Chapter XVI: The Consuls to the Rescue

The confusion that prevailed in Ahmed Pasha after the fight was nothing short of sickening to the orderly English mind. The mass of the insurgents thought of nothing but holding an Assembly of their own, and shouting their grievances into one another’s sympathetic ears, and at last, in disgust, Wylie left them to do it. Maurice and Dr Terminoff, with a score of men carrying litters, came hurrying from Karakula, and with a few members of Wylie’s force who were able to conquer the desire to talk, set to work to care for the wounded. Each man, as soon as his hurts had been hastily bandaged, was sent to the rear, which meant Eirene’s hospital at Skandalo--a long journey either on mule-back or by litter, but there was no guarantee of even temporary safety at this end of the peninsula. Maurice and Dr Terminoff convoyed the long train of bearers, and Wylie, finding that his forces were still too much inebriated with their own verbosity to have any leisure for their military duties, took advantage of the fact to look after the Roumi wounded. There were not many of these, but he had placed several carefully in a sheltered spot near the shore, and he knew there must be more in the valley. These he brought out and laid near the rest, with the obedient but unwilling help of the few men who had stuck to him, and leaving them guarded, beckoned Prince Romanos quietly out of the Assembly, which had now, by sunset, reached the pitch of excitement at which every one tried to speak at once.

“I am off to the fleet, to get them to take the Roumi wounded on board,” he said. “Keep these fellows on the talk, until they’re got rid of.”

“But they will shoot you at sight,” objected Prince Romanos. “And who will row you out to the ships?”

“No one--not even one of my own men. I must row myself as best I can. But one man alone won’t look very alarming. They’ll hardly fire.”

“My man Petros shall row you. He won’t like it, but he’ll do it for me. You are wise, to send the poor wretches off before our friends remember them.”

“The only chance,” agreed Wylie, and presently Prince Romanos helped him to drag a small boat down to the beach, and he was soon being rowed towards the fleet by the deeply disapproving Petros, who objected equally to the errand, the darkness, and the danger.

“Halt! What boat’s that?” came a challenge, and a shape loomed up close to the little vessel, not the huge towering bulk of one of the warships, but a picket-boat which was patrolling the neighbourhood of the fleet. The precaution surprised Wylie, until he remembered that dynamite had always been one of the favourite weapons of the insurgents in their career on the mainland, and that the Powers could hardly imagine themselves to be enthusiastically beloved at this particular moment. He explained his errand, and the officer in the boat listened with surprise and evident incredulity, exchanging a few sentences with a subordinate, among which the words, “Trap. Pay us out for this afternoon,” were clearly audible.

“I am an Englishman myself--a British officer until two months ago,” said Wylie, and a lantern was flashed suddenly in his face. The scrutiny seemed to be satisfactory, for the lantern was turned to another use by being employed to flash signals to the nearest ship, and presently a steam-pinnace came swishing and panting through the darkness, bearing the commander who had carried the Admirals’ remonstrance a few days before, and who was now charged, as he pointed out, strictly to report upon the state of affairs. He invited Wylie into the pinnace, and ordered his boat to be towed behind, but his manner was the reverse of cordial.

“The Admiral has a high opinion of your impudence in asking us to do your dirty work for you,” he said. “Why don’t you foot your own butchers’ bill?”

“Our fellows are quite ready to do it,” returned Wylie in his driest tone. “Unfortunately, the Powers would hardly approve of their methods.”

“If you imagine we are going to help you out of the difficulties you get into through being unable to control your associates----” began the officer pugnaciously.

“Not at all. I propose to show you the Roumi wounded, whom Prince Theophanis and I have collected out of all sorts of places--there are fifteen of them. You will be good enough to satisfy yourself that they have been treated as well as the absence of proper appliances permits. If you take them on board, there will be no more trouble on the score of humanity. If you refuse--well, the Prince and I and a few of our men will protect them if we can, but the responsibility will not be ours. And they must share with us such food as we have, and we are on short commons already.”

The commander grunted, and on reaching the shore followed Wylie in silence. He looked narrowly at the wounded Roumis lying behind their screen of bushes, jerked out a question or two, and turned to Wylie again.

“I’ll take ’em,” he said. “It’s not strictly correct, but your Prince and you seem decent fellows, and there’s no need to let you in for worse than you’re in for already.”

