I knew if I could get there first, saving the chance, that all would be well; if a rash boy of fourteen saw me first, I might be stopped by a bullet before any explanation would avail. Tired, muddy, reeking with perspiration, bruised on the stones, exhausted with haste and trepidation, we won the race, and halted behind a little roadside chapel to gather the state of things. Above, we heard voices of a colloquy, and knew that the remainder of the party were in safe custody, and our road was quiet. A short walk brought us to the outpost of the Turkish army, a village garrisoned by a couple of companies of regulars and a few Albanians. The commandant, a major, was outranked by Borthwick, who ordered him at once to send out a detachment to rescue Consul Dickson and his companions. The poor major protested and remonstrated, but in vain. "It was dangerous," he said; but the colonel insisted, he ordered out a detachment, and then called for pipes and coffee, after which, under a heavy escort, we started for Canéa. Borthwick obtained a battalion of the regulars in garrison, and started next morning at early dawn to rescue our friends; but no persuasion could induce the Turkish commander to enter the ravines. He posted his troops along the overlooking ridge and waited in ambush. I have it on Borthwick's word that, while the troops were lying concealed, under orders to keep the most profound silence, a hare started up at the end of the line, and the Turkish commander instantly ordered the first company to their feet, and to make ready, and was about to give the order to fire when a hound of the battalion anticipated the volley by catching the poor beast and despatching him on the spot. Meanwhile, Dickson and his companions were in the hospitable hands of a party of Hadji Michali's men, and at about eight A.M. came down the road into view of the ambush, escorted by a guard of honor of insurgents, none the worse for their adventure, and bringing back our beasts and baggage; but nothing would induce the Turkish officer to go the mile separating him from the insurgent outpost which had fired on us. While Hadji told his story to his admiring companions (he was an excellent _raconteur_, and put the whole of his barbaric soul into the narration, though his respect for the Effendi kept his voice low and quieted a little his camp manner), one or the other of the three made my cigarettes and brought me fire, and only when the sun began to sink from the meridian did we move on.