“Just as you like, Horace. A boat-load of green stuff of some sort or other would be very welcome, and if you can pick up half a dozen kids so much the better.”
“I am thinking I will go with you, Horace,” Macfarlane said; “it does a man good to stretch his legs ashore once in a way.”
The gig was at once lowered, and on Horace and the doctor taking their seats in the stern, four sailors rowed them ashore.
“I sha’n’t take the trouble to anchor,” Martyn said as they left the ship. “I expect you will be back in an hour, and I shall keep her standing4 off and on till I see you put out.”
Leaving two of the men in charge of the boat, Horace told the other two to take some of the baskets they had brought ashore and follow him. Some women looked out timidly at the doors of the houses, but no men were to be seen about.
“We are friends,” Horace said; “do you not see we are flying the Greek flag? Where are all the men?”
“They have gone away with Vriones. He came with an armed band and said that every man must go with him to fight.”
“Who have they gone to fight?”
“Ah! that we don’t know. He talked about fighting the Turks, but we think it more likely that he is going to fight Rhangos. They are at war with each other. Oh, these are bad times! What with the war with the Turks, and the war of one captain with another, and what with bands of klephts who plunder5 everyone, there is no peace nor quiet. They say Rhangos is going to join the Turks, as many other klepht leaders have done. To us it makes little difference who are masters, so that we know who they are. In the time of the Turks we had peace; we had to pay taxes, but we knew what they were. Now everybody wants taxes. These are evil days.”
“We want some vegetables and some fruit,” Horace said. “We do not wish to rob you, and are ready to pay a fair price for everything.”
“Those we can sell you,” the woman said, “it is nearly all we have left. There are vegetables everywhere, and they are not worth stealing.”
The news soon spread, and the women and children of the village were soon engaged in gathering6 and tying up vegetables. The sailors made several trips backwards7 and forwards to the boats with laden8 baskets, while the doctor and Horace, seated upon a low wall, watched the women at work in the gardens, and paid the sum agreed upon for each basketful that was carried off. Suddenly, without the slightest warning, there was a rush of men behind them, and before they could draw their pistols they were seized, thrown down, and bound.
“What is the meaning of this?” Horace asked indignantly. “We are officers of that ship there, which is in the service of Greece. As you are Greeks, what do you mean by molesting9 us?”
No reply was given. There was a sudden outburst of firing down by the boat, and the screams of women rose in the air. The men who had bound them moved away at the order of an officer, leaving two with muskets10 standing over the prisoners.
“This is a nice business, doctor; I expect we have fallen into the hands of Rhangos, the fellow the women were speaking about, and the men of this village have gone out with some other scoundrel to fight. I suppose he had spies about, and came down to plunder the place in their absence. She said she heard Rhangos was going to join the Turks; his capturing us certainly looks as if at present he was hostile to the Greeks. If he takes us away and hands us over to the Turks it is a bad look-out.”
“He will have to be quick about it,” the doctor said, “they are still firing occasional shots down by the water. That looks as if the boat has got away, and you may be sure Martyn won’t be long before he sends as many men as he can spare ashore to find us. There, do you hear?” and as he spoke11 there was the deep boom of a gun, followed by the rush of a shot overhead.
Orders were shouted angrily directly afterwards. Some men ran up, cut the cords that bound the prisoners’ legs, and then, seizing them by the arms, hurried them away, threatening them with instant death if they did not keep up with them. As they mounted the high ground behind the village Horace glanced round. Three boats were just leaving the schooner12. A blow from one of the Greeks that, bound as he was, nearly threw him down, compelled him to turn his head and hurry forward again. For hours they hastened along. When about a mile from the village a sharp fire was heard to break out in that direction. As they had only eight men with them, they doubted not that Rhangos was with the main body opposing the landing.
“Our fellows will soon clear them out of the village,” Horace said to the doctor. “I only hope that, as they retire, the Greeks will follow us, for you may be sure that Martyn and Miller13 will press hard on them, and may perhaps overtake us.”
