UNDER WEIGH
After seeing to a few matters that had been left till the last moment,
Will Martyn returned on board again. Horace dined at the club, of
which he had been made an honorary member, and then went back to the
Falcon. To his surprise Zaimes was standing at the door.
“Why, Zaimes, how on earth did you get here? Why, the coach does not
get in till twelve o’clock.”
“No, Mr. Horace, but we had everything ready to start this morning. Of
course your letter did not come in time for us to get over to the
early coach, but we were expecting it after what you wrote yesterday,
and your father had concluded that it would be much more comfortable
to post. He does not like being crowded, and it was doubtful whether
there would be room for the two of us; and there was the luggage, so
we had arranged for a post-chaise to come for us anyhow, and we
started half an hour after your letter came in, and have posted
comfortably. Your father is in the coffee-room. He would not have a
private room, as he did not know whether you would be taking him on
board this evening.”
Mr. Beveridge was sitting at a table by himself, and had just finished
his dinner when Horace came in. He looked up more briskly than usual.
“I am sorry I was not here to meet you, father,” Horace said; “but I
did not think you could be here until the night coach.”
“No; I did not expect to find you here, Horace, so it was no
disappointment. Well, you look bronzed and well, my boy, you and your
friends seem to have done wonders in getting everything done so soon.
I am quite anxious to see the ship. Are we to go on board this
evening?”
“If you don’t mind, father, I would much rather you didn’t go off
till morning. I said that if you came we would breakfast early and be
ready for the gig at half-past eight. They won’t be expecting us
to-night, and I am sure Martyn and the others will like to have
everything in the best possible order when you go on board. We have
been expecting those boxes of books you wrote about a week ago, but
they haven’t turned up. It will be a horrible nuisance if, after the
way we have been pushing everything forward, we should be kept waiting
two or three days for them.”
“Well, Horace, the fact is I changed my mind. The four boxes were
packed and in the hall. They really were very large boxes, and Zaimes
said: ‘Well, master, what you are going to do with all those books I
can’t imagine. Where are you going to put them? Why, they would fill
your cabin up solid. If I were you, sir, I would not take one of them.
Just give yourself a holiday. Don’t take a pen in your hand while you
are away. You will have plenty to see about and to think about, and I
am sure it would do you a deal of good to give it up altogether for a
time, and you will take it up freshly afterwards. Besides, you will
have people coming on board, and your advice will be asked, and you
will have to decide all sorts of things, and you know you won’t be
able to bring your mind out of your books if you have them on board.’
He said something like it when I first began to talk of packing, but
it seemed to me impossible that I could give up work altogether; but
the sight of those four great boxes staggered me. Then I said:
‘Zaimes, this is not like that little cabin on board the yacht. This
is quite a large vessel in comparison.’ ‘Yes, sir,’ he replied, ‘but
your cabin won’t be larger than the main cabin in the _Surf_, not so
large I should fancy.’ This surprised me altogether, but he assured me
it was so, and pressed me so much on the matter that I at last agreed
to leave them all behind.”
“That is a capital thing, father. Zaimes was quite right. Your
state-room is a very nice cabin, but except that it is a good deal
more lofty, it is certainly not so large by a good deal as the main
cabin in the _Surf_; besides, if you had your books you would be
always shut up there, and what I thought of all along, from the time
you first spoke about coming out, was what a good thing it would be
for you to have a thorough holiday, and to put aside the old work
altogether.”
“You don’t think it valuable, Horace?” Mr. Beveridge asked wistfully.
“I do, father. I think it most valuable, and no one can be prouder
than I am of your reputation, and that all learned men should
acknowledge the immense value of your works to Greek students. But,
father, after all, the number of men who go into all that is very
small, and I can’t see why your life should be entirely given up to
them. I think that at any rate it will be a first-rate thing for you,
and extremely pleasant for me, that you should be like the rest of us
while we are out on this expedition. As Zaimes says, you will have a
lot of things to decide upon, and we are going to lead an active,
stirring life, and it is new Greece we shall have to think about, and
not the Greece of two thousand years ago. It is your aim to raise, not
the Greeks of the time of Miltiades, but a people who in these two
thousand years have become a race, not only of slaves, but of ignorant
savages, for these massacres of unarmed people show that they are
nothing better; and not only to free them, but to make them worthy of
being a nation again. I think, father, there will be ample scope for
all your thoughts and attention in the present without giving a
thought to the niceties of the language spoken by Demosthenes, so I am
truly and heartily glad you decided to leave your books behind you.”
