Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 9/An adventure in Rhodes

by Alexander Charles Fraser

AN ADVENTURE IN RHODES.

BY AN OLD WANDERER.

 

A good many years ago it was my lot to visit Rhodes. It seems odd to me now, it seemed very odd then, that I of all people should come to be so circumstanced. It is over an interval of some fifty years that I am taking my retrospect. As matters stand at this present moment I should scarcely be surprised at having to visit any part of the habitable globe. I am quite aware that for all that has come and gone, I may turn up some fine day as ambassador at the court of Dahomey. But as all the world knows, things were not so ordered fifty years ago, when travelling, pur et simple, was the luxury of the few, and, so far as commercial purposes were concerned, the demand for individuals as agents abroad was very limited.

My start in life was as a clerk in the great mercantile firm of Robson and Dick, of Crutched Friars. Robson, the senior partner, was some sort of Scotch cousin to my aunt Priscilla. It was a very far-fetched relationship, and did not authorise anything like familiarity between my employers and myself; but it was worth something, for it procured me my situation in the house, which was the first step in that very tolerably prosperous career which has eventually conducted me to this my pretty villa at Ball’s Pond, and the comforts generally of my retirement. I remember, as if it were yesterday, all about my coming to town. There was the letter from my Aunt Priscy; there was the anxiety of feeling that we were at the moment which was to decide whether or not her grand relation would notice her petition; and then came my mother’s tears and my father’s hearty congratulations. I saw the question was settled in my favour, before I heard a word of the letter itself; and I never shall forget the exultation of the moment. With many a warning from my parents as to my conduct, I started for London. It was particularly enjoined on me that I must avoid anything like forwardness or familiarity with Mr. Robson, and I was made to get by rote the precise formula in which my thanks were to be returned. My poor parents gave themselves a deal of unnecessary trouble. They knew little of the economy of one of our large houses. There was little fear of my troubling the senior member of the firm, for this good reason, that I never had the opportunity. I will not say that he was otherwise than cognisant of the fact of my occupying a stool in his counting-house; but he certainly gave no outward token of having observed me, at least not for many months, and then it seemed to come about quite in the way of business. We had large dealings with the Levant, and at certain seasons were in the habit of making direct shipments there, to various foreign ports, chiefly South American, round the Horn. We had a duly accredited local agent, who resided principally in one of the towns on the Dardanelles. It was his business to collect produce from the surrounding district, and to have it brought in from the various islands and points of the coast. This service was performed in country boats, so that at times he would have a veritable fleet under his orders. Of course these proceedings necessitated an enormous amount of correspondence, which correspondence was apt to be of a most polyglot character. Signor Litti (so was our agent named) was an Italian who had dwelt so long in the East, that he was able to deal with all likely requirements of this kind. He could converse and write in Turkish, Greek, Spanish, or Dutch. But he did not understand a word of English. This may seem strange in a commercial agent for an English house, but so it was. His communications with us were carried on in French, and it was but rarely that we had to call into requisition any other language. Sometimes complications on the spot would arise, rendering it necessary to transmit to us vouchers or applications from the native merchants. We had no one in our establishment capable of dealing with the documents, and, therefore, on such rare occasions, were obliged to have recourse to the services of an old Armenian, whom we called John, though, of course, that was not his real name. He was a bill-broker in the City, and a very honest man, and for many years his assistance had been found most valuable.

In preparing me for commerce, my parents had had the forethought to make me pay particular attention to the French language while at school, and this qualification of mine had been quoted by my Aunt Priscy in her letter of application. She was not likely, good old soul, to lose any opportunity of singing my praises. I only wish (if it’s worth while wishing about such old bygones) that she would have learned to spare my blushes, on occasions when I was a present auditor. Perhaps, however, this once her praises may have been of real sterling value, and turned the scale in my favour at the critical moment.

I was yet raw in the office when I became acquainted with Signor Litti’s caligraphy. I remember the dismal sense of incompetence that came over me when brought to this test. It was a most detestable scrawl, quite illegible at first sight. Which was the top and which the bottom I could not have confidently asserted, save for the broken line which marked the beginning. Truly, they had taught us at school to read French, but not to decipher the scrawl in which foreigners are apt to express their intentions. I think it would be a good thing if commercial schoolmasters would be at the pains to provide themselves with autograph specimens for their pupils, as preliminary exercises of their ingenuity. As this had not been done in my case, I was at first and for a long time all abroad in the exercise of my speciality. But perseverance overcomes most difficulties; and so, at last, after infinite trouble, I proved myself equal to the demand on my faculties, and pretty nearly the entire foreign correspondence of the house passed through my hands. I thus came, in due course of things, to be thoroughly trusted, and was recognised as a confidential person on probation for advancement. So matters pursued their even tenor; I, the while, mounting up in the world, and thinking of taking a house, perhaps a wife—of anything, indeed, rather than of travelling among Greeks and Mahometans.

One fine summer’s day—it rises before me now as though it were yesterday!—I had scarcely arrived at the office before I was summoned into Mr. Robson’s room. I felt sure that something uncommon must be in the wind to have brought our senior partner to the City so early. I knew indeed that things had not been going smoothly in the Levant. We had had of late an unusual influx of those vernacular documents of which I have already spoken, and our interpreter, John, had been in constant request. From him I received only occasional and partial intimations of what was going on within his field of observation, and felt that I had no right to make particular inquiries. My business was with Litti’s letters, and they appeared to me to be satisfactory. So, while I could take a wide guess at the whereabout of a likely hitch, I was all in the dark as to its precise nature.

I will spare the details of this, to me, most interesting interview. It will be enough to say that the House had been rendered uneasy by apparent discrepancies in Litti’s accounts, which had not been explained away on further inquiry. The imbroglio had been thickened by the papers which had been sent home, professedly for elucidation’s sake; and at the then present speaking there had cropped up to the surface disputes about insurance dues, customs, and, in one case, even about an entire cargo of valonea, which might, could, should, and certainly ought, to have found its way from Adaliah on the Karamanian coast to Vourlah, there to be transshipped for exportation. With our customs and dock system, such mystification could not take place, nor could there be room for such counter-statements. I know there was room for any amount of confusion under the old Turkish régime, and only hope that all I now hear of their amended ways may be true. I dare say, if the truth were known, they go on much in their old style. Well, our people felt themselves in a fix. Many a time had they accommodated themselves to circumstances, and taken for granted what they could not understand. But this was a question seriously affecting the trustworthiness of their agents. The matter must be looked to. Correspondence seemed only to render confusion more confounded. Somebody must intervene personally; and on the spot, bring individuals face to face, and make authoritative inquisition. That somebody was to be your humble servant.

