Phroso: A Romance

I ran rapidly up to the deck. Denny and Hogvardt were there.

‘How soon can you have full steam up?’ I asked in an urgent cautious whisper.

‘In ten minutes now,’ said Hogvardt, suddenly recognising my eagerness.

‘Why, what’s up, man?’ asked Denny.

‘They’re going to send Phroso to Constantinople to be tried; anyhow they’d keep her there a year or more. I don’t mean to stand it.’

‘Why, what will you do?’

‘Do? Go. The captain’s on board; the gunboat can’t overtake us. Besides they won’t suspect anything on board of her. Denny, run and tell Phroso not to show herself till I bid her. The captain thinks she’s up at the house. We’ll start as soon as you’re ready, Hog.’

‘But, my lord – ’

‘Charley, old man – !’

‘I tell you I won’t stand it. Are you game, or aren’t you?’

Denny paused for a moment, poising himself on his heels.

‘What a lark!’ he exclaimed then. ‘All right. I’ll put Phroso up to it;’ and he disappeared in the direction of her cabin.

I stood for a moment looking at the gunboat, where the leisurely operations went on undisturbed, and at the harbour and street beyond. I shook my head reprovingly at Neopalia; the little island was always leading me into indiscretions. Then I turned and made my way back to where my unsuspecting victim was peacefully consuming cigarettes. Mouraki Pasha would not have been caught like this. Heaven be thanked, I was not dealing with Mouraki Pasha.

‘Demetri had some good in him, after all,’ I thought, as I sat down by the captain, and told him that we should be on our way in five minutes. He exhibited much satisfaction at the prospect.

The five minutes passed. Hogvardt, who acted as our skipper, gave his orders to our new and smiling crew of islanders. We began to move. The captain and I came up from below and stood on deck. He looked seaward, anticipating his excursion, I landward, reviewing mine. A few boys waved their hands, a woman or two her handkerchief. The little harbour began to recede; the old grey house on the hill faced me in its renewed tranquility.

‘Well, good-bye to Neopalia!’ I had said, with a sigh, before I knew it.

‘I beg your pardon, Lord Wheatley?’ said the captain, wheeling round.

‘For a few hours,’ I added, and I went forward and began to talk with Hogvardt. I had some things to arrange with him. Presently Watkins appeared, announcing luncheon. I rejoined the captain.

‘I thought,’ said I, ‘that we’d have a run straight out first and look at Mouraki’s death-place on our way home.’

‘I’m entirely in your hands,’ said he most courteously, and with more truth than he was aware of.

Denny, he and I went down to our meal. I plied the captain with the best of our cheer. In the safe seclusion of the yacht, the champagne-cup, mixed as Watkins alone could mix it, overcame his religious scruples; the breach, once made, grew wider, and the captain became merry. With his coffee came placidity, and on placidity followed torpor. Meanwhile the yacht bowled merrily along.

‘It’s nearly two o’clock,’ said I. ‘We ought to be turning. I say, captain, wouldn’t you like a nap? I’ll wake you long before we get to Neopalia.’

Denny smiled indiscreetly at this form of promise, and I covertly nudged him into gravity.

The captain received my proposal with apologetic gratitude. We left him curled up on the seat and went on deck. Hogvardt was at the wheel; a broad smile spread over his face.

‘At this rate, my lord,’ said he, ‘we shall make Cyprus in no time.’

‘Good,’ said I; and I did two things. I called Phroso and I loaded my revolver; a show of overwhelming force is, as we often hear, the surest guarantee of peace.

Denny now took a turn at the wheel; old Hogvardt went to eat his dinner. Phroso appeared, and she and I sat down in the stern, watching where Neopalia lay, now a little spot on the horizon; and then I myself told Phroso, in my own way, why I had so sorely neglected her all the morning; for Denny’s explanation had been summary and confused. She was fully entitled to my excuses and had come on deck in a state of delightful resentment, too soon, alas, banished by surprise and apprehension.

An hour or two passed thus very pleasantly; for the terror of Constantinople soon reconciled Phroso to every risk; her only fear was that she would never again be allowed to land in Neopalia. For this also I tried to console her and was, I am proud to say, succeeding very tolerably, when I looked up at the sound of footsteps. They came evenly towards us: then they suddenly stopped dead. I felt for my revolver; and I observed Denny carelessly strolling up, having been relieved again by Hogvardt. The captain stood motionless, three yards from where Phroso and I sat together. I rose with an easy smile.

