THE HAMARI TURNS BOATMAN
The boatmen had taken up some of the marble blocks of the landing, and
planting long oars upright in the ground, and fixing other oars
crosswise on them, constructed a secure frame covered with fresh
sail-cloth. From their vessels they had also brought material for a
dais under the shelter thus improvised; another sail for carpet, and a
chair on the dais completed the stand whence the Princess was to view
and judge the race.
A way was opened for her through the throng, and with her attendants,
she passed to the stand; and as she went, all the women near reached
out their hands and reverently touched the skirt of her gown--so did
their love for her trench on adoration.
The shore from the stand to the town, and from the stand again around
the promontory on the south, was thronged with spectators, while every
vantage point fairly in view was occupied by them; even the ships were
pressed into the service; and somehow the air over and about the bay
seemed to give back and tremble with the eagerness of interest
everywhere discernible.
Between Fanar, the last northern point of lookout over the Black Sea,
and Galata, down on the Golden Horn, there are about thirty hamlets,
villages and cities specking the European shore of the Bosphorus. Each
of them has its settlement of fishermen. Aside from a voluminous net,
the prime necessity for successful pursuit of the ancient and honorable
calling is a boat. Like most things of use amongst men, the vessel of
preferred model here came of evolution. The modern tourist may yet see
its kind drawn up at every landing he passes.
Proper handling, inclusive of running out and hauling in the seine,
demanded a skilful crew of at least five men; and as whole lives were
devoted to rowing, the proficiency finally attained in it can be
fancied. It was only natural, therefore, that the thirty communities
should each insist upon having the crew of greatest excellence--the
crew which could outrow any other five on the Bosphorus; and as every
Byzantine Greek was a passionate gambler, the wagers were without end.
Vauntings of the sort, like the Black Sea birds of unresting wings,
went up and down the famous waterway.
At long intervals occasions presented for the proof of these men of
pride; after which, for a period there was an admitted champion crew,
and a consequent hush of the babble and brawl.
In determining to conclude the fete with a boat-race open to all Greek
comers from the capital to the Cyanian rocks, the Princess Irene did
more than secure a desirable climax; unconsciously, perhaps, she hit
upon the measure most certain to bring peace to the thirty villages.
She imposed but two conditions on the competitors--they should be
fishermen and Greeks.
The interval between the announcement of the race and the day set for
it had been filled with boasting, from which one would have supposed
the bay of Therapia at the hour of starting would be too contracted to
hold the adversaries. When the hour came there were six crews present
actually prepared to contest for the prize--a tall ebony crucifix, with
a gilded image, to be displayed of holidays on the winning prow. The
shrinkage told the usual tale of courage oozed out. There was of course
no end of explanation.
About three o'clock, the six boats, each with a crew of five men, were
held in front of the Princess' stand, representative of as many towns.
Their prows were decorated with banderoles large enough to be easily
distinguished at a distance--one yellow, chosen for Yenimahale; one
blue, for Buyukdere; one white, for Therapia; one red, for Stenia; one
green, for Balta-Liman; and one half white and half scarlet, for Bebek.
The crews were in their seats--fellows with knotted arms bare to the
shoulder; white shirts under jackets the color of the flags, trousers
in width like petticoats. The feet were uncovered that, while the pull
was in delivery, they might the better clinch the cleats across the
bottom of the boat.
The fresh black paint with which the vessels had been smeared from end
to end on the outside was stoned smoothly down until it glistened like
varnish. Inside there was not a superfluity to be seen of the weight of
a feather.
The contestants knew every point of advantage, and, not less clearly,
they were there to win or be beaten doing their best. They were cool
and quiet; much more so, indeed, than the respective clansmen and
clanswomen.
From these near objects of interest, the Princess directed a glance
over the spreading field of dimpled water to a galley moored under a
wooded point across on the Asiatic shore. The point is now crowned with
the graceful but neglected Kiosk of the Viceroy of Egypt. That galley
was the thither terminus of the race course, and the winners turning
it, and coming back to the place of starting, must row in all about
three miles.
A little to the right of the Princess' stand stood a pole of height to
be seen by the multitude as well as the rival oarsmen, and a rope for
hoisting a white flag to the top connected it with the chair on the
dais. At the appearance of the flag the boats were to start; while it
was flying, the race was on.
And now the competitors are in position by lot from right to left. On
bay and shore the shouting is sunk to a murmur. A moment more--but in
that critical period an interruption occurred.