Up to nightfall, however, none of the band came up. The country had been getting more and more hilly, and at sunset they halted far up on the side of a mountain. Here a fire was lit, and some portions of a kid that had evidently been part of the plunder of the village were put over it to roast. The fire was kept blazing, and the doctor and Horace agreed that it was probably intended as a signal to their comrades. A lump of meat was thrown to each of the captives, their cords being loosed sufficiently14 to enable them to use their hands, their legs being tightly bound again as soon as they had halted. At eight o’clock a sound of voices was heard, and presently a party of Greeks, fully15 a hundred strong, came up. They were evidently in an ill temper, and replied sulkily to the questions of the guard of the prisoners. Horace gathered from their answers that they had fired a volley upon the boats as they approached; then, seeing they came on without a pause, had at once run from the village and scattered16, reuniting some miles on.
“We lost everything we had taken,” one of the men said. “We had it all packed and ready to carry away, when those confounded sailors came. Some of us did start with our bundles, but they came so fast up to us that we had to throw everything away, and even then we had a lot of difficulty in keeping away from them. I expect they caught some. It was lucky we started off when we did; if we had waited till they landed very few would have got away.”
“Didn’t they shoot?” one of the guards asked.
“No, they never fired a shot. I don’t know whether they came ashore without powder, but from first to last they never fired.”
“They knew we had these two in our hands,” the guards said, “and they were afraid if they killed any of us we should take it out of our prisoners, and I think they were about right. Ah! here comes Rhangos. He had to take to a farmhouse17 before he had gone half a mile, and I suppose if any of them looked in they would have seen him feeding pigs or something of that sort, with his finery and arms hidden away.”
The klepht had now come up to the fire. He was a spare man, some fifty years old, with a keen hungry face.
“We are six short of our number,” a man, who by his dress had evidently the rank of an officer among them, replied.
“Killed?”
“No, there was no firing; I expect those sailors ran them down.”
“Then we must march in half-an-hour, they will make them lead them here. Now, then, who are you?” he asked the doctor as the elder of the prisoners.
“My friend does not speak Greek,” Horace replied. “As you must be well aware we are officers of that schooner that was lying off the village. This is the doctor, I am third lieutenant19. We are friends of Greece, we have been in action against the Turkish ships of war, we have saved great numbers of Greek fugitives20 from the Turks, now this is the treatment that we receive at the hands of the Greeks.”
Horace’s reticence21 as to the fact that he was the son of the owner of the schooner was the result of a conversation with the doctor.
“These scoundrels have no doubt carried us off either for the purpose of getting a ransom22 for us or of handing us over to the Turks as an acceptable present. I expect the idea of ransom is at the bottom of it. We have heard of this fellow Rhangos before. He is a noted23 klepht, and more Albanian than Greek. Whatever you do, Horace, don’t you let out you are the owner’s son. If you do there is no saying how much ransom they might ask for you. They think that an Englishman who fits out a ship at his own expense to come out here must be rolling in money. As long as they think that they have only got hold of a doctor and a third lieutenant they cannot ask a high price for them, but for an owner’s son there is no saying what figure they might put him at. Have you got a second name?”
“Yes, I am Horace Hendon Beveridge. Hendon was my mother’s name.”
“That is lucky; you can give them Horace Hendon. It is likely they may know your father’s name, for the Misericordia and her doings have been a good deal talked about. I am not in favour of anyone telling a lie, Horace, but as it is no lie to give your two first names without giving your third, I cannot see that there is harm in it.”
“The ship belongs to the Lord Beveridge?” Rhangos asked next.
“Yes, that is his name,” Horace replied.
“What is your name and that of your companion?”
“Have you paper?” the klepht said.
“I have a note-book in my pocket.”
“That will do. Now write in Greek: My Lord Beveridge, This is to give you notice that—now write the two names—‘Donald Macfarlane and Horace Hendon,’” Horace repeated as he wrote them, “surgeon and third lieutenant of your ship, are captives in my hands, and that unless three hundred pounds in gold are paid to me as ransom for them they will be put to death. If there is any attempt to rescue the prisoners they will at once be shot. The messenger will arrange with you how and where the ransom is to be paid.”
The klepht added his own name in scrawling25 characters at the bottom of the note, then called one of the men and gave him instructions as to where and how the ransom was to be paid, and then sent him off. As soon as the band had satisfied their hunger the march among the mountains was continued for another two hours. Then they threw themselves down by the side of a stream in a valley surrounded on all sides with craggy hills, and two men with muskets were placed as sentries26 over the prisoners.