‘I hope you’ve enjoyed your nap, captain,’ said I; and at the same moment I covered him with my barrel.

He was astounded. Indeed, well he might be. He stared helplessly at Phroso and at me. Denny was at his elbow now and took his arm in tolerant good humour.

‘You see we’ve played a little game on you,’ said Denny. ‘We couldn’t let the lady go to Constantinople. It isn’t at all a fit place for her, you know.’

I stepped up to the amazed man and told him briefly what had occurred.

‘Now, captain,’ I went on, ‘resistance is quite useless. We’re running for Cyprus. It belongs to you, I believe, in a sense – I’m not a student of foreign affairs – but I think we shall very likely find an English ship there. Now if you’ll give your word to hold your tongue when we’re at Cyprus, you may lodge as many complaints as you like directly we leave; indeed I think you’d be wise, in your own interests, to make a protest. Meanwhile we can enjoy the cruise in good-fellowship.’

‘And if I refuse?’ he asked.

‘If you refuse,’ said I, ‘I shall be compelled to get rid of you – oh, don’t misunderstand me. I shall not imitate your Governor. But it’s a fine day, we have an excellent gig, and I can spare you two hands to row you back to Neopalia or wherever else you may choose to go.’

‘You would leave me in the gig?’

‘With the deepest regret,’ said I, bowing. ‘But I am obliged to put this lady’s safety above the pleasure of your society.’

The unfortunate man had no alternative and, true to the creed of his nation, he accepted the inevitable. Taking the cigarette from between his lips, he remarked, ‘I give the promise you ask, but nothing more,’ bowed to Phroso, and, going up to her, said very prettily, ‘Madame I congratulate you on a resolute lover.’

Now hardly had this happened when our look-out man called twice in quick succession, ‘Ship ahead!’ At once we all ran forward, and I snatched Denny’s binocular from him. There were two vessels visible, one approaching on the starboard bow, the other right ahead. They appeared to be about equally distant. I scanned them eagerly through the glass, the others standing round and waiting my report. Nearer they came, and nearer.

‘They’re both ships of war,’ said I, without taking the glass from my eyes. ‘I shall be able to see the flags in a minute.’

A hush of excited suspense witnessed to the interest of my news. I found even the impassive captain close by my elbow, as though he were trying to get one eye on to the lens of the glass.

My next remark did nothing to lessen the excitement.

‘The Turkish flag, by Jove!’ I cried; and, quick as thought, followed from the captain:

‘My promise didn’t cover that, Lord Wheatley.’

‘Shall we turn and run for it!’ asked Denny in a whisper.

‘They’d think that queer,’ cautioned Hogvardt, ‘and if she came after us, we shouldn’t have a chance.’

‘The English flag, by Jupiter!’ I cried a second later, and I took the glass from my strained eyes. The captain caught eagerly at it and looked; then he also dropped it, saying,

‘Yes, Turkish and English; both will come within hail of us.’

‘It’s a race, by Heaven!’ cried Denny.

The two vessels were approaching us almost on the same course, for each had altered half a point, and both were now about half a point on our starboard bow. They would be very close to one another by the time they came up with us. It would be almost impossible for us by any alteration of our course to reach one before the other.

‘Yes, it’s a race,’ said I, and I felt Phroso’s arm passed through mine. She knew the meaning of the race. Possession is nine points of the law, and in a case so doubtful as hers it was very unlikely that the ship which got possession of her would surrender her to the other. Which ship was it to be?

‘Are we going to cause an international complication?’ asked Denny in a longing tone.

‘We shall very likely run into a nautical one if we don’t look out,’ said I.

However the two approaching vessels seemed to become aware of this danger, for they diverged from one another, so that, if we kept a straight course, we should now pass them by, one on the port side and one on the starboard. But we should pass within a couple of hundred yards of both, and that was well in earshot on such a day. I looked at the captain, and the captain looked at me.

‘Shall we take him below and smother him?’ whispered Denny.

I did not feel at liberty to adopt the suggestion, much to my regret. The agreement I had made with the captain precluded any assault on his liberty. I had omitted to provide for the case which had occurred. Well, that was my fault, and I must stand the consequences of it. My word was pledged to him that he should be treated in all friendliness on one condition, and that he had satisfied. Now to act as Denny suggested would not be to treat him in all friendliness. I shook my head sadly. Hogvardt shouted for orders from the wheel.