“You are young,” said Mr. Robson, “but you possess our confidence. You are fully acquainted with Litti’s representations, and, with the help of a dragoman on the spot, will be able to communicate with all parties concerned. We shall send you with full powers to act on our behalf, and have every confidence that it is for our best interest so to do.”

This was all satisfactory. I was of course delighted to receive so convincing a proof of the esteem in which I was held by my superiors. But it was rather overwhelming, too. A fine barque, chartered by the firm, was about to sail for Smyrna in some ten days or a fortnight, and in her I was to have a berth. This gave me plenty of time to get ready all my traps. I wrote an affectionate farewell to my parents, said good-bye to my landlady, and at the appointed hour took a hackney coach down to the London Docks, and so I set off on my travels.

I pass by everything connected with the voyage, (though it was interesting enough to me at the time), and also with the mercantile part of the business. It will be enough for my purpose to have it understood that I conducted the required investigations satisfactorily, and that Signor Litti came out of the inquisition blameless in the main, and chargeable only with a slight lack of discretion. Moreover, I am proud to say, little or no loss accrued to the firm.

But it is quite necessary that I should explain that it became my duty in the course of these proceedings to visit Mitylene, and one or two other islands, and then go to a certain point of the Karamanian coast, much frequented as an entrepôt. This could only be done for the most part in country boats at a great cost of discomfort. I therefore congratulated myself on my good luck when I found that an opportunity was open to me of getting a passage as far as Rhodes in a comfortable and well-appointed schooner, commanded by a well-known skipper—known to myself, I mean, and that in a favourable light. He happened to have friends living out in my direction, so that my slight city knowledge of him had served as the introduction to something very like friendship between us, and I was truly glad to find that the passage was to be under his guardianship. The skippers in those days (perhaps it may be the same in these days) were rather an unpolished set, and many a queer story have I heard of their pranks when afloat. But Captain Quillet (we always scrupulously gave them their brevet titles) was a man of reason and moderation, who was never tempted by circumstances to forget himself. He behaved as well on board the Mary Jane as he did in Cornhill.

Indeed, circumstances were of a character, during that particular cruise, to keep him in check, had he been disposed to misbehave himself. I was not the only passenger on the occasion. I had not been on board ten minutes before I observed evidence of the presence amongst us of the great civilising element of society. Certainly I had been quite unaware that any such advantage had been included in my bargain. But under an awning on deck I espied a chair, and on that chair was a pretty little blue parasol, which might have come spick and span out of Regent Street, so neat did it look. Now Quillet was not likely to have been making purchases just there and then, so I guessed that the owner of the parasol must have brought it aboard herself, and be aboard; and I was delighted accordingly.

Presently out came the explanation. Quillet’s sister-in-law had a little daughter, whose health had been causing anxiety to her parents, and who had been recommended to try change of air. Of all things in the world it was thought that a sea voyage would be likely to do her good. But in those days there were difficulties in the way of sending invalids to sea which have now disappeared. Quillet thought the best plan would be for her to go with him. With a little extra care and management it was possible, he thought, to prevent her wanting necessary supplies for a single day. At all events, he could depend on himself, and they all could depend on him for taking the tenderest care of his pet niece. The idea was voted excellent, and adopted with this amendment—that the mother should be of the party. They all had had reason to be satisfied with their determination, and up to that present speaking the plan had worked in all respects well. The little girl had visibly improved in health, and the voyage had been one of much enjoyment, without drawback.

“So I hope,” said Quillet, when he had finished giving me this account, “that you will enjoy yourself. We’ve been jolly so far, and if things don’t end as they’ve begun, why I shall call you the Jonah that has spoilt our luck.”

I remember the words well, because they had on me a disagreeable effect. I hoped there was nothing of the Jonah about me, and was quite sure that I brought with me only good wishes. At the same time I would rather that he had kept his observation to himself.

In due time I was presented to Mrs. Quillet—the sister-in-law, be it remembered, not wife, of the skipper. A lady-like, agreeable person she was, as one would desire to meet among hats and feathers, let alone coasting schooners. Along with her was her little girl, Bessie, a sweet little angel of about six years old.

And so was our little society constituted on board the Mary Jane—an awful name, but it was registered that of our schooner. I went to them some days before sailing, as it happened to be the most convenient plan with respect to my own movements. We thus became acquainted before putting to sea. During the day the skipper was naturally occupied pretty closely, and the responsibility of taking care of Mrs. Quillet and the little one fell mainly to me. While he was off to the stevedore’s, or settling some row with the crew of a Trabaccolo, I was reading to my new friends, or sketching for them (a great card of mine by-the-by), or strolling with them on shore. I drew for my little friend the boats, and the schooner herself, and the queer figures of the boatmen that were constantly communicating with us. All this amused her vastly, and made us grow better and better friends continually. I suppose, too, I was helped on in the ways of intimacy in that I had no very embarrassing number of competitors. The little creature took to me wonderfully. I should certainly have loved her anywhere and everywhere: under actual circumstances she soon became the very joy and charm of my existence.

Well, in due time we found our way to Rhodes. We anchored off the town, and as my business was not of a nature to press for a day or two, I determined to stop with my friends some four-and-twenty hours and make a preliminary investigation of the island, hoping that on my return I might yet find them stationary. So resolved, so carried out. I arranged for transit to the mainland on the morning of the next day but one, and determined meanwhile to enjoy myself with all possible assiduity.

They who have visited Rhodes—a more numerous company now than in the days of which I write—will understand how perfectly delighted we all were with the spot. The very climate affords a pleasing contrast with that of every other place in the neighbourhood. A perpetual breeze fans the air, and keeps down the temperature to a bearable point; at least, such a breeze we had perpetually during my stay. Windmills stuck thickly over the long spit of coast that stretches into the Mediterranean, demonstrate the aptness of the Rhodians to utilise the resources of nature. They would seem to be the Millers-general of the Levant. The Port itself is very pretty, and affected by only a slight nuance of Frankdom. And beyond the immediate neighbourhood of the town there stretches a most smiling country.

We were to make our excursion into this beautiful interior in the usual fashion, on donkeys. Quite a cavalcade we formed, and full of fun we were. Little Bessie had been accustomed to ride a donkey at home. Mrs. Quillet was not the woman to be afraid of a few bumps; and as for the skipper and myself, we were of course warranted to ride anything. Our route lay in a great measure along the sea-shore, so that there were no great difficulties of road to try us.

