“I think they would be a deal better off there, father, than in Greece or the Greek islands, where at present everyone is thinking of war, and the fields are going out of cultivation. They certainly would do a great deal better in Corfu, Cephalonia, and the other islands than they would elsewhere; and if they were landed in small batches they might find work. I expect most of them have got a little money, and as living is very cheap, if you were to give them a couple of pounds a head it would enable them to live a long time while they are looking for work. Besides, there are committees on those islands for helping refugees; so I do think it would be better to land all those who have no friends in Greece, or any particular wish to go there, in our islands. I should say Zaimes and Marco might go round among them in the morning and ask if any of them have friends in the Greek islands or the mainland, and to put it to the others, that though they can be landed in Greece if they like, they will probably be better off and certainly much more free from anxiety and danger, in the Ionian Isles.”
“I think that that would be a very good plan,” Mr. Beveridge said. “When are you going to get under sail again, Captain Martyn?”
“As soon as I have finished this cup of coffee, Mr. Beveridge, we will get a boat lowered and find the buoy and pick up the anchor Miller slipped this morning. I don’t want to lose that, and the chain. As soon as we have got it on board we will be off. There is not much breeze here after dark, but we may as well get what benefit we can from it. I have no fear of the other Turkish frigate looking in here on her way back; and if she did, now that we have got all our crew on board, I have no doubt we could give a good account of her. But I want to be under weigh. There will be no comfort on board till we have got rid of our passengers. Whereabout do you think the buoy is lying, Miller?”
“I fancy we were anchored a couple of hundred yards or so farther out, and a quarter of a mile astern. You know where you landed last night. You had to march along the beach some little distance before you came to the path on the hills.”
“That is so, Miller. I am afraid we shall have some little trouble in finding it. However, we will have a try. It is just eight bells now, and it won’t be light for another six hours. I don’t want to waste that time if I can help it.”
“Well, I will take one of the gigs, and Tarleton can take the other. We will take some blue lights with us, and I expect we shall soon find it.”
“Very well. Directly you do, hang on to the buoy-rope and get the end of the chain into your gig. Hail me, and send Tarleton back. We will get up her anchor at once, and the gig and the long-boat shall tow the schooner up to you. Then you can pass the end of the chain on board, and we will get it round the capstan and have the anchor up in no time. Now, Mr. Beveridge, if you will take my advice you will turn in at once. You only got a couple of hours’ sleep last night in that orchard, and have had twenty-four hours’ really hard work.”
“I will take your advice, Martyn;” and Mr. Beveridge touched the hand-bell beside him. “Marco, you must help me to my cabin, for I am so stiff I don’t think I could get out of my chair by myself.”
“We will help you in, sir,” Martyn said; and he and Miller raised Mr. Beveridge from his chair and almost carried him into his cabin. Then they lit their pipes and went on deck.
The buoy was found after a few minutes’ search, and in another ten minutes the schooner was under-weigh and stealing out from the land.