‘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.