The only time I can recollect being in comparatively abject terror, knowing that I must be killed to a certainty, and among the first to die, was when I was employed pirate-hunting on the coast of Asia Minor, in the _Foxhound_ sloop, commanded by the late Hobart Pasha. I was sent away cruising for a fortnight at a time on the south coast of Asia Minor in a 10-oared cutter. I used to lie in some creek on the coast. Sometimes we slept in any old hovel, in any cover, we could find near the shore, but generally under our awnings and sails in the boat; and by day we used to sally out, and board any suspicious coaster that was passing. As it turned out, we frightened far more poor devils than the pirates scared. We were constantly boarding some craft or another, and we never knew until alongside what the vessel might turn out to be. I felt certain that Mr. Pirate would not show the slightest attempt at resistance until we were close alongside, and that then he could quietly pot every mother’s son of us before we laid our oars in. That I should be the best target was unquestionable. Standing up in uniform, I made the most conspicuous figure. And I often noticed that on my giving the order to draw cutlasses and stand by to board, there were anxious looks on the faces of my boat’s crew. Pulling with their backs turned to what might prove to be the enemy was not a pleasant position. I could see, but they could not; and with my glasses I often noticed men looking over the coaster’s bulwarks, crouching down in dire funk at our approach: of course, they might suspect us of being the pirate, and possibly send a shot or two at us on spec. Thus there was a sort of “double event” about this job: of being taken for the pirate oneself, and of finding the apparently peaceful trader a pirate in disguise. There was much relief when we discovered each other’s charms; and many a laugh over a cigarette and bottle of resin wine followed, especially pleasant after a long hot pull of two or three miles under a broiling sun. I never caught a pirate; though I had the luck to drive a boat full of the beggars ashore, when they burnt their boat and scattered up into the hills. The other Lieutenant of the _Foxhound_ did not fare so well in his cruise after the pirates. Bent on a ruse, he left his man-of-war’s boat, hired a native caique, and sailed about, disguising his crew by making them wear the regular Greek dress, in which he attired himself as well.