Choice of a Servant.--A Turnout.--An Evening Chat.--Scenery of the
Road.--Lepanto.--A projected Visit.--Change of
Purpose.--Padras.--Vostitza.--Variety and Magnificence of Scenery.
BARREN as our prospect was on landing, our first day in Greece had
already been full of interest. Supposing that we should not find
anything to engage us long, before setting out on our ramble we had
directed our servant to procure horses, and when we returned we found
all ready for our departure.
One word with regard to this same servant. We had taken him at Corfu,
much against my inclination. We had a choice between two, one a
full-blooded Greek in fustinellas, who in five minutes established
himself in my good graces, so that nothing but the democratic principle
of submitting to the will of the majority could make me give him up. He
held at that time a very good office in the police at Corfu, but the
eagerness which he showed to get out of regular business and go roving
warmed me to him irresistibly. He seemed to be distracted between two
opposing feelings; one the strong bent of his natural vagabond
disposition to be rambling, and the other a sort of tugging at his
heartstrings by wife and children, to keep him in a place where he had a
regular assured living, instead of trusting to the precarious business
of guiding travellers. He had a boldness and confidence that won me; and
when he drew on the sand with his yataghan a map of Greece, and told us
the route he would take us, zigzag across the Gulf of Corinth to Delphi
and the top of Parnassus, I wondered that my companions could resist
him.
Our alternative was an Italian from somewhere on the coast of the
Adriatic, whom I looked upon with an unfavourable eye, because he came
between me and my Greek; and on the morning of our departure I was
earnestly hoping that he had overslept himself, or got into some scrape
and been picked up by the guard; but, most provokingly, he came in time,
and with more baggage than all of us had together. Indeed, he had so
much of his own, that, in obedience to Nature's first law, he could not
attend to ours, and in putting ashore some British soldiers at
Cephalonia he contrived to let my carpet-bag go with their luggage. This
did not increase my amiable feeling toward him, and, perhaps, assisted
in making me look upon him throughout with a jaundiced eye; in fact,
before we had done with him, I regarded him as a slouch, a knave, and a
fool, and had the questionable satisfaction of finding that my
companions, though they sustained him as long as they could, had formed
very much the same opinion.
It was to him, then, that, on our return from our visit to the widow and
daughters of Marco Bozzaris, we were indebted for a turnout that seemed
to astonish even the people of Missilonghi. The horses were miserable
little animals, hidden under enormous saddles made of great clumps of
wood over an old carpet or towcloth, and covering the whole back from
the shoulders to the tail; the luggage was perched on the tops of these
saddles, and with desperate exertions and the help of the citizens of
Missilonghi we were perched on the top of the luggage. The little
animals had a knowing look as they peered from under the superincumbent
mass, and, supported on either side by the by-standers till we got a
little steady in our seats, we put forth from Missilonghi. The only
gentleman of our party was our servant, who followed on a European
saddle which he had brought for his own use, smoking his pipe with great
complacency, perfectly satisfied with our appearance and with himself.
It was four o'clock when we crossed the broken walls of Missilonghi. For
three hours our road lay over a plain extending to the sea. I have no
doubt, if my Greek had been there, he would have given an interest to
the road by referring to scenes and incidents connected with the siege
of Missilonghi; but Demetrius--as he now chose to call himself--knew
nothing of Greece, ancient or modern; he had no sympathy of feeling with
the Greeks; had never travelled on this side of the Gulf of Corinth
before; and so he lagged behind and smoked his pipe.
It was nearly dark when we reached the miserable little village of
Bokara. We had barely light enough to look around for the best khan in
which to pass the night. Any of the wretched tenants would have been
glad to receive us for the little remuneration we might leave with them
in the morning. The khans were all alike, one room, mud floor and walls,
and we selected one where the chickens had already gone to roost, and
prepared to measure off the dirt floor according to our dimensions.
