The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence by E. F. Benson

  CHAPTER VIII

  THE SONG FROM TRIPOLI

  Early in August news came to the camp that the Turks in Monemvasia hadmade a proposal for a capitulation, for it will be remembered thata small fleet of vessels from Spetzas was blockading it by sea, inaddition to a regiment from south Greece by land, and these tidingsgave Prince Demetrius a most ill-conceived idea. The terms of thecapitulation were discussed at a meeting of the senate, and caused avery considerable difference of opinion, Nicholas and Petrobey advisingthat the Turks should be given a passage over to Smyrna, or some AsiaMinor port, on condition that they surrendered their arms, refundedthe expenses of the siege--for the soldiers had been serving withoutpay--and further, gave an indemnity of ten thousand Turkish pounds,which should be divided among the fleet, the army, and the nationaltreasury. Germanos and his party opposed this. Monemvasia was notablyone of the wealthiest towns in the Peloponnesus, and he proposed thatthe besieged should only be given their lives on the surrender ofall their property. Prince Demetrius went to the other extreme. TheHetairia would charge itself with the arrears of the soldiers' pay,since it was for that very purpose its funds had been raised; to thesoldiers was due their pay and nothing more, and if easy terms weregranted to Monemvasia, the Turks in Tripoli would be more disposedto capitulate. The discussion degenerated into wrangling, but in themiddle of it Prince Demetrius suddenly commanded silence. Since theaffair with Germanos, he had secured the formalities of obedience, andhe was listened to in silence.

  "I shall go to Monemvasia in person," he said, "to receive and toaccept the capitulation of the town as commander-in-chief of thearmy, and viceroy, appointed by the supreme council of the Hetairia.The troops there, so I hear, are out of hand, and the Mainat corpsunder their commander, Petrobey, will accompany me. We will continueto discuss the terms of the capitulation, and observe a little moredecorum."

  But the senate had experienced his deficiency in power of commandtoo long, and his words were like the words coming from the mouth ofa mask, when every one knew how insignificant a figure stood behindit. The autocratic tone was ludicrous, and in this particular casepeculiarly out of place. Petrobey, who, when it was possible, supportedthe prince, now found himself obliged to oppose him, and, with acourtesy he found it hard to assume, spoke in answer:

  "Your highness will remember," he said, "that the siege has been goingon for three months, and has been entirely the work of the people. TheHetairia has not helped them in any way. It is surely, then, theirright to demand their own terms, and the surrender must be made to thecaptains of the blockading forces, or to whomever they appoint, and tono other."

  The prince flushed angrily.

  "Do I understand, then, that I am not the commander-in-chief of thewhole army?"

  "Your highness is commander-in-chief over all the army which has beenorganized or supplied by the Hetairists or their agents. The forcethat blockades Monemvasia was raised by private enterprise before yourappointment by the Hetairia, and during your stay in the Morea youhave not either taken the command there or assisted that force. Thecommander of the land force there is a member of this senate, and nodoubt he will obey its resolves."

  "Sooner than that of the viceroy?"

  "The viceroy also is a member of this senate," said Petrobey, with someadroitness.

  The prince was silent a moment.

  "The senate will, therefore, vote as to whether Monemvasia is to beoccupied in the name of the senate or in my name," he said, shortly.

  For once there was unanimity between the two parties, and it wasdecided that Monemvasia was to be occupied in the name of the senate.The discussions about the terms of the capitulation were then renewed,but as it was felt that the commander of the blockading force had morevoice in the matter than any one else, Germanos, with the amiabledesire of perhaps thwarting Nicholas, whose proposal had been moremoderate than his own, suggested that this point should be settledbetween the commander and the prince upon the arrival there of thelatter, for it was absurd that commanders of a force which wasbesieging Tripoli should have a voice in the matter. Nicholas, knowingthat Petrobey would be there too, and that he had more influencewith the prince than any one, acquiesced with a smile, saying thatGermanos's sage reflection applied equally to primates who were not incommand of anything.