“I think you are right, Horace; I am sure you are right; but it is a
wrench to me to cut myself loose altogether from the habits of a
lifetime.”
“And now, father, what are you going to do about clothes?” Horace
said, looking at him closely.
“About clothes!” his father repeated vaguely. “I have brought two
large boxes full with me.”
“Yes, father, no doubt you have clothes, but I am sure that on board
ship--and you will be always living there, you know--it will be much
more comfortable for you to have clothes fit for the sea. Frilled
shirts, and ruffles, and tight breeches, and high-heeled Hessian
boots, and short-waisted tail-coats are all very well on shore, but
the first time you are out in a good brisk gale, you would wish them
anywhere. What you want is a couple of suits, at least, of blue cloth
like mine, with brass buttons, and a low cloth cap like this that will
keep on your head whilst it is blowing, in fact the sort of suit that
the owner of a big yacht would naturally wear. Of course when you go
ashore to see any of the Greek leaders, you might like to go in your
ordinary dress; but really for sea you want comfortable clothes, and a
good thick pea-jacket for rough weather.”
“Perhaps you are right, Horace, and I did remark that my heels left
marks upon the deck of the _Surf_.”
“Certainly they did, father; and it would be agony to Will Martyn to
have the beautiful white deck of the _Creole_ spoiled.”
“But it is too late now, it is half-past eight o’clock.”
“Oh, I can take you to a shop where they keep this sort of thing.
Besides, there are twelve hours before we start, and by paying for it
one can get pretty nearly anything made in twelve hours.”
Mr. Beveridge suffered himself to be persuaded. Fortunately the
outfitter had a couple of suits ordered by one of the officers of a
ship of war in harbour nearly completed. These he agreed to alter to
fit Mr. Beveridge by the morning, and to put on extra hands to turn
out fresh suits for the person for whom they were intended. The gold
lace, white facings, and other distinguishing marks would be removed,
and plain brass buttons substituted for the royal buttons. Two or
three pairs of shoes with low heels were also obtained. The clothes
came home at seven in the morning, and Mr. Beveridge came down to
breakfast looking like the smart captain of a merchantman.
“I feel as if I were dressed for a masquerade, Horace,” he said with a
smile.
[Illustration: A DISCUSSION ABOUT CLOTHES]
“You look first-rate, father, and a lot more comfortable than usual, I
can tell you.”
It was at Martyn’s suggestion that Horace had urged his father to make
a change in his attire.
“It would be a good thing if you could get him to put on sea-going
togs,” the sailor had said. “He is the owner of as smart a craft as
ever sailed out of British waters, and he will look a good deal more
at home on the deck of his own ship in regular yachtsman’s dress than
he would rigged up in his ruffles and boots.”
With this Horace had agreed heartily, for his father’s appearance on
occasions when he had gone out with him in the _Surf_ had struck him
as being wholly incongruous with the surroundings.
At half-past eight they went down to the steps, two porters carrying
the luggage under the watchful eye of Zaimes. As they were seen, the
smart gig with its six rowers, which was lying a short distance off,
rowed in to the steps. Tarleton was steering. He stepped out to hand
Mr. Beveridge into the boat.
“This is Mr. Tarleton, father, our second lieutenant.”
“I am glad to meet you, sir,” Mr. Beveridge said, shaking hands with
the young officer. “I hope that we shall have a pleasant cruise
together.”
“I feel sure we shall, sir. If one couldn’t be comfortable on board
the _Creole_, one couldn’t be comfortable anywhere.”
Tarleton took his seat in the centre to steer, with Mr. Beveridge and
Horace on either side of him, Zaimes and the luggage were placed in
the bow. The bowman pushed the boat off with the boat-hook. The oars,
which had been tossed in man-of-war fashion, fell with a splash into
the water, and then with a long steady stroke the gig darted away from
the steps.
“This is certainly very pleasant,” Mr. Beveridge said as they threaded
through the anchored craft and made their way seaward. “I begin to
wish I had taken up yachting twenty years back.”
“Well, it is not too late, father. When we have done with Greece, you
can go in for amusement if you like.”
“I should never find time, Horace.”
