THE hours passed on. It was still a dead calm, and, as Martyn had thought likely, no visit was paid by the Turkish port officials, as the brig was lying a good mile below the usual anchorage, and would no doubt move up to the wharves as soon as she got the wind. Horace went to the main deck and gave a sketch of his adventures to Tom Burdett, who he knew would retail them to the crew.  
“Well, Mr. Horace,” the boatswain said, “you are certainly a good one at getting out of scrapes.”
 
“I had nothing to do with getting out of it, Tom; it was all done without any effort on my part.”
 
“It was mighty well done, sir, and I would not have given them Turks credit for putting such a plan together. I always liked the chaps myself when I served with them as a young fellow in that Egyptian business under Abercrombie. Good-natured sort of coves they was, and wonderful good-tempered considering what shocking bad grub they had; but I never looked upon them as sharp. Still, there you are; you see, one never knows what a chap can do till he is pushed. Well, there is one thing, Mr. Horace, I don’t care how many Turkish fugitives we may take on board this ship in future, they will be heartily welcome by every man Jack on board for the sake of what these fellows did for you. I wish I had known it when you first came on board. I should have liked to have given that young Turk a hearty shake of the hand, and the men would have given him as good a cheer as ever you heard come from fifty British sailors.”
 
“It is just as well you didn’t know, Tom, for if they had given a cheer together on deck it would have been heard from shore to shore, and everyone who heard it would have known that it never came from Turkish throats.”
 
 
As soon as it was dark the anchor was weighed, and the vessel drifted down with the current, a boat towing ahead so as to give her steerage-way, while the rest of the crew set to work to unbend her sails.
 
“You are not going to put up her own sails, are you, Captain Martyn?” Horace asked, for as soon as it got dusk Martyn had removed the stain from his skin, and exchanged the Nubian attire for his uniform.
 
“No, Horace, the white sails would tell their tale at once. We got two suits at Athens, one that miserable lot you saw on us to-day, the other we had cut up to fit us as we are sparred now. They are not very clean, but that won’t affect her sailing, and though I don’t mean to say she will walk along as she would under her proper canvas, I fancy she is likely to sail as fast as anything we shall meet. I shall only get her foresail, a jib, and that square top-sail on her, as we want to go along as slowly as possible. I want to manage to anchor below Gallipoli after sunset; or if I can’t manage that I shall anchor a mile or two this side of the town, so as not to be visited by any of the port officers. Then when it gets quite dark we will get up all sail and run down the straits. It is against the rules to pass through at night, and if the forts catch sight of us no doubt they will send a few shots after us, but we must risk that. It is not easy to hit a moving mark when it is so dark that you can scarcely see her outline. There are half a dozen of their ships-of-war lying abreast of the forts. We must keep as far as we dare over on the other shore. I am not afraid of the ships. We shall be a mile away before the crews wake up and load, but I expect they keep a pretty sharp look-out in the forts, though most likely their attention is chiefly directed below them.”
 
It took a couple of hours’ work to unbend all the sails and bend on fresh ones. Horace spent the evening in the cabin chatting with his father, and when the others came down at ten o’clock for a glass of grog he heard that the boat had been run up and housed, and that the brig was now under easy sail.
 
 
“There is very little wind,” Martyn said, “but there is enough to give steerage-way. I shall not count you in for duty until to-morrow.”
 
“Oh, I am ready to take my watch as usual. I have been living a very lazy life for the last three weeks, and shall be very glad to be on duty again.”
 
“I shall get the guns up the first thing in the morning, Miller. We will throw a tarpaulin over them when we get into the narrow part of the straits.”
 
“Will you have the pivot-gun up too?”
 
“Yes, I think so; if we have to fight, we may as well fight as hard as we can. When we get it mounted we can put a few barrels along each side of it, cover the whole over with a sailcloth, and stow one of the gigs at the top of all. No one would have a suspicion that there was a gun there then, and if we wanted to use it we could clear it in a minute.”
 