‘What am I to do, my lord?’ he cried. ‘Full speed ahead?’

I looked at the captain. I knew he would not pass the Turkish ship without trying to attract her attention. We were within a quarter of a mile of the vessels now.

‘Stop,’ I called, and I added quickly, ‘Lower away the gig, Denny.’

Denny caught my purpose in a moment; he called a hand and they set to work. The pace of the yacht began to slacken. I glanced at the two ships. Men with glasses were peering at us from either deck, wondering, no doubt, what our manœuvre meant. But the captain knew as well as Denny what it meant, and he leapt forward suddenly and hailed the Turk in his native tongue. What he said I don’t know, but it caused a great pother on deck, and they ran up some signal or other; I never remember the code, and the book was not about me.

But now the gig was afloat and the yacht motionless. Looking again, I perceived that both the ships had shut off steam, and were reversing, to arrest their course the sooner. I seized Phroso by the arm. The captain turned for a moment as though to interrupt our passage.

‘It’s as much as your life is worth,’ said I, and he gave way. Then, to my amazement, he ran to the side, and, just as he was, leapt overboard and struck out towards the Turk. One instant later I saw why: they were lowering a boat. Alas, our ship was not so eager. The captain must have shouted something very significant.

‘Signal for a boat, Hog,’ I cried. ‘And then come along. Hi, Watkins, come on! Are you ready, Denny?’ And I fairly lifted Phroso in my arms and ran with her to the side. She was breathing quickly, and a little laugh gurgled from her lips as Denny received her from my arms into his in the gig.

But we were not safe yet. The Turk had got a start, and his boat was springing merrily over the waves towards us. The captain swam powerfully and gallantly; his fez-covered head bobbed gaily up and down. Ah, now our people were moving! And when they began to move they wasted no time. We wasted none either, but bent to our oars, and, for the second time since I reached Neopalia, I had a thorough good bucketing. But for the Turk’s start we should have managed it easily, as we rowed towards the English boat and the divergence which the vessels had made in their course prevented the two from approaching us side by side; but the start was enough to make matters very equal. Now the boat and the captain met. He was in in a second, with wonderful agility; picking him up hardly lost them a stroke. They were coming straight at us, the captain standing in the stern urging them on; but now I saw that the middy in the English boat had caught the idea that there was some fun afoot, for he also stood up and urged on his crew. The two great ships lay motionless on the water, and gave us all their attention.

‘Pull, boys, pull!’ I cried. ‘It’s all right, Phroso, we shall do it!’

Should we? And, if we did not, would the English captain fight for my Phroso? I would have sunk the Turk, with a laugh, for her. But I was afraid that he would not be so obliging as to do it for me.

‘The Turk gains,’ said Hogvardt, who was our coxswain.

‘Hang him! Put your backs into it.’

On went the three boats. The two pursuers were now converging close on us.

‘We shall do it by a few yards,’ said Hogvardt.

‘Thank God!’ I muttered.

‘No; we shall be beaten by a few yards,’ he said, a moment later. ‘They pull well, those fellows.’

But we too pulled well then – though I have no right to say it – and the good little middy and his men did their duty – oh, what a tip these blue-jackets should have if they did the trick! – and the noses of all the boats seemed to be tending to one spot on the bright dancing sea. To one spot, indeed, they were tending. The Turks were no more than twenty yards off, the English perhaps thirty. The captain gave one last cry of exhortation, the middy responded with a hearty oath. We strained and tugged for dear life. They were on us now – the Turks a little first. Now they were ten yards off – now five – and the English yet ten.

But for a last stroke we pulled; and then I dropped my oars and sprang to my feet. The nose of the captain’s boat was within a yard, and they were backing water so as not to run into us. The middy had given a like order. For a single instant matters seemed to stand still and we to be poised between defeat and victory. Then, even as the captain’s hand was on our gunwale, I bent and caught Phroso up in the arms that she sprang to meet, and I fairly flung her across the narrow strait of water that parted us from the English boat. Six strong and eager arms received her, and a cheer rang out from the English ship, for they saw now that it had been a race, and a race for a lady; and I, seeing her safe, turned to the captain, and said:

‘Fetch her back from there, if you can, and be damned to you!’