“Well, this is not so bad,” Horace said. “It is certainly very lucky you gave me that hint about my name. Three hundred is not very much to pay to get out of such a scrape as this. I suppose there is no fear about their giving us up when they get the money.”
“I think not,” the doctor replied. “They would never get ransoms27 if they did not keep their word. I only hope that no one may let out before the messenger who you are. If they do, there will be a very serious rise in prices.”
“Fortunately none of them speak Greek but my father, and probably he would read the note before he would ask any questions.”
“Maybe yes, and maybe no,” the doctor said. “He is as like as not to say when he sees a messenger, ’Is my son alive and well?’ and then the cat would be out of the bag. Still, your father is a prudent28 man, and may keep a still tongue in his head, especially when he sees that the note is in your own handwriting. However, we will hope for the best.”
Morning had dawned some time before there was any movement among the band. Then their fires were lighted and breakfast cooked.
“Will the English lord pay the ransom for you, do you think?” Rhangos asked, sauntering up to Horace.
“It is a large sum to pay for two officers,” he said.
“He is rich, it is nothing to him.”
“He is well off, no doubt,” Horace said; “but it is not everyone who is well off who is disposed to part with money for other people.”
“Well, it will be bad for you if he doesn’t pay,” the klepht said significantly.
Three hours later the messenger was seen coming up the valley. Horace looked at him anxiously as he approached, and was pleased to see that, as he spoke to Rhangos, there was no expression of surprise or exultation30 in the latter’s face. He nodded when the other had finished, and then went to the fire where two or three of his lieutenants31 were sitting, saying briefly to Horace as he passed him, “He will pay.” Horace could hear what he said to the others.
“Demetri says the Englishman did not like paying the money. There was a good deal of talk between him and his officers before he came back to him and said, that though the demand was extortionate he would pay it. He said he should complain to the central government, and should expect them to refund32 it and settle with you.” There was a general laugh among his hearers.
“I ought to have asked more,” the klepht went on; “but I don’t know these English. Of course if any of you were taken, my dear friends, I would give all I have to ransom you.” The assertion was received with mocking laughter, as he went on calmly: “But you see other people are not animated33 by the same generous feeling as we Greeks, and I don’t suppose this milord sets any particular value on the lad, or on that long-shanked doctor. He can hire more of them, and I expect he only agreed to pay the money because his other officers insisted on it. They are rolling in wealth these English, but they are mean; if not, how is it that our pockets are not filled with English gold when we are fighting for a sacred cause?”
“When are they to be delivered up, Rhangos?”
“At mid-day to-morrow at Pales, the village halfway35 between the foot of the hills and the sea. Four men are to take them down to within a quarter of a mile of the village; then Demetri will go in and get the gold; then when he returns with it to the others the prisoners will be freed.”
“I should have thought the matter might have been arranged to-day,” one of the men said.
“So it might have been,” the klepht replied; “but I could not tell that. I thought that Demetri would not be able to go off to the ship this morning. He had six hours’ walking, and would not be there until two hours past midnight; then he would have to rest for an hour or two after he had seen them, and then six hours to walk back. It would have been too late to deliver them up before dark, and I should never think of sending them in the dark—their guards might fall into an ambush36. As it was, Demetri found them in the village. They had not returned, as I thought they would do, on board their ship. He walked in, thinking the place was empty, when two of those sailors jumped out on him with cutlasses. Thinking that they were going to cut his throat he showed them the letter. They led him to the principal house in the village, and one went in while another held him fast outside. He heard a great talking and excitement in the house, and presently he was taken in. Then, as I told you, there was a great talk, and at last they agreed to pay the ransom. As soon as he got his answer he started on his way back, lay down for an hour or two in an empty cottage, and then came on here. We will stay where we are until to-morrow morning; then, Kornalis, you shall start with four men, and Demetri and the captives, and we will go on our way. We will deal another blow to Vriones, and then we will be off. We will fix on some place where you can join us after you have got the ransom.”
“It could not have happened better for us,” Horace said to his companion after he had translated the klepht’s story. “As it turned out, you see, my father got the note before he could say a word to the messenger. That was a capital move their pretending to hesitate about paying the ransom. If they had jumped at it this scoundrel is perfectly37 capable of raising his terms. As it is, he thinks he was clever enough to hit upon just the maximum sum that could be got for us. Well, it is all right now.”
