Several brilliant rockets now hissed upward into the blue sky; and as their sparkles descended in a shower among the woods, or on the rippled water all became dark and still—so deathly still, that I heard only the beating of my heart, and the half-suppressed breathing of the rowers, three of whom were bending on every sweep, and the splashing of the water, as we neared the eastern headland of the little bay in which the yacht was beached, and into which these dark and mysterious craft had glided so noiselessly.
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE FAIRY BELL.
The Island of Marmora—the Elephonesos of the ancients—is a dependency of an Anatolian Sanjiack, and lies sixty miles south-west of Stamboul. It is about ten miles long, and has a miserable little town of romantic-looking wigwams on its southern coast, and a Turkish pharos on a promontory towards the Bosphorus. Of old, it was famous for its marble quarries, but now is noted only for sterility, and its meagre population of bare-footed and blue-breeched Greek fishermen.
The bay, however, which we were now stealthily entering, was richly wooded; but many of the trees were bare, for the black gusts of the last autumn had swept both sea and shore; but there the wild almond was wont to shed its silver blossoms in spring, and even now, the wild thyme, the caper-shrub, the rose-laurel, the woodbine, and the china-rose, made all the inlet beautiful; nor were the scarlet lotus, or the graceful date-palm, which an Oriental poet likens to a young beauty bending her head; or the soft perfume of the sweet El-caya tree of Yemen, wanting to complete the charm of this dark and shady cove. Softly we stole in, with handkerchiefs tied round our sweeps to muffle them; and while we pulled swiftly, keeping close in shore, and under the deep shadow thrown by the woods upon the starlit water, we carefully loaded and capped our fire-arms, all of which were fortunately Minie rifles, as my detachment belonged to the Light Company.
Now at the end of the bay the moon rose broad and full, and as her giant disc heaved up in all its bright effulgence from the shining sea, a column of light flashed from the horizon into the wooded creek, and displayed its sylvan scenery.
We could see the yacht—the Fairy Bell—as she lay in the shallow water careened to port; she was tautly rigged; her foremast was strong; her mainmast tall, and tapering away aloft like the finest willow wand. Her hull was long and low; her breadth of beam was great, and the copper on her sharp bows shone like burnished gold in the moonlight; her decks were flush, level, and had twelve carronades—all of which, however, were quite useless, by the elevation of their muzzles on one side, and the consequent depression on the other; and I saw at a glance that, unless vigorously defended, this smart little yacht, the flower of Cowes, the pink of the Channel squadron, and the winner of five silver cups which adorned the library at Elton Hall, would fall a prey to these piratical caiques.
We were all nearing her rapidly; but fortunately the dark shadow of the wooded shore completely veiled the kochamba, while the caiques were fully visible in the blaze of a moonlight that filled the bay. A half-shout, half-cheer, from the crew of the yacht—now distant from us about five hundred yards—announced that her people were on the alert. Then a garland of fire zoned her low black gunwale round, as a volley of fire-arms was poured upon the approaching boats, and crashed through their planking.
'Hurrah!' cried Jack Belton; 'the old M.P. is quite up to the mark, I think!'
'Keep close in—keep in the shadow,' said I; 'or, by Jove! we may come in for a dose of that, too, before they know who we are.'