CHAPTER XXIII

THE ISLAND IN A CALM

We did not fight. My friend the captain proposed to rely on his British confrère’s sense of justice and of the courtesy which should obtain between two great and friendly nations. To this end he accompanied us on board the ship and laid his case before Captain Beverley, R.N. My argument, which I stated with brevity, but not without vehemence, was threefold: first, that Phroso had committed no offence; secondly, that if she had, it was a political offence; thirdly, was Captain Beverley going to hand over to a crew of dirty Turks the prettiest girl in the Mediterranean? This last point made a decided impression on the officers who were assisting their commander’s deliberations, but it won from him no more than a tolerant smile and a glance through his pince-nez at Phroso, who sat at the table opposite to him, awaiting the award of justice. After I had, in the heat of discussion, called the Turks ‘dirty,’ I moved round to my friend the captain, apologised humbly, and congratulated him on his gallant and spirited behaviour. He received my advances with courtesy, but firmly restated his claim to Phroso. Captain Beverley appeared a little puzzled.

‘And, to add to it all,’ he observed to me, ‘I thought you were dead;’ for I had told him my name.

‘Not at all,’ said I, resentfully; ‘I am quite alive, and I’m going to marry this lady.’

‘You intend to marry her, Lord Wheatley?’

‘She has done me the honour to consent and I certainly intend it; unless you’re going to send her off to Constantinople – or heaven knows where.’

Beverley arched his brows, but it was not his business to express an opinion, and I heartily forgave him his hinted disapproval, when he said to the captain:

‘I really don’t see how I can do what you ask. If you had won the tr – I mean, if you had succeeded in taking the lady on board, I should have had no more to say. As it is, I don’t think I can do anything but carry her to a British port. You can prefer your claim to extradition before the Court there, if you’re so advised.’

‘Bravo!’ cried Denny.

‘Be good enough to hold your tongue, sir,’ said Captain Beverley.

‘At least, you will take a note of my demand,’ urged the Turk.

‘With the utmost pleasure,’ responded Captain Beverley, and then and there he took a note. People seem often to find some mystical comfort in having a note taken, though no other consequence appears likely to ensue. Then the captain, being comforted by his note, took his farewell. I walked with him to the side of the vessel.

‘I hope you bear no malice,’ said I, as I held out my hand, ‘and that this affair won’t get you into any trouble.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so,’ said he. ‘Your ingenuity will be my excuse.’

‘You’re very good. I hope you’ll come and see us in Neopalia some day.’

‘You expect to return to Neopalia?’

‘Certainly. It’s mine – or Phroso’s – I don’t know which.’

‘There’s such a thing as forfeiture in our law,’ he observed, and with this Parthian shot he walked down and got into his boat. But I was not much frightened.

So, the Turk being thus disposed of, Denny and Hogvardt went back to the yacht, while Phroso, Watkins and I, took up our abode on the ship, and when Captain Beverley had heard the whole story of our adventures in Neopalia he was so overcome by Phroso’s gallant conduct that he walked up and down his own deck with her all the evening, while I, making friends with the mammon of unrighteousness, pretended to look very pleased and recited my dealings with Mouraki to an attentive group of officers. And clothes were produced from somewhere for Phroso – our navy is ready for everything – and thus, in the fulness of time, we came to Malta. Here the captain had a wife, and she was as delighted as, I take leave to say, all good women ought to be at the happy ending of our story. And at Malta we waited; but nothing happened. No claim was made for Phroso’s extradition; and I may as well state here that no claim ever has been made. But when we came to London, on board a P. and O. steamer, in charge of a benevolent but strict chaperon, I lost no time in calling on the Turkish Ambassador. I desired to put matters on a satisfactory footing at once. He received me with much courtesy, but expressed the opinion that Phroso and I alike had forfeited any claim which she or I, or either, or both of us, might have possessed to the Island of Neopalia. I was very much annoyed at this attitude; I rose and stood with my back to the fire.

‘It is the death of Mouraki Pasha that has so incensed your Government?’ I ventured to ask.

‘He was a very distinguished man,’ observed the Ambassador.

‘Practically banished to a very undistinguished office – for his position,’ I remarked.

‘One would not call it banishment,’ murmured his Excellency.

‘One would,’ I acquiesced, smiling, ‘of course, be particularly careful not to call it banishment.’

Something like a smile greeted this speech, but the Ambassador shrugged his shoulders.

‘Consider,’ said he, ‘the scenes of disorder and bloodshed!’

‘When I consider,’ I rejoined, ‘the scenes of disorder and bloodshed which passed before my eyes, when I consider the anarchy, the murder, the terrible dangers to which I, who went to Neopalia under the sanction and protection of your flag, was exposed, I perceive that the whole affair is nothing less than a European scandal.’