Before we were arranged a Greek of a better class, followed by half a
dozen villagers, came over, and, with many regrets for the wretched
state of the country, invited us to his house. Though dressed in the
Greek costume, it was evident that he had acquired his manners in a
school beyond the bounds of his miserable little village, in which his
house now rose like the Leaning Tower of Pisa, higher than everything
else, but rather rickety. In a few minutes we heard the death notes of
some chickens, and at about nine o'clock sat down to a not unwelcome
meal. Several Greeks dropped in during the evening, and one, a
particular friend of our host's, supped with us. Both talked French, and
had that perfect ease of manner and savoir faire which I always remarked
with admiration in all Greeks who had travelled. They talked much of
their travels; of time spent in Italy and Germany, and particularly of a
long residence at Bucharest. They talked, too, of Greece; of her long
and bitter servitude, her revolution, and her independence; and from
their enthusiasm I could not but think that they had fought and bled in
her cause. I certainly was not lying in wait to entrap them, but I
afterward gathered from their conversation that they had taken occasion
to be on their travels at the time when the bravest of their countrymen
were pouring out their blood like water to emancipate their native land.
A few years before I might have felt indignation and contempt for men
who had left their country in her hour of utmost need, and returned to
enjoy the privileges purchased with other men's blood; but I had already
learned to take the world as I found it, and listened quietly while our
host told us that, confiding in the permanency of the government secured
by the three great powers, England, France, and Russia, he had returned
to Greece, and taken a lease of a large tract of land for fifty years,
paying a thousand drachms, a drachm being one sixth of a dollar, and one
tenth of the annual fruits, at the end of which time one half of the
land under cultivation was to belong to his heirs in fee.
As our host could not conveniently accommodate us all, M. and Demetrius
returned to the khan at which we had first stopped and where, to judge
from the early hour at which they came over to us the next morning, they
had not spent the night as well as we did. At daylight we took our
coffee, and again perched our luggage on the backs of the horses, and
ourselves on top of the luggage. Our host wished us to remain with him,
and promised the next day to accompany us to Padras; but this was not a
sufficient inducement; and taking leave of him, probably for ever, we
started for Lepanto.
We rode about an hour on the plain; the mountains towered on our left,
and the rich soil was broken into rough sandy gullies running down to
the sea. Our guides had some apprehensions that we should not be able to
cross the torrents that were running down from the mountain; and when we
came to the first, and had to walk up along the bank, looking out for a
place to ford, we fully participated in their apprehensions. Bridges
were a species of architecture entirely unknown in that part of modern
Greece; indeed, no bridges could have stood against the mountain
torrents. There would have been some excitement in encountering these
rapid streams if we had been well mounted; but, from the manner in which
we were hitched on our horses, we did not feel any great confidence in
our seats. Still nothing could be wilder or more picturesque than our
process in crossing them, except that it might have added somewhat to
the effect to see one of us floating down stream, clinging to the tail
of his horse. But we got over or through them all. A range of mountains
then formed on our right, cutting us off from the sea, and we entered a
valley lying between the two parallel ranges. At first the road, which
was exceedingly difficult for a man or a sure-footed horse, lay along a
beautiful stream, and the whole of the valley extending to the Gulf of
Lepanto is one of the loveliest regions of country I ever saw. The
ground was rich and verdant, and, even at that early season of the year,
blooming with wild flowers of every hue, but wholly uncultivated, the
olive-trees having all been cut down by the Turks, and without a single
habitation on the whole route. My Scotch companion, who had a good eye
for the picturesque and beautiful in natural scenery, was in raptures
with this valley. I have since travelled in Switzerland, not, however,
in all the districts frequented by tourists; but in what I saw,
beautiful as it is, I do not know a place where the wildness of mountain
scenery is so delightfully contrasted with the softness of a rich
valley.
At the end of the valley, directly opposite Padras, and on the borders
of the gulf, is a wild road called Scala Cativa, running along the sides
of a rocky, mountainous precipice overlooking the sea. It is a wild and
almost fearful road; in some places I thought it like the perpendicular
sides of the Palisades; and when the wind blows in a particular
direction it is impossible to make headway against it. Our host told us
that we should find difficulty that day; and there was just rudeness
enough to make us look well to our movements. Directly at our feet was
the Gulf of Corinth; opposite a range of mountains; and in the distance
the island of Zante. On the other side of the valley is an extraordinary
mountain, very high, and wanting a large piece in the middle, as if cut
out with a chisel, leaving two straight parallel sides, and called by
the unpoetical name of the armchair. In the wildest pan of the Scala,
where a very slight struggle would have precipitated us several hundred
feet into the sea, an enormous shepherd's dog came bounding and barking
toward us; and we were much relieved when his master, who was hanging
with his flock of goats on an almost inaccessible height, called him
away. At the foot of the mountain we entered a rich plain, where the
shepherds were pasturing their flocks down to the shore of the sea, and
in about two hours arrived at Lepanto.
