THE TRAINING OF THE TROOPS
Into the Greek camp on Taygetus there came flocking day by day fresh
bands of recruits from all the country-side, and in the mouths of all
were fresh tales of the rise of the Greeks. The taking of Kalamata had
been spark to tinder, and in a hundred villages the patriots had risen,
attacking and slaughtering those of the hated race who lived among
them, burning their dwellings, and capturing women and children. In
other cases, though rarely, the Turks had been prepared, and the tale
was of slaughter and pillage among the Greeks; but for the most part
the oppressors had slumbered on in their soft, indolent life till the
red hand of vengeance had gripped them. Inglorious though these deeds
were, they were inevitable, for slaves who break their bonds are not
apt to deal judicially, and vengeance--that rough justice--was in this
case very just. Then when the slaughter was done the bands would march
to join one of the two centres at Kalavryta or on Taygetus; but for the
most part the latter, for Petrobey was still commander-in-chief, and to
his army belonged the prestige of the siege and capture of Kalamata.
But soon the numbers became unmanageable, and he and Nicholas at
length resolved to strike a second blow. Messenia, in which the
only stronghold of the Sultan had been Kalamata, no longer gave
opportunity for anything but guerilla warfare, but in Arcadia there
were several fortified places which would have to be reduced, or
at any rate rendered powerless to send help to Tripoli before the
latter place was attacked. Chief among these was Karitaena, standing
on a precipitous hill above the gorge of the Alpheus, a fortified
town, almost exclusively Turkish, and it was against this place that
Petrobey suggested the second attack should be made. It was, indeed,
high time that the unorganized rabble who were pouring in should have
something to do and also learn the elements of war. So his proposal
to Nicholas was that he should organize some kind of regiment out of
these, taking with him as leaven some of the better-drilled men who
had been at Kalamata, besiege and take the place, if possible, and if
not, give the men a notion of what a forced march meant, and some idea
of military discipline. Meantime Petrobey would move his quarters into
the hills between the upper Arcadian plain and Tripoli, so that in case
of disaster Nicholas could get quickly back into connection with the
rest of the army, and, at the same time, from there the southern troops
could watch that fortress. He would, however, quarter a small body of
men in the pass between Arcadia and Messenia, and have another depot
in the present camp, so that if the Turks attempted to land troops at
Kalamata they would find the passes from Messenia both blocked.
Nicholas fell in with the scheme, and two days afterwards set out with
perhaps the least efficient army that has ever taken the field. But
he had deliberately chosen his troops from the most ill-prepared and
untrimmed of the recruits, for somehow or other all this raw material
had to be put into shape before it was possible that it should render a
creditable or useful account of itself in any serious operations. But
they were all hardy, out-of-door folk, accustomed to sleep on the hills
and eat the roughest food with health and cheerfulness, and it was just
these who would most speedily prove a drag and a demoralization if left
idle in camp.
So on the third morning they set out, at an open and scattered double,
where the mountain-side was steep, among the budding bushes and tilted
rocks, taking the short-cut down to the plain, where it might be
possible to give them some semblance of formation. The baggage and
commissariat mules had preceded them by a few hours, and were to wait
for them when they got down to marching ground.
Two days' march, or rather tramp, brought them to Megalopolis, a
sparkle in the centre of the green Arcadian plain. They found the town
in the hands of the insurgent Greeks, a body of whom, consisting of
about two hundred men, enrolled themselves under Nicholas. Here, too,
they heard the same tale of slaughter and pillage of the Turk; but
already the selfish evil which was to do such harm to the Greek cause
generally--namely, the personal greed for plunder--had crept in, and
the insurgents were wrangling over the distribution of the booty. But
Nicholas, with a fine indignation which shamed them into obedience,
though amid murmurs of suppressed grumbling, was hot with reproach.
Was it for a few piastres, he said, that they were up in arms? Was the
liberty of the nation to be weighed against a cask of wine or a Turkish
slave? And taking the whole matter into his own hands, he reserved half
the booty captured for the expenses of the war, and half he divided as
fairly as might be among the claimants.
From Megalopolis Karitaena was only a four hours' march, and he was
anxious to force the pace so as to reach it early next morning, before
rumor of their approach should have gone abroad. The Megalopolis men
were as untrained as his own, but they knew the country better, and he
organized out of them a corps of skirmishers, who should go in advance
and intercept any fugitives who might carry the news of the march
into Karitaena. The only chance of taking it was if he could find it
unprepared, like Kalamata, creep up to it at night, and either make a
night assault or draw beleaguering lines round it before he could be
attacked.