A yell from a number of voices in sharpest unison drew attention to the
point of land jutting into the water on the north side not inaptly
called the toe of Therapia, and a boat, turning the point, bore down
with speed toward the sail-covered stand. There were four rowers in it;
yet its glossy sides and air of trimness were significant of a seventh
competitor for some reason behind time. The black flag at the prow and
the black uniform of the oarsmen confirmed the idea. The hand of the
Princess was on the signal rope; but she paused.
As the boat-hook of the newcomers fell on the edge of the landing, one
of them dropped upon his knees, crying: "Grace, O Princess! Grace, and
a little time!"
The four were swarthy men, and, unlike the Greeks they were seeking to
oppose, their swart was a peculiarity of birth, a racial sign.
Recognizing them, the spectators near by shouted: "Gypsies! Gypsies!"
and the jeer passed from mouth to mouth far as the bridge over the
creek at the corner of the bay; yet it was not ill-natured. That these
unbelievers of unknown origin, separatists like the Jews, could offer
serious opposition to the chosen of the towns was ridiculous. Since
they excited no apprehension, their welcome was general.
"Why the need of grace? Who are you?" the Princess replied, gravely.
"We are from the valley by Buyukdere," the man returned.
"Are you fishermen?"
"Judged by our catches the year through, and the prices we get in the
market, O Princess, it is not boasting to say our betters cannot be
found, though you search both shores between Fanar and the Isles of the
Princes."
This was too much for the bystanders. The presence they were in was not
sufficient to restrain an outburst of derision.
"But the conditions of the race shut you out. You are not Greeks," the
judge continued.
"Nay, Princess, that is according to the ground of judgment. If it
please you to decide by birth and residence rather than ancestry, then
are we to be preferred over many of the nobles who go in and out of His
Majesty's gates unchallenged. Has not the sweet water that comes down
from the hills seeking the sea through our meadow furnished drink for
our fathers hundreds of years? And as it knew them, it knows us."
"Well answered, I must admit. Now, my friend, do as wisely with what I
ask next, and you shall have a place. Say you come out winners, what
will you do with the prize? I have heard you are not Christians."
The man raised his face the first time.
"Not Christians! Were the charge true, then, argument being for the
hearing, I would say the matter of religion is not among the
conditions. But I am a petitioner, not lawyer, and to my rude thinking
it is better that I hold on as I began. Trust us, O Princess! There is
a plane tree, wondrous old, and with seven twin trunks, standing before
our tents, and in it there is a hollow which shelters securely as a
house. Attend me now, I pray. If happily we win, we will convert the
tree into a cathedral, and build an altar in it, and set the prize
above the altar in such style that all who love the handiworks of
nature better than the artfulness of men may come and worship there
reverently as in the holiest of houses, Sancta Sophia not excepted."
"I will trust you. With such a promise overheard by so many of this
concourse, to refuse you a part in the race were a shame to the
Immaculate Mother. But how is it you are but four?"
"We were five, O Princess; now one is sick. It was at his bidding we
come; he thought of the hundreds of oarsmen who would be here one at
least could be induced to share our fortune."
"You have leave to try them."
The man arose, and looked at the bystanders, but they turned away.
"A hundred noumiae for two willing hands!" he shouted.
There was no reply. "If not for the money, then in honor of the noble
lady who has feasted you and your wives and children."
A voice answered out of the throng: "Here am I!" and presently the
hamari appeared with the bear behind him.
"Here," he said, "take care of Joqard for me. I will row in the sick
man's place, and"--
The remainder of the sentence was lost in an outburst of gibing--and
laughter. Finally the Princess asked the rowers if they were satisfied
with the volunteer.
They surveyed him doubtfully.
"Art thou an oarsman?" one of them asked.
"There is not a better on the Bosphorus. And I will prove it. Here,
some of you--take the beast off my hands. Fear not, friend, Joqard's
worst growl is inoffensive as thunder without lightning. That's a good
man."
And with the words the hamari released the leading strap, sprang into
the boat, and without giving time for protest or remonstrance, threw
off his jacket and sandals, tucked up his shirt-sleeves, and dropped
into the vacant fifth seat. The dexterity with which he then unshipped
the oars and took them in hand measurably quieted the associates thus
audaciously adopted; his action was a kind of certificate that the
right man had been sent them.
