CHAPTER III
THE ADVENTURE OF THE FIRE-SHIP
They started again early the next morning, having loaded the pony withprovisions, for Yanni preferred to suffer from his blister than fromhunger, and struck in a southeasterly direction across the plain,leaving Sparta with its red roofs and olive-groves on the left, overlow hills of red earth, covered in this spring-time with cistus in fullflower, tall white heather, and myrtle in the freshness of its fragrantleaf. About two hours' going brought them to the Eurotas, flowing clearand bright over its shining pebble-bed, on which the sunlight drew adiaper of light and shade, sliding on from pool to shallow, and shallowto rapid, and ford to ford. Here Mitsos, who in his inland life pinedfor the amphibious existence of Nauplia, came upon a deep pool, andin a moment was stripped and swimming. From there another two hoursled them across the plain to the foot of the hills, where they haltedand ate their midday meal, looking across the green plain to whereTaygetus, rising in gray shoulder over shoulder, met the sky in aspear-head of snow.
So for two more days they went on, sleeping sometimes during the middleof the day under the shade of aromatic pines, or behind some bluffof earth in a dry torrent-bed, and as they got nearer to Tripoli andArgos, marching through the cool, still night over shoulders andoutstretched limbs of mountain range, or down through silent valleysall aflush with spring, and spending the daylight hours in somesheltered nook or cave, each keeping alternate watches while the otherslept. Thus came they down to Myloi, where they were to get the boatwhich should take them across the bay, early one morning while it wasstill dark. So once again in the sweetness of sunrise Mitsos saw theblue mirror of the bay spread out smooth and clear at his feet, and thefirst rays of morning sparkling on the town at the other side, turningthe damp roofs to sheets of gold, and on a white house at the head ofthe bay, where his heart was.
They were home by nine o'clock, and from there they could see plainlythe great Turkish ship, as large as a church, lying close to the quay,showing that they were in time. The attack, as Petrobey had toldMitsos, must, of course, be at night, and through the cafe-keeper Lelasthey learned that she would sail the same evening at midnight, orthereabouts. This was quite to their convenience, for had she sailedduring the day they would have had to follow her till the fall of nightgave cover to their approach, thus, perhaps, attracting suspicion, andcertainly finding themselves many miles from home out at sea when theirwork was done. Lelas, the cafe-keeper, to whom they were referred,showed them the caique which Nicholas had told him to keep for Mitsos,and the boy, saying that he would go out a little way at once to seehow it sailed, got into it, leaving Yanni on the shore. The latterwinked at Mitsos as he got in, and remarking "I am sorry I cannotgo with you," for he knew precisely where Mitsos was going, thoughhis chance of seeing Suleima by day was absolutely nil, went back toConstantine's house and waited patiently for his return.
Lelas, who was an arrant gossip-monger, had the news of the town:the Turks were flying in all directions, some to Tripoli, some toConstantinople, some to Athens, such was their consternation at thetaking of Kalamata. Many of those about Nauplia were going on board thewar-ship, which was bound for the Piraeus, and to return with arms. "Andtell me," he said, "what is Mitsos going to do with the caique? I amsure it is some plot against the Turk."
But Yanni, seeing Nicholas had not thought fit to tell him, denied anyknowledge of the purpose of the boat.
Meantime Mitsos had put out, and was sailing straight to the whitewall. The wind was blowing lightly from the east, and he ran straightbefore it. The boat, slimly built and carrying more sail than his, wascertainly a faster goer than his own before the wind, and he suspectedwould sail closer to it. Certainly it took the air like a bird, and,though the breeze was but light, was a very sea-gull for moving. That,no doubt, was why Nicholas, whose knowledge of boats was as of onewho had never set foot on dry land, had chosen it, and Mitsos glancedtowards the big ship moored off the quay at Nauplia, and mentally gaveit fifteen minutes' start in an hour's run. "And, oh, I love a blaze!"thought he.
