“There is one thing,” Horace laughed, “I expect she has carried as many before.”
“Yes, I daresay she has taken six hundred slaves, but we can’t pack these Greeks as they pack slaves. There will be no moving on board, and as to fighting the guns if we fall in with a Turk, it will be well-nigh impossible. Why, she will be as deep in the water as she was when we sailed out of Plymouth. What is the weight of them all, Horace, do you suppose?”
“Not very great, Captain Martyn. I don’t suppose there are a dozen of the men weigh over ten stone. I suppose the women average seven, and the children, counting babies, say four. As there are as many children as there are men, that would make the average seven stone all round, but even if you said eight stone, which is a hundredweight, and they are certainly not that, or anything near it, that would make thirty tons, and it won’t be over that if you throw in all the bundles. You calculated that you got fifty tons out of her hold.”
“Oh, well, that is not so bad. If it comes on to blow we will make shifting ballast of them, and pack them all up to windward on both decks; that ought to make her as stiff as a church. It will be a big job getting them all on board tonight. There is one thing, I don’t suppose the Turks have made her out. Of course they don’t know that we are expecting a vessel, or anything about her rig. We must make a fire down on the shore as soon as it gets dark, and keep a sharp look-out for her, putting the fire out as soon as she is near enough for the light to begin to show on her sails. Then we will open fire all along the line as if we thought we heard them creeping up towards us, and that will cover the rattling of the anchor chain. I will hail Miller to muffle the oars, and in that way we may manage to get most of them on board at any rate before the Turks have an idea of what is going on. By firing an occasional shot we shall keep their attention fixed, and gradually withdraw from the line as we did from that place we held up there.”
CHAPTER X
A DARING EXPLOIT
SOON after nine o’clock Will Martyn took his post on the shore at the northern end of the position. A dropping fire was kept up all round the semicircle, as if the defenders feared that the assailants might be trying to crawl up towards them. Martyn continued to listen intently for half an hour, then he thought he heard a sound on the water. In another minute or two he could make out the sound of voices.
“Miller has got his head screwed on the right way,” he said to himself. “He is showing no lights.” Another five minutes and he could dimly make out the outline of the schooner.
“Misericordia ahoy!” he shouted.
“Ay, ay,” came across the water.