  So for a time the centre of the war, like some slow-moving stream,shifted to Monemvasia, and during the whole of August half the army layidle on the hills round Tripoli; and with the departure of the princethe tales of scandalous slander were again taken up by the primates,the result of which was to appear later. Germanos, though he must haveknown what was going on, held aloof, and did not mix up in the affairsof the camp; though, to his shame be it said, he appeared to make noeffort to check the outrageous intrigues.

  To Nicholas, however, the month was full of work, and he at once putin hand arrangements for the regular supplies of the camp, and wasoccupied with drilling the men; under his wise yet severe rule theunorganized troops began slowly to take shape, and his example shamedmany of the other idle and irresponsible captains into following hislead, though, having little knowledge of military matters themselves,it must be concluded that their men were not able to advance to a highdegree of efficiency. Meantime, among the men themselves the utterinability of the prince either to check abuses or to enforce disciplinehad become apparent, and from the time of his departure for Monemvasiahis power may be said to have ceased altogether. And when the news ofwhat had taken place at that town came to hand, from being nothing hebecame ridiculous.

  The nightly raids ceased, for all the cultivated land round Tripoli wasalready devastated, and neither in the town nor in the camp was anyparticular vigilance observed. The Turks knew it was hopeless to attackTrikorpha; till the return of Petrobey the Greeks had no thought ofattempting to storm the town; and Mitsos, brooding inwardly one nighton the rough wall where he and Yanni used often to sit, had an ideawhich arose from this inaction.

  For several weeks after the adventure of the fire-ship his anxietiesabout Suleima had been stilled, for that escape seemed to him soheaven-sent that with childlike faith he had no manner of doubt butthat the saints watched over her, and though at times his heart wenta-mourning for her absence, yet he trusted an unreasoning convictionthat at the time appointed he would see her again. The strongprobability that she was in this beleaguered town did not at firstweigh on him at all. Some day, when provisions ran short, it wouldcapitulate, and there would be a repetition of the scene at Kalamata;or they would storm it, and there would be fighting inside. But thewomen would all be in the houses, and even if the houses were attackedshe would remember what he had told her, and cry out to them in Greek,saying she was of their blood, and all would be well. But when theexcitement of the skirmish at Valtetzi, now nearly two months ago, andthe move to Trikorpha, with all the delightful night-raiding, was over,and was succeeded by an inaction sickened by the odious intrigues ofthe primates, he began to weary sore for her, and then to be filledwith panic fears as unfounded as his first security. Safety in asiege, there was no such thing! A chance bullet, an angry Greek, and arepetition of that infernal butchery of women and children on board theship bound for Egypt. What was more horribly possible? A burning house,a falling wall, and then a mass of pulped bodies.

  On this particular night his fears grew like the monstrous visions ofsome hag-ridden nightmare. A hundred terrible scenes loomed enormousbefore him, and in each Suleima, with white, imploring face, was struckout of life, now by a bullet, now by a sword. Below, in the part of thetown nearest him, where five or six big houses were built on the wall,there gleamed rows of lights from narrow-barred windows, and from eachSuleima's face looked out from a room burning within, while she shookthe iron bars with impotent hands as the flames flickered and rosebehind her.

  The thing became intolerable; he rose and walked about, but found norest. Thirty yards away the soldiers' huts began, and he could hearsounds of singing from the big shanty-built cafe a little farther on.The se
ntry had just been on his rounds, and Mitsos exchanged a word ortwo with him as he passed, and he would be back again in half an hour.The wall inside was only six feet high, outside perhaps ten or twelve,but with plenty of handhold for an agile lad, and the next moment,without thinking where or why he went, he had clambered up and droppeddown on the other side.