The first thing we did was to call on the representatives of the Powers that be. Our own consul (remember this was years ago, so that it will be of no use trying to identify the name from any present list) took us—the men of course I mean—to wait on the Pacha. Then we went, ladies and all, to the houses of some of the other consuls. We found them very kind. Such youthful travellers as little Bessie were rare, and they lavished endearments on her. One lady in particular—we will call her Madame Richard—seemed wonderfully taken with the child. The house was ransacked for everything that might be likely to amuse, and sweetmeats were produced in quantities sufficient to make sick a dozen nurseries. I thought the playthings rather antiquated and out of working order. This was explained to me aside by a female servant, who told me that for many years Madame Richard had been childless, and that her little ones, taken in early childhood, reposed in the quiet plantation used as the Frank burying ground.

Madame Richard could not reconcile herself to our departure. She earnestly pleaded first that we would all stop, and then that the little one might be allowed to stay somewhat longer. We could not hope to make the excursion in company unless we continued our progress at the moment, and we could not afford to dispense with our little darling on the occasion. Her mother naturally enough wished the child’s future recollections of this beautiful scene to be associated with recollections of herself. So the matter was compromised. Bessie would go on with us; but on the next day she was to be allowed to visit Madame Richard, who was then to entertain the mother and daughter for the few days of their stay in the Port. Of course it will be understood that in such a spot as this, so secluded from the great world, and of such scanty Frank population, every individual was well known, so that there was nothing rash in committing themselves to the hospitality of a stranger. So was it settled, and we incontinently pursued our ride, our party being increased by the adhesion of an old gentleman well versed in the ways of the islanders, and the topography.

Much did we see that was beautiful and worthy of mention, but which for the moment I pass by unmentioned. Perhaps I may some day recur to the description. But one feature of that reminiscence stands out far otherwise than beautiful. It is hideous, dark, loathsome, and, I hope, unique. Its presence casts a shadow on what would otherwise be accepted as the most beautiful shore of that lovely region.

I am speaking of the leper village. Now elsewhere you may find lazar-houses—houses whither afflicted individuals are sent for treatment. These are isolated by a sanitary cordon, and, inasmuch as these establishments are tenanted by incurables, they may be said, in a certain sense, to be the abodes of despair. Still the patients are men and women who have had their portion, more or less, of interest in the doings of the great family of man. They have had their season of health, and must be able to find some consolation in the recollection of how it has been with them once upon a time. Moreover, they are every one marked out for seclusion by disease, actually incapacitated for active life before they are withdrawn from it. Their case is, therefore, so far not essentially different from that of certain other incurables.

But the leper village of Rhodes is not a therapeutic establishment. It is not a friendly asylum opening its gates to receive those whom all other mortals shun, save the devoted members of religious orders especially dedicated to this service. It is rather a horrible conservatory of the disease, a storehouse wherein are garnered the seeds of infection. Into it are received, not men and women who actually are lepers, but such as, without actual disease, have the taint upon them. Its population, dreadful to say, is maintained by births within the precincts. Thus, with few exceptions, it is tenanted by those who have had no intercourse with the human family, and who know of the outer world nothing more than they can gather by exercise of their senses, as from their walls they gaze on passers by.

It was a dreadful story to hear from our companion—too dreadful almost to be true. He told it quite in a matter-of-fact tone, as one who had long been used to the idea, and had ceased to regard it as remarkable.

It was enough to stop our appetite for sightseeing, and I do not think that any of us cared much about anything after that.

Mrs. Quillet was so overcome that she wept. Little Bessie did not understand the state of the case, but she looked very grave, and I could feel my face decidedly assuming an unwonted expression.

Our conversation had been carried on in French, so that Bessie could not understand what it was that made her mamma cry.

“What’s the matter, mamma? Why do you cry?” she asked.

“Oh, Bessie! I have been listening to a dreadful story—too sad almost to think about.”

“Mamma, dear mamma, are you afraid? Is anybody going to hurt you? Is anything going to happen to us?”

“No, darling, no; it is all about the poor people who live in that place up there. They are all miserable, and many of them very sick. They must never go out to see anybody. They are shut up all day and all night, and all their life long, and there must stay till they die.”

“Poor people!” said Bessie; “how glad they must be to die, and go to heaven!”

I thought so too; but, on second thoughts, I must confess that I doubt whether such would be the predisposing influence of the circumstances at work in their instance. One would fear their liability to fall into a state of desperation and universal hatred.

“What have they done,” asked little Bessie, “to be treated so cruelly?”

I put the question on my own account. “What, in good sooth, was the justification of such an incarceration? What was the degree of affinity to the infected in which one must stand in order to come under this deadly penalty? What was the danger to the community contingent on the permitting persons of hereditary taint to mingle with society, until at least the tokens of actual disease should have been developed in them?”

Mr. —— shrugged his shoulders, and took my last question first. Not being a medical man, he could not speak authoritatively; but he was inclined to believe that there would be no danger whatever in such permission, if the due limits of the permission were observed—if the patient were actually to be surrendered on the first indication of disease. But such conscientious action was not to be expected from mortal infirmity. Relations would never make the denunciation while concealment remained possible. Then hope was a great deceiver. Symptoms must be something more than threatening before the persons concerned would make up their minds as to the stern reality. Perhaps this defect of sanitary police might act to the detriment of the community, by keeping a certain number of diseased persons in only partial seclusion. But if so, the evil appeared to be unavoidable. He could only say that when the leprosy became indisputably apparent, the patient was handed over to the authorities, and that under severe penalties.

“But,” I said, “this does not touch the question of suspected consanguinity. What degree of consanguinity is held to justify forcible incarceration?”

“Only that of child to parent,” replied Mr. ——, “at least, so I believe. But you must understand that regulations of this sort would scarcely be of practical application, since all the known lepers are shut up, and of course, with scarcely an exception, their children are born within the infected precincts.”

“Whence,” I observed, “it is to be concluded the disease generally shows itself early in life.”

“Just so. Where the taint is hereditary, the development is seldom deferred beyond the eighteenth year. Some capricious and sporadic cases there are, not conformable to this rule; but on examination they turn out to be such as tend to show that there has been no hereditary taint, but that the infection has been, so to speak, accidental.”

“And that supports the idea of the danger of contact with the diseased.”

“Yes: though for my part I must say that I utterly discredit the notion. If the liability to infection, or contagion, were anything like so great as it is assumed to be, the evil would prevail far more extensively than it does. With all precaution, there will always remain a certain number of non-isolated cases; and I have never been able to make out that peculiar penalties have fallen on the households where they have been secreted. Besides, in some parts of this very empire, lepers may be seen as roadside beggars, guarded from contact with passers-by only by the natural horror which their condition inspires.”