Like Kalamata, the town was pregnable only from one side, but on this
the road ran steeply up to the gate parallel with the citadel wall,
thus exposing the attacking party to a broadside fire if the besieged
were prepared. They were, in fact, more than prepared; they were
wishfully expectant, and Nicholas fell into a very neatly baited trap.
The skirmishing party had started a little before sunset, while the
others were to set out soon after, so as to reach the town by midnight
or before, if possible make a night attack, or if not, take up their
places, so that when morning dawned the citadel might find itself
beleaguered. But the skirmishers, exceeding Nicholas's instructions,
had gone too far and were seen from Karitaena, and all that night the
Turks made preparations for a long-headed manoeuvre on the morrow.
However, Nicholas arrived about midnight, and finding everything quiet,
and hearing nothing from the skirmishing party which could lead him to
think that Karitaena was prepared, reconnoitred the ground, and decided
not to attack it by night, for the gate was strong and well fortified,
and without artillery of some kind would not quickly be forced; and he
returned to the men and gave orders for the disposition of the troops.
Those who were most trustworthy, consisting of the greater part of the
Argive corps, were posted along the road and to guard the bridge over
the Alpheus, which led to Megalopolis and Tripoli; the less trained
soldiers he posted on the north and south, where there was little
likelihood of attack. He himself remained with the rawer troops, where
his presence was more likely to be needed than with the Argives, on
whom he thought he could rely.
Morning came chilly and clear, and Nicholas, on foot, early went
forward a little to see if there was yet any sign of movement in the
citadel, and, advancing to where he could see the gate, he observed
that it was open and that a couple of Turks driving mules were coming
leisurely down the path. This was an unexpected opportunity; surely
they could storm the place out of hand and have done with it; and going
back to the men, he ordered an immediate advance. The Argive troops
were to form the vanguard, then the skirmishers from Megalopolis, and
in the rear the mixed and untried men, which he led himself; in a
quarter of an hour all was ready, and, the Argive corps leading the
way, they advanced at a double up the steep path.
Then, when they were streaming up under the walls, the Turks showed
that they, too, had a word to say to these summary arrangements. A
storm of musketry fire opened on the besiegers from the length of the
wall, and, like troops unaccustomed to fire, they did the very worst
thing possible, and stopped to return it, instead of advancing. This
was hopeless, for their assailants were completely sheltered behind
the fortifications and the Greek fire did no more than innocuously
chip off pieces of mortar and stone from the walls; and, after losing
several minutes and many lives, they pressed on again gallantly enough
towards the gate, which still stood open. This brought the second part
of the army with Nicholas under fire, but they were now moving rapidly
forward, and he still hoped that they would be able to get in. But the
fire had a demoralizing effect on these raw recruits, who had seen
nothing of warfare but the pillaging of defenceless farm-houses, and
as they were shot down one after another they, too, wavered. Once the
first three ranks stopped and would have turned to run, but Nicholas,
with a voice of cheerful encouragement--"This way, boys, this way!" he
shouted. "We shall soon be past this little shower, and then comes our
turn."
His voice, the sight of him running on as a man runs to a wine-shop
under a pelting of rain, and the words which in the Greek contained
a somewhat coarse but popular joke, had the right effect, and they
doubled on again to close up the gap between them and the vanguard.
Those few minutes had been deadly expensive, yet it was a marvel to see
how these men, untried and raw as they were, but fed with hate, faced
all the horror of a well-directed fire, the grunt and gasp of death,
the involuntary cry of overwhelming physical pain, the writhing body
under foot, or, hardly less horrible, the sudden and complete striking
out of life; and Nicholas, looking back on the thinned ranks, the
terror-struck faces, but the determined advance, thought gleefully,
"These are brave men--and this is what they need."
By this time the Argives had very nearly reached the gate, but then
the defenders played their second card. Quite suddenly from inside
dashed out a band of cavalry, some five hundred in number, who rode
full speed down on them. The Argives stopped, and, attempting to make
the best of a hopeless job, the front ranks opened fire and a few
Turks fell. But the charge came on, the two met with a crash, and the
inevitable happened. The ranks of foot broke, and the men poured down
off the road onto the steep slope below like water spilled. Resistance
was not possible, and the cavalry came on hewing their way through the
congested mass of men, and in the mean time the firing from the walls
went on steadily. Nicholas seeing what had happened knew that to face
this spelled annihilation, and with a fine wisdom, though the words
were bitter in his mouth, did the best he could.