  Did he not know where he was going? Ah, but his heart told him.Somewhere in that fiery-eyed town, into which entrance was impossible,was she for whom he was made, she with the eyes of night and thehistory of his soul written on the curves of her lips. And inasmuchas she was there, the rekindled fever of his love drew him thither,neither willing nor unwilling, but steel to the magnet, a moth to thestar. He had taken off his shoes in order to get a better grip in thecrevices of the wall, and went down barefooted over the basalt rocksall ashine with dew. The moon had strayed westward beyond the zenith,casting his shadow a little in front of him, and round his head as hewalked moved an opaline halo. Then he crossed the mountain stream andstood in it for a moment, for the coldness of the moon and the eternalyouth of night had entered into its waters, making them vigorous andbracing. A little wind drawing down its course was full of the scent ofwater and green things, and streamed out to renovate the hot air of theplain. Then on again through a little belt of vineyard, still closeto the camp and not destroyed, where the stream talked less noisily inthe soft earth, with a whiff of summer from the ripening bunches, andthe scuttle of some disturbed hare come down to feed on the leaves.Then he crossed the stream again, which lay in an elbow southward, and,pushing through a clump of oleanders which rose above his head, cameout into the plain. The earth was warm under foot after the cold rocks,and he ran plunging across it, till, getting within a stone's-throw ofthe wall, he crept more slowly, and finally lay down in the shadow of afelled olive-tree, and looked to see if there was aught stirring.

  "HE HAD CLAMBERED UP AND DROPPED DOWN ON THE OTHER SIDE"]

  The battlemented line of the wall opposite to him stood up clear-cutbetween the moon and the lights of the town, twenty feet above him,and ran on southward into vague shadow, untenanted. Fifty yards to theleft it was interrupted, or rather crowned, by half a dozen big houses,built flush with the wall, pierced by several rows of rather narrowwindows, the lower of which were barred, the upper, from their height,needing no such defence. As he crept up alongside of these he heardthe subdued murmur of women's voices from within the first house--thehome, perhaps, of some Turkish captain and his harem; and the sound ofwomen's voices made mirth to him, and he listened for a while, smilingto himself. From the next house came more such music, and once a womanwalked to the window and stood looking out for a minute, or perhapstwo, unveiled and playing with the tassel of the blind-cord, till fromwithin some one called her by a purring Turkish name, and she turnedinto the house again.

  He crept slowly on to the end of the line of houses, where thebattlemented wall began again, and feeling closer to Suleima in thesound of women's voices, came back and lay down again in the shadowof a tall toothed rock. It was something to be alone, away from thejarring camp, and to be nearer to her. His portentous nightmare besethim no longer, and his anxieties again were charmed to sleep. One byone the lights went out in the windows opposite, and the houses becameblackness; the shadow of the rock moved a little forward in the settingmoon, and he shifted to be in the shade again. Another half-hour wentby, and the mountain ridge hid the moon.

  Presently afterwards a man appeared on the top of the wall to theright. Mitsos, perhaps, would not have noticed him but that he wavedsome white linen thing up and down once or twice, and then waitedagain, and after a time uttered some impatient exclamation. Mitsoswatched him, puzzled to know what this should mean, when suddenlya possible solution dawned upon him, and he crept up, still in theshadow, to below where the Turk was standing, and whistled softly.

  Then a voice from above said:

  "You are late. Here is the paper signed," and a white thing fluttereddown. This done, the Turk turned, and, without waiting for a reply,went southward down the wall.

  The paper, whatever it was, was in Mitsos' possession, and putting itin his pocket, for it was too dark to read it, he crept back to his oldplace to wait a few minutes more there before going back to the camp.Lights showed only in one house now, and before long they, too, werequenched, and the black mass of flat roofs rose against the sky silentand asleep. Then suddenly and softly from out that blackness, like abird flying in the desert, came the sound of a voice singing, and atthose notes Mitsos thought his heart would have burst. For it sang:

  "Dig we deep among the vines, Give the sweet spring showers a home, Else the fairest sun that shines"--

  It stopped as suddenly, dying like a sigh, and looking up he saw framedin one of the dark windows the upper part of a girl's figure dressed inwhite. And without a pause the boy's voice answered:

  "Lends no lustre to our wines, Sends no sparkle to the foam."

  The prattle of the stream above alone whispered in the stillness. Thena voice softly asked:

  "Mitsos?"

  "I am here; and oh, dearest one, is it you?"

  A little tinkle of laughter rippled from above, ending in a sudden,quick-drawn breath.

  "At last I see you again," she said, softly, "but I don't see you atall. Mitsos, little Mitsos, is it well with you?"