This conversation had taken some time, and caused a halt on the road. It had to be explained, bit by bit, to little Bessie. We all were deeply affected at the account. It is bad enough to read of such things; but it was terrible to hear them told vivâ voce, with the practical illustration of the place itself before our eyes. We could not lose ourselves in generalities. It was not only that “such things were,” but there we had them before our eyes. It was only to go up that little hillock, and you might then look down on the main street of the town.

We had not even to do so much. Our halt had attracted their notice, and one after another they came crowding to the wall, for they have a regular wall of enclosure. Ten, a dozen, twenty heads were soon to be counted. There they were in the blank, dismal reality of their affliction. Pale and wan faces, bundles of rags, painful crawling bodies hoisted by the aid of those below. Dismally they looked forth upon us, and I remember that one prevailing sentiment within me at the moment was wonder that, under their circumstances, they should retain sufficient interest in human affairs to give themselves the trouble to climb or to look.

But not all there were sickly and sad. Among the hideous spectres on that wall were faces, more than one, rosy with apparent health. Alas! alas! how sick did I turn as I clearly made out the features of a pretty girl of some seventeen or eighteen years of age. More terrible still, under the circumstances, there came clearly ringing on the ear from out of that dark misery, the joyous chirrup of childhood. We looked, and there was the girl holding up a beautiful child of perhaps four years of age. Others we heard whose little voices were loud, probably in supplication to be lifted up also, that they might see the passers-by.

It seems indeed that the active symptoms of this disease do not always interfere with the personal appearance. Sometimes the morbid manifestations are for years under cover of the clothes; so that you may have the Siren’s head joined on to the body of death. Frequently cases will occur in which health is enjoyed up to the age of eighteen or twenty. In the instance of young women, I am told that they frequently are of attractive appearance up to that time of life. I had no opportunity of judging from experience.

Who would not have been touched with the sight of the little children! In their living tomb they enjoyed the happy immunity of ignorance, and proved that abstractedly from all adventitious aid, joy is the portion of childhood.

I think I have said that, after having seen the lazar village, we did not feel much disposed to appreciate the other sights of the locality. There was a great deal else in Rhodes worthy of notice; indeed, I should think there can scarcely be in the world an island more abounding in objects of interest. Were I not constitutionally lazy, I might, no doubt, have written some account of these matters at large. But this must do for the present, and this it is which furnishes the main recollection of that otherwise happy day, spent with my new friends.

Our expedition occupied pretty nearly the whole day, and in the evening we were reunited in the snug cabin of the Mary Jane. These lodgings we much preferred to anything in the shape of hotel or other accommodation that the town could offer.

Bessie was sent early to bed, and the rest of us sat up, in somewhat saddened mood, talking over our plans. It appeared that, in the course of the day, Quillet had made arrangements for my well-being during my trip to the mainland. A country boat had been engaged for me, and a sharp fellow bespoken to accompany me as dragoman. The offer of his services was valuable, but attended with one drawback—he was limited to time. My need was not likely to extend over a day or two, so that we should agree well enough. It came out in the course of explanation that the reason of his being thus restricted was that he was a Jew, and anxious to be back at Rhodes in time to celebrate their festival of the Passover. So we made our bargain; I only too glad to get an assistant recommended as being thoroughly honest, and he, no doubt, well content to have the opportunity of turning a penny.

Here, perhaps, I ought to pause, and put in a line or two of asterisks, or give some other objective intimation of a wide gulf, as set between the parts of my narrative before and after this point. At all events let it be understood that here is the line of demarcation. I performed my expedition, transacted my business, and, in due time, with every reason to be satisfied with my extemporised prime minister, was returning to Rhodes and nearing the schooner.

The evening was beautiful, the sky lovely, the sea pure ultramarine. Nature looked her best, and gave no note of aught extraordinary. We both (at least I will answer for myself) were without presentiment, and prepared to take up the thread of experience where we had left it. But not so was it to be. We were perhaps half-a-mile from the anchorage when a small boat was to be seen making its way towards us. A single man occupied it, rowing with might and main. I had acquired sufficient power of discrimination to recognise by his dress and appearance that he was a co-religionist of my new companion. As he came nearer it was evident that terror and perturbation were stamped on his features. Like Priam’s or Lady Percy’s messenger he forestalled utterance.

Presently he sent forth a cry on the waters, shouting as sailors are wont to shout, and in a style totally unintelligible to me.

What could have been the words? They were few and brief, but had produced a manifest effect on my companion. He seemed to be stricken with sudden fear, and, at the same time, with astonishment and perplexity. Our one boatman pricked up his ears and began to look excited, though not frightened. From neither of them could I obtain any explanation: one could not speak any Frank tongue, and the other appeared for the moment to be dumb.

At the same time unusual symptoms were manifested on the Molo. I saw that it swarmed with people, many of whom were gesticulating fiercely, and all in great commotion. They seemed to be shaking their fists and performing a regular war-dance.

“Daniel, my good friend,” said I, “what on earth is the matter?”

“Ah, your excellence”—(it was a disagreeable feature of conversation with these fellows that they would be giving one titles)—“dreadful news!”

Much more communication had passed between the friends all this time, and the boatman had fired up to the most vivid interest.

It was, however, an interest of no very pleasing character, for I heard him muttering words which were among the few I had learned to know by sound, and which were words of imprecation:

“Dogs! and the sons of dogs!” was about the equivalent of what he ground between his teeth.

And now I began to obtain some light on the matter. It was only, however, after considerable explanation by Daniel, that I came to have a distinct notion of what was in progress.

A great calamity was threatening the Jewish population of Rhodes. One of those violent outbreaks of superstitious hatred to which they are exposed in semi-civilised countries, was at that moment culminating. The event is historical, so that some who read may remember the fact, or remember to have heard the tradition. Alas! such is human nature, that since that time there may have been other similar scenes enacted. There will always, I fear, be the liability to them so long as the antagonistic characteristics of Greek Christians and Jews are brought into contact under oriental rule.

I mentioned that it was just at the time of the Passover. There seems to be a fatality about this particular festival, for the poor children of Abraham. Whether it be that at this season there is an especial quickening of zeal among the orthodox, which zeal is supposed to find its legitimate expression in persecuting the Jews, I cannot say—but it is likely enough. They who have witnessed the working of the feuds at Easter between Latins and Orthodox, may conceive what would be the likely virulence, on any decent pretext, against such a defenceless set of religious foes as the Jews.

