“I will do so, Horace,” his father said in a tone of decision. “We are a match, I fancy, for half a dozen of the Greek ships. They will find us a very different vessel to deal with than those slow-sailing Turks. I quite approve of what you say. For the first outburst of vengeance when they rose I am willing to make every allowance; but the revenge taken by the Turks at Kydonia should have reminded them that there are at least a million of their fellow-countrymen in Asia Minor whose lives have been endangered by their atrocities. Henceforth I will, as you propose, devote myself to saving life, and part of the money that I had intended for the Greeks shall go to make up to the crew for any loss they may sustain by missing the chance of taking prizes. I will hoist the Greek flag as I intended, and we, at least, will keep it unsullied.”
Horace repeated the substance of the conversation to Will Martyn and the other two officers, who cordially agreed; for although they had, of course, heard less at Zante of the details of the massacres than their employer and his son had done, they had heard enough to fill them with indignation, and to disgust them with the cause that they had come out to defend.
“That will be first-rate,” Martyn said, “and I can foresee we shall have lots of fun, and are likely to end by fighting both parties. There will be plenty for us to do. We will see if we can’t cut off some of the Turkish vessels laden with Greek captives for sale as slaves in the markets of Alexandria; while, as for the Greeks, if we slip in and save their captives they will be like a pack of wolves after their prey. If I am to go with your father, Horace, you may be sure I will take any opportunity I may get of speaking out, and I reckon I will open the eyes of some of these Greek swells by the way I will give it them. I tell you what, Miller: While I am away do you get up eight of those eighteen-pounders from the hold and mount them instead of the twelves. Now that she has got so much of her weight out of her she can carry them well enough, and I fancy we are likely to want as heavy metal as we can mount before we have done.”
At dinner that day Horace said: “Are you thinking of changing her name, father, when you change your nationality?”
“I wasn’t thinking of changing her name at all, Horace,” Mr. Beveridge said in surprise.
“Well, I thought, father, the Greeks wouldn’t understand the name of the Creole at all. It was a good name for a slaver and did well enough for a yacht, and if we ever take her back to England I should like her to be the Creole; but I think it would be better to have some name that the Greeks will understand.”
“What name would you propose, Horace?”
“Well, father, I have been thinking of it, and if you have no objection I should like to call her the Misericordia, ‘the Pity.’ We came out here because we pitied the Greeks, and now we pity the unfortunate people, both Turks and Greeks, and you have agreed that our mission shall be to save both of them from slaughter.”
“I think it would be a very good name, Horace. The Misericordia it shall be. What do you say, Captain Martyn?”