  Mitsos crept silently out of the shadow and stretched out his arms toher. "It is well in all but the great thing--that we are not together.But that will be soon, dearest; oh, please God! it will be soon."

  Suleima leaned forward from the window.

  "You must not wait here, nor must I; I am at a passage window, andthough the house is dark, one never knows. So go, beloved, beloved,beloved, and I shall not be waiting long, shall I? And, Mitsos, therewill soon be ... soon, maybe, I shall come to you with a gift."

  "A gift?" said Mitsos; he then understood, and "Ah! dearest of all," hewhispered.

  "Yes, even so," said Suleima; "but, oh, Mitsos, I pray that you maysoon be able to take me away, that soon this horrible town will fall."

  "Before long it must be," said he; "and when the end comes run to meetthe enemy as your deliverer, crying 'I am of your blood.' Oh, my heart,forget not that!"

  Suleima turned quickly, hearing some sound within, and whispering"Good-night," was gone again, leaving Mitsos alone.

  Heaven had opened; and walking on air, he went back to the camp, andwaiting below the wall till the sentry had gone by, he climbed inagain where he had got out. For the most part the men were gone tobed, but he passed a few on his way back to the little hut he sharedwith Yanni and two Mainats, all of whom had gone with Petrobey, and,undressing quickly, lay down on his bed to feast alone on this greathappiness. With the irrepressible hopefulness of youth his fears hadvanished before the sight of the one--they had never been, and he sethimself to tell over, like a rosary of hallowed beads, the moments ofthe night. Not till then did he recollect the mysterious paper which hehad received, and then, getting hastily up, he struck a light on histinder-box, and lit a small, oil-fed wick. The illumination was dim andflickering, but the handwriting was large and clear, and by holdingit close to the light he could easily read it. It was very short, andwritten in Greek:

  "Abdul Achmet promises to pay to Constantinos Poniropoulos the sum of two hundred Turkish pounds, on condition that he and his harem are, on the termination of the siege of Tripoli, insured security from outrage or massacre. For the transport and expenses of travelling to a place of safety for each person ten pounds in addition will be paid.

  "(Signed) Abdul Achmet,

  "_Ex-Governor of the City of Argos._"

  Mitsos read it through once without taking in the meaning, far less thewhole bearing, of it, and then putting it back in his pocket blew outhis light, and lay with wide-open eyes staring at the darkness, whilethe full meaning of the words slowly dawned on him.


  First came hot indignation. A Greek captain at the head of five hundredmen was privately trafficking with the besieged for his privategains. But close on the heels of his anger came fierce, overwhelmingtemptation. Abdul Achmet was the owner of Suleima, and to Mitsos thispaper meant not only safe conduct to Abdul, but to her. Had it beenin his power he would have doubled the bribe to the further side ofpossibility to secure that, and thrown his own soul into the bargain.Suleima safe, no more fear for her, nor any chance blow upsetting atoo sanguine security! And because he loved her with a true and honestheart all thought of himself was absent; he would have paid the demandof angels, men, and devils to secure her from hurt or death, eventhough--and he ground his teeth at the thought--security meant onlyto go on living in the harem of Abdul. All the nightmares of the daybefore the expedition of the fire-ship he lived through again, feelingat first that there was no question of choice before him, that somehowor other he must let this note go to Poniropoulos. For this was themore insidious temptation, as it could be managed so that no one, orat the worst the man for whom it was intended, should know his sharein it. Yet here again was the choice between two impossibilities; butslowly as before, aching and bruised in spirit, he struggled back tochoose the honorable.

  But thus a new difficulty stood in his way. It was his clear duty tolet Nicholas know of this clandestine traffic, and in so doing Mitsoswould have to tell him of his own absence by night from the campwithout leave. Nicholas would ask the reason, and probably be veryangry with him, though as he had not been detected, but confessed ithimself, the offence would find mitigation. But how came he to bewaiting under the walls of Tripoli?

