“So that is the last stumbling-block in my son’s way:  a sturdy, self-reliant sort of gentleman, likely to be able to take care of himself.  I should like to get him into my power:  but how, I wonder, how?”

Next day they moved the wounded general to Balaclava, and got him safely on board the Arcadia.  He was accompanied by a doctor and McKay.

Mrs. Wilders received her husband with the tenderest solicitude.

“How truly fortunate I came here!” she said, with the tears in her eyes.

“Lydstone made no objection, then?  Has he remained at Constantinople?” the general asked, feebly.

“Lydstone?  Don’t you know?  He—­” But why should she tell him?  It would only distress him greatly, and, in his present precarious condition, he should be spared all kind of emotion.  With this idea she had begged Captain Trejago to say nothing as yet of the sad end of his noble owner.

“Will it not be best to get the general down to Scutari?” she asked the doctor.

“In a day or two, yes.  When he has recovered the shaking of the move on board.”

“The captain wanted to know.  He has no wish to go inside the harbour, as it is so crowded; but he would not like to remain long off this coast.  It might be dangerous, he says.”

“A lee-shore, you know,” added Captain Trejago, for himself.  “Look at those straight cliffs; fancy our grinding on to them, with a southerly, or rather a south-westerly, gale!”

“Is there any immediate prospect of bad weather?” asked McKay.  He and the sailing-master were by this time pretty good friends.

“I don’t much like the look of the glass.  It’s rather jumpy; if anything, inclined to go back.”

“What should you do if it came on dirty?” the skipper was asked.

“Up stick, and run out to get an offing.  It would be our only chance, with this coast to leeward.”

Three or four days later the skipper came with a long face to the doctor.

“I like the look of it less and less.  The glass has dropped suddenly:  such a drop as I’ve never seen out of the tropics.  Is there anything against our putting to sea this afternoon?”

It so happened that General Wilders was not quite so well.

“I’d rather you waited a day or two,” replied the surgeon.  “It might make all the difference to the patient.”

“Well, if it must be,” replied the captain, very discontentedly.

“It’s his life that’s in question.”

“Against all of ours.  But let it be so.  We’ll try and weather the storm.”

Next morning, about dawn, it burst upon them—­the memorable hurricane of the 14th November, which did such appalling damage on shore and at sea.  Not a tent remained standing on the plateau.  The tornado swept the whole surface clean.

At sea the sight as daylight grew stronger was enough to make the stoutest heart, ignorant landsman’s or practised seaman’s, quail.  A whole fleet—­great line-of-battle ships, a crowd of transports under sail and steam—­lay at the mercy of the gale, which increased every moment in force and fury.  The waves rose with the wind, and the white foam of “stupendous” breakers angrily lashed the rock-bound shore.