"Save yourselves," he cried; "run."
And they turned and fled down the road again, the Turkish cavalry in
their rear, hewing, hacking, and discharging their pistols. The rout
was complete, each man ran as fast as he could go, while the cavalry,
like a swarm of stinging wasps, flew hither and thither, opening out as
they reached the plain, and chasing the men as they fled single or in
batches of five or six.
Luckily for them wooded hills came down close to the plain here, and
they struck for them desperately across the narrow strip of level land,
for there the cavalry could not easily follow them, or only man to man.
Nicholas, running down the slope from the road, tripped in a bush--as
it turned out luckily for him, for a sabre at that moment swung over
the place where his head should have been; and the Turk, not waiting
to attack him singly when there were many little knots of men among
whom he could pick and choose, rode on leaving him; and Nicholas, who
had sprained his ankle slightly as he fell, plunged into the brushwood
where it was thickest, to find refuge and concealment. His rifle he
had thrown away, for it impeded his flight, and he found himself some
distance behind the others, who were going in the right direction
towards Valtetzi, where Petrobey had told them the camp would be. But
though the rout had been complete and utter, and Nicholas was far from
disguising the fact from himself, his heart was filled with a secret
exultation at the way the troops had behaved for those two or three
moments which try the courage of any man when he is being fired at and
cannot return the fire. To be shot at when a man may shoot in return,
and aim is matched with aim, is known to be strangely exhilarating, but
to be shot at and not to shoot is cold stuff for the courage. They had
been through the baptism of fire under the most trying circumstances,
and with the exception of that one moment of wavering had stood their
ground till they were told to stand no longer.
He crept painfully up the hill-side all alone, but the pursuit had
passed, and the cavalry, he could see, were returning across the plain
to the town, knowing it was useless to follow farther. That fatal road
up to the gate was strewn with corpses, almost all Greek, with only
a handful of Turks and horses. Other horses, however, were careering
riderless about the plain; and Nicholas, limping from his sprain,
thought how much more convenient it would be to go riding to Valtetzi
than to drag along his swollen foot. A quarter of a mile away he could
see two or three of the men trying to capture one of these, but they
only succeeded in frightening it, and it bolted up towards the hill
where Nicholas was, and a couple of minutes later he saw it burst
through the first belt of trees and halt on a piece of open ground
below him. There it stopped, and in a minute or so began cropping at
the short-growing grass. Its bridle, he could see, was over its head,
trailing on the ground.
Now Nicholas was an Odysseus of resource, and having lived in the open
air all his days not witlessly, he knew the manners of many beasts,
and could imitate certain of their calls to each other so that even
they were deceived; and, furthermore, his foot was one burning ache;
and, not wishing to walk more than he could help, he preferred that
this horse should come to him rather than that he should go to the
horse. It was about a hundred yards from him, but a long way below,
and it was grazing quietly. So Nicholas, to make it a little alert,
and also to assist in bringing it nearer him, took up a pebble, and
with extreme precision lobbed it over the horse, so that it fell on the
far side of him. The animal, startled by the noise, stopped grazing,
and started off at a trot in the direction away from where the pebble
had seemed to come and directly towards Nicholas. After a few yards,
however, it stopped again, and Nicholas whinnied gently. At that it
looked up again and sniffed the air, but before it had continued its
grazing he whinnied once more, and then lay flat down on his back. In a
moment the horse answered and Nicholas called to it a third time, and
heard from below that it had left the open and was pushing towards him
through the trees. Once again he called, and the answer came nearer,
and in a few moments the horse appeared ambling quickly up the steep
incline. For a moment it did not see Nicholas, for he lay flat on the
ground, half covered by the bush; but when it did, seeing he lay quite
still, it came close up to him and sniffed round him. Then quietly
reaching out a hand, he caught the bridle as it trailed on the ground.
This was satisfactory, for, besides getting a mount, he had acquired a
pistol which was stuck into its case on the holster, and getting up, he
pushed the horse forward through the trees. Half an hour's ride brought
him into a bridle-path, running loftily along the mountain-side, and
he halted here to take his bearings. Straight in front of him, and not
an hour's ride distant, stood the huddled roofs of a village, which
he took to be Serrica, but at present he could only see a few of the
outlying houses. But at the thought that this was Serrica his heart
thrilled within him, for it was the village from which his wife had
come. A wonderful return was this for him; already the work of avenging
her death had begun, and soon, please God! should a Turk be slain for
every hair of her head. Ah, the cursed race who had brought dishonor to
her, and to him a wound that could never be healed! Helen, too--little
Helen--who ran towards him, crying "Father, father!" Yes, by God, her
father heard her voice still, and her cry should not be lifted up in
vain!