Twenty minutes' scudding brought him nearly up to the wall; there hetook in the sail and drifted. There was no one on the terrace; that wasunusual on a fine morning, when there were often two or three of theservants about, or a woman from the harem. How quiet it looked! Yet,though he did not see Suleima, it was something to know she was near,sitting, it might be, at the back of the garden, or in-doors; perhapsZuleika had the toothache and she was unapproachable; perhaps the twowere talking together; perhaps they were talking of him, wondering whenhe would come again....
In the farther of the two walls running back from the sea was a smalldoor, and Mitsos' boat had drifted till this appeared in view, andlooking up from his revery he saw that it was open. This was even moreunusual; never had he seen it open before, and he sat for a moment ortwo frowning, wondering at it. Then suddenly the smile was struck deadon his face; a possibility too horrible for thought, suggested by thoseopen doors at Mistra, had dawned on him, and regardless of imprudencehe took up an oar, put the boat to land, and tying it up went straightto the open door. The garden was empty, the house-door was open, and,more convincing than all, a hare ran across the path and hid itself inthe tangle of a flower-bed.
Then with a flash the horrible possibility became a certainty to hismind. The house was empty and deserted; Abdul and the household hadfled; a ship was now at Nauplia to carry away the fugitives; that shiphe was going to destroy, consigning all on it to a death among flamesfrom which there was no escape. Abdul was surely there, and with Abduland his household....
Mitsos stood there a long minute with wide, unseeing eyes; for a momentthe horror of his position drowned his consciousness as a blow stunsthe brain. Then as his reason came back to him he realized that hecould not, that he was physically unable, to carry out his orders. Thefire-ship should not start--no, it must start, for there was Yanni withhim, who knew about it, and he cursed himself for having taken Yanni.But so be it; it should start, but something should go wrong--he wouldforget to take kindling for it, or, setting light to it, it should onlydrift by the other and not harm her. For it was no question of choice;he could not do this thing.
Thus thought poor Mitsos as he sailed home again. It seemed to himthat nothing in the world mattered except Suleima, and by the bitterirony of fate the man in the world whom he most loved and respected hadtold him to destroy with all on board the ship in which Suleima was.On the one hand stood Nicholas, his father, Petrobey, Yanni, and thewhole clan of those dear, warm-hearted cousins who had treated him as abrother, yet half divine; on the other, Suleima, and Suleima was moreto him than them all; Suleima was part of himself, dearer than his handor his eye, and besides--besides....
Yanni was having dinner when he entered the house, but there was thatin Mitsos' face which made him spring up.
"Mitsos," he said, "little Mitsos, what is the matter?"
Mitsos looked at him a moment in silence, but that craving of the humanspirit for sympathy in trouble, whether the sympathy is given by man orbeast, overpowered him. Though in his own mind he had settled that hecould not destroy this ship, the trouble of his struggle was sore uponhim.
"Yanni," he whispered, "there will be no fire-ship. Abdul has gone, hasfled with all the household, with Suleima among them. Where has he fledbut onto the ship we are to destroy? I cannot do it."
Yanni sank down again in his chair.
"Oh, Mitsos," he said, "poor Mitsos! God forgive us all."
Mitsos glanced at him, frowning.
"'Poor Mitsos!'" he cried; "why do you say 'poor Mitsos'? Do you thinkI am going to do this?"
"You are not going to do it?"
"No!" shouted Mitsos. "It is not I who choose. There is no choice. Icannot!"
"But the clan, the oath to obey--"
"There are bigger things than clans or oaths. To hell with my oath, tohell with the clan," cried Mitsos.
Yanni sat silent, and Mitsos suddenly flared up again.
"H
ow dare you sit there," he cried, "and let your silence blame me?You, whom I rescued from the house of Mehemet; who but for me wouldhave been rotting in the ground, or worse than that; you, whom I savedwhen a cross-legged Turk had you down on the ground--"
"Mitsos!" said Yanni, looking at him without fear or anger, but stungintolerably.