Christians in the East are generally ready to charge crimes on the Jews. Murder and kidnapping are not uncommon counts in their indictments. But they do not stop at mere murder. They charge them with positive cannibalism—cannibalism as a direct consequence of their religion, and as an act of high obedience to their Doctors. The allegation is that at Passover time they will always, if possible, kidnap a Christian child, and sacrificing him, mingle his blood with their Passover cakes. It is in vain that one may urge the manifest folly of such an accusation, since the Jews are not permitted to eat the blood of any animal whatsoever. It is in vain that you challenge them to cite the passage in the Law of Moses enjoining this practice. They cover themselves from all attacks by asserting, that the injunction does not come from Moses, but from the supplementary writings of the Rabbis,—that it is in the Talmud. As very few of us have ever seen the Talmud, or know anything of the Rabbinical writings, they are but few who can establish the negative on their positive knowledge. It would be but of little use if they could; for the refuted of to-day, would to-morrow take their theory elsewhere; and before fresh auditors produce it as incontrovertible.

I had heard something of all this before, and remembered reading in the public papers about disturbances in Syria on this very account. This was however some years since, and one hoped the world was growing wiser. A child had disappeared, and the whole population, Christian and Mahometan, had conspired to accuse the Jews of kidnapping and murder. The unfortunate people were kept in their quarter, in a state of obsession, and the most serious results would no doubt have followed on this popular exasperation, had not the missing child turned up in the very nick of time.

Now the same madness had fallen on the people of Rhodes. How it was, and who it was that was missing, Daniel’s friend could not tell. All he knew was that the entire population was in uproar, and giving vent to words and acts which might well be the prelude of a massacre. The account he gave of himself was that, being unable to reach the Jews’ quarter before retreat was cut off, and knowing also that Daniel was likely to be returning about that time, he had watched for the boat, and managed to steal off to warn him against the danger of attempting to land on the Molo under present circumstances.

I could judge myself what this danger would be. The Greek boatman looked as if he would fain have pitched the pair of them into the sea,—this, though it was one against two, with myself presumed to be neutral. At Daniel’s entreaty I had ordered the boat’s head to be put off from shore. It would have been conniving at murder to allow them to venture among the madmen we there saw. I therefore determined to venture to claim Quillet’s hospitality for the two Israelites, till better times haply should arrive. We neared the vessel, and my intention was, after having committed the two Jews to safe guardianship, to go myself among the people and see whether I could be of any use. As I was tolerably cool, and everybody else appeared to be taken frantic, it seemed likely that I might be able to do some good. At least I should be able to get some trustworthy information.

The two Jews, poor fellows, were most thankful for my offer. The ungracious Gentile seemed to grudge them their refuge; but I reminded him that I was the patron of the boat for the time being, and that I must direct her course, if I was eventually to pay. So he sulkily lent himself to my behest, and brought us alongside of the Mary Jane. I believe that nothing could have given him a worse opinion of my religious standing, than the apparent fact that I sympathised with these persecuted victims. Certainly the zeal of the Eastern Christians is of the demonstrative kind.

As we drew near I perceived that the commotion of the moment was not confined to the good folks on shore. Allowing for difference of temperament, I do not know that the state of our own people did not show even more excitement than did that of the others. There was no gesticulating, no dancing about the deck, no audible cursing. But all hands were gathered together in earnest conclave, and in disregard of conventional distinctions of rank and standing. The cook, and the carpenter, and the mate, and the captain were there, with long faces. Quillet looked as I had never known him look before. Bitter anguish was in his expression, and dogged, fierce determination. He had pistols in his belt, and really altogether looked more like a theatrical pirate, than a respectable skipper. His boat was alongside, so that evidently he was preparing for the shore, and that, judging by his costume, in no amicable spirit. Everybody was there save the two females. The mother and daughter, I took it for granted, were down in the cabin, to be out of the row.

One seaman was haranguing the company. He appeared to have somehow acquired a private stock of information, and to be serving it out pro bono publico. I could not catch many words, nor much of the sense, but made out plainly enough that he was expatiating on some tremendous misdeed, and inviting all and everybody to a purpose of vengeance.

I must confess that I was beginning myself to feel somewhat off the equilibrium. The manifestation on board the vessel seemed to bring matters painfully near to oneself. I hope that I am not deficient in philanthropy. Still I cannot pretend to say that I felt stirred to the same depth by the view of danger threatening strangers, as by that of danger threatening ourselves. It was being brought near to us in my apprehension, little as I could understand how this was to be. I had an instinctive and uncomfortable misgiving that nothing short of personal interest could have so stirred the people.

They were too busy to see me at first, and it was not till I hailed that some one threw me a rope (a painter, by the bye, they call it in nautical language, an etymology that I never could trace out). The commotion seemed to receive a decided access when they made out who it was. When Daniel loomed full on their vision, two or three of the number greeted him in terms far other than polite. One fellow made a demonstration of jumping into the boat with hostile purpose, and from the whole body on deck arose a shout, warning him not to venture among them unless he wished to get his deserts. I felt that if the poor fellow only could be sure of this, of getting no more than the harm that he deserved from us, he would be well enough off; for he was an honest, good fellow, and particularly well-disposed towards Englishmen. But there was little chance of fair dealing at the moment. Evidently he had fallen under suspicion of complicity with the evil-doing of his fellows, and, among these impulsive sailors, was in danger of coming to grief.

It was a moment for energetic action, and my friends told me afterwards I came out well under the circumstances.

I first stopped my friend who wanted to invade the boat. By a judicious application of force, and by placing myself in such a position that he could not get in amongst us without first pushing me overboard, I retarded his progress. The moment’s delay was enough. I stepped out, and in the act of doing so gave the boat a shove off, and left it to their sagacity to maintain the advantage of position.

“Now, then, my men,” I said, “what’s the matter?”

They positively scowled at me. They, the best tempered set of the best tempered class of men, scowled at me as though something of their overflowing wrath had been directed in my direction.

“The matter is,” growled one of them, “that we mean to break that Jew fellow’s neck to begin with.”

“We don’t like them as stick up for murderers and kidnappers,” said another.

“And blessed if we don’t break his neck,” said a third. “We ain’t going to be gammoned by any swells of passengers.”

All this time Quillet hung back, and said nothing, which struck me as the most serious symptom of all. I knew that a trifle would set the sailors in a ferment, but Quillet was a sober-minded person. I began to feel queer. The vessel was in a state of anarchy—mutiny it was scarcely to be called, since the captain seemed to be going with the tide of opinion. But it was a dangerous and instantly threatening anarchy.