In half an hour more he stopped to reconnoitre, turning off the path
among the heather. His heart pulled him thither, yet for that very
reason he would be cautious, and not risk the ultimate completeness of
his vengeance. From the slope above he watched for ten minutes more,
and, seeing no movement or sign of life in the village, concluded that
here, too, the Greeks had risen, and, after driving out the Turks, had
gone either to Petrobey or to Kalavryta. And as he looked he saw that a
dozen houses at one spot were roofless, showing by their charred beams
pointing up to the sky that they had been burned. At the end stood the
church dedicated to the Mother of God; and, oh, the bitterness of that!
It was there he had been married; from that door he had walked away
with the dearest and fairest of women, the happiest man in Greece.
Nicholas hesitated no longer; it was still an hour before noon, and he
did not care to travel during the day. He would go down once more to
the place, he would see it all again, and let its memories scourge him
into an even keener anguish, a keener lust for vengeance, and, putting
his horse to an amble down the crumbling hill-side, in ten minutes more
he stood in the straggling village street. There was the house--her
house--just in front of him, and he went there first. The door was
standing open, and inside he found, as Mitsos had found at Mistra,
the signs of a sudden departure. His brother-in-law then, to whom the
house belonged, must have gone to Petrobey, or Kalavryta, probably the
latter, and the thought was wine to him. Husband and brother, a double
vengeance, and his should be the work of three men!
He had not eaten that day, but he soon found bread, meat, and wine,
and, after stabling his horse and eating, he went out again to the
church. Every step seemed a tearing open of the wound, yet with every
step his heart was fed with fierce joy. Ah, no, Helen should not call
in vain!
The church door was open and he entered. It had not altered at all in
those twenty years since he had seen it last. Over the altar hung a
rude early painting, showing the Mother of God, and nestling in her
arms the wondrous Child. In front the remote kings did obeisance,
behind stood the ox and the ass in the stall. And casting himself down
there, in an agony bitter sweet, he prayed with fervor and faith to
the Mother of the Divine Child. All the hopes and the desires of years
were concentrated into that moment, and he offered them up humbly,
yet at his best, to the Lord and the Handmaid of the Lord. Then, in
the excitement of his ecstasy, as he gazed on that rude picture with
streaming eyes, it seemed to him that a sign of acceptance, visible
and immediate, was given him. A light as steadfast, but milder than
the sun, grew and glowed round the two figures, the rough craft of the
artist was glorified, and on the face, so human yet divine, there came
the soft and sudden graciousness of life; it was touched with a pitiful
sympathy for him, and the eyes smiled acceptance of his offering. Bowed
down by so wonderful a pity, he hid his face in his hands, faith struck
fear from his heart, and in that moment he felt that he had not prayed
alone, that his wife had knelt by him, and that it was her prayers
mingled with his that had brought for him that signal favor of the
Thrice Holy Maid on his work.
That night, as soon as the sun went down and the ways grew dark, he
went on his journey with a soul refreshed and strengthened; he felt
that the vow he had made over the dead body of his wife had been
attested and approved by Christ and the Mother of Christ, and from
that hour to the end of his life never for a day did that gracious
vision, like bread from heaven, fail to sustain and strengthen him. And
all through the clear spring night the hosts of heaven that rose and
wheeled above him were ministering spirits, and the wind that passed
cool and bracing over the hill-sides the incense which carried his
prayer upward. He, to whom vengeance belonged, had chosen him as His
humble but willing agent. His sword was the sword of the Lord.
He crossed the first range of hills by midnight, and then struck the
road which led by the khan where Mitsos and Yanni had stopped on their
way from Tripoli. It was now within two hours of daybreak, but seeing
a light in the windows, he drew rein to inquire whether Anastasis
had seen aught of the other fugitives. Looking in cautiously through
the windows, he saw that the floor was covered with Greeks, who lay
sleeping, while Anastasis, good fellow, was serving others with hot
coffee and bread.
[ILLUSTRATION: "CASTING HIMSELF DOWN THERE, IN AN AGONY BITTER SWEET,
HE PRAYED"]
Nicholas tied up his horse and went in. As he entered several of the
men in a group round the fire turned and looked to see who it was,
instinctively clutching at their knives. Then one got hastily up, and
his head was among the roof-beams.