"Believe in me," he said, in a low tone. "I have the two qualities
which will bring us home winners--skill and endurance." Then he spoke
to the Princess: "Noble lady, have I your consent to make a
proclamation?"
The manner of the request was singularly deferential. Sergius observed
the change, and took a closer look at him while the Princess was giving
the permission.
Standing upon the seat, the hamari raised his voice: "Ho,
here--there--every one!" and drawing a purse from his bosom, he waved
it overhead, with a louder shout, "See!--a hundred noumiae, and not all
copper either. Piece against piece weighed or counted, I put them in
wager! Speak one or all. Who dares the chance?"
Takers of the offer not appearing on the shore, he shook the purse at
his competitors.
"If we are not Christians," he said to them, "we are oarsmen and not
afraid. See--I stake this purse--if you win, it is yours."
They only gaped at him.
He put the purse back slowly, and recounting the several towns of his
opponents by their proper names in Greek, he cried: "Buyukdere,
Therapia, Stenia, Bebek, Balta-Liman, Yenimahale--your women will sing
you low to-night!" Then to the Princess: "Allow us now to take our
place seventh on the left."
The bystanders were in a maze. Had they been served with a mess of
brag, or was the fellow really capable? One thing was clear--the
interest in the race had taken a rise perceptible in the judge's stand
not less than on the crowded shore.
The four Gypsies, on their part, were content with the volunteer. In
fact, they were more than satisfied when he said to them, as their
vessel turned into position:
"Now, comrades, be governed by me; and besides the prize, if we win,
you shall have my purse to divide amongst you man and man. Is it
agreed?" And they answered, foreman and all, yes. "Very well," he
returned. "Do you watch, and get the time and force from me. Now for
the signal."
The Princess sent the starting flag to the top of the pole, and the
boats were off together. A great shout went up from the spectators--a
shout of men mingled with the screams of women to whom a hurrah or
cheer of any kind appears impossible.
To warm the blood, there is nothing after all like the plaudits of a
multitude looking on and mightily concerned. This was now noticeable.
The eyes of all the rowers enlarged; their teeth set hard; the arteries
of the neck swelled; and even in their tension the muscles of the arms
quivered.
A much better arrangement would have been to allow the passage of the
racers broadside to the shore; for then the shiftings of position, and
the strategies resorted to would have been plain to the beholders; as
it was, each foreshortened vessel soon became to them a black body,
with but a man and one pair of oars in motion; and sometimes
provokingly indistinguishable, the banderoles blew backward squarely in
a line with the direction of the movement. Then the friends on land
gave over exercising their throats; finally drawn down to the water's
edge, and pressing on each other, they steadied and welded into a mass,
like a wall.
Once there was a general shout. Gradually the boats had lost the
formation of the start, and falling in behind each other, assumed an
order comparable to a string. While this change was going on, a breeze
unusually strong blew from the south, bringing every flag into view at
the same time: when it was perceived that the red was in the lead.
Forthwith the clansmen of Stenia united in a triumphant yell, followed
immediately, however, by another yet louder. It was discovered, thanks
to the same breeze, that the black banderole of the Gypsies was the
last of the seven. Then even those who had been most impressed by the
bravado of the hamari, surrendered themselves to laughter and sarcasm.
"See the infidels!" "They had better be at home taking care of their
kettles and goats!" "Turn the seven twins into a cathedral, will they?
The devil will turn them into porpoises first!" "Where is the hamari
now--where? By St. Michael, the father of fishermen, he is finding what
it is to have more noumiae than brains! Ha, ha, ha!"
Nevertheless the coolest of the thirty-five men then scudding the
slippery waterway was the hamari--he had started the coolest--he was
the coolest now.
For a half mile he allowed his crew to do their best, and with them he
had done his best. The effort sufficed to carry them to the front,
where he next satisfied himself they could stay, if they had the
endurance. He called to them:
"Well done, comrades! The prize and the money are yours! But ease up a
little. Let them pass. We will catch them again at the turn. Keep your
eyes on me."
Insensibly he lessened the dip and reach of his oars; at last, as the
thousands on the Therapian shore would have had it, the Gypsy racer was
the hinderling of the pack. Afterwards there were but trifling changes
of position until the terminal galley was reached.