For a moment or two Mitsos sat still, but then the blessed relief oftears came.
"What have I said to you, Yanni?" he sobbed. "O God, forgive me, forI know not what I said; yet--yet how can I do this? Oh, of course youare right, and I--I--Yanni, is it not hard? What was it I said toyou? Something devilish, I know. Don't give me up, Yanni; there isnone--there will soon be none who loves me as you do."
Yanni's great black eyes grew soft with tears, and he put his arm roundMitsos' neck as his head lay on the table.
"Oh, Mitsos! poor little Mitsos!" he said again. "What is to be done?If only Nicholas or my father knew; and yet you could not and cannottell them. Perhaps she is not on the ship, you know."
"Perhaps, perhaps--oh, perhaps she is!" cried Mitsos.
The two sat there in silence for a time, stricken almost out ofconsciousness by this appalling thing. At last Mitsos raised his head.
"There is nothing more to be said," he muttered. "I have no idea whatI shall do. Either to do the thing or not to do it is impossible, andyet by to-morrow it will be done or left undone. But, Yanni, just tellme you forgive me for what I said just now and make indulgence, forthis is a hard, weary day for me."
Yanni smiled.
"Forgiveness is no word from me to you, dear Mitsos," he said. "Thereis nothing you could do or say to me for which you need ask that."
Mitsos looked up at him with dumb, dry eyes and a quivering mouth.
"Forget it, too, Yanni, and tell me it will make no change between us,for, in truth, I do not know what I said."
"There, there," said Yanni, soothingly. "The thing is not, it never hasbeen."
The hours went on slowly and silently. Mitsos said nothing, but layin the veranda like some suffering animal that has crept away to diealone of a mortal wound, and Yanni was wise enough to leave him quiteto himself, for his struggle was one that had to be wrestled out alonewithout help or sympathy from others. But gradually and very slowly themist of irresolution passed away from Mitsos' brain, and he felt thathe would decide one way or the other. Meantime the sun had sunk to itssetting, and Yanni prepared food and took some with wine out to Mitsos.
"Eat, drink," he said. "You have not eaten since morning."
"I am not hungry," said Mitsos, listlessly.
For answer Yanni took up the glass of wine and held it to him.
"Drink it quickly, Mitsos; you are faint for something," he said, "andthen I will take it and fill it again."
Mitsos obeyed like a sick child, and Yanni took the glass and broughtit back full. This time he waited a moment, and then said:
"You must make up your mind, Mitsos. If you settle to do nothing, tellme, and I must think for myself."
Mitsos nodded.
"I will come in in half an hour and tell you," he said. "That will betime enough. Please leave me alone again, Yanni; it is better so."
Yanni went back into the house. His warm-hearted nature, and hisintense love for Mitsos, made him suffer to the complement of hiscapacity of suffering. He would willingly have changed places withMitsos had it been possible, for he felt he could not suffer more, butso the other would suffer less. Oh, poor Mitsos, whose strength andhabit of laughter availed him nothing!
It was less than half an hour later when Mitsos came in. His face wasdrawn and white, and he felt deadly tired. He did not look at Yanni,but merely stood in the doorway, his eyes cast down.
"Come, Yanni," he said, "it is time we should start. Where are the cansof turpentine and the wood?"
"In the boat; I put them there."
Mitsos looked up at him sharply.
"So you meant to do it yourself if I did not?"
"I meant to try."
Men walk firmly to the scaffold when they are to die for a good cause,and martyrs have seen their wives and children tortured or burnedbefore their eyes and wavered not, and it was this courage of absoluteconviction which nerved the poor lad now. With his whole heart hebelieved in the right of this exterminating war against the Turk; hehad put himself unreservedly at the service of its leaders, and therewas an order laid on him. He had made of himself a part of a machine,and should a jarring axle speak to the driver and say it would go nofarther, or bid him stop the whole gear? Thus it was that, with a firmstep and with no tenderness, but only despair and conviction clutchingat a cold heart, he walked down with Yanni to the beach, and, havinglooked over all the apparatus and seen that nothing was wanting, pushedoff, and, helping him to set the sail, took his place at the helm.