"Uncle Nicholas!" he cried, "is it you?"
"Who else should it be, little Mitsos? And what do you here?"
"Petrobey sent me down this morning to see if anything could be seen or
heard of you, and when you did not come, and we heard from the others
what had happened, we were afraid, or almost afraid--"
"I am not so easily got rid of," said Nicholas. "Anastasis, I shall
not forget that you were good to the fugitives. Yes, I will have some
coffee."
Most of the men sleeping on the floor had awoke at the noise and were
sitting up. Nicholas took a chair and began sipping his coffee.
"Little Mitsos," he said, aloud, "I do not know what the others may
have told you has happened, but I will tell you what I saw. I saw a
body of men, who knew nothing of war, stand steady under a heavy fire
because they were told to stand. I saw them go on under it when there
was room to move, but not one did I see do aught else until I had to
set the example, and told them to run."
Mitsos grew rather red in the face.
"The cavalry charged on them, and from behind the fortifications came
a hail of bullets. And I never desire," he said, striking the table a
great thump, "nor would it be possible, to command braver men."
Mitsos held out his hand to the man nearest him.
"Christos, shake hands or knock me down," he said. "I eat my words as
one eats figs in autumn--one gulp."
"What have you been saying, little Mitsos?" asked Nicholas.
"I said they were cowards to run away. Oh, but I am very sorry! They
are bad words I am eating."
"Well, let there be no mistake, Mitsos," said Nicholas; "down they go!"
Christos, a huge, broad-shouldered country Greek, looked up at Mitsos,
grinning.
"There is no malice," he said. "I called you a liar."
"So you did, and there were nearly hard blows. Oh, we should have made
a fine fight of it, for we are neither little people. But there will
be no fighting now, unless you are wishful, for I will deny no one
anything, now Uncle Nicholas has come. Why, are you lame, uncle? How
did you get here?"
"I rode a fine Turkish horse," remarked Nicholas; "may I never ride a
finer!"
Mitsos' frank and unreserved apologies had quite restored the
amiability of those present, who, when Nicholas had entered, were
growling and indignant, for Mitsos had made himself quite peculiarly
offensive. But, though he could not clearly see how bravery was
compatible with running away, Nicholas must be taken on trust.
Nicholas had fallen in with the last batch of fugitives. Since noon
they had been streaming up the hills. Only a few apparently were
wounded, and these had been sent on on mules to the camp. Those who had
been wounded severely, it was feared, must all have fallen into the
hands of the Turks, for there had been no possibility of escape, except
by flight. Altogether Nicholas reckoned they had lost three hundred
men, and but for his own promptness in seeing the utter hopelessness
of trying to stop the cavalry charge, they would have lost five times
that number. Having satisfied himself on these points, he turned to
Mitsos again.
"How about the ship?" he said; "and when did you get back?"
"Two days after you left Taygetus," said Mitsos; and then, with a great
grin, "the ship is not."
"Tell me about it, and I, too, afterwards have something to tell."
Mitsos' story, which was, of course, news to all present, was received
with shouts of approval, though he left out that part of it which
raised the exploit to a heroism, and Nicholas smiled at him when he had
finished.
"It was well done," he said, "and I think, little Mitsos, that I, too,
have friends who will, perhaps, aid me, as they have aided you"; and he
told them the story of his strange vision.
"And by this I know," he concluded, "that our work is a work which God
has blessed, and, come what may, not for an hour will I shrink from it
or flinch till it is finished, or till my time comes. Look, the east is
already lightening! Get up, my lads, for we must push on to the camp."
In a quarter of an hour they were off, the men marching in good order
as long as they kept the road, but falling out when they had to climb
the rough hill-side. An hour's walking brought them to the top of the
hills, and on a detached spur standing alone and commanding the valley
they could see the lines of the fortifications which Petrobey was
erecting. He himself, seeing them coming while still far off, rode out
to meet them, and Nicholas spurred his horse forward.
"Praise the Virgin that you have come, Nicholas," he said, "for by
this I know that there was no disgrace."
"You are right. Had there been disgrace I should not be here. But there
was nothing but bravery among the men, and the disgrace, if so you
think it is, is on my head." And he told him what had happened.
"They are brave men," said Petrobey, "and yet I think you are the
braver for giving that order."
"I should have been a foolish loon if I had not," said Nicholas,
laughing.