“Oh, you could make time, father. You could spare three months in the
year and be all the better for it. When you have once had a break, you
will find how pleasant it is.”
Half an hour’s row and Horace said: “That is the _Creole_, father,
lying in there near the farther point.”
“She doesn’t look as large as I expected, Horace, though her masts
seem a great height.”
“She is heavily sparred for her length,” Tarleton said, “but she has
great beam; besides she is rather low in the water now, and of course
that makes the spars look big in proportion. She will be a bit higher
by the time we get out. Fifty men consume a considerable weight of
stores and water every week. You will be pleased with her, sir, when
we get alongside. We all think she is as handsome a craft as we ever
set eyes on. She will astonish the Turks, I warrant, when it comes to
sailing.”
Another twenty minutes they were alongside. According to naval
etiquette Horace mounted the ladder first, then Tarleton, and Mr.
Beveridge followed. Martyn and Miller received him at the gangway, the
former introducing the first officer and the surgeon to him.
“She is a fine-looking vessel,” Mr. Beveridge said, “and you have
certainly done marvels with her, Captain Martyn, for my son wrote me
that she had nothing but her lower masts in her when you took
possession, and now she is wonderfully bright and clean, and these
decks look almost too white to walk on.”
“I hope that we shall always keep her in equal order, sir. We have a
capital crew, and no one could wish for a better craft under his
feet.”
Mr. Beveridge was now conducted round the ship, and expressed himself
highly gratified with everything.
“Is it your wish that we should make sail at once, sir?” Martyn
asked. “We have been expecting some heavy luggage on board, but it has
not arrived.”
“I changed my mind about it, and there is nothing coming, Captain
Martyn. I am perfectly ready to start if you have everything on
board.”
“There is nothing to wait for, sir; we are perfectly ready.”
They returned to the quarter-deck, and as Martyn gave the orders there
was a general movement on the part of the crew. Some of the men
clustered round the capstan, while others prepared to make sail, and
Mr. Beveridge felt a keen sense of pleasure as he watched the active
fellows at their work. In five minutes the sails were set, the anchor
at the cat-head, and the _Creole_ moving through the water under the
light breeze off shore.
They had favourable winds across the Bay and down the coast of
Portugal. Everything from the start had gone as smoothly as if the
_Creole_ had been six months in commission--officers and men were
alike pleased with the ship; the provisions for the sailors were of
the best quality; the duties were very light, for the sails had not
required altering from the time they had been set, although each day
the men practised for an hour at lowering and setting them, in order
to accustom them to work smartly together.
There was half an hour’s cutlass drill, and for the rest of the day,
beyond cleaning and polishing, there was nothing to be done. Mr.
Beveridge spent the greater part of his time in a comfortable
deck-chair on the quarter-deck, for there was no poop, the deck being
flush from end to end. Horace attended to his duties as third officer
regularly, and the nights were so warm and pleasant that the watches
did not appear long to him. There was no stiffness in the cabin when
they gathered to their meals, or in the evening, and Mr. Beveridge
proved in no way a wet blanket on their fun, as the three officers had
rather anticipated he would be. He talked but little, but was
thoroughly amused at their yarns and jests, all of which were as
strange to him as if he had lived in another world.
“You will certainly have to cut off our rations a bit, Mr. Beveridge,”
Will Martyn said one day as they finished dinner. “We shall be getting
as fat as porpoises if we go on like this. I can feel my togs filling
out daily; and as for Tarleton, he will have to have all his things
let out by the time we arrive in the Levant. For the credit of the
ship I shall have to give orders for us to be supplied with the same
rations as the men, and go in for luxuries only on Sundays. We are not
accustomed to be tempted in this way at every meal. It is all very
well for you who do not eat much more than a sparrow to have such nice
things always put before you; but to us who have been accustomed to a
steady diet of salt junk, except when we put into port and are able to
get fresh meat for a change, these things are beyond our power of
resistance.”
“I eat a great deal more than I did on shore,” Mr. Beveridge said. “I
find, indeed, a wonderful improvement in my appetite. It was quite an
infliction to Zaimes that I cared so little for the good things he
provided me with. I can assure you I really begin to look for my meals
now, and it is a pleasure for me to see you all eat with good healthy
appetites, and I am sure that it must be a great gratification to the
Greeks to see their efforts appreciated at last.”