The enterprise they were embarked upon was dangerous. The caique inwhich they sat was piled with inflammable materials and a cargo ofbrushwood, and carried four large cans of turpentine, with which theywould presently soak the sails. They were to run up to the Turkishship, tie their boat up to it, or entangle it in the rigging, setfire to it, and jump into the small boat they towed behind them androw off. The flames would spread like lightning over the boat, givingthem hardly a second to escape, and they might easily be seen and shotat while they were lighting her before they could row off; and thiselement of danger, perhaps, was a help to poor Mitsos.
The night at least was favorable to their adventure, being thicklyclouded and with a fine fresh breeze, thus enabling them to come upquickly, and also under cover of darkness. Otherwise the moon, whichwas nearly full, would have doubled their peril. The wind was from theeast of north, so that the ship would probably run straight before itfor a mile or so before turning south out of the gulf, and the time toattack her would be just when she turned, for she would then be farenough from the shore to render her destruction inevitable, and themoment of slack speed as she put about would enable them to run intoher the more easily. At present they would approach within about aquarter of a mile, and lie there waiting for her to put out.
There was still plenty of time, and when Mitsos let the boat run beforethe wind instead of going straight to Nauplia, Yanni had no need toask him why, for he knew where he was going, and kept his eyes away,for he could not bear to see Mitsos' agony. For a little while thehardness and conviction had left him, and the hour of his agony was onhim again. And as they neared the white wall, which glimmered faintlyunder the cloudy night, he thought his heart would break within him.They passed it quickly under the ever-freshening breeze, and Mitsoslooked at it as a man looks on the dead form of his dearest, the housewhich she had inhabited in life. To him Suleima was dead, a memory onlyinsufferably sweet, ineffably bitter, and when the wall faded againinto the blackness he felt as if he had buried her whom he had lovedand murdered. Then putting about, they ran past the island and saw thelights of Nauplia grow nearer and larger.
In the foreground was the tall, black hull of the Turkish ship outlinedwith lights. The deck was brilliantly lit, and they could hear soundsof talking and laughing coming from it. The sailors were evidentlypreparing to put to sea, for now and then little figures of men likesmall insects would move up the lines of rigging, adjusting rope orblock with busy antennae, and loud voices seemed to be shouting orders.Then a bell rang on board, and a rope-end splashed into the water andwas pulled on deck.
They had drifted a little out to sea, and Mitsos tacked back again towithin three hundred yards of the ship, and finding shallow water, castanchor. Two long hours went by, but neither spoke; only the fresheningwind whistled in the rigging, the clouds promised a stormy night, andon board the Turkish ship they made ready to go to sea. A row of openport-holes showed a necklace of light, each light waking a column ofreflection from the waters of the bay. Then a lantern was hoisted uponto the foremast, and another run out in the bows. Presently aftercame the grating sound of the anchor being pulled home, and a smallsail was set, sufficient in this
wind to take her slowly out of theharbor. Now a light in the town was hidden behind her bows, and anothersprang up from behind the stern; she moved along the quay stately andslow, and, clear of the buoy at the end, she put up another sail.
Mitsos watched her intently, and then, without a word, he pulled upthe anchor and ran up the sail, and silently they went in pursuit. Buttheir light boat went too fast with its sail full spread, and when theyhad approached again to within two or three hundred yards he took in acouple of reefs, which equalized their speed, or, if anything, allowedthe other to gain on them a little. And so they followed in the wakeof the great condemned ship out past the harbor lights, round the endof the peninsula beyond the town, and into the black, foam-fleckedgulf outside. The lights grew small and far away, the land faded toa dark shadow, which brooded on the horizon, and the two crafts, onewith its immense cargo of human creatures, the other with a couple ofbeardless Greek lads--but with how strange a burden of anguish anddestruction!--were shut off from all sound and sight except the threatsof rising waves.