After diligent search by Demetrius (the name by which we had taken him,
whose true name, however, we found to be Jerolamon), and by all the
idlers whom the arrival of strangers attracted, we procured a room near
the farthest wall; it was reached by ascending a flight of steps
outside, and boasted a floor, walls, and an apology for a roof. We piled
up our baggage in one corner, or, rather, my companions did theirs, and
went prowling about in search of something to eat. Our servant had not
fully apprized us of the extreme poverty of the country, the entire
absence of all accommodations for travellers, and the absolute necessity
of carrying with us everything requisite for comfort. He was a man of
few words, and probably thought that, as between servant and master,
example was better than precept, and that the abundant provision he had
made for himself might serve as a lesson for us; but, in our case, the
objection to this mode of teaching was, that it came too late to be
profitable. At the foot of the hill fronting the sea was an open place,
in one side of which was a little cafteria, where all the good-for-nothing
loungers of Lepanto were assembled. We bought a loaf of bread and some
eggs, and, with a cup of Turkish coffee, made our evening meal.
We had an hour before dark, and strolled along the shore. Though in a
ruinous condition, Lepanto is in itself interesting, as giving an exact
idea of an ancient Greek city, being situated in a commanding position
on the side of a mountain running down to the sea, with its citadel on
the top, and enclosed by walls and turrets. The port is shut within the
walls, which run into the sea, and are erected on the foundations of the
ancient Naupactus. At a distance was the promontory of Actium, where
Cleopatra, with her fifty ships, abandoned Antony, and left to Augustus
the empire of the world; and directly before us, its surface dotted with
a few straggling Greek caiques, was the scene of a battle which has rung
throughout the world, the great battle of the Cross against the
Crescent, where the allied forces of Spain, Venice, and the pope,
amounting to nearly three hundred sail, under the command of Don John of
Austria, humbled for ever the naval pride of the Turks. One hundred and
thirty Turkish galleys were taken and fifty-five sunk; thirty thousand
Turks were killed, ten thousand taken prisoners, fifteen thousand
Christian slaves delivered; and Pope Pius VI., with holy fervour,
exclaimed, "There was a man sent from God, and his name was John."
Cervantes lost his left hand in this battle; and it is to wounds he
received here that he makes a touching allusion when reproached by a
rival: "What I cannot help feeling deeply is, that I am stigmatized with
being old and maimed, as though it belonged to me to stay the course of
time; or as though my wounds had been received in some tavern broil,
instead of the most lofty occasion which past ages have yet seen, or
which shall ever be seen by those to come. The scars which the soldier
wears on his person, instead of badges of infamy, are stars to guide the
daring in the path of glory. As for mine, though they may not shine in
the eyes of the envious, they are at least esteemed by those who know
where they were received; and, even was it not yet too late to choose, I
would rather remain as I am, maimed and mutilated, than be now whole of
my wounds, without having taken part in so glorious an achievement."
I shall, perhaps, be reproached for mingling with the immortal names of
Don John of Austria and Cervantes those of George Wilson, of Providence,
Rhode Island, and James Williams, a black of Baltimore, cook on board
Lord Cochrane's flagship in the great battle between the Greek and
Turkish fleets. George Wilson was a gunner on board one of the Greek
ships, and conducted himself with so much gallantry, that Lord Cochrane,
at a dinner in commemoration of the event, publicly drank his health. In
the same battle James Williams, who had lost a finger in the United
States service under Decatur at Algiers, and had conducted himself with
great coolness and intrepidity in several engagements, when no Greek
could be found to take the helm, volunteered his services, and was
struck down by a splinter, which broke his legs and arms. The historian
will probably never mention these gallant fellows in his quarto volumes;
but I hope the American traveller, as he stands at sunset by the shore
of the Gulf of Lepanto, and recalls to mind the great achievements of
Don John and Cervantes, will not forget _George Wilson_ and _James
Williams_.