The Ambassador shifted in his armchair.

‘I shall, of course,’ said I, ‘prefer a claim to compensation.’

‘To compensation?’

‘Certainly. My island has been taken from me, and I have lost my money. Moreover your Governor tried to kill me.’

‘So did your wife,’ remarked the Pasha. ‘At least the lady who, as I understand, is to be your wife.’

‘I can forgive my wife. I do not propose to forgive your Government.’

The Ambassador stroked his beard.

‘If official representations were made through the proper quarters – ’ he began.

‘Oh, come,’ I interrupted, ‘I want to spend my honeymoon there; and I’m going to be married in a fortnight.’

‘The young lady is the difficulty. The manner in which you left Neopalia – ’

‘Is not generally known,’ said I.

The Ambassador looked up.

‘The tribute,’ I observed, ‘is due a month hence. I don’t know who’ll pay it you.’

‘It is but a trifling sum,’ said he contemptuously.

‘It is, indeed, small for such a delightful island.’

The Ambassador eyed me questioningly. I advanced towards him.

‘Considering,’ said I, ‘that I have only paid half the purchase-money, and that the other half is due to nobody – or to my own wife – I should not resent a proposal to double the tribute.’

The Ambassador reflected.

‘I will forward your proposal to the proper quarter,’ he said at last.

I smiled, and I asked:

‘Will that take more than a fortnight?’

‘I venture to hope not.’

‘And, of course, pardon and all that sort of thing will be included?’

‘I will appeal to his Majesty’s clemency,’ promised the Pasha.

I had no objection to his calling it by that name, and I took my leave, very much pleased with the result of the interview. But, as luck would have it, while I was pursuing my way across Hyde Park – for Phroso was staying with a friend of Mrs Beverley’s in Kensington – I ran plump into the arms of Mrs Kennett Hipgrave.

She stopped me with decision. I confess that I tried to pass by her.

‘My dear Lord Wheatley,’ she cried, with unbounded cordiality, ‘how charming to meet you again! Your reported death really caused quite a gloom.’

‘You’re too good!’ I murmured. ‘Ah – er – I hope Miss Beatrice is well?’

Mrs Kennett Hipgrave’s face grew grave and sympathetic.

‘My poor child!’ she sighed. ‘She was terribly upset by the news, Lord Wheatley. Of course, it seemed to her peculiarly sad; for you had received my letter only a week before.’

‘That must have seemed to aggravate the pathos very much,’ I agreed.

‘Not that, of course, it altered the real wisdom of the step I advised her to take.’

‘Not in the least, really, of course,’ said I.

‘I do hope you agree with me now, Lord Wheatley?’

‘Yes, I think I have come to see that you were right, Mrs Hipgrave.’

‘Oh, that makes me so happy! And it will make my poor dear child so happy, too. I assure you she has fretted very much over it.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said I politely. ‘Is she in town?’

‘Why, no, not just now.’

‘Where is she? I should like to write her a line.’

‘Oh, she’s staying with friends.’

‘Could you oblige me with the address?’

‘Well, the fact is, Lord Wheatley, Beatrice is staying with – with a Mrs Hamlyn.’

‘Oh, a Mrs Hamlyn! Any relation, Mrs Hipgrave?’

‘Well, yes. In fact, an aunt of our common friend.’

‘Ah, an aunt of our common friend,’ and I smiled. Mrs Hipgrave struggled nobly, but in the end she smiled also. After a little pause I remarked:

‘I’m going to be married myself, Mrs Hipgrave.’

Mrs Hipgrave grew rather grave again, and she observed:

‘I did hear something about a – a lady, Lord Wheatley.’

‘If you had heard it all, you’d have heard a great deal about her.’

A certain appearance of embarrassment spread over Mrs Hipgrave’s face.

‘We’re old friends, Lord Wheatley,’ she said at last. I bowed in grateful recognition. ‘I’m sure you won’t mind if I speak plainly to you. Now is she the sort of person whom you would be really wise to marry? Remember, your wife will be Lady Wheatley.’

‘I had not forgotten that that would happen,’ I said.

‘I’m told,’ pursued Mrs Hipgrave in a somewhat scornful tone, ‘that she is very pretty.’

‘But, then, that’s not really of importance, is it?’ I murmured.

Mrs Hipgrave looked at me with just a touch of suspicion; but she went on bravely: