CHRISTMAS AT SEA AND GEORGE THE GREEK’S STORY
AFTER losing the south-east trades we had light winds and fine weather
with smooth calm sea until we sighted the Falkland Islands; standing
like two silent sentinels of that stormy region of the South Atlantic
Ocean, they have been the scene of many a shipwreck. A cold, bleak,
inhospitable rock-bound coast, around which almost perpetual gales
blow. There are two large islands and several smaller ones with an area
of about thirteen thousand square miles, very mountainous, situated in
latitude 51° 40′ south, longitude 59° 30′ west. They are right in the
track of vessels going to and fro around Cape Horn.
We sighted the islands on Christmas Eve, my first Christmas at sea. It
being summer time, we had twenty-two hours daylight, and very little
darkness. The sun rose at 3 a.m., and set at 11 p.m. The mountains on
the island were covered with pure white dazzling snow, while in the
valleys you could see cattle grazing in beautiful green pastures, and
the rocks by the water’s edge were literally covered with seals.
Christmas day broke fine and clear, with the most beautiful sunrise
human eyes had ever gazed upon. I have been in many parts of the world
since then, but never have I beheld a sky like that on Christmas
morning off the Falkland Islands. No words could describe it, for it
was indescribable. There was just a gentle breeze, the sea rising and
falling in gentle undulations, with a soft murmuring sound, whitened
by the ivory of crumbling foam, then shaken into sparkle as though a
rain of splintered diamonds was falling, each breath bringing with
it the smell of the kelp from the rock-bound coast. The sky to the
westward was slightly overcast, thinning out towards the meridian--and
towards the east small feathery patches of cloud floated about in a
silver sea, while down near the horizon it was a clear soft grey. Then
the wonderful sight burst upon us, heralding the rising of the sun the
most magnificent coloured rays spread over the sky. It would need a
painter’s brush, and a poet’s language to describe their beauty. The
watch on deck actually called out to the watch below to come and see
it, it seemed to me a fitting scene to celebrate the day on which the
Saviour of the world was born. Many years have passed since I stood
spellbound by that sight, and my Christmas days have been spent in
many lands, but it is as fresh in my mind as though it were yesterday,
and every Christmas day has brought back the memory of that glorious
sunrise off the Falklands.
About eight a.m. the breeze freshened from the eastward, and the
“Stormy Petrel” had every stitch of canvas set, and was making about
ten knots per hour. A course was set for the Straits of Le Maire,
which separate Staten Island from the southern extremity of the South
American Continent. We washed the decks before breakfast, and from then
the day was as a Sunday. The captain ordered the steward to give us
soft tack for breakfast, a luxury you don’t often get at sea, and an
eight bell dinner for all hands in honour of the day, with a bottle of
rum to each watch.
We heard eight bells strike with more relish than usual, as the captain
screwed the sun’s meridian altitude on his sextant, and the second
mate glanced across and actually smiled from the weather side of the
poop. Then forrard one of the men and I went to the galley for the
kids, or food tins. Chaff and good humour were the order of the day
at the galley door, and I rather think cook was not sorry when it
was all over. Then followed the tramp tramp along the deck with the
steaming kids, and at last we had the food all served up and sat down
to eat it. There was real fresh pork, none ever tasted so sweet, rice
soup and potatoes, followed by plum duff, real genuine plum pudding,
with some left over for tea. This was a luxury, and we made the most
of it and for once at sea we had a meal which made us satisfied with
ourselves and things in general. We cleared away and put things tidy.
The day passed away very quietly among the men, and after supper, the
weather being fine, they all sat round the fore-hatch and spun yarns,
real sailors’ yarns, not stories of goblins and ghosts, but real stern
facts out of their own hard lives. Before they started they tossed up
who should begin, and the lot fell to old George the Greek, and thus he
began his story, which was the best of all.
GEORGE THE GREEK’S STORY.
“When I was a boy I lived with my parents at Smyrna. My father was
a fisherman, and I often used to go with him in his boat. I was
passionately fond of the water and all things connected with it, fond
of athletics, and could swim, run, jump or wrestle with any boy in
Smyrna, and was utterly fearless. All the fishermen of the port knew me
and were very good to me.