“Lord!” It was Petros, who stood, breathing hard, at Wylie’s side; “a word from the Lord Romanos. He said, ‘Tell the Lord Glafko that they are brandishing their rifles. They will not talk much longer.’”

“No time to lose,” said Wylie, and he and the commander laid etiquette aside and worked with the sailors from the pinnace in carrying the wounded on board. Before the work was half done, torches began to move about in the direction of Ahmed Pasha, and shouts were heard.

“They have remembered, and are coming to search the battlefield,” said Wylie. “Heaven send they may go to the valley first!”

The torches were wandering in all directions, towards the valley and the barricade, and also towards the scene of the fight on the shore, across which the bearers were passing with their helpless burdens.

“Go on and get done as quick as you can,” said Wylie to the commander. “I’ll lead them astray.”

The Roumi dead had been laid near the barricade, ready for burial on the morrow, and Wylie shouted to the advancing warriors, asking if they sought them. As they followed his voice, he led them away from the beach, but to his surprise they seemed to have no thought of the foe, whether dead or alive. They pressed round him and hustled him back against the barricade, the construction of which he had himself superintended the day before.

“Traitor! You and your master have betrayed us to the Europeans!” was the cry, as the torchlight flickered on the fierce faces.

“There has been no betrayal,” said Wylie sharply. “You were warned that the warships would fire if we fought on Roumi territory, but you chose to do it.”

“You led us to the shore. You had covenanted with the Admirals to betray us!”

“Right--oh!” came a long-drawn shout from the shore. “Can we take you on board, Colonel?”

Then the wounded were safe. Wylie sent back a ringing “No, thanks. Good night!” putting his hands to his mouth, and turned again to his accusers. But their attention had been diverted from him for the moment.

“Europeans--here!” was the cry, and for an instant there was every prospect of a stampede. The bombardment of the afternoon had left its mark. But in the silence the sound of the pinnace’s engine as she steamed away was distinctly audible, and it was obviously retreating.

“Glafko’s friends came to rescue him,” suggested some one. “They are frightened, and have gone away.” The inference was clear. Glafko was defenceless; and the rush of accusations came shrill and confused. Maurice and Wylie were agents of the Powers for betraying the insurgents to Roum. They were agents of Roum for betraying them to the Powers. They were escaped criminals, who had excited such violent resentment in the breasts of the Powers that their presence among the innocent Emathians brought down punishment upon them also. The various charges clashed hopelessly, but the general result was universally accepted. Wylie had been instrumental in inducing the guileless insurgents to expect the sympathy of the Powers, and had led them to expose themselves to a treacherous attack. Defence was as useless as it would have been inaudible, for the insurgents were as ready to forget as they had shown themselves unable to appreciate the many warnings they had received against relying on the support of Europe. A man who had seen Wylie set off for the fleet this evening added his testimony, and another, one of his unwilling helpers, told how the Roumi wounded had been carefully tended and laid in one place, from which they had now been removed. Quite half the crowd immediately went to verify this last fact, and returned to add fresh curses to those already raining upon Wylie. No one had as yet ventured to lay hands upon him, and he had not drawn his revolver, but he was anxiously calculating his chances. The party at the monastery ought to be warned, for Maurice would not dream of mutiny on the part of his own men. If he fired now, he must fire to kill, and that would hardly improve matters, but who was there to whom he could entrust a message with any hope of its being delivered?

It was Wylie’s salvation on this occasion that the ascendency he had established even over the men who disliked him was so strong that no one cared to strike the first blow, and also that his back was defended by the barricade. The men who shouted most loudly against him were those on the outskirts of the crowd, and they made no attempt to go beyond words, though one stone flung towards him would have been the signal for a storm. Nor did they offer any opposition when Prince Romanos pushed his way through them, and placed himself at Wylie’s side.

“What is this?” he cried.

A dozen voices answered him, repeating the various accusations. He raised his hand in silence.

“This behaviour is unworthy of free men--of patriots,” he said loudly. “For weeks we have warned you that there was no help to be looked for from the Powers. Their great war-vessels are hemming us in for the express purpose of keeping away from us friends and supplies, and watching our dying agonies. Prince Theophanis and Colonel Wylie are not likely to obtain any sympathy from England; rather their love for Emathia has brought her displeasure upon them. We have only one friend in all Europe, and that is not one of the Great Powers. My unhappy country stands aside, longing to assist her brothers, but bound hand and foot. She has suffered too sorely already for her sympathy to dare to disregard the threats now showered upon her. Sons of Emathia, you bear me no malice because my country cannot help you. Then why accuse Prince Theophanis of treachery because his country helps Roum? He and I are alike powerless.”

Wylie listened with startled attention. Put in this way, there was a considerable difference between the attitude of Morea and that of the European Concert, and he could hardly expect that the Emathians would fail to see it. That they did not miss the point was shown by a voice from the back which called out, “Romanos for Prince!” and the approving shout which greeted the words. Prince Romanos silenced the voices again.

“Now you are trenching on the functions of the Constitutional Assembly,” he said. “Such words should not be uttered until peace is attained. But that will never be if you reward by ungrateful attacks the gentlemen who have given up so much in England to come to our help.”

The meeting broke up in enthusiasm, amid renewed shouts of “Romanos for Prince!” and Wylie and Prince Romanos walked back to Ahmed Pasha and made joint arrangements for the defence. Wylie’s mind dwelt gratefully and lovingly on the agreement into which he had entered with Lieutenant Cotway, and on the pathway he had so carefully prepared from the monastery to Ephestilo. It was possible that the escape of the ladies would have to be managed before very long now. There was no romantic loyalty about the insurgents.

The untoward events of that day and evening appeared to pass off without serious consequences. Wylie doubled the guard at the monastery, and Maurice, on hearing what had happened, insisted that his friend should never go about without a bodyguard of his own, picked from among the Slavs on whose fidelity it was possible, so far as could be known, to count. One of them was the Zeko with whom the party had made acquaintance long before in his brigand days, who seemed to take an almost paternal interest in Wylie, and was quite ready to slay any number of Greeks in his defence. Thus attended, Wylie remained at Ahmed Pasha, watching from a distance the unfortunate garrison of Segreti, who had seen their hope of relief swept away, but remained as determined as ever not to surrender. It seemed impossible that either the Roumis or the Powers should leave them to starve, and therefore Wylie felt little surprise when a boat from the fleet, bearing a flag of truce, landed the dragoman who had already visited him, to announce that the Consuls of the Powers had decided to effect the relief of Segreti on behalf of their respective Governments, purely for the sake of humanity. They would arrive under a flag of truce, bringing with them no Roumi troops, but merely a naval guard, adequate to the dignity of each Consul, drawn from the fleet of his particular Power, and unless opposition was offered to their landing, would not interfere with the insurgents. Of the difficulty which the insurgents’ unfortunate leaders would have in reconciling them to this arrangement, the Consuls could hardly be expected to take account.

“What in the world do they want to make such a fuss about it for?” grumbled Wylie to Prince Romanos. “We could have managed it any night if they had had the sense to communicate with us privately. Now our fellows must stand by and see their prey snatched away from them.”

“Suggest to the Powers that a Roumi attack should be arranged for the same time at the monastery end,” proposed Prince Romanos.

“And suppose it came off? Besides, we don’t want to give our fellows reason to suspect any more plots. No, we shall have to explain things openly. I think they have just sense enough not to wish to provoke a conflict with the Powers.”

“How do you mean to dispose of them on the occasion?”

“Why, the proper thing would be to have them drawn up to salute the Consuls, of course. But I daren’t venture on such close quarters. I should like to withdraw them to Karakula, but I know they wouldn’t go, lest the Powers should put the Roumis back in Ahmed Pasha. I suppose they must stay here, but if any consideration on earth can induce them to pile arms, they shall do it.”

The temper of the insurgents proved to be exactly what Wylie had expected. The news that the Powers were intervening to rescue the defiant opponents whose ultimate discomfiture they had anticipated with so much certainty provoked many new accusations of treachery, and it required some hours of talking before the prudence of those who realised the divinity that doth hedge the person of a Consul could prevail over the truculence of the rest. Distasteful as the sight of the pacific removal of the garrison would be, however, every man was resolved to witness it, and a sullen mob crowded the roofs of Ahmed Pasha when the Consuls were expected. Prince Romanos had exerted himself nobly to second Wylie in insisting that the rifles should be left behind under guard, and they were doubly thankful that they had done so when they observed the vigorous pantomime by which the garrison of Segreti expressed their delight at the approaching release--on the ramparts, so as to be clearly visible against the sky, with the amiable object of exasperating their helpless foes as much as possible.