“It is Tarleton I am thinking of principally, sir; as for Miller,
nature made him square, and it would be no disadvantage if he became
round; while as to the doctor, food is simply wasted on him, he will
never do credit to your cooks. But Tarleton, with those dark eyes of
his and his gentle sort of way, was what the ladies would consider an
interesting youth, and he would, I am sure, forfeit the good opinion
of the ladies altogether if he were to return looking like a mildly
animated sausage.”
Tarleton joined in the laugh. “I do think I have gained a lot in
weight the last week,” he said; “but we won’t always go on in this
quiet sort of way. As for what Martyn says, I believe it is only
jealousy on his part at seeing that my angles are filling out.”
On arriving at the Straits they put in at Ceuta and obtained a supply
of fresh meat and vegetables. In the Mediterranean they fell in with
dead calms and were a fortnight in getting to Gozo, where they again
replenished their stock. They abstained from putting in either at
Gibraltar or Malta in order to avoid being questioned as to the cargo
and destination of the _Creole_.
“Now, sir,” Will Martyn said when they were within two days’ sail of
Greece, “it is quite time to decide what port we shall make for, but
we can’t decide that until we know how matters are going on. When we
left England there were very conflicting accounts of the progress of
the revolution, and whether Corinth, Patras, Nauplia, or Athens are in
the hands of the Greeks or Turks. Well, I should say, sir, that our
best plan would be to put in at Zante, where, as it is English, and
therefore neutral ground, we shall learn all about the state of
affairs, and may meet some of our own people or foreigners who have
been fighting by the side of the Greeks. Half an hour’s talk with one
of them would give us a better idea how everything stands than a
week’s talk with Greeks.”
“I think that will be a very good plan,” Mr. Beveridge agreed. “Flying
the English flag we might go in or out of any of the harbours as
neutrals; but if by any chance it leaked out what our cargo is the
Turks would probably consider themselves justified in laying hands on
us.”
“At any rate it is well not to run the risk, Mr. Beveridge, as there
is no object to be served by it. I will take the bearings of Zante and
lay our course for it.”
There was, indeed, no spot where they were more likely to obtain
accurate news of what was going on than Zante, lying as the island
does at a short distance from the mouth of the Gulf of Corinth, upon
which were three of the most important towns in Greece--Patras,
Corinth, and Missolonghi. Here, too, the fugitives from the Morea, of
either party, would naturally make their way.
It was the 8th of October when the _Creole_, flying the English flag
at her peak, dropped anchor in the port. As soon as she did so a
custom-house officer came on board.
“What ship is this?” he asked the first officer, who was on deck.
“This is the _Creole_, a private yacht belonging to Mr. Beveridge. The
owner is below if you wish to see him.”
“You have no merchandise on board?”
“I tell you that it is a yacht,” Miller said. “An English gentleman
doesn’t bring out merchandise for sale in his yacht. The captain will
show you her papers.”
Will Martyn came on deck.
“This is the captain,” Miller said. “You had better address him.”
On hearing what was required Martyn took the officer below and showed
him the ship’s papers.
“I see it is mentioned here that you were bound from England to
Lisbon,” the officer observed.
“Yes. We did not put in there, as Mr. Beveridge was anxious to get
into a warmer climate.”
“I see you are strongly armed,” the officer said when he came on to
deck again, for after leaving Malta the eight twelve-pounders and the
pivot-gun had been got up from the hold and mounted.
“Yes, we are armed, as you see. I imagine you would hardly recommend
anyone to be cruising about in these waters without means of defence.”
“No, indeed,” the officer laughed. “The Greeks are pirates to the
core. You would be all right with the Turks, although from your
appearance I should not think they would ever get near enough to
trouble you.”
Half an hour later Mr. Beveridge and Horace were rowed ashore. As,
except at Ceuta, Horace had never set foot ashore out of England, he
was much amused and interested by the varied population. Mingled with
the native population of the island were Greeks from the mainland;
Albanians in their white pleated petticoats, bristling with arms
mounted in gold and silver; a few English soldiers walking about as
unconcernedly as if in a garrison town at home; and sailors of several
nationalities from ships in harbour.
“I should think, father, the proper thing would be to call upon the
English officer in command here and invite him to dinner. We shall get
a general idea of the state of things from him.”
Asking a soldier, they found that the small detachment there was under
the command of Captain O’Grady, whose house, at the entrance to the
barrack, was pointed out to them. The officer was in, and on Mr.
Beveridge sending in his card they were at once shown in.
“I am the owner of a schooner-yacht, the _Creole_, that dropped anchor
an hour ago,” Mr. Beveridge said. “I know very little about the
etiquette of these things, but it seemed to me the proper thing was to
call at once upon His Majesty’s representative here.”
“A very right and proper thing to do, Mr. Beveridge. I have been
wondering what that craft could be, and where she had come from. If it
hadn’t been for the flag and the tidiness of her I should have put her
down as a Greek pirate, though they don’t often rig up their crafts as
schooners.”
“She has been something like a pirate in her time,” Mr. Beveridge
said, “for she was a slaver, captured and sent home as a prize. I
bought her at Plymouth and fitted her out.”
“And a mighty nice way of spending money too, Mr. Beveridge. She is
the biggest thing in the way of yachts I ever saw. I don’t at all see
why a gentleman shouldn’t buy a big ship and cruise about the world in
her if he can afford it.”
“Well, Captain O’Grady, I won’t occupy your time now, but shall be
glad if you will come off and dine with me at six o’clock to-day. I
have come straight from England, and have heard nothing as to how
matters stand out here. If you will bring any of your officers off
with you I shall be very glad to see them.”
“I have only two here. Mr. Lester, my lieutenant, will be on duty,
and I have no doubt that Plunket will be very glad to come off with me
if he has no special engagement, which is not likely, for it is a
mighty dull life here, I can tell you, and it is glad I shall be when
the order comes to rejoin the regiment at Corfu.”
Mr. Beveridge and Horace walked about for some time, and then returned
on board. They met their two Greeks in the town shopping, and told
them that there would be guests at dinner. They met also Will Martyn
and Tarleton, who had come ashore a short time after them, Miller
remaining on board in charge; a good many of the men were also ashore.
“I have warned them solemnly,” Martyn said, “against drink and
quarrels, but I am afraid that to-night and to-morrow night we shall
have a good many of them coming off noisy. Wine is cheap, and as they
haven’t set foot ashore for five weeks it is not in the nature of an
English sailor to resist temptation. I don’t care much as long as they
don’t get into rows with the Greeks. I have told them the boats will
be ashore at nine o’clock to fetch them, and that any who are not down
there by that hour will have their allowance of grog stopped for a
fortnight.”
It had been arranged with Captain O’Grady that the boat should be at
the steps for him at a quarter to six. Horace went in charge of it,
and brought off the two officers.
“You have comfortable quarters here, indeed,” Captain O’Grady said
when Mr. Beveridge had introduced his officers to him and his
companion. “Sure I would like nothing better than to travel about in a
craft like this. It is like taking a floating palace about with you.”
But if the officers were surprised at the fittings of the cabin they
were still more so at the excellence of the dinner. Up to the time the
dessert was placed on the table they chatted as to the incidents of
the voyage; but when the wine had gone round Mr. Beveridge began
questioning them.
“Of course you hear everything that goes on on the mainland, Captain
O’Grady.”
“Everything, do you say? It is well content I would be if that was all
I heard; but the thundering lies that are told by those Greek
rapscallions are enough to take one’s breath away. To hear them talk
you would not think that such valiant men had ever lived since the
days of Noah; and yet, with the exception of a little skirmish, all
that they have done is to starve out those unfortunate heathens the
Turks, and then after they have surrendered on promise of good
treatment, to murder them in cold blood with their women and
children.”
“I hope that there has not been much of that,” Mr. Beveridge said
gravely.
“It depends upon what you call much of it. At the very lowest estimate
there have been thirty thousand murdered in cold blood since the
troubles began; and some accounts put it much higher. There has not
been a single exception; nowhere have they spared a Mussulman. The
poor beggars of farmers and villagers were killed; man, woman, and
child, in hundreds of villages the whole of them were destroyed
without resistance; and it has been the same in all the large towns.
The Greeks began the work at Kalamata, which surrendered under a
solemn promise of their lives to the Turks; but every soul was slain.
And so it has been all along. In the district of Laconia there were
fifteen thousand Mussulmans, and of these two-thirds at least were
slain. At Missolonghi there are not twenty Turks alive.
“At Navarino every soul was murdered. Tripolitza surrendered only a
week ago, and I saw by a letter from Colonel Raybonde, a French
officer, who commanded the Greek artillery during the siege, that
forty-eight hours after they entered the city they collected about two
thousand persons, principally women and children, and drove them up a
ravine and murdered them there; and altogether eight thousand
Mussulmans were killed during the sack. I have heard of massacres till
I am sick of listening to the stories; and though at the beginning I
hoped that the Greeks would drive the old Turks out, faith I have
come to think that if I were to hear that the whole race were utterly
exterminated I should feel more comfortable in my mind than I have
been for some time. Not content with murdering the poor creatures, in
many cases the villains tortured them first. I have heard fellows who
came over here boast of it. One Albanian ruffian who told me that he
had done this, told me, sir, as if it were a thing to be proud of. I
had the satisfaction of taking him by the scruff of his neck and the
tail of his white petticoat and chucking him off the pier into the
sea. When he scrambled out I offered him the satisfaction of a
gentleman, seeing that he was a chief who thought no small beer of
himself. There was a deal of difficulty in explaining to him how the
thing was managed in a civilized country, and I never felt more
satisfaction in my life than I did next morning when I put a bullet
into the scoundrel’s body.”
A wet blanket seemed suddenly to fall over the party in the cabin as
Captain O’Grady was speaking. Horace saw that Miller, who was sitting
opposite to him, was undergoing an internal convulsion in restraining
himself from bursting into a laugh; and Will Martyn, who was facing
Mr. Beveridge at the bottom of the table, looked so preternaturally
grave that Horace felt that he too was struggling to repress a smile.
The doctor nodded, as if to signify that it was exactly what he had
expected. Mr. Beveridge looked deeply concerned.
“I have heard something of this in England, Captain O’Grady, though of
course the Greek agents there suppress all news that would tell
against their countrymen, but I did not think it was as bad as this.
Yet although I do not for a moment attempt to defend such atrocities,
you must remember how long the Greeks have been oppressed by the
Turks. A people who have been in slavery for hundreds of years to
strangers, aliens in blood and in religion, and themselves in a very
primitive state of civilization, except in the cities, would be almost
certain in the first rising against their oppressors to commit
horrible excesses. The same thing happened, although, happily, on a
much smaller scale, in your own country, Captain O’Grady, in ’98, and
that without a hundredth part of the excuse that the Greeks had.”
“True for you, Mr. Beveridge,” Captain O’Grady admitted. “There’s no
denying that you have turned the tables on me there. It is mighty
difficult, as you say, to hold a savage peasantry in hand.”
“It was the same thing in the French Revolution. That again was
practically a revolt of slaves, and they behaved like fiends; and the
number of persons murdered--men of their own race and religion,
remember--was at least as great as that of those who have been
massacred here. The revolt called the Jacquerie, in the middle ages,
was equally ferocious, and the number of victims would probably have
been as great had not the revolt been nipped in the bud. I regret
deeply the conduct of the Greeks; but I think it was only what was to
be expected from a people naturally fierce and revengeful under the
circumstances.”
“Maybe you are right, Mr. Beveridge, though I did not look at it in
that light before.”
“And who are their leaders now?”
“Faith they are all leaders. One day one hears one man’s name
mentioned, that is hard enough to crack one’s jaw; the next day he is
upset and another has taken his place. Every dirty little chief of
brigands sets himself up as a leader, and as they are about the only
chaps who understand anything about fighting they come to the front.
If they only spent a twentieth part of the time in preparing for war
which they do in quarrelling among themselves as to their share of the
spoil, it seems to me they would make a much better fight than they
are likely to do. There is a fellow called Odysseus, which is their
way of pronouncing Ulysses; he used to command the Mohammedan
Albanians under Ali Pasha. Now he has turned round, and fights against
his old master. He is one of the chief of them. Then there are
Kolokotronis and Mavrocordatos. I should say they are the two
principal men just at present. Then there is a chap called Prince
Demetrius Hypsilantes. He is the brother of a fellow who got up the
rising up in the north of the Danube, and pretends to be the head of
all the Greeks. Demetrius says he is invested by his brother with a
sort of viceroyalty over Greece, and wants to have it all his own way.
Then there are the Greek bishops and priests. They are pretty well
against all the rest, and want to keep the peasantry under their
thumb. Then there are the primates; they have got a big lot of power.”