Then Mitsos rose, and pointing to the cans of turpentine:
"Empty one on the brushwood in the bows," he said to Yanni, "and giveme another."
He climbed up the mast, and, resting the tin on the yard, took out thecork and let the contents dribble down over the sail. When the canwas empty he came quickly down again and flushed the whole deck withanother tinful, while Yanni poured the fourth onto the remainder of thefuel.
Then, in a hard, dry voice:
"Let out the sail," he said, "and climb into the boat behind, but giveme the lantern first."
Yanni handed him the dark lantern first, which they had lit beforestarting, and, pulling the boat in under the stern of the caique,jumped on board. Under the full-spread sail they drew rapidly nearthe doomed ship, and when they were within a hundred yards they heardits rudder splash and stir like some great fish under water, and thespeed slackened as she turned south. Mitsos, who had never felt cooleror more collected in his life, went straight on, so as to strike hersideways below the huge, overhanging stern. He calculated to perfectionthe speed they were going and the distance, and just as Yanni becameaware of a great black thing with a panel of light in it overhead, heheard a crash, and broken glass fell over him. The mast of the caiquehad gone right through one of the windows in the stern. Their boat gavea great lurch, and Mitsos sprang off into the small boat astern, stillwith the lantern in his hand.
"Quick, quick!" he said, "that I cannot do."
Yanni jumped up, and, crouching beneath the stern of the caique, thrustthe lantern open into a heap of brushwood impregnated with turpentine.It caught and flared up in a moment, and while from the Turkish shipcame sudden confused sounds and runnings to and fro, the flame leapedalong the caique from stern to bow, ran like a flash of lightning upthe sail, and was driven by the wind with a roar right into thebroken panel. Next moment Mitsos, having cast loose their smaller boat,pushed off backward into the darkness, and both the boys, seizing theiroars, rowed for life. But the blaze between them and the ship had madeit impossible for those on board to see them, and after five minutes orso Yanni, blown and streaming with perspiration, saw Mitsos drop hisoar and sink down to the bottom of the boat and lie there as if dead.
"BOTH THE BOYS, SEIZING THEIR OARS, ROWED FOR LIFE"]
Round three-quarters of the horizon was dense darkness, inhabited onlyby the rushing wind, but in front a column of fire rose up, crownedwith clouds of smoke. The flames leaped up over the stern of the ship,the steersman fled for his life farther forward, and left to itself theship swung round into the wind, dragging its destroyer behind it, theflames from which, driven straight before it, licked greedily roundthe timbers of its victim. In a few moments the tar in the seams beganto melt and run, breaking into flame like burning sealing-wax, and theplanks of the upper decks were parted a fraction of an inch as it oozedout. Then the timbers themselves began to fizzle and crack, givingeach moment new crevices and footholds for the fire, and the windowwhere the mast of the caique had penetrated showed red burning lips,like a horrible square mouth. Volumes of smoke began to pour forwardbetween the decks, driving those who were throwing unavailing wateronto the flames to the upper deck, to make another hopeless attemptfrom there. The women and children ran forward with shrill screams,and could be seen standing like a flock of frightened sheep huddledtogether. Then a boat was let down, but before it touched the watera tongue of flame sprang out from one of the big, square port-holesbelow it, driving upward so fiercely that those who were holding theropes let go and it fell splashing into the sea. Soon with a crash theaft part of the deck, all charred and no longer able to support itsown weight, fell in a huge shower of embers and half-burned or blazingpieces of timber, and again the flames leaped higher and moved forwardalong the ship. The iron davits supporting the boat corresponding tothat which had fallen into the sea, still stood firm, and the boatitself hung unburned for