“Captain Quillet,” I said, assuming as firm a countenance as I could, though I heartily confess that I was in a fright. “Captain Quillet, I appeal to you for protection for the men in that boat who are in my service. If any of them is hurt, I will take care that you answer for it before the proper tribunal.”

“Young man,” was the captain’s rejoinder, “you are committing yourself to more than you bargain for. That man Daniel is a black-hearted rascal. He deserves to be hung at the yard-arm.”

What madness could have seized them! How could Daniel have done anything to deserve these maledictions, when he had been absent with me?

“Be it so,” I said, “still for the moment you owe him protection and safe custody. The whole thing is a mystery to me, and I cannot conceive how the man who has the most undeniable alibi pleadable, can be accused of participation in anything that has been going on here.”

Then I said how disappointed I was at the excitement prevailing among them. How it had come to pass that news of the row on shore had been brought off to us, and that I had in a manner pledged the honour and faith of Englishmen to these Jews. It was almost certain that their lives would have been sacrificed, had they ventured to the ordinary landing-place; and I felt bound in common humanity (to say nothing of the obligation of our temporary fellowship,) to do what I could to help them.

“You know, my good fellows, that, in this place and all hereabouts, they are not too particular about getting hold of the right man to hang. If Daniel had fallen into their hands now, he would soon have been done for, and it would have been no use crying over him when we had all found out our mistake, as find it out I am positive we shall.”

“Now, then,” I went on, after a rather spasmodic harangue, “will you give this fellow fair play? Hang him, by all means, if he deserves it; only, as you cannot undo such work as that, make sure of your game before you begin. All I ask is that you will keep him safe to answer for himself. Captain Quillet, I appeal to you to protect him from all dangers, and refuse him to all challengers, till facts have been examined.”

This, and a good deal more to the same tune, if it was not eloquence, at least was sufficiently like it to produce much of the effect due to the real article. The men began to be ashamed of their violence, and gradually were brought to the point for which I was contending. Both Jews were to be received on board, and kept in hard and fast security, that they might be forthcoming on the demand of responsible prosecutors. Poor fellows! this was for them no little boon. It has been the fate and remains the danger of their race, to suffer from popular paroxysms. To be reserved for deliberate judgment is for them, in a vast majority of cases, to be saved.

“And now,” said I, “will someone be good enough to tell me what all the row is about?”

A chorus of voices burst forth in reply, but I could make nothing out of them. Quillet moved his hand for silence.

“I will tell you in two words,” said he. “Look around, and see who it is that is missing.”

I have already said that the mother and daughter were absent. This had seemed natural enough, but now that attention was particularly challenged to the fact, in a moment it became connected with the idea of calamity.

I turned sick, and was hot and cold at once. Nonsense. I would shake off the thought. But Quillet’s look would not allow me so to do. His eye fixed mine, and by that wonderful process of mental telegraphy by which, without spoken word, ideas are flashed from one mind into another, made me feel that he had divined my apprehension, and that it was well founded.

“Yes,” he said, “all stand here but two, and they the best and dearest. Little Bessie has fallen into the hands of fiends, and her mother has to be kept by main force from rushing to destruction on her traces.”

I cannot pretend, at this distance of time, to recollect minutely the passages of that dismal history, nor should I like to dwell on them lingeringly. I can, however, remember that, stunned as I was by the intelligence that our little darling was missing under alarming circumstances, I did not give in to the popular delusion, nor release the stringency of my protectorate over Daniel and his friend. I knew that so far as they were concerned, there could be no complicity. Perhaps it was my certain conviction on this point which made me sceptical as to the evil intentions of any of the accused.

The story at full (though I was long getting at it) amounted to this. Little Bessie had, according to arrangements, been sent for her promised visit to Madame R. It seems that some cabin repairs were required on board the vessel, and Mrs. Quillet had been induced to remain at Madame R.’s longer than had been intended, in order that she might be out of the confusion. This same cause had led her to return alone in the first instance, that she might re-establish order in their little domain before her little one’s coming. Thus the dear child had been left by herself, left with her perfect consent, and at the most earnest entreaty of their kind entertainer. She was not a shy child, and seldom made a difficulty of taking to new friends. With Madame R. she seemed perfectly happy.

The first mixing up of the Jewish element in the story was this. Daniel had some subordinate connection with Madame R——. I believe he was what we should call a bailiff, or manager of a certain property belonging to her. This brought him, and sundry of those belonging to him, a good deal into her neighbourhood, and even into her house. Strong as was the religious prejudice against the Jews, and apt though it undoubtedly was to be fanned, on occasion, into flame, it did not seem to involve social antipathy, in the normal state of things. Daniel, as I have said, was much about the house and place, and he was in the habit of bringing with him two or three children at a time. These children had naturally enough wanted to see the little stranger, and had for the time being been her especial favourites. Children do not take long to contract friendships, and experience proves that with them even the want of a common language is no insuperable stumbling-block. They had together ransacked their stores of toys, and had been allowed, under inspection, to play on the beach. Where there are no tides, this permission is not attended with the same danger as with us.

Time had passed on much to the satisfaction of everybody concerned with the doings of the household, till the evening that was to be the last of the visit. There had been the usual fun and play during the day, and no cloud threatened calamity, when all of a sudden it was discovered that the little visitor was missing. Of course, no alarm was felt at the first, nor till after she had been searched and shouted for inside and outside of the house. But then they did get frightened, and seem to have given free course to their speculations. Who was the original propounder of the particular suggestion that had driven them mad, was not very clear: but hit on the notion they somehow did.

“Who had seen her last? Who had been her companions?” were questions inevitable. Her little playfellows were called for, but they did not answer the summons. They too had disappeared. Aspasia, the waiting-maid, had seen them all sallying forth together in the direction of Daniel’s habitation. When catechised, the children had asserted that after accompanying them about halfway—and that was nothing in respect of actual distance—Bessie had left them to return to Madame R——’s. This was all that could be elicited by the most careful cross-examination.

Unfortunately the older members of Daniel’s family had evinced tokens of mental disturbance, and exhibited a suspicious eagerness to acquit themselves of all blame in the matter. This would not perhaps have been wonderful in the eyes of their interlocutors had they considered that the burnt child dreads the fire—that the memory of past violences is necessarily connected with the thought of future possibilities. The women of Daniel’s household knew only too well what terrible consequences to themselves and their people might be involved in just this sort of accident. So as I have said they were too eager to vow and protest that they knew nothing about the little Frank damsel.