“The Turkish custom-house officers will stare in the morning when they see the brig gone,” Miller said, “and will wonder what has become of her.”
 
“If they think of her at all, Miller, they will think she has got up sail at daylight and gone up the Bosphorus on her way to Varna or one of the Black Sea ports.”
 
“It would require a good deal more breeze than there is now.”
 
“Yes, I did not think of that. Well, then, perhaps they will suppose that we made a try to go up to the anchorage as soon as the day began to break, but simply drifted back. You see another half a mile astern would take us round that point there and out of sight of them. However, we don’t care much what they think. They are not likely to be interested enough in the matter to bother themselves about it one way or the other, and certainly not likely to do the only thing that would be of any consequence to us, I mean send down a messenger to Gallipoli telling them to overhaul us if we came down the straits. Now, then, the watch on deck; the others turn in. I am sure, Mr. Beveridge, you will be all the better for a quiet night’s rest. You have certainly not slept much for the last month, and you have been getting thinner and thinner daily, while you have also long arrears in the way of food to make up. It has been quite pitiful to see the faces of the Greeks as you sent away plate after plate untouched.”
 
“I shall soon be myself again, Martyn, and even one good night’s rest will, I am sure, do wonders for me.”
 
“We have been getting quite uneasy about your father,” Miller said as he and Horace went up on deck for the middle watch.
 
“Yes, he looks sadly broken down, Miller. Directly he had taken off that beard I was quite shocked; he looks years older.”
 
“We have been really anxious about him. He would turn up three or four times during the night watches and walk the deck for an hour or two talking to one or other of us as if he could not stop alone in his cabin. Neither Martyn nor I ever had the slightest idea of finding you were alive when we got here, and still less of getting you out. But when Tarleton proposed disguising the schooner and coming up, he caught at the idea so eagerly that we fell in with it at once. It seemed to us both rather a mad sort of business, but we should not have cared what it was so that it would but rouse him up; for from the time when we first got word that you had been taken to the Turks, till Tarleton made that proposal at Tenedos, he had scarcely spoken a word. He cheered up for an hour or two when Marco brought news that at any rate you had not been killed at Ali Pasha’s camp, but had been sent on to Constantinople; but that lasted for a very short time, for he soon saw that so far from improving your chances, it had lessened them. Ali might have taken a handsome sum for your ransom, or your guards might have been bribed; anyhow, there would have been a much better chance of getting you away from his camp than from a prison in Constantinople.
 
“Of course we did all we could to cheer him, and, I am afraid, told some awful crammers as to the easy job it would be to get you out. Still, the plan did do him good. It gave him something to think about, as at Athens we were constantly thinking of something or other that he could go ashore and see about. Since we sailed from there he has been in a sort of fever, walking restlessly about the deck, going down to the cabin and coming up again twenty times every hour, worrying about the wind, and complaining at the boat’s loss of speed. He took to Tarleton most, because he was nearest your age, I think. He talked to him several times about you as a child, and seemed specially unhappy because he had seen so little of you up to the time when he bought you that first craft you had. The two Greeks were terribly concerned about him. They are two fine fellows those. They were as gentle as women. Well, it has been an anxious time for us all. Even the men have felt for him, and it was quite curious to see how silent the ship became when he was on deck. They seemed to speak almost in whispers, and I have not heard a laugh forward from the hour that you and the doctor were missed. I was glad he was taken with you, for he is a good fellow, and it was a comfort to know that you were together.”
 
“It was a great pull,” Horace agreed. “He was just the same all the time as he is on board, quiet and slow in his talk, but with an occasional gleam of humour. It has been rather hard on him, too, because, from the day we first landed, there has always been someone with us who could speak Greek, and it is very slow for a man sitting listening to talk that he can’t understand, waiting for bits to be translated to him. Still, he never showed that he minded.”
 
“Yes, that must have been very annoying,” Miller agreed, “especially when the talk was about matters that concerned his life. It makes you feel so helpless and baby-like to have everything managed for you and to be able to do nothing yourself. I don’t think he took kindly to that Turkish dress. He slipped away and changed it before he had been on board five minutes, while you kept yours on till you turned in for a nap two hours ago.”
 
 
“I was comfortable enough, and never gave the clothes a thought after I had worn them an hour or two,” Horace laughed. “Of course one felt very baggy about the legs, and I certainly should not like to go aloft in the things. No wonder the Turks are such clumsy sailors with their legs in bags like that; but I did notice that the doctor never seemed to move about naturally. I expect if he could have talked away as I did he would not have thought of them so much. The wind is heading us a bit.”
 
“Yes, it is;” and Miller gave the orders for the sheets and braces to be hauled aft.
 
“I should not be surprised if it is in the south by morning.”
 
“That would be all the better, for then we could choose our own time for getting off Gallipoli. We must get up all our sail when it is daylight and make a show of doing our best; but when one is tacking backwards and forwards one can always manage either to keep a little off the wind or so close into it as pretty well to deaden one’s way through the water.”
 
Horace turned in at four o’clock, and an hour and a half later heard a trampling of feet on deck, and knew that the watch was making sail. When he went up at eight o’clock the wind was blowing briskly from the south-east, and the schooner was making a long leg out from the land. He was now able to see the set of the sails that had been bent on the evening before. The lower sails were of the same size as the schooner’s original suit, and fitted her well. The upper sails contained less than half the canvas of her old ones, but her spread was sufficient to lay her over well and to send her through the water at an encouraging rate of speed.
 
“She is not going along so badly, is she, Horace?” Martyn asked.
 
“No, indeed. Of course in a light wind the loss of all that upper canvas will tell, but at present she is doing well enough for anything, quite well enough for anything we are likely to meet.”
 
“We have been holding our own for the last two hours with that felucca on the other tack, and we have been purposely sailing her a good bit off the wind. We could overhaul her soon enough if we liked, and most of those boats are fast; but we don’t want to get along too quickly. If the wind freshens any more I shall tow a sail alongside to deaden her way a bit. I want to arrive off Gallipoli about half an hour after sunset.”
 
Two of the broadside guns had just been brought up and put in position, and by midday the other six and the pivot-gun were in place, and the latter hidden by a screen of barrels and one of the gigs, bottom upwards, laid over it. The decks had been scrubbed, but, as Martyn said mournfully, it would take weeks to get them back to their former colour. The ropes still hung slackly, and although the schooner looked a good deal more ship-shape than when Horace had first seen her on the previous day, she was still as untidy as the average of vessels in Eastern waters. Her course was timed well, and the sun had already sunk some time, when she dropped anchor a short distance outside the craft lying off Gallipoli.
 
“I see some of their ships of war have come up from below since we passed three days ago. However, there is no fear of their sending a boat off to-night,” Martyn said as they gathered in the cabin for dinner, “and they will naturally suppose that we anchored so far out because we were going on down the straits the first thing in the morning.”
 
Mr. Beveridge had remained in his berth all day. The reaction after the long excitement and anxiety told severely upon him. Although he had got up the first thing, he had been obliged to lie down again, being too weak to stand. The doctor, however, told Horace that this was only to be expected.
 
“He will want a week’s quiet and plenty of nourishment to set him on his legs again. He has been fairly worn out. But there is no fever about him, and we can trust the Greeks to feed him up. It is just as well that he should keep perfectly quiet to-day and sleep as much as he can. To-morrow I hope I shall be able to get him up on deck. Then chatting with you and taking an interest in things will rouse him.”
 
