used; a pistol-shot might destroy all our plans. I hope to manage it so that there shall not be any noise whatever.”

They made their way quietly up to the house. Horace opened the door and led the way in, followed by his four men. They passed through the hall and a long passage, from which several rooms opened; and he was sure, by the direction in which he was going, that this must lead to the offices. At the end was a strong door; only one bolt was shot, as doubtless the officers would be leaving by this way. He put up a heavy bar that was standing beside it, stationed two of the sailors there, and then retraced his steps with the others. Just as he reached the hall again a sailor came up to him.

“This is the way to the big door, your honour;” and turning down another passage they arrived at a double door, which Horace had no doubt was the one that he had seen in the court-yard. Posting the men there he hurried back, and soon found the room where the servants had been sitting. The work had already been done. The sailors had all been provided with short lengths of rope, and the Turks were lying bound upon the floor. Telling the cobbler to accompany him, he went into the next room. Two sailors, with drawn cutlasses, were standing by the side of the pasha. The three officers had been bound, and were lying on the divan, with a sailor standing over each, while the other sailor stood over the attendant, who cowered on the ground in an attitude of abject terror. Martyn was standing facing the pasha.

“Now, Horace,” he said, “tell your man what to say to the pasha.”

This had been arranged between them, and Horace at once addressed the pasha.

“Do you speak Greek?”

The pasha shook his head.

“Tell him,” Horace said in that language to the interpreter, “that we belong to the ship to which the officers and sailors he has in his prison also belong, and that we have come here to fetch them away. We are fighting under the flag of Greece; but we are Englishmen by blood, and we shall do no harm to him or his family. The prisoners, however, we will have; and unless he sends at once, with an order for their delivery from the prison, and hands them over to us, we shall be obliged to carry him, the three officers here, and the ladies of his family and his children, off on board our ship as hostages; and if a hair of the prisoners’ heads is touched, we shall be forced to hang him and the whole of his family to the yard-arms of the ship.”