Some unlucky individual at last gave utterance to the foul suspicion that it was (another?) case of kidnapping for superstitious purposes, and in a moment the idea blazed from one end of the island to the other. The particulars of a plot were furnished off-hand, and it must be confessed that circumstances seemed to adapt themselves wonderfully to the charge. This charge in its matured state amounted to this: that the Jews having been long deprived of the necessary means of celebrating their Passover orgies, had been anxiously watching opportunities. Any attempt on the well-known and settled inhabitants would have been fraught with danger, as well they knew to their cost. Here in the nick of time—i.e., just as the festival was approaching, had arrived a little Christian child, without kith or kin on the spot. No one bound by ties of consanguinity to take upon himself the office of her avenger would be found in the island in a few days. It was not likely that anybody else would care much for, or long remember, a little stranger. So the victim had been fixed upon. Daniel had contrived to get me out of the way, whom they supposed to be one natural protector, and the children had been set on to act as decoys. Eventually in the mother’s absence the prey had been secured. To this bore witness the fact, that when last seen the poor child had been in company with her new playmates, making away from Madame R——’s. house.

This all seems perfect nonsense now; but I am persuaded that very few people in Rhodes did not believe it. They had before their mind’s eye a picture of little Bessie, either already murdered, or shut up in some dismal hole awaiting the unholy sacrifice.

I need scarcely say, that the moment I came to understand the posture of affairs, I determined to proceed to the scene of action. A cool head was evidently wanted among them. Quillet had calmed down so far, after a little while, as to forego the purpose of personal vengeance for the present. But I saw that he still maintained his suspicions in force, and that if he was content to keep Daniel in safety, it was as the gaoler guards his captive. As for the ship’s crew and the mob on shore, they were simply mad.

“Quillet,” I said, “give me a couple of hands in the dingy, and set me ashore as near as possible to Madame R——’s house. I will do my best to bring you off intelligence, and I feel as if I should succeed.”

He shook his head. He evidently retained little hope. I fear it was an impulse of vengeance that animated him.

“Take the boat,” he said, “and good luck be with you—but your trouble will be thrown away. However, we have the chief rascal hard and fast, that’s one comfort.”

“And mind,” I added, “that you keep him. He would not have a long lease of life, if some here had their way.”

I made him feel that it would be a burning shame if anything contrary to law and right should happen to anyone under his charge. To guard against contingencies I prevailed on him to remain on board, where he would in this respect be of great use, whereas in his then state he could do no good on shore.

I proclaimed my absolute conviction that the charge against the Jews was an absurd lie—a thing in itself incredible and impossible—the bare suggesting of which involved an insult to a man’s common sense.

There was enough of solid ground for fear, without falling on fancies. That little Bessie might have fallen into some serious peril was only too possible, but if mortal hands could rescue her, there were we to rescue.

Hurried as I was, I went below for a moment to bid good bye to Daniel and his friend—and to assure them of protection. They were much cast down. It was impossible to say whether or not the child would be found, and in what condition.

As I talked with them a woman came up. She was a Greek, the wife of the boatman who came off every day to look after the wants of the men. I had more than once noticed her, as a mild, kind, motherly person. I thought she must be coming to console.

I was mistaken. She walked straight up to Daniel, and without preface spit in his face.

“Dog! sorcerer! murderer! Jew!” she screamed, and then poured out a torrent of imprecation into which I could not follow here. Her gesture, however, was savagely expressive of a desire to cut his throat. The poor fellows both of them crouched before her wrath.

“Halloh! mistress!” I cried, “get out of this. These men are prisoners, and you must not interfere with them.”

She seemed to understand me, for she had a certain amount of broken English at command. Perhaps she was pretty nearly as accessible to one language as another just then.

I got her out, and reporting the occurrence to Quillet, begged him to provide against the possibility of such visitations for the future. But the incident was not lost on me. It served to show how bitter was the animosity which could stir up even women to such demonstrations.

And then I departed on my errand, and a most extraordinary scene it was on which I entered. Never was a mob more unanimous than that raging on the Marina. They had thoroughly made up their minds touching the charge against the Jewish community, and seemed astonished at my reappearance. Whether or not my murder entered into the popular programme, I cannot say. But at all events, and most evidently, they were disconcerted at seeing me there in person. This was the first check in their career of mad assumptions. Then came my explanation, which I hope had some weight. I assured them that my absence was in pursuance of plans laid before my coming to Rhodes, before Daniel could have seen or heard of me, so that there could have been no plotting here.

Then I proposed that two selected individuals should accompany me in a perquisition from house to house in the Jews’ quarter. These unfortunates had, of course, resisted a visitation en masse, and were prepared to do so, if necessary, by force. But they would be only too happy to avail themselves of any non-perilous means of rebutting the charges against them.

Well, two respectable Greeks were chosen, and we set to work immediately. Every house, every cupboard, every cellar was open to us—not, by-the-by, that their houses do contain many cellars—but I mean that we were invited to search every possible lurking-place. Of course we found nothing; and with tears in their eyes the poor women assured us (as interpreted to me), that they would give their own blood to find traces of the little one. Alas! they knew that their blood was likely to pay the penalty of a failure.

Our search being over, my associates departed to report progress. I remained behind, and asked to see the children who had been the last with Bessie. There was a long demur, but eventually, and on my repeated assurance that my intentions were the very opposite of hostile, two little girls were produced as being the children in question. Nice-looking things they were, though in a state of abject terror. I set myself (always through an interpreter) to get at the full particulars of the story. They told where they had been, and what they had done, and where they lost sight of Bessie. It was at a point near home, but she had not set about walking in a homeward direction. She had turned towards the beach. They thought nothing of it at the time, but remembering it subsequently, wondered that they had not followed after her. That was all they knew about it.

I determined to follow up the track. Perfectly convinced as I was that she was not secreted anywhere in the town, the only supposition I could hit upon was that she had wandered, poor little thing, somewhere into the country. I started alone. The two children would have come with me, had it been safe for them to venture; but I had to be content with descriptive indications of the line of departure.

I soon arrived at the described point, and verified the course laid down for me. The hubbub in the town continued to rage, as the failure of all the searches was ascribed to the cunning of the accused. No one noticed me; no one seemed to think that I had the slightest chance of success. They were too entirely pre-occupied with their one idea. Besides they had already searched in this very track. They could scarcely have been so stupid as to omit such an obvious probability. But, for all this, I proceeded not the less confidently. Perhaps it was because I felt that, with minds ready made up, they would not be likely to search as I should. There was no heart in their work; there was in mine. So on I went.