 
At nine o’clock sail was again made and the anchor weighed. The wind had gone down very much, and had veered round to the south, which enabled them to lay their course through the greater part of the straits. Two men were placed in the chains with lead-lines. The lights were all extinguished, with the exception of the binnacle. The tarpaulins were removed from the guns and the barrels and gig from around the pivot-gun. The watch off duty was sent below, and two of the keenest-eyed men on board placed as look-outs at the bow. The European shore, which was comparatively high, could be made out as a dark bank, but the Asiatic shore, which was low, could scarcely be seen. The chart was laid on the cabin table, the port-holes having all been carefully covered with curtains, and a tarpaulin laid over the skylight.
 
The men in the chains kept on taking soundings, Horace going backwards and forwards between them and the quarterdeck with the news as to the depth of water. Miller was in charge of the deck, while Martyn paid frequent visits to the cabin to determine their position on the chart according to the depth of the soundings. There was no fear of their meeting with any craft until they approached the forts; but in the darkness it was necessary to be very careful, as the water was shallow on the eastern side, and were they to run on to a shoal, going as they were with the force of the current, there would be little chance of getting off again, unless by lightening the ship. There was just wind enough to give her steerage-way. Men were stationed in readiness to let go the anchor instantly, should it be necessary; while ten men, in the longboat, paddled gently ahead of her, just keeping a tow-rope taut in readiness to tow her instantly in any direction that might be required. None of them were acquainted with the set of the current, and Martyn had only the depth of water and the dim outline of the banks to direct his course by. Several times, when the water shoaled, the crew of the boat were directed to row vigorously in the direction of the right bank; and once or twice there were but a few feet under the keel, and a keen feeling of anxiety was experienced on board until the leads-man announced that the water was deepening. At last, according to Martyn’s calculations they could not be far away from the formidable forts.
 
The boat was directed to fall astern and hang on to the rope, in readiness either to come on board or to carry out any orders that might be given. The crew on deck were told to take axes and capstan-bars, so that should they drive down against one of the Turkish ships they could fend the schooner off as much as possible, or cut away any rope that might catch. They were directed to stand perfectly still, and not a word was to be spoken whatever happened. The greatest danger lay in the fact that most of the ships of war were lying above the forts, and that, consequently, should an alarm be given by them, the gunners at the batteries would be in readiness to pour in their fire upon her as she passed.
 
“The ground to our right looks much higher than it did, Miller. I think we must have been drifting a good deal over towards that side.”
 
“I think so too,” Miller agreed. “I have been fancying that we were getting over that way ever since we stopped sounding.”
 
“At any rate we must take our chance,” Martyn said. “I daren’t sound again; the splash would attract attention half a mile away on a quiet night like this. Besides, we could not tow her the other way now; we must take our chance. It is not likely they are keeping much of a look-out on board. We might pass within twenty yards of a vessel without being noticed on such a night as this. I will stay at the helm, Miller. Her sails are still full, and we have got steerage-way. Do you go up into the bow. Let two of the men take their boots off, and if they make out anything ahead, let one of them run to me like lightning with orders whether to port or starboard the helm.”
 
The conversation was carried on in the lowest tone. Miller stole lightly forward; Tarleton and Horace were already there, one on each bow, straining their eyes into the darkness.
 
 
“We are a long way over on this side, Miller, I don’t believe that high ground over there is more than two or three hundred yards away.”
 
“That is just what I have been saying, Tarleton. The current must have set us across tremendously. Martyn is at the helm, and you see we are heading off that shore, but I don’t think we are going more than a couple of knots through the water.”
 
In five minutes Tarleton whispered:
 
“I think there is something dark just over the cathead.”
 
At the same moment Horace stepped from the other side.
 
“There is a ship a short way ahead, Miller, unless I am mistaken.”
 
“By Jove, so there is!” Miller said, looking out. “We shall never be able to clear her with the current taking us down.”
 
He had kicked off his own shoes when he reached the bow, thinking it better himself to carry any message.
 
“Port your helm, Martyn,” he said as he ran up. “There are two craft ahead, and we can never clear the outside one in this current. Our only chance is to run between them.”
 