By a rule of the race, the contestants were required to turn the
galley, keeping it on the right; and it was a great advantage to be a
clear first there, since the fortunate party could then make the round
unhindered and in the least space. The struggle for the point began
quite a quarter of a mile away. Each crew applied itself to quickening
the speed--every oar dipped deeper, and swept a wider span;--on a
little, and the keepers of the galley could hear the half groan, half
grunt with which the coming toilers relieved the extra exertion now
demanded of them;--yet later, they saw them spring to their feet, reach
far back, and finish the long deep draw by falling, or rather toppling
backward to their seats.
Only the hamari eschewed the resort for the present. He cast a look
forward, and said quickly: "Attend, comrades!" Thereupon he added
weight to his left delivery, altering the course to an angle which, if
pursued, must widen the circle around the galley instead of contracting
it.
On nearing the goal the rush of the boats grew fiercer; each foreman,
considering it honor lost, if not a fatal mischance, did he fail to be
first at the turning-point, persisted in driving straight forward--a
madness which the furious yelling of the people on the marker's deck
intensified. This was exactly what the hamari had foreseen. When the
turn began five of the opposing vessels ran into each other. The boil
and splash of water, breaking of oars, splintering of boatsides; the
infuriate cries, oaths, and blind striving of the rowers, some intent
on getting through at all hazards, some turned combatants, striking or
parrying with their heavy oaken blades; the sound of blows on breaking
heads; plunges into the foaming brine; blood trickling down faces and
necks, and reddening naked arms--such was the catastrophe seen in its
details from the overhanging gunwale of the galley. And while it went
on, the worse than confused mass drifted away from the ship's side,
leaving a clear space through which, with the first shout heard from
him during the race, the hamari urged his crew, and rounded the goal.
On the far Therapian shore the multitude were silent. They could dimly
see every incident at the turn--the collision, fighting, and manifold
mishaps, and the confounding of the banderoles. Then the Stenia colors
flashed round the galley, with the black behind it a close second.
"Is that the hamari's boat next the leader?"
Thus the Princess, and upon the answer, she added: "It looks as if the
Holy One might find servants among the irreclaimables in the valley."
Had the Gypsies at last a partisan?
The two rivals were now clear of the galley. For a time there was but
one cry heard--"Stenia! Stenia!" The five oarsmen of that charming town
had been carefully selected; they were vigorous, skilful, and had a
chief well-balanced in judgment. The race seemed theirs. Suddenly--it
was when the homestretch was about half covered--the black flag rushed
past them.
Then the life went out of the multitude. "St. Peter is dead!" they
cried--"St. Peter is dead! It is nothing to be a Greek now!" and they
hung their heads, refusing to be comforted.
The Gypsies came in first; and amidst the profoundest silence, they
dropped their oars with a triumphant crash on the marble revetment. The
hamari wiped the sweat from his face, and put on his jacket and
sandals; pausing then to toss his purse to the foreman, and say: "Take
it in welcome, my friends. I am content with my share of the victory,"
he stepped ashore. In front of the judge's stand, he knelt, and said:
"Should there be a dispute touching the prize, O Princess, be a witness
unto thyself. Thine eyes have seen the going and the coming; and if the
world belie thee not--sometimes it can be too friendly--thou art fair,
just and fearless."
On foot again, his courtierly manner vanished in a twinkling.
"Joqard, Joqard? Where are you?"
Some one answered: "Here he is."
"Bring him quickly. For Joqard is an example to men--he is honest, and
tells no lies. He has made much money, and allowed me to keep it all,
and spend it on myself. Women are jealous of him, but with reason--he
is lovely enough to have been a love of Solomon's; his teeth are as
pearls of great price; his lips scarlet as a bride's; his voice is the
voice of a nightingale singing to the full moon from an acacia tree
fronded last night; in motion, he is now a running wave, now a blossom
on a swaying branch, now a girl dancing before a king--all the graces
are his. Yes, bring me Joqard, and keep the world; without him, it is
nothing to me."
While speaking, from a jacket pocket he brought out the fan Lael had
thrown him from the portico, and used it somewhat ostentatiously to
cool himself. The Princess and her attendants laughed heartily.
Sergius, however, watched the man with a scarcely defined feeling that
he had seen him. But where? And he was serious because he could not
answer.
Taking the leading strap, when Joqard was brought, the hamari scrupled
not to give the brute a hearty cuff, whereat the fishermen shook the
sails of the pavilion with laughter; then, standing Joqard up, he
placed one of the huge paws on his arm, and, with the mincing step of a
lady's page, they disappeared.