The progress of the Consuls on their work of mercy was imposing in the extreme. The boats from the various fleets were marshalled in squadrons, and the precedence of each squadron was determined by the seniority of the Consul it escorted. In every other respect, the size of the boats and the number of men they carried, the squadrons were equal in all cases--a mute testimony to the mutual jealousy of the Powers. The British Consul-General, Sir Frank Francis, happened to be the senior official present, and to him Wylie addressed himself as soon as he landed, begging him to hasten his work as much as possible, and to restrain the rescued Roumis from offering provocation to the insurgents. Sir Frank looked at him as though he was presuming on old acquaintance, and replied shortly that the relief would be accomplished with due formality, and that the Consuls intended to take advantage of the occasion to make one more appeal to the common-sense of the insurgents. Wylie shrugged his shoulders and washed his hands of all responsibility, but returned to beg that the Consuls would time their appeal to coincide with the actual relief, so as to divide the attention of the insurgents as far as possible. Sir Frank would make no promises, and Wylie and his guard stood aside while other gold-laced and decorated gentlemen joined their leader, and successive bodies of armed sailors landed and formed up on the beach.

In stately procession the Consuls and their guards marched up from the beach to the tower, the watchers at Ahmed Pasha looking on with angry eyes, and the besieged came forth to meet them with extravagant demonstrations of rejoicing. There was some delay while the garrison collected their personal property, and exhibited in ocular evidence the straits to which they had been reduced, and in the meantime a discussion of some sort seemed to be going on among the highly ornamented group of diplomatists outside the tower. To Wylie, watching through his glass, it appeared that Sir Frank was urging the other Consuls to accompany him on his mission of conciliation to Ahmed Pasha, but that the unamiable attitude of the insurgents, as observed through the binoculars of the naval auxiliaries, inclined his colleagues to consider that a dragoman was the best person to go, while the senior dragoman present gave it as his honest opinion that the task was not one on which any man below the rank of Consul ought to be sent. The difficulty was evidently solved at last by Sir Frank’s undertaking the duty himself, amid the protests of the other Consuls, for, accompanied by a portion of his guard, he began to cross the rough slope which lay between Segreti and Ahmed Pasha. Wylie went out to meet him, but the stout-hearted old diplomatist declined to regard him as a suitable object for conciliation. Waving the intruder aside, Sir Frank advanced to within fifty feet of the village, and addressed himself to the scowling occupants of the roofs. His principle was evidently to use the knife before applying the plaster.

“The Powers have effected the relief of Segreti on the score of humanity alone,” he informed his audience, in sharp explosive sentences. “At the same time, they will not allow you to derive any advantage from it. The tower is mined, and will be blown up with the Roumi flag flying.”

A howl of rage answered him, and there was a sudden movement among the men on the roofs. He took no notice of either, but when Wylie, alarmed lest the bolder spirits should be rushing for their rifles, would have gone to prevent them, he detained him by an imperious gesture.

“We know quite well that the end of your resources is in sight,” he went on. “You must now realise that the foreign adventurers who have led you astray can give you no help. Through the clemency of his Majesty the Grand Seignior, safety is still open to you. On giving up your arms and your leaders, you will be permitted to return to your homes.”

“As marked men!” cried Prince Romanos, standing forth as spokesman. “And the rights for which we have fought--the Constitution--what of them?”

“The Powers will do their best to secure the execution of the reforms already granted. They promise nothing more.”

“Then we stand fast. Am I right?” cried Prince Romanos, appealing to the rest, and a shout of approval answered him. “We lay down our arms when the concessions we have already demanded are granted by the Grand Seignior and guaranteed by the Powers, and not till then!” he shouted to Sir Frank.

“I can only regret your decision,” was the reply, as the Consul-General turned to depart, careless of the angry shouts which pursued him from the walls. Wylie stepped forward to accompany him out of range, but again Sir Frank waved him back. “I do not require the protection of a renegade Englishman,” he said, and Wylie bowed and remained.

“Glafko! Glafko!” Prince Romanos was calling to him loudly. “Come at once. They have overpowered the guard and got at the rifles. And some of them are already on the way to the tower.”