“Do you mean archbishops?” Captain Martyn asked.
“Not a bit of it. The primates are a sort of half-and-half officers.
They are supposed to be chosen by the people of their own district,
and of course they are always the big-wigs; the chaps with most power
and influence. Once chosen they became Turkish officers, collected the
taxes, and were each accountable for the money and for the doings of
their district. Nicely they ground the people down and feathered their
own nests. Naturally, when the Turks went they became the local
leaders. The people had no one else to look to but them and the
priests. In the Morea these two classes have all the power in their
hands. North of that we don’t hear much of the primates. I don’t think
they had any of them there. It’s the Albanians, and the Klephts, that
is the brigands, and some of the fighting clans, such as the Suliots
and the bands of armatoli, which are a sort of village militia, who
are the backbone of the rising.
“All the chiefs are jealous of each other, and if one fellow proposes
a plan all the others differ from him; or if there is one of the big
leaders there, and his plan is adopted, the others either march away
to their homes or do what they can to prevent it from succeeding. The
great thing with all the chiefs is to get spoil. The people are
different; they really want to fight the Turks and to win their
freedom; and it is because they see that not one of their leaders is
honest, that their jealousies keep them from any common actions, and
that they will not unite to form any central government, that the
people have no confidence in them, but just follow one man until they
get disgusted with him, and then go off to join another.
“Everything is wasted. The spoil they have taken has been enormous;
but the people are little the better for it; it is all divided among
the chiefs, and not a penny of it has gone to form a fund for defence.
They have captured enormous quantities of ammunition, but they have
fired it away like children, just to please themselves with the noise.
At one place I was told by an Englishman who was there that the two
million cartridges they captured were all wasted in what they called
rejoicings in the course of three days. What they want is a big man--a
fellow who will begin by hanging a hundred politicians, as many
chiefs, bishops, and primates; who would organize first a government
and then an army; and would insist that every halfpenny taken as spoil
from the Turks should be paid into the public treasury. Then, sir, I
believe that the Greeks would polish off these sleepy Turks in no
time, with the advantage they have in knowing every foot of the
mountains, in being as active as goats, and in possessing the idea
that they are fighting for freedom. Mind I don’t say that the Turks
will beat them even as they are. The Turkish pashas are as incapable
as the Greek leaders. Their soldiers are good, but as the Greeks have
no regular army, and no idea of standing up to fight fair, the Turks
can’t get at them, and the Greeks can move about quickly and fall upon
them at their own time; and besides they will bring them to a
standstill by starvation. They don’t care about attacking the Turkish
troops, but they are down like a pack of wolves on a baggage train,
and if the Turks venture any distance from the sea-coast they will be
harassed out of their lives.”
“Have the Turks still the command of the sea? There the Greeks ought
to be their match anyhow.”
“Yes, the Turks still send their store-ships escorted by their
men-of-war frigates and corvettes. The Greeks hover round them and
among them, but they take care to keep pretty well out of range of
the Turkish guns, and their only idea of fighting seems to be to
launch fire-ships at them. A man-of-war was burnt while at anchor a
short time back by Knaris, who is the best sailor the Greeks have got.
Still, at present the Turks are so far masters of the sea that they
take their convoys where they like and can revictual their fortresses
whenever they have the energy to do so. On the other hand, the Greeks
scour the seas in all directions, and not a single merchant ship
flying the Turkish flag dare show her nose outside the Dardanelles.”
“Is the cruelty all on one side?” Horace asked.
“Not a bit of it. Of course the Turks have not had much chance yet,
but when they have had they have naturally paid the Greeks in their
own coin. In Thessaly they have put down the rising ruthlessly. But
when the troops go into a place and find that the whole of their
people have been murdered it is not to be wondered at that they set to
to play the same game on those who began the work of massacre. The
Greeks hate the Turks, and their object is to root them out
altogether. The Turks despise the Greeks, but they don’t want to root
them out by any means, because if they did there would be no longer
any revenue to collect. The Turks seem to strike more at the leaders.
They have strung up a lot of Greeks living in Constantinople, and as
the whole affair was got up there, and the Greeks were, most of them,
taking the Sultan’s pay while they were plotting against him, it is
only just that if anyone was to suffer they should be the men. What I
am afraid of is that when the news of this horrible massacre of eight
thousand people at Tripolitza gets known, the Turks in Asia Minor will
everywhere retaliate upon the Greeks settled among them.