Martyn had jammed the helm down as Miller spoke.
 
“Keep it there,” Martyn said to the helmsman, and sprang to the bulwark to look out himself. “That is enough,” he said; “straighten her now, just as she is. You con her from the other side, Miller.”
 
All on board saw the two vessels now. By their height and bulk they were evidently large frigates or men-of-war. They were not fifty yards away, and were about the same distance apart. Martyn pulled off his jacket and threw it over the binnacle, as its light would have been at once noticed by anyone looking down from the lofty hulls. Noiselessly the schooner passed into the gap between the ships; not the slightest sound was heard from her decks. The two officers looked anxiously up at the sails, for had one of these flapped, or a block rattled, the sleepiest look-out must have noticed it. The silence on the decks of the Turkish ships was as profound as that on the schooner. Rapidly the latter slid between them, the current taking her along faster than the wind. A minute more and she was beyond them; still no hail was heard. Another minute and they loomed dark and indistinct behind her.
 
“Thank God for that!” Miller said in a whisper as he crossed the deck to Martyn.
 
“Yes, indeed; it was touch and go. I expect they have only an anchor watch. Most likely they are asleep; they would know that nothing could come up the straits with this light breeze. I think, Miller, those are the two eighty-gun ships we noticed as we came up. They were moored a good bit outside the others; in which case we have a clear course before us.”
 
“Yes; I have no doubt those are the two,” Miller agreed.
 
“Now we have only the forts; they are about a quarter of a mile further down. Go forward, please, and tell the men not to move till they get orders.”
 
Another quarter of an hour passed, and Martyn felt sure that they were now well beyond the forts. For a few minutes longer he held on, and then passed the word along the deck that the danger was over. Now that they knew their exact position there was no longer any occasion for sounding. The men in the boat were called up, and the watch off duty ordered below, and when morning broke the land was far behind them. A brisk wind had sprung up from the south-east, and the vessel was just able to lay her course for Athens.
 
The doctor had remained below during their passage through the straits.
 
“I should only have been in the way if I had been on deck,” he said when Horace chaffed him for taking matters so easily. “When a man can do no good, it is always better for him to get out of the way; and after all there is no great pleasure in standing for hours afraid to move, and without any duty to perform; so I just chatted for a bit with your father, and directly I saw the sleeping draught I had given him was beginning to take effect I turned in myself, and had as comfortable a sleep as ever I had in my life. After sleeping on sofas for three weeks, in that heathen sort of way, it was a comfort to get between sheets again.”
 
“Well, but you went to bed the night before, doctor?”
 
“That was so,” the doctor agreed. “But a good thing is just as good the second time as it is the first—better, perhaps. The first time the novelty of a thing prevents you altogether enjoying it. I knew very well that if we ran into any of the Turkish ships, or the forts opened fire at us, I was like to hear it plainly enough.”
 
“And would you have lain there then, doctor?”
 
“No, lad. I would have had my duties to perform; and I would have dressed and gone into the main deck at once, with my instruments ready to do anything I could for those that required it.”
 
“Have you seen my father this morning, doctor?”
 
“Yes; and I am glad to say that he is all the better for his two nights’ sleep. His pulse is stronger, and I shall get him up here after breakfast. The news that we were fairly out to sea, and that all danger was over, was better for him than any medicine. Well, lad, we did not think eight-and-forty hours ago that we would be racing down the ?gean again, on board the Misericordia, by this time. We have had a wonderful escape of it altogether, and I would not like to go through it again for enough money to set me up for life in Scotland. When we were on board that Turkish brig, on our way to Constantinople, I would not have given a bawbee for our chances.”
 
When they arrived at Athens the Greek sailors who had personated Turks were landed. Mr. Beveridge was unequal to the exertion of going ashore; but day after day he was visited by politicians, military leaders, and others. After a fortnight spent there, Dr. Macfarlane said to him:
 
“It is no use, sir, my giving you medicines and trying............