“It will be all right when we are among the others, Horace; there is never any saying what may happen in this country. Some of the peasants these fellows have been robbing may fall on us, seeing we are but a small party. This Vriones with his bandits, who I daresay are just as bad as these fellows, may happen to meet us. No, we won’t calculate too confidently. Things have gone on very well so far. We will just hope they will go on to the end.”
Now that the affair was considered to be settled, but little attention was paid to the prisoners. Their cords were taken off, and they were permitted to move about, two men keeping an eye upon them, but not following them closely. They congratulated themselves that the sailors had withheld38 their fire, for undoubtedly39 their position would have been very different had some of the brigands40 been killed. So far from bearing any animosity now, the men chatted with them in a friendly manner, asked questions about their ship, and their encounters with the Turks.
“We would rather fight for the Greeks than the Turks,” one said: “but we follow our captains. There is neither pay nor plunder to be obtained with the Greeks; and as Odysseus and all the other chiefs play their own game, and think only of making money, why should poor devils like us be particular? All Albanian tribes have had their wars against each other as long as we or our fathers can remember. We know nothing about the Greece that they talk so much of now. There were the Morea and other provinces, and so there have always been so far as we know, and it is nothing to us whether they are ruled by Turks or by their own captains. As to religion, many of our tribes are Mussulmans, many are Christians41. We do not see that it makes any difference.
“Everyone plunders42 when he gets a chance. Why should I want to cut a man’s throat because he is a Mussulman? His father was a Christian before him; my son may be a Mussulman after me. What does it matter? Since the fight at Petta many chiefs have gone over to the Turks, and if the Greeks win a battle most of them will go back again. The affair is nothing to us. On the mountains we hunt where we are most likely to get game. You like to hunt for amusement, and so you have come out here on a matter which does not at all concern you. We hunt to live, and don’t much care whether we take a sheep out of one flock or another.”
“I was a schoolmaster,” one of the lieutenants of the band, who was stretched at full length smoking and listening to the conversation, remarked. “I know about the old time, but I don’t know anything of this Greece you speak of. Where was it? What did it do? It was just then as it is now. There were a number of little tribes under their own captains. Athens, and Corinth, and Sparta, and Argos, and Thebes, and the rest of them always fighting against each other just as our Albanian clans45 do; not even ready to put aside their own quarrels to fight against an invader46. Pooh! There never was a Greece, and I neither know nor care whether there ever will be. Why should we throw away our lives for a dream?”
“Yes; but at any rate the Greeks have a common language, which shows they are one people.”
“Families fall out more than strangers,” the man replied with a laugh. “You English and the Americans have a common language, and yet you have been fighting against each other, and they refuse to remain one nation with you. These things signify no more than the smoke of my pipe. A Christian’s money, and a Christian’s goods and cattle, are worth just as much to me as a Turk’s; and my captain, who pays me, is more to me than either Mavrocordatos or the Sultan. I daresay that English milord is a worthy47 man, though he must be a fool, and yet the wine I shall buy out of my share of his money will be just as good as if it had grown in my father’s vineyard.”
Horace laughed. He was not skilled in argument, even had he any inclination48 to indulge in it at the present time; and he sauntered off and sat down by the doctor, who, not being able to talk with the Greeks, found the time hang heavy on hand. Horace repeated to him his conversation with the two brigands.
“I own I did not know how to answer the last fellow, doctor.”
“There is no answer to be made, Horace. To argue, men must have a common ground to start from. There is no common ground between you and him. His argument is the argument of the materialist49 everywhere, whether he is Briton, Frenchman, or Greek. To a man who has neither religion nor principles there remains50 only self-interest, and from that point of view there is no gainsaying51 the arguments of that Albanian scamp any more than it would have been of use for a lowland merchant carried off by Highland52 caterans to urge upon them that their conduct was contrary to the laws both of morality and political economy. They would have said that they knew nothing about either, and cared less, and that unless his goodwife or fellow citizens put their hands in their pockets and sent the ransom they demanded, his head would be despatched to them in a hamper53 with small delay. He certainly had you on the hip3 with what he said about ancient Greece, for a more quarrelsome, cantankerous54, waspish set of little communities the world never saw, unless it were the cities of Italy in the middle ages, which at any rate were of a respectable size, which was, by the way, the only respectable thing about them. Religion and principle and patriotism55 are the three things that keep men and nations straight, and neither the Greek nor Italian communities had the least glimmering56 of an idea of either of them, except a love for their own petty states may be called patriotism.”
