It was at this period that the dahabîeh, with George Helmar carefully kept from view, arrived outside the town almost unnoticed. The occupants of the place were too busily engaged to pay much attention to the addition of one vessel to the already large number idling about the canal. Besides, this was a trading boat and owned by a well-known native.
When the night-time approached Naoum suggested to George that he might venture up and take a view of the situation.
"It seems to me suspiciously quiet," said Naoum, as he stood beside George, eyeing the shore with a keen glance. "Can't say I like it."
"Yes, it is quiet, but do you see those shops are barricaded at the end of the streets leading down to the water?"
"Um—I don't like the look of that. There's been mischief."
"What's that smoke over there?" exclaimed George, hurriedly. "Why, it's a fire, and look—look at those shattered houses, and—hallo, there's a gang of murderous-looking soldiers—we are too late!"
Naoum did not answer. He was watching all the things his companion had drawn his attention to. There was no doubt in his mind now—the place was evidently in the rebels' hands, the process of sacking was going on. He turned to George.
"Well?" he said inquiringly. "You daren't go ashore."
"What, then, am I to do? I can't trespass on your good-nature any longer, and, besides, my presence here is a constant source of danger to you. No, I must chance it. I can't stay here."
He spoke with determination, and Naoum was not slow to appreciate the sentiments that prompted him; yet he would not see him deliberately plunge into the deadly danger that awaited him ashore.