Searching every nook, looking behind every crag and rock, I passed on farther than it was likely a child of tender years could have wandered. No hat, no shoe, no ribbon was found. I began to fear that she might have been carried off by some piratical visitant from the seaward.

Much discouraged I turned homeward. Night was coming on, and continued effort seemed likely to be at random. Slightly altering my route I came to the very ground over which our happy cavalcade had passed joyously but a few days since. There was the ilex we had admired—there the fantastic rock. And there, in its grim desolation, was the leper village.

I stopped at the very spot where we had halted before, and recalled the former thoughts. The encircling wall was bare of heads. Poor things, no doubt they went to bed early. Still I thought there was one person standing at the post of observation. Yes, I made him out plainly.

In the fading light it was not easy to make sure of objects, but it really seemed as if the poor fellow was watching me as intently as I was watching him. Yes, there was no mistake about it. He was gesticulating, and that in a manner evidently intended to invite my approach.

I had a moment’s hesitation. Repugnance and fear held me back, but divine charity urged me forward. Should I refuse to listen to the afflicted? That much I might do without pains and penalties,—certainly without actual risk.

So I advanced cautiously within ear-shot. What was it that the pale, muffled-up spectre shouted out? The language was known to my ear; but the idea was of the utterly impossible.

“Monsieur, la voici votre petite!”

A horrible dread came over me. I gasped for breath,—was sick and trembled.

That living grave, and poor Bessie! The association was too dreadful.

I tottered towards the speaker, and, in the excitement of the moment, might have seriously compromised myself, had not his voice arrested me.

“Halte là, monsieur, il ne faut pas depasser les limites.”

I must not go beyond, and yet poor Bessie was there, within the devoted inclosure.

I stopped as ordered, and in a few words begged to be informed as to the state of the case, and how I was to get back the poor child. Alas! I knew that if the fact of her whereabout should be ascertained, she would be doomed to lifelong detention.

By combining what I was then told with what I subsequently learned from the poor little thing herself, I am enabled to give this reading of the riddle. Bessie had been deeply moved by seeing the lepers, and hearing what had been told her of their condition. On the intended last evening of her visit, she had been strongly impelled to go and have one more look at the place. Though generally most frank and open, she had, on this occasion, acted with a caution beyond her years. So it will sometimes be with children. It may be presumed that she had a general notion of being about to do something wrong—something at least which would be forbidden were its purpose detected. She had not let even the children know what she was about. On leaving them she had made her way directly to the village. What her purpose was she could not herself say. I can imagine that it was just that undefined impulse of benevolence which so often leads kindly hearts, in the first instance, into the midst of suffering. They go because the impulse is in that direction. They act as occasion offers itself. My informant happened to be the particular person who first discovered her presence. In the stillness of the evening he perceived her approaching. No time for warning was given, for she was well within the doomed precincts when he first saw her. He said that at first he had taken her for a little angel, but that in a moment he recognised her as the Frank child who had passed by a day or two before.

The full peril of her position flashed before his mind, but he determined at once to do his best to restore her to her friends. There were the legal perils to be guarded against, as well as the real dangers to herself from the juxtaposition into which she had fallen. Her wandering must be kept from the knowledge of the people outside, and she must be scrupulously guarded from all contact with the infected community.

So they had agreed among themselves not to touch her, nor anything that she was to handle, and to keep all children out of her presence. They would no doubt have sent her away at once, had it been possible for any one to accompany her. But this could not be, and it was out of the question to let her go alone. The only thing to be done was to keep her till some opportunity should occur of letting her friends know where she was, that they might quietly remove her.

An unoccupied outhouse, on the very line of enclosure, afforded the means of separate entertainment. It was near the place where contributions in kind were wont to be laid by the friends of those under detention. These were fetched away by the sick day by day. To this little Bessie was pointed, and from it bidden to fetch what she wanted.

She told me afterwards that they had been so good to her. The women, especially, stood around and watched her with smiles. She would have kissed them if they would have let her; but they religiously kept their distance. One man was found with sufficient broken English at command to make her understand that she must keep quiet, and no harm would happen to her, and that by-and-by her friends would come and fetch her. All through the dreary night she was preserved from fear by the consciousness that kindly souls were watching her.

And here, at last, I was come. Bessie caught the sound of my voice, and was at my side. Her exit was no more impeded than had been her entrance. Whether at any time the communications were guarded by sentries, I do not know. Perhaps the lepers were kept within their limits by the certainty of being shot if found straying. I fancy that subsequently to this period a system of improved caution was instituted, in consequence, probably, of some inkling of this, our adventure, having got abroad. But nothing then was in the way to stop her. Freely she had passed, and freely she came forth, and I had nothing to do but to make off with her to a place of safety.

How could I thank those generous preservers, who, being themselves in the vortex of calamity, had yet put forth their strength and ingenuity to thrust out a volunteering, though unwitting recruit? Two or three were gathered together to watch, and to hasten our departing. It was evident in the manifestations of their experience that the luxury of benevolence never loses its virtue. It must bring happiness under all human circumstances. Joy beamed forth from the eyes of all present. But time pressed. There was no real safety for us anywhere on shore, and our vessel must therefore be regained at once.

They urged me to depart, and to guard my secret, the divulging of which would be attended with penalties to themselves as well as to us. They sent us off with motions of tenderest farewell. Bessie would have kissed them, but I held her back. They were too well drilled to require any caution.

So we sped, expressing our thankfulness as well as we could. I hurried her down to the beach, where I knew that Quillet’s gig would be waiting for me. It was necessary to repress the joyous exclamations of the men, who would have roused the populace with three cheers. But we got on board first, and then let our news be known.

I simply announced that I had found her in the course of my search along the beach, and that all the mischief had arisen from the accident of her having gone astray in her ramble. Madame R. and two or three leading inhabitants soon came off to see her, and they were followed by a sufficient number of witnesses to authenticate the fact of her re-appearance, and to release the unfortunate Israelites from persecution. In twenty-four hours we sailed on our homeward voyage.

Whether since that time there have been any similar outbreaks at Rhodes, I do not know. I think, however, it is reasonable to hope that the lesson of this occasion has not been lost on them.

Bessie is now a grandmother—a bright, hale, useful, energetic old lady. She retains only a very dim recollection of her early adventure, and has never been able fairly to explain what was the nature of the impulse that led her into danger. She dimly recollects—I never—never can forget how nearly she who has been the delight of three generations, as child, wife, and mother, was brought to desolation; how nearly she was consigned to hopeless captivity among the lepers of Rhodes.