“A good deal like your Highland clansmen, I should say, doctor,” Horace laughed. “The head of the clan44 was a much greater man in the eyes of his followers57 than the King of Scotland.”
“That is so, Horace; and the consequence was, that while there was peace and order and prosperity in the lowlands, the Highlands scarcely made a step forward until the clans were pretty well broken up after Culloden. It was a sore business at the time, but no one can doubt that it did good in the long run. And now, lad, I think that I will just take a sleep. It was not many hours we got of it last night, and you see most of these fellows have set us an example.”
The next morning they started at daybreak. The main body of the band had moved off hours before, leaving the Lieutenant Kornalis, Demetri, and four of the men. Three hours’ walking took them out of the mountains. There was little talking. The Greeks would have preferred going with their leader to plunder another village, for although the booty taken was supposed to be all handed over to the chief for fair distribution, there were few who did not conceal58 some trinket or money as their own special share of the plunder. They were but a mile or two beyond the hills, when, from a wood skirting the road, four or five shots rang out.
Two of the Greeks fell; the rest, throwing away their guns, fled at the top of their speed. Before the prisoners had time to recover from their surprise a number of men rushed out, and with the butts59 of their muskets and pistols struck them to the ground. When they recovered their senses a group of men were standing round them, while at some little distance they could hear the sound of firing, showing that the pursuit of their late captors was being closely maintained. By this time they had become sufficiently accustomed to the various costumes to know that they had now fallen into the hands of men of one of the Albanian tribes, probably Mussulmans acting60 as irregulars with the Turkish army, engaged upon a raiding expedition. One of them asked Horace a question, but the dialect was so different to that of the Greeks of Athens and the Morea that he was unable to understand it. Presently the men who had gone in pursuit returned, and the whole party set off to the north, placing their prisoners in their midst, and warning them by pointing significantly to their knives and pistols that they had better keep up with them.
“Eh! man,” the doctor said; “but it is dreadful. Just as we thought that everything was settled, and that in another couple of hours we should be with our own people, here we are in the hands of a pack of villains61 even worse than the others.”
“You said that we should not shout until we were out of the wood, doctor, and you have turned out a true prophet; but at present I am thinking more of my head than of anything else, I am sure I have got a couple of lumps on it as big as eggs.”
“It shows the folly62 of man,” the doctor said philosophically63. “What good could they expect to get from knocking us down? We were neither fighting nor running away. We had not our wits about us, lad, or we should have just taken to our heels.”
“I expect they would have caught us if we had. We have neither of us had much walking lately, and those fellows are always climbing among their mountains. Do you think it is of any use trying to make them understand that if they will take us a few miles farther they will find three hundred pounds waiting for them?”
“You might try, Horace; but I don’t think that it will be of any use. I expect they are just skirting along at the foot of the hills to see what they can pick up. There are not above thirty of them, and they would not like to go far out upon the plains; besides, I don’t know that it would turn out well. If they were to go on in a body, Martyn would as likely as not fire at them, and then they would think that we had led them into an ambush, and shoot us without waiting to ask any question. Still, you can try if you like; we might be sorry afterwards if we didn’t.”
But when Horace tried to speak to the men he was threatened roughly, and he lapsed64 into silence. For three hours they ascended65 a great range of hills running east and west. When they gained the crest66 they could see stretched away far in front of them a flat and fertile country.
“The plains of Thessaly,” the doctor said; “the fairest and richest portion of the Greece of old. There is little chance of its forming part of the Greece of the future, at least not until a complete overthrow67 of the Turkish Empire. If Greece attains68 her independence the frontier line will be somewhere along the crest of these hills, for Thessaly, although there was some slight trouble there at first, has not joined the movement. There are no mountains and fortresses69 where they can take refuge, and a troop of Turkish cavalry70 could scour71 the whole country. There is where we are bound for, I expect;” and he pointed72 to a large clump73 of white tents far out on the plain. “I expect that is the camp of the Pasha of the province. I suppose he is going to operate on this side when the main force advances to the west.”
It took them another four hours’ walking before they approached the camp. When within a short distance of it their captors turned off and entered a village where numbers of their countrymen were sitting in the shade smoking or dozing74. The band went on until they reached the principal house in the village, and four of them entering took their prisoners into a room where a tall old chief was sitting on a divan75. They talked for some minutes, evidently explaining the circumstances of their capture. When they had done, the chief asked the prisoners in Greek who they were.
“We are Englishmen,” Horace replied; “we belong to a ship lying off a village whose name I don’t know. We had landed to buy fruit and vegetables, and then we were suddenly seized and carried away to the mountains by some Greek brigands led by a fellow named Rhangos. We had arranged for a ransom and were on our way under a guard to the village where the money was to be paid when your band put the Greeks to flight and made us prisoners.”
“How much ransom was to be paid?” the Albanian asked.
“Three hundred pounds, and if you will send us there now our friends will be glad to pay it to your people. I tried to explain that to them on the way, but they would not listen to me.”
“They are fools,” the chief said decidedly; “and besides, they don’t speak Greek. It is too late now. I must take you to the Pasha, who will deal with you as he chooses.” Then rising, and followed by a group of his officers and the prisoners in charge of four men, he walked across to the Turkish camp.
“They are a picturesque-looking set of cut-throats,” Macfarlane said.
“That they are. People at home would stare to see them with their white kilted petticoats and gaudy76 sashes, with their pistols inlaid with silver, and their embroidered77 jackets and white shirt sleeves. Well, what are we to say if we are asked about the ship?”
“We must tell the truth, lad; I doubt not they have had news before now that the schooner is cruising about on the coast; and even if we were disposed to tell a lie, which we are not, they would guess where we had come from. No English merchantman would be likely to be anchored off the coast here to buy vegetables; and, indeed, there are very few British vessels78 of any sort in these waters now. You need not just tell them that the schooner is the craft that has been playing the mischief79 over on the other coast and robbed them of their Chiot slaves; nor is it precisely80 necessary to enter into that affair near Cyprus. We need simply say, if we are asked, that we are Englishmen in the naval81 service of Greece; I don’t expect they will ask many questions after that, or that we shall have any occasion to do much more talking.”
“You think they will hang us, doctor.”
“It may be hanging, Horace, or it may be shooting, and for my part I am not very particular which it is. Shooting is the quickest, but then hanging is more what I may call my family way of dying. I should say that as many as a score of my ancestors were one way or another strung up by the Stuarts on one miserable82 pretence83 or other, such as cattle-lifting, settling a grudge84 without bothering the law-courts, and trifles of that sort.”
Horace burst into a fit of laughter, which caused the Albanian chief to look round sharply and inquiringly.
“It is all right, old chap,” Macfarlane muttered in English; “we are just laughing while we can, and there is no contempt of court intended.”
The Pasha was in a tent considerably85 larger than those that surrounded it. The Albanian went in, leaving the prisoners in charge of their guard. In five minutes he came out and signed to them to follow him in. The Pasha was an elderly man with a snow-white beard. He looked at the prisoners with some interest.
“I hear that you are Englishmen,” he said in Greek.
“That is so, sir.”
“And that you are in the Greek service.”
“We were in the Greek service, but after being carried off by Greek brigands I do not know that we shall have any inclination to remain in it.”
“If you had been taken fighting against us I should have ordered you to be shot,” the Pasha said; “but as it is I do not know. Do you belong to that schooner with white sails that has been cruising off the coast some days?”
“We do,” Horace admitted.
“I am told,” the Pasha went on, “that she is the ship that did us much harm at Chios.”
“We were attacked, and we beat off the boats,” Horace said. “That is fair warfare86. Our principal object has been to rescue people in danger or distress87, whether Christian or Turk. We rescued numbers of Chiot slaves. And on the other hand we saved numbers of Turks at the surrender of the Acropolis at Athens, and conveyed them safely to Tenedos, where we landed them; and the governor there recognized our service to his countrymen, and came off to the ship and invited us on shore to dine with him.”
“Yes, I have heard about that,” the Pasha said. “We have all heard of the white schooner. She has been a dangerous enemy to us, and has done us more harm than the whole of the Greeks together; but after your humanity at Athens I cannot feel animosity against you. It was a noble deed and worthy of brave men. Thus it is that nations should fight, but the Greeks began by massacre88, and have been false to the oaths they swore twenty times. How can you fight for men who have neither courage nor faith, and who are as cruel as they are cowardly?”