“My dear old father and mother were good, God-fearing people. Their
dearest and most honoured friend was good Padre Nicola. The dear old
Padre, how he loved me and watched over my young life. He taught me,
with other lessons, to be a brave loving boy, and when I was old enough
he taught me to sing in the little church that his loving flock had
built for him, it was just outside Smyrna on the road to Ephesus. Often
when he came to our house and sat in the little garden that was so
full of flowers and sweet-scented herbs, he would pat me on the head
and say he hoped and prayed that I would grow up a good man, and a
comfort and help to my dear father and mother.
“Oh, Jesu Christi,” he groaned, and for a few minutes he could not
speak, but after a while he controlled himself and proceeded:
“When I was fourteen years old, an old friend of my father’s, Captain
Petri, came to Smyrna in his brig the ‘Alexanovitch.’ He was a dear old
man, he and my father were boys together in Patras, and they had not
met for years. He spent all his spare time at my little home and took
a great fancy to me. He soon found out that I was fond of the sea, and
asked my father to let me go with him, promising he would watch over me
and treat me as his own son, and make a sailor of me too. My father and
mother were very loth to part with me, but Captain Petri had no son or
daughter of his own, and they knew he would do all he had promised for
me.
“So they spoke to the Padre about it. The dear old man said how sorry
he, too, would be to lose me from the choir of the little church, but
it was a good chance for me. He would pray the good God to bless me,
and keep me good and true, and so, to my delight, it was settled that I
was to go with Captain Petri in the ‘Alexanovitch.’
“My poor mother was heartbroken to lose her boy, for deep down in her
heart she had hoped to see me settle at home, and become the village
schoolmaster, but it was not to be.
“The following week was both a busy and a happy one for me, the
happiest week of my life. The choir of the church in which I had now
sung for several years got up a grand supper and the dear old Padre
took the chair. What good wishes were given to me, what earnest prayers
for my future. They presented me with a beautiful Douay Bible and
Missal with my name on the fly leaf, written by the dear Padre himself.
Oh, it was a cursed day for me when I left the place and home I loved
so well.
“The brig ‘Alexanovitch’ was 300 tons register and carried a crew of
eight all told, the captain, mate, cook, four seamen and one boy.
“The following week saw me on board with my kit, I was to receive 20
drachmas per month. I was delighted, I seemed a rich man all at once,
my word but I did.
“We sailed at last for Alexandria, and my poor old father accompanied
me in his boat as far as Khios. Little he or I thought we should
never meet again. We had a pleasant twenty days voyage to Egypt, the
‘Alexanovitch’ was anything but a fast sailor, in fact, the greatest
speed we could get out of her was seven knots an hour.
“On our arrival we went direct to the wharf, and discharged the cargo
with the crew. We were three weeks at Alexandria and every night
Captain Petri would take me with him and show me all the wonderful
places in that famous ancient city, that was built by Alexander the
Great. We visited the palaces of the Pashas, the Mosques, Arsenal,
etc., I could not now remember one half of the places we went to. It
would take many months, and much money to explore and see all the
sights of Alexandria. It is said that in the year 640 A.D., when the
Saracenic General Amer conquered the city, in his report to his royal
master, the Caliph, he said he had found four thousand palaces, four
thousand baths, forty thousand Jews paying tribute, four hundred royal
circuses, and twelve thousand gardeners who supplied the city with
herbs and vegetables. To my young mind it was all so wonderful and
never having been out of Smyrna, I was a little bewildered with all I
saw.
“By this time our cargo was discharged, and we had loaded again for
Constantinople, and on leaving Alexandria we had a succession of gales
of wind, in which the old brig got terribly knocked about, and this was
the beginning of our troubles. When we were off the Island of Rhodes,
our boats were washed away by a heavy sea, and a considerable amount of
damage was done about the deck. Then off the Island of Patmos, the mate
was washed overboard and drowned, and every man on board was bruised
and sore with the buffeting. To make matters still worse, when we were
off Cape Sagri, poor old Captain Petri was knocked down by a heavy sea
and injured, and all through the Dardanelles the bad weather continued.
“When we arrived at Constantinople our crew was completely worn out,
Captain Petri was taken seriously ill, and had to leave the ship. I was
very sorry to part from him, but was getting more confidence in myself,
and so resolved to stop by the vessel.
“The agent appointed another captain. He was a Turk, a native of Havac
on the Bosphorus. He was a tall strong looking young man, with a long
pointed moustache, and a villainous look on his face, and as was
afterwards proved, his face was a true index to his character.