“They can’t do much in Greece, for most of the people can take to the
mountains; but there are almost as many of them settled in Asia Minor
as there are here, for they are the traders and shopkeepers in every
port, and I am afraid it will go mighty hard with them everywhere when
the Turks come to know the atrocities that have been perpetrated over
here. If the Greeks had thought for a moment when they began they
would have seen that it was a game two could play at, and for every
Turk they could murder the Turks had in their hands three Greeks at
least that they could put an end to. To my mind it is a bad business
altogether. Plunket will tell you that I have not put it a bit too
strongly.”
“Not in the least,” the young officer said. “The tales these fellows
tell are ghastly. We have them over here by dozens. A man is a leader
one day and a fugitive the next; and they run over here till they see
a chance of landing again and getting together a fresh band, and they
actually make a boast of the horrible massacres they have taken a part
in. If the islanders here saw their way to it they would rise against
us, and as it is, it has been as much as we can do more than once to
prevent their going on board neutral vessels that put into harbour
with a few wretched Turkish fugitives, and murdering them. The fact
is, the Greeks believe that they are Christians, but they are just as
much pagans as they were two thousand years ago. My sympathies are
altogether with them in their struggle for liberty, and I try to make
every allowance for their actions; and I do believe that if what
O’Grady says could be carried out and all their leaders, and
politicians, and bishops, and primates hung, the people themselves
would carry on the struggle with ten times the chances of success they
have at present, for they would then be forced to form a strong
central government and might find some honest man to put at its head.
They regard it in the light of a religious war rather than one for
national freedom, and I suppose that at least half the Mussulmans who
have fallen are of Greek blood, for, especially in the north, nearly
half the tribes have changed their religion and become Mohammedans
since their conquest.”
“Are there many Europeans fighting with them? You mentioned a French
colonel commanding the Greek artillery in the siege of Tripolitza.”
“A good many. There are some Austrians, Frenchmen, Italians, and a few
of our own people. Among the last is a General Gordon and a naval
lieutenant; but although the Greeks know nothing whatever of military
matters, they are jealous in the extreme of any interference or even
advice from foreigners. I believe there are altogether thirty or forty
foreign officers who came over to fight for them, and only two or
three of these have got employment of any sort. As to any attempt to
introduce military discipline, or raise anything like a body of
regular soldiers, it seems impossible. They believe entirely in
fighting in their own way and dispersing when they choose, just as the
Spanish guerilla bands did during the Peninsular War. In fact it seems
to me that the Greek character resembles the Spanish very much, the
peasantry in both countries being brave and animated by a patriotic
hate of their enemies, while the upper class are equally vain,
cowardly, given to boasting, and absolutely faithless to their
promises. If we had the Duke of Wellington here with a couple of
hundred good officers he would make the Greeks into as good soldiers
as he did some of the Portuguese, and would as likely as not wind up
the war by driving the Turks out of Europe altogether.”
At half-past ten o’clock the officers went ashore. When they had left
the ship, the others returned to the cabin.
“I should not take it to heart, Mr. Beveridge,” Will Martyn said
cheerfully, seeing how depressed his employer looked at the news he
had heard. “Of course the Greeks have behaved badly--horribly badly;
but you see it is because the poor beggars are not much better than
savages, and never will be better as long as they are kept down by the
Turks. All these things will right themselves in time. As you said,
they are no worse than the French when they rose, or than the Spanish
peasantry whenever they got a chance, or the Irish peasantry, and we
must not look at it from our own standpoint; once they are free they
will get a settled government and become a nation again, and that is
what we have got to help them to do. We are not going to land and
take part in massacres. All we have got to do is to look out for a
Turkish ship of war, and pull down her colours whenever we get a
chance. But even more than that, what I want specially to do as soon
as we can is to get rid of some of that cargo in our hold. That is
what is bothering me at present.”
“Thank you, Martyn,” Mr. Beveridge said, holding out his hand to him.
“It is trying to hear of a glorious cause being disgraced by such
horrible atrocities, but the cause remains the same, and the
atrocities are, as you say, such as have occurred among other peoples
when their blood has been heated to boiling point. This will not shake
my determination to aid Greece in her struggle for freedom.”