“There have been cruelties on both sides,” Horace said, “though I own that the Greeks began it; but in England we love freedom, and it is not long since we drove the French out of Egypt and preserved it for you. Our sympathies are with the Greeks, because they were oppressed. We have never killed a Turk save in fair fight, and the crews of every ship we have taken we have permitted to return to shore in their boats without injuring one of them.”
“This also I have heard,” the Pasha said, “and therefore I will do you no harm. I will send you to Constantinople, where the Sultan will decide upon your fate. He has given orders that all foreigners taken in arms against us shall at once be put to death for interfering89 in a matter in which they have no concern; but as you were not taken in arms I do not feel that the order applies to you, and will therefore take upon myself to send you to him.”
“I cannot say,” the pasha replied gravely. “The Sultan strikes hard when he wishes to give a lesson. You see, his people were massacred wholesale91 by the Greeks, and at Chios he taught them that he could retaliate92; but he is not cruel by choice. He is unswerving when his mind is made up. Whether he will make an exception in your case or not is more than I can say. I can only send you to him, and hope that he will be as merciful in your case as I would be had I the power.”
Then he ordered one of his officers to take charge of the prisoners, to see that they had a comfortable tent and were well cared for, and that none molested93 them. Four soldiers were to be always on guard at the tent, and to answer for the safety of the prisoners with their lives. In a short time they were placed in a tent among those allotted94 to the officers, and four sentries were placed round it. After sunset two soldiers brought large trays with meat, vegetables, and sweets from the pasha’s own table, and also a bottle of raki.
“The Turk is a gentleman, Horace,” the doctor said as, after having finished dinner, he mixed himself some spirits and water. “I am not saying, mind you, that I would not have mightily95 preferred a bottle of good whisky; but I am bound to say that when one has once got accustomed to it, raki has its virtues96. It is an insinuating97 spirit, cool and mild to the taste, and dangerous to one who is not accustomed to it. What do you think of it, Horace?”
“I don’t care for it, but then I don’t care for any spirits,” Horace said; “but I thoroughly98 agree with you that the pasha is a good fellow, only I wish he could have seen his way to have let us go. The Sultan is a terrible personage, and the way he has hung up hostages at Constantinople has been awful. If he has made up his mind that he will deter99 foreigners from entering the Greek service by showing no mercy to those who fall into his hands, I have no very great hope that he will make any exception in our case.”
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1
gulf
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| n.海湾；深渊，鸿沟；分歧，隔阂 | |
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2
ashore
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| adv.在(向)岸上，上岸 | |
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3
hip
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| n.臀部，髋；屋脊 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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5
plunder
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| vt.劫掠财物，掠夺；n.劫掠物，赃物；劫掠 | |
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6
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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7
backwards
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| adv.往回地，向原处，倒，相反，前后倒置地 | |
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8
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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9
molesting
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| v.骚扰( molest的现在分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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10
muskets
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| n.火枪，（尤指）滑膛枪( musket的名词复数 ) | |
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11
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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12
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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13
miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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14
sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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15
fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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16
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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17
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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lieutenant
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| n.陆军中尉，海军上尉；代理官员，副职官员 | |
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20
fugitives
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| n.亡命者，逃命者( fugitive的名词复数 ) | |
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21
reticence
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| n.沉默，含蓄 | |
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22
ransom
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| n.赎金，赎身；v.赎回，解救 | |
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23
noted
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| adj.著名的，知名的 | |
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24
Christian
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| adj.基督教徒的；n.基督教徒 | |
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25
scrawling
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的现在分词 ) | |
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26
sentries
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| 哨兵，步兵( sentry的名词复数 ) | |
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ransoms
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| 付赎金救人，赎金( ransom的名词复数 ) | |
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28
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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29
shrugged
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| vt.耸肩（shrug的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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exultation
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| n.狂喜，得意 | |
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31
lieutenants
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| n.陆军中尉( lieutenant的名词复数 )；副职官员；空军；仅低于…官阶的官员 | |
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32
refund
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| v.退还，偿还；n.归还，偿还额，退款 | |
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33
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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34
tickled
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| （使）发痒( tickle的过去式和过去分词 )； （使）愉快，逗乐 | |
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35
halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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36
ambush
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| n.埋伏(地点)；伏兵；v.埋伏；伏击 | |
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37
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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38
withheld
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| withhold过去式及过去分词 | |
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undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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40
brigands
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| n.土匪，强盗( brigand的名词复数 ) | |
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41
Christians
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| n.基督教徒( Christian的名词复数 ) | |