some ten minutes, till the fire reaching upcaught it, and set it blazing, hanging there, apart and separate fromthe greater conflagration like a huge burning signal of distress. Soon,however, the side of the ship which held the davits fell in, and theboat dropped blazing into the water. The fire had now reached to themain-mast, and in a moment caught the sail. Then after a few seconds,in which the smoke redoubled itself, the great sheet of canvas caughtand flared up in a pillar of flame. Great burned pieces fell off andstrewed the deck; other lighter fragments were borne away like birdsin the wind and fled seaward, flapping and blazing. Then, with anothercrash, a second portion of the deck fell in, and, mingled with thenoise the shrill chorus of despair from the women, rose higher andhigher. Some jumped overboard and found their death in what might havebeen their safety; others ran up and down the deck, which grew everhotter and more blistered, and now scribbled over by lines of burningpitch; some seized up water-cans and buckets, and tried even then tostop the flames; and more than one man ran to where the flames werefiercest, preferring to die at once. Then without warning came the end.A frightful explosion tore the air; the ship parted in the middle, forthe flame had reached the powder-magazine, and in smoke and steam andhuman cries she went down, and a minute afterwards there was silencebut for the wind and blackness.
The explosion roused Mitsos and he looked up.
"What was that?" he said to Yanni.
"It is all over," replied Yanni. "She exploded and went down."
"All over, thank God!" and he sank down again.
Yanni bent to the oars, for it was hard work against the wind, and inan hour or so he saw the lights on the quay not more than a quarterof a mile off. It was still crowded with people who had been watchingthe fire, and he kept out in the darkness until he had passed it,and then came in closer to the shore, so as to be shielded a littlefrom the wind by the land, and rowed steadily on till he came to thelanding-place opposite Mitsos' house. Then he touched the other on theshoulder.
"Get up, dear Mitsos," he said, "we are here."
Mitsos raised himself and followed Yanni across the road to the house.They went in, locking the door behind them, and Mitsos, still silent,lay down on the window-seat, staring out dry-eyed into the darkness.But in a few moments a knock came, and Yanni went to the door to seewho it was.
"It is I, Lelas," said a voice.
Yanni unwillingly undid the door, and the fat, urbane cafe-keeper camein, smiling.
"Eh, but you two have lost a fine sight," he said. "A Turkish shipblazing down to the water's-edge, and then bang she went; and there'llnot be a soul to tell the tale."
Mitsos, in his window-seat, shuddered and half sat up.
"I wish there had been more on board," continued Lelas. "Why, I'd havegiven a week's wage if that old Abdul and his poultry-yard of women hadbeen there."
Next moment he was aware of two great hands half throttling him.
"Abdul who? Which Abdul?" said Mitsos, his face close to Lelas, andhissing out the words. "Speak, you damned pig of the pit."
"Abdul--this Abdul here--
let go--Abdul Achmet, of course. He and hiswent to Tripoli yesterday. May you burn in hell for throttling me, youyoung devil."
But Mitsos heard nothing after "Abdul Achmet." He dropped his hold onLelas and stood looking across at Yanni a minute, while new life ran inspate through his veins. Then he flung his arm round the neck of theastonished Lelas and kissed him on the cheek.
"Oh, fat man, but I love you for what you have said," he cried. "Yanni,Yanni, we will make the fat man drunk with wine, for he has made medrunk with joy. Oh, oh--"
And he flung out of the room with a great shout.
Lelas felt his neck tenderly.
"Is Mitsos quite mad, or only a little mad?" he asked, severely.
"Quite mad, I think," said Yanni. "Oh, little Mitsos--wait a minute."
He found him outside, but the dry-eyed anguish was turned to a joywhich brimmed his eyes. Yanni thrust his arm through his and they stoodthere a moment in silence, and had no need of speech; nor indeed werethere words in which they could frame their joy of heart.