At evening we returned to our room, built a fire in the middle, and,
with as much dignity as we could muster, sitting on the floor, received
a number of Greek visiters. When they left us we wrapped ourselves in
our cloaks and lay down to sleep. Sleep, however, is not always won when
wooed. Sometimes it takes the perverse humour of the wild Irish boy:
"The more you call me, the more I won't come." Our room had no chimney;
and though, as I lay all night looking up at the roof, there appeared to
be apertures enough to let out the smoke, it seemed to have a loving
feeling toward us in our lowly position, and clung to us so closely that
we were obliged to let the fire go out, and lie shivering till morning.
Every schoolboy knows how hard it is to write poetry, but few know the
physical difficulties of climbing the poetical mountain itself. We had
made arrangements to sleep the next night at Castri, by the side of the
sacred oracle of Delphi, a mile up Parnassus. Our servant wanted to
cross over and go up on the other side of the gulf, and entertained us
with several stories of robberies committed on this road, to which we
paid no attention. The Greeks who visited us in the evening related,
with much detail, a story of a celebrated captain of brigands having
lately returned to his haunt on Parnassus, and attacked nine Greek
merchants, of whom he killed three; the recital of which interesting
incident we ascribed to Demetrius, and disregarded.
Early in the morning we mounted our horses and started for Parnassus. At
the gate of the town we were informed that it was necessary, before
leaving, to have a passport from the eparchos, and I returned to procure
it. The eparchos was a man about forty-five, tall and stout, with a
clear olive complexion and a sharp black eye, dressed in a rich Greek
costume, and, fortunately, able to speak French. He was sitting
cross-legged on a divan, smoking a pipe, and looking out upon the sea;
and when I told him my business, he laid down his pipe, repeated the
story of the robbery and murder that we had heard the night before, and
added that we must abandon the idea of travelling that road. He said,
farther, that the country was in a distracted state; that poverty was
driving men to desperation; and that, though they had driven out the
Turks, the Greeks were not masters of their own country. Hearing that I
was an American, and as if in want of a bosom in which to unburden
himself, and as one assured of sympathy, he told me the whole story of
their long and bloody struggle for independence, and the causes that now
made the friends of Greece tremble for her future destiny. I knew that
the seat of the muses bore a rather suspicious character, and, in fact,
that the rocks and caves about Parnassus were celebrated as the abodes
of robbers, but I was unwilling to be driven from our purpose of
ascending it. I went to the military commandant, a Bavarian officer, and
told him what I had just heard from the eparchos. He said frankly that
he did not know much of the state of the country, as he had but lately
arrived in it; but, with the true Bavarian spirit, advised me, as a
general rule, not to believe anything a Greek should tell me. I returned
to the gate, and made my double report to my companions. Dr. W. returned
with me to the eparchos, where the latter repeated, with great
earnestness, all he had told me; and when I persisted in combating his
objections, shrugged his shoulders in a manner that seemed to say, "your
blood be on your own heads;" that he had done his duty, and washed his
hands of the consequences. As we were going out he called me back, and,
recurring to our previous conversation, said that he had spoken to me as
an American more freely than he would have done to a stranger, and
begged that, as I was going to Athens, I would not repeat his words
where they could do him injury. I would not mention the circumstance
now, but that the political clouds which then hung over the horizon of
Greece have passed away; King Otho has taken his seat on the throne, and
my friend has probably long since been driven or retired from public
life. I was at that time a stranger to the internal politics of Greece,
but I afterward found that the eparchos was one of a then powerful body
of Greeks opposed to the Bavarian influence, and interested in
representing the state of the country as more unsettled than it really
was. I took leave of him, however, as one who had intended me a
kindness, and, returning to the gate, found our companion sitting on his
horse, waiting the result of our farther inquiries. Both he and my
fellow envoy were comparatively indifferent upon the subject, while I
was rather bent on drinking from the Castalian fount, and sleeping on
the top of Parnassus. Besides, I was in a beautiful condition to be
robbed. I had nothing but what I had on my back, and I felt sure that a
Greek mountain robber would scorn my stiff coat and pantaloons and black
hat. My companions, however were not so well situated, particularly M.,
who had drawn money at Corfu, and had no idea of trusting it to the
tender mercies of a Greek bandit. In the teeth of the advice we had
received, it would, perhaps, have been foolhardy to proceed; and, to my
great subsequent regret, for the first and the last time in my
ramblings, I was turned aside from my path by fear of perils on the
road. Perhaps, after all, I had a lucky escape; for, if the Greek
tradition be true, whoever sleeps on the mountain becomes an inspired
poet or a madman, either of which, for a professional man, is a
catastrophe to be avoided.