“We lay four weeks at Constantinople. The men asked me to go on shore
with them, and I was unable to refuse, as they said they would show me
round, and they did, but may Heaven’s curse fall upon them. They took
me into all the dens of infamy, among the lowest of the low in that
terrible city of corruption and vice. They taught me to forget all the
good my dear old mother had taught me at her knee, and made me laugh at
words that the dear old Padre had spoken so reverently.”
Again the old man broke down with the agony of remembrance. “Oh, Jesu
Christi,” he murmured, “why did I leave the dear home, and the mother
who was so proud of me, and who loved me so. Never again have I looked
on her sweet face, or heard her voice, never again have I sat in the
little church and heard the dear Padre’s blessing. For forty long years
have I roamed around the world, but never again have I looked on those
dear faces that I loved so well. But God is good, and some say that
I may see them in that land where all these things are forgotten and
forgiven.”
For a few minutes he was silent, lost in memories of the past, then he
continued:
“We finished loading at last, and then hauled out to the anchorage off
Scutari, and that evening while at anchor, at about nine-thirty p.m., a
small boat came off from the shore, containing an old Turkish gentleman
and a boy. He climbed on board very smartly for his apparent age, and
asked for the captain. I called the captain, who at once came, and
after a few remarks were passed at the gangway, he asked him into the
cabin. They were there about half an hour, when, going in suddenly, I
saw the visitor paying over some money to the captain, they came out
shortly afterwards, and the gentleman was pulled back to the shore.
“We were bound for Algiers and Morocco, and were to heave up the anchor
at daylight. About 2 a.m. a boat pulled off from the ‘Golden Horn,’
and came alongside, in it was the same old gentleman who had visited
us earlier in the evening. He had with him two large portmanteaux and
one small handbag. The portmanteaux were handed up, but he would not
part with the handbag. As soon as he was on board, orders were given
to heave up the anchor, and setting all sail, we stood out of the
Bosphorus, and shaped our course for the Sea of Marmora.
“When breakfast time came, the passenger told me to bring his breakfast
to his room, I did so, and he never left his room or came on deck for
one moment all that day. This caused a lot of talk amongst the crew.
Like most small coasters, we all had our food together, and during
the meals the talk was generally about the passenger and his luggage.
It was suggested by the captain that the passenger had robbed a bank
or something else, and that his luggage contained the proceeds of the
robbery, and he added, ‘as we are helping him to escape, we ought
to have a share of the plunder.’ All hands heartily agreed to this
suggestion.
“We had a fresh breeze across the Sea of Marmora, and entered the
Dardanelles with a moderate gale after us. The following day we cleared
the Dardanelles, and with a brisk gale from the north we stood towards
Tenedos Island. That morning, while we were at breakfast, the cook said
he had peeped through the keyhole during the night, and had seen the
Turkish passenger putting a lot of jewels into a body belt out of his
small bag. From that moment he was a marked man, his fate was sealed.
When off Tenedos it was blowing hard with a big sea running, and the
old brig laboured heavily, the passenger came out of his room, and
asked the captain to land him at Mitylene, as he felt very ill. While
he was talking to the captain, the brig gave a heavy lurch, pitching
him head first against the bulkhead, stunning him for a moment. As soon
as he fell the captain sprang into the room, and began looking for the
small handbag. Whilst he was searching for it, the passenger revived,
and seeing the captain in his room, he drew his revolver and fired at
him, wounding him in the leg. The captain closed with him at once, and
in a moment, hearing the shot, all hands rushed into the cabin, and
seeing the captain and passenger struggling together they sprang to the
assistance of the captain, and drove their knives into the passenger’s
body.
“It was all done in a moment, and the old man lay dead at the feet of
his murderers. They looked at one another for a moment, then, after a
consultation, it was decided to throw the body overboard. But before
doing so, the mate sent one of the men, who had taken part in the
murder, to relieve the man at the wheel, when this man came into the
cabin, the mate told him to stick his knife into the body, so that all
should share alike. This the man did without a moment’s hesitation. The
captain turned to me, his eyes glaring fiercely and said:--‘Here, boy,
come and do your part.’ I drew back and refused, but he seized me by
the throat, and threatened to serve me the same as the passenger, if I
did not do so. I knew too well he would put his threat into execution
if I either hesitated or refused, so I took my sheath knife and drove
it into the poor body, but thank God he never felt my blow.
