It was about this time that I received a report from some American missionaries to the effect that one of their comrades had been robbed and murdered by some Arabs who inhabited the mountains near Alexandretta, people whose evil deeds had for some time past brought them into notoriety.  Although I was under orders to join the commander-in-chief, I took it upon myself to remain and assist the Americans in hunting down if possible the murderers of their comrade.

I confess I was made more zealous in the cause from hearing that there were ‘lots of big game on the hills.’  I invited two or three of these American missionaries to join my mess, and off we went to look for the murderers.  As this is a chapter on shooting, I will as briefly as possible state what we did in the official way.  In the first place we anchored at the head of the Gulf of Ayas, near a large town where resided the chief authority of the neighbourhood in which the murder had been committed.  I landed with the missionaries, several of my officers, and some marines to act as an escort, and paid an official visit to this gentleman, who was called the caimakam, or chief magistrate.  This great man told us that we should certainly with his assistance find the people we were after.  He suggested that we should accompany him with a small body of our men, to which he could add some of his zeptiehs:  that thus accompanied he would go to a place on the hill where we should find what we wanted.  He said that a little ‘backsheesh’ was necessary.  This latter we found, and the next day we started.

We ascended amongst the most magnificent wooded hills I ever saw.  ’Such places for game!’ thought I, till at last we halted at a clump of splendid oak trees.  Under one of these a grand luncheon was spread, of which we were all invited to partake.  During the luncheon a man rushed up to our host and whispered in his ear something which seemed to give him great satisfaction, for he at once smilingly said, ’Captain, I have found the men you are after;’ and sure enough we saw approaching two ruffianly looking fellows, tied together, and being dragged along by men on horseback.  I hope they were the right men.  I will presume that they were, but they had been very quick in catching them.  After my missionary friend who spoke their language had interrogated the prisoners, he requested that they might be kept apart, which was done, and they were given in charge of separate sentinels, to whose horses they were tied.  We then returned to our lunch, our pipes, and our coffee.  Suddenly we heard a pistol shot, a rush, and a scream from the neighbourhood of the prisoners.  It seems that one of them had drawn the pistol from his guardian’s belt, shot him dead, jumped on to the horse, and galloped off.  Everybody, marines and all, tried to follow.  Such a row never was heard; but the man knew the country, and we saw him no more.  I was rather glad, for he must have been a plucky fellow.