Our change of plan suited Demetrius exactly; he had never travelled on
this side of the Gulf of Corinth; and, besides that, he considered it a
great triumph that his stories of robbers were confirmed by others,
showing his superior knowledge of the state of the country; he was glad
to get on a road which he had travelled before, and on which he had a
chance of meeting some of his old travelling acquaintance. In half an
hour he had us on board a caique. We put out from the harbour of Lepanto
with a strong and favourable wind; our little boat danced lightly over
the waters of the Gulf of Corinth; and in three hours, passing between
the frowning castles of Romelia and Morea, under the shadow of the walls
of which were buried the bodies of the Christians who fell in the great
naval battle, we arrived at Padras.
The first thing we recognised was the beautiful little cutter which we
had left at Missilonghi, riding gracefully at anchor in the harbour, and
the first man we spoke to on landing was our old friend the captain. We
exchanged a cordial greeting, and he conducted us to Mr. Robertson, the
British vice-consul, who, at the moment of our entering, was in the act
of directing a letter to me at Athens. The subject was my interesting
carpet-bag. There being no American consul at Padras, I had taken the
liberty of writing to Mr. Robertson, requesting him, if my estate should
find its way into his hands, to forward it to me at Athens, and the
letter was to assure me of his attention to my wishes. It may be
considered treason against classical taste, but it consoled me somewhat
for the loss of Parnassus to find a stranger taking so warm an interest
in my fugitive habiliments.
There was something, too, in the appearance of Padras, that addressed
itself to other feelings than those connected with the indulgence of a
classical humour. Our bones were still aching with the last night's
rest, or, rather, the want of it, at Lepanto; and when we found
ourselves in a neat little locanda, and a complaisant Greek asked us
what we would have for dinner, and showed us our beds for the night, we
almost agreed that climbing Parnassus and such things were fit only for
boys just out of college.
Padras is beautifully situated at the mouth of the Gulf of Corinth, and
the windows of our locanda commanded a fine view of the bold mountains
on the opposite side of the gulf, and the parallel range forming the
valley which leads to Missilonghi. It stands on the site of the ancient
Patrae, enumerated by Herodotus among the twelve cities of Achaia. During
the intervals of peace in the Peloponnesian war, Alcibiades, about four
hundred and fifty years before Christ, persuaded its inhabitants to
build long walls down to the sea. Philip of Macedon frequently landed
there in his expeditions to Peloponnesus. Augustus Caesar, after the
battle of Actium, made it a Roman colony, and sent thither a large body
of his veteran soldiers; and, in the time of Cicero, Roman merchants
were settled there just as French and Italians are now. The modern town
has grown up since the revolution, or rather since the accession of
Otho, and bears no marks of the desolation at Missilonghi and Lepanto.
It contains a long street of shops well supplied with European goods;
the English steamers from Corfu to Malta touch here; and, besides the
little Greek caiques trading in the Gulf of Corinth, vessels from all
parts of the Adriatic are constantly in the harbour.