“The body was then thrown overboard, and the blood mopped up off the
cabin floor. During this time the old brig had been racing along before
a gale of wind under the full topsail and foresail, and yawing about
very badly, it was quite impossible to steer her straight. The weather,
too, was becoming hazy. The passenger’s luggage was then brought on
deck and examined. The small bag was nearly full of jewellery, mostly
diamonds, the portmanteaux contained some clothing, a lot of gold and
silver coins, and several rolls of parchment and notes. Just at this
time the brig broached to, and shipped a very heavy sea. All hands now
rushed on deck and set to to shorten sail. The weather got worse and
worse and the sea was getting dangerous, so the captain decided to run
to leeward off Mitylene and shelter.
“After the sail had been reduced and the brig made snug, the crew all
gathered together in the little cabin. I was sent to the wheel. The
night was pitch dark, and the vessel had no light hung out, the only
one on deck was the small light on the binnacle.
“The money and valuables were then spread out on the table in the
cabin, and divided amongst them. But for some reason or other they
fell out over the division. The captain to quieten them brought out
some bottles of spirits, but no sooner had the spirits begun to take
effect than they charged the captain with taking part of the diamonds
while they’ were aloft at the sails. This he denied, although at the
time he had the body belt full of the diamonds and jewellery on his
person, which he had taken off the dead body while they were aloft. In
an instant knives were drawn and the captain was stabbed to death. Then
pandemonium reigned supreme.
“The night was dark as Erebus, the brig was rushing along wildly, I
could not keep her on her course. I called and called to be relieved,
but no one heeded me. They were by this time all mad drunk, gloating
over the spoils. The body of the dead captain still lay on the deck.
The mate gave it a kick, and in doing so heard something clink. In an
instant he was on his knees and found the body belt and the jewels.
“‘Share! Share!’ cried all, but half crazed with drink, the mate
refused. Then the others rushed at him with their knives. He sprang on
one side, and rushed on deck by the wheel. Here they closed with him
and a terrible scuffle took place. In a few minutes the cook and one
man got up, leaving the mate and three seamen dead on the deck. I was
terrified, and could scarcely hold on to the wheel.
“There were only the two men and myself left on board. They went back
into the cabin, taking no notice of me, and just as they left the deck
I saw broken water on the bow. I called out to them, but before the
words were out of my mouth the ship crashed on to the rocks of Cape
Segre, Mitylene Island. As she struck end on, a tremendous sea came
over the stern and washed me clean over the side among the rocks. I
managed to swim to the back of one large rock, and found myself in
smooth water, and was able to climb up out of the water. The old brig
had gone to pieces, at once. I never saw a vestige of the two men or
heard a single cry. I think they were killed as she struck. They had
died in their sins--died drunk, with the awful crime of murder on their
souls. Judgment had come swiftly. God’s vengeance had been sharp and
sure.
“I lay on the lee side of the large rock where I had landed, until
daylight. I had escaped without a scratch. God had taken care of me.
“At daylight I swam to the mainland of Mitylene, and made my way to the
town of Gavatha on the north side of the island, and reported the loss
of the vessel. I was at once put into some dry clothes and a good meal
put before me, and a party was despatched to the scene of the wreck
to see if any more of the crew had escaped. But there were none left
to tell the tale but me. I did not mention the passenger, or what had
taken place before the wreck. I was too afraid, I did not know what to
do, for they might not believe my story. I felt I could never go home
again, never look into my dear mother’s face again, or hear the dear
old Padre’s blessing, or feel his hand upon my head. The next day I was
very ill, and one of the fishermen put me to bed in his cottage and
bade me sleep and rest.
“In a few days I was better, and the good folk asked me where I lived
and the name of the lost vessel, and offered to keep me there until
my people were communicated with. I agreed to that and thanked them
heartily, but made up my mind not to go home.
“I found a vessel loading there for Liverpool, and went on board with
the labourers the day before she sailed, and when an opportunity
offered I stowed away in the hold. The vessel sailed next day, and a
few hours after leaving port I was discovered, but the officers did
not touch me, they seemed sorry for me. So I worked my way round to
Liverpool, and got a ship there bound for California. The day before we
sailed from Liverpool I saw a Greek sailor that I had known in Smyrna,
but I hid myself and got clear away.
“For forty-five years I have roamed about the world, but from that day
to this I have never heard one word from home or parents.”