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42
plunders
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| 掠夺，抢劫( plunder的第三人称单数 ) | |
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43
avowal
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| n.公开宣称，坦白承认 | |
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44
clan
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| n.氏族，部落，宗族，家族，宗派 | |
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45
clans
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| 宗族( clan的名词复数 )； 氏族； 庞大的家族； 宗派 | |
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46
invader
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| n.侵略者，侵犯者，入侵者 | |
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47
worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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48
inclination
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| n.倾斜；点头；弯腰；斜坡；倾度；倾向；爱好 | |
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49
materialist
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| n. 唯物主义者 | |
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50
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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51
gainsaying
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| v.否认，反驳( gainsay的现在分词 ) | |
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52
highland
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| n.(pl.)高地，山地 | |
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53
hamper
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| vt.妨碍，束缚，限制；n.(有盖的)大篮子 | |
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54
cantankerous
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| adj.爱争吵的，脾气不好的 | |
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55
patriotism
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| n.爱国精神，爱国心，爱国主义 | |
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56
glimmering
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| n.微光，隐约的一瞥adj.薄弱地发光的v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的现在分词 ) | |
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57
followers
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| 追随者( follower的名词复数 )； 用户； 契据的附面； 从动件 | |
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58
conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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59
butts
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| 笑柄( butt的名词复数 )； （武器或工具的）粗大的一端； 屁股； 烟蒂 | |
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60
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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61
villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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62
folly
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| n.愚笨，愚蠢，蠢事，蠢行，傻话 | |
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63
philosophically
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| adv.哲学上；富有哲理性地；贤明地；冷静地 | |
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64
lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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65
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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66
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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67
overthrow
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| v.推翻，打倒，颠覆；n.推翻，瓦解，颠覆 | |
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68
attains
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| （通常经过努力）实现( attain的第三人称单数 )； 达到； 获得； 达到（某年龄、水平、状况） | |
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69
fortresses
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| 堡垒，要塞( fortress的名词复数 ) | |
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70
cavalry
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| n.骑兵；轻装甲部队 | |
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71
scour
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| v.搜索；擦，洗，腹泻，冲刷 | |
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72
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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73
clump
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| n.树丛，草丛；vi.用沉重的脚步行走 | |
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74
dozing
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| v.打瞌睡,假寐 n.瞌睡 | |
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75
divan
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| n.长沙发；（波斯或其他东方诗人的）诗集 | |
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76
gaudy
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| adj.华而不实的；俗丽的 | |
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77
embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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78
vessels
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| n.血管( vessel的名词复数 )；船；容器；（具有特殊品质或接受特殊品质的）人 | |
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79
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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80
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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81
naval
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| adj.海军的，军舰的，船的 | |
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82
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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83
pretence
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| n.假装，作假；借口，口实；虚伪；虚饰 | |
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84
grudge
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| n.不满，怨恨，妒嫉；vt.勉强给，不情愿做 | |
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85
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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86
warfare
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| n.战争(状态)；斗争；冲突 | |
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87
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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88
massacre
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| n.残杀，大屠杀；v.残杀，集体屠杀 | |
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89
interfering
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| adj. 妨碍的 动词interfere的现在分词 | |
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90
reprieve
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| n.暂缓执行（死刑）；v.缓期执行；给…带来缓解 | |
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91
wholesale
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| n.批发；adv.以批发方式；vt.批发，成批出售 | |
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92
retaliate
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| v.报复，反击 | |
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93
molested
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| v.骚扰( molest的过去式和过去分词 )；干扰；调戏；猥亵 | |
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94
allotted
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| 分配，拨给，摊派( allot的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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95
mightily
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| ad.强烈地；非常地 | |
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96
virtues
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| 美德( virtue的名词复数 )； 德行； 优点； 长处 | |
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97
insinuating
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| adj.曲意巴结的，暗示的v.暗示( insinuate的现在分词 )；巧妙或迂回地潜入；（使）缓慢进入；慢慢伸入 | |
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98
thoroughly
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| adv.完全地，彻底地，十足地 | |
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99
deter
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| vt.阻止，使不敢，吓住 | |
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