Among others, there was an Austrian man-of-war from Trieste, on her way
to Alexandria. By a singular fortune, the commandant had been in one of
the Austrian vessels that carried to New-York the unfortunate Poles; the
only Austrian man-of-war which had ever been to the United States. A day
or two after their arrival at New-York I had taken a boat at the Battery
and gone on board this vessel, and had met the officers at some parties
given to them at which he had been present; and though we had no actual
acquaintance with each other, these circumstances were enough to form an
immediate link between us, particularly as he was enthusiastic in his
praises of the hospitality of our citizens and the beauty of our women.
Lest, however, any of the latter should be vainglorious at hearing that
their praises were sounded so far from home, I consider it my duty to
say that the commandant was almost blind, very slovenly, always smoking
a pipe, and generally a little tipsy.
Early in the morning we started for Athens. Our turnout was rather
better than at Missilonghi, but not much. The day, however, was fine;
the cold wind which, for several days, had been blowing down the Gulf
of Corinth, had ceased, and the air was warm, and balmy, and
invigorating. We had already found that Greece had something to attract
the stranger besides the recollections of her ancient glories, and often
forgot that the ground we were travelling was consecrated by historians
and poets, in admiration of its own wild and picturesque beauty. Our
road for about three hours lay across a plain, and then close along the
gulf, sometimes winding by the foot of a wild precipitous mountain, and
then again over a plain, with the mountains rising at some distance on
our right. Sometimes we rose and crossed their rugged summits, and again
descended to the seashore. On our left we had constantly the gulf,
bordered on the opposite side by a range of mountains sometimes receding
and then rising almost out of the water, while high above the rest rose
the towering summits of Parnassus covered with snow.
It was after dark when we arrived at Vostitza, beautifully situated on
the banks of the Gulf of Corinth. This is the representative of the
ancient AEgium, one of the most celebrated cities in Greece, mentioned by
Homer as having supplied vessels for the Trojan war, and in the second
century containing sixteen sacred edifices, a theatre, a portico, and an
agora. For many ages it was the seat of the Achaian Congress. Probably
the worthy delegates who met here to deliberate upon the affairs of
Greece had better accommodations than we obtained, or they would be
likely, I should imagine, to hold but short sessions.
We stopped at a vile locanda, the only one in the place, where we found
a crowd of men in a small room, gathered around a dirty table, eating,
one of whom sprang up and claimed me as an old acquaintance. He had on
a Greek capote and a large foraging cap slouched over his eyes, so that
I had some difficulty in recognising him as an Italian who, at Padras,
had tried to persuade me to go by water up to the head of the gulf. He
had started that morning, about the same time we did, with a crowd of
passengers, half of whom were already by the ears. Fortunately, they
were obliged to return to their boats, and left all the house to us;
which, however, contained little besides a strapping Greek, who called
himself its proprietor.
Before daylight we were again in the saddle. During the whole day's ride
the scenery was magnificent. Sometimes we were hemmed in as if for ever
enclosed in an amphitheatre of wild and gigantic rocks; then from some
lofty summit we looked out upon lesser mountains, broken, and torn, and
thrown into every wild and picturesque form, as if by an earthquake; and
after riding among deep dells and craggy steeps, yawning ravines and
cloud-capped precipices, we descended to a quiet valley and the
seashore.
At about four o'clock we came down, for the last time, to the shore, and
before us, at some distance, espied a single khan, standing almost on
the edge of the water. It was a beautiful resting-place for a traveller;
the afternoon was mild, and we walked on the shore till the sun set. The
khan was sixty or seventy feet long, and contained an upper room running
the whole length of the building. This room was our bedchamber. We built
a fire at one end, made tea, and roasted some eggs, the smoke ascending
and curling around the rafters, and finally passing out of the openings
in the roof; we stretched ourselves in our cloaks and, with the murmur
of the waves in our ears, looked through the apertures in the roof upon
the stars, and fell asleep.
About the middle of the night the door opened with a rude noise, and a
tall Greek, almost filling the doorway, stood on the threshold. After
pausing a moment he walked in, followed by half a dozen gigantic
companions, their tall figures, full dresses, and the shining of their
pistols and yataghans wearing a very ugly look to a man just roused from
slumber. But they were merely Greek pedlers or travelling merchants,
and, without any more noise, kindled the fire anew, drew their capotes
around them, stretched themselves upon the floor, and were soon asleep.