  Mitsos thought this over for some little time before he arrived at thebest and most obvious solution, namely, to tell Nicholas everything.The taking of Tripoli could not be far off, and he knew that when thatcame near he would, for her greater safety, let others know the prizethe town held for him, and a week or two sooner or later did not makemuch difference. So, not wishing to delay and risk a hot resolution,he put on his clothes again to go to Nicholas's quarters. He had justgot outside his hut when he heard the voice of the sentry challengingsome one without the camp, and "but for the grace of God," thought he,"there goes Mitsos."

  "Who goes?" called the sentry again. "Speak, or I fire."

  Mitsos did not hear the reply, but the sentry stood still, while a manclambered over the wall and spoke a few words to him. Standing in theshadow of his doorway not thirty yards off, Mitsos could see who bothof them were, and recognized Poniropoulos and the burly Christos.

  "Fifty pounds to say nothing of this," he heard Poniropoulos say.

  There was a short silence, and Mitsos longed to hear the offer refused.But the greed of the country Greek was too strong.

  "Fifty pounds?" answered Christos; "when do you pay me?"

  "On the day Tripoli falls."

  Again there was a pause, and Mitsos suddenly made up his mind tointerfere, and he strode out of the shadow to where the two werestanding. They stood asunder a few paces as he came up and tookChristos by the arm.

  "For the love of God say 'No,' Christos," he said. "Ask him first whathis business was outside."

  Poniropoulos came a step nearer.

  "You young cub," he said, below his breath, "what business is it ofyours?"

  Christos looked from one to the other.

  "He has promised me fifty pounds," he said.

  "O fool!" said Mitsos, "there will be a fight between you and me thatwill cost you the best part of a hundred in blood and bruises, if youdon't listen to me. Besides, I don't want to get you into trouble."

  Poniropoulos looked thunder at the boy, but inwardly he was disquieted.

  "Go to your kennel, you cub," he said, "or I report you to-morrowmorning for insubordination."

  Mitsos gave a short laugh.

  "Very good," he said, "that shall be to-morrow, and it is yet to-night.Look you, Christos, there will be trouble if you do not listen to me.That is all."

  He turned back to his hut in order to give Poniropoulos time to be offand leave the coast clear, for he wished to get to Nicholas withoutmaking a disturbance in the camp, and, shutting the door, waitedfor five minutes till he heard Poniropoulos walk off one way andChristos continue his rounds. Then going out again he went straight toNicholas's quarters and knocked at the door.

  Nicholas was asleep, but awakened at once at the sound, and called outto know who was there.

  "It is I, Mitsos," said the boy, "and I want to see you at once, UncleNicholas."

  "Wait a minute, then," and from within came the sounds of the strikingof a flint.

  "I can't light this," said Nicholas; "come in, though."

  Mitsos entered, feeling glad there was no light, for it made his storyeasier to tell.

  "There is a powder-box where you can sit, little Mitsos," saidNicholas, "or sit on the end of the bed. Now, what brings you here?"

  Mitsos felt in his pocket and found the paper.

  "This, which I am holding out to you," he said. "On it is written thatPoniropoulos, for the sum of two hundred pounds, will insure safety toAbdul Achmet and his house when Tripoli falls."

  There was a moment's silence.

  "The black devil!" said Nicholas. Then suddenly, "How came you by this,Mitsos?"

  "That is what I am going to tell you."

  Mitsos found it rather hard to begin, and after a moment Nicholas spokeagain--kindly, but gravely.

  "I am listening, Mitsos," he said. "Hush! there is some one coming.Keep quite quiet."

  Immediately after a knock came to the door, and Nicholas let it berepeated before he answered.

  "Who is it?" he asked.

  "Christos Choremis," said the voice, "the sentry for the last twohours."

  "Well?"

  "Half an hour ago, sir, the Captain Poniropoulos climbed in over thecamp wall. I thought best to tell you at once."

  "Did he explain where he had been?"

  "No, sir."

  "Open the door, Christos," said Nicholas. "There is one question more.Did he offer you money not to say anything about it?"

  Christos shifted from one foot to the other.

  "No, sir," he said, at length.

  "You did quite right to tell me," said Nicholas. "You can go."

  "Now, Mitsos," said Nicholas, when the footsteps died away, "you canbegin and tell me how you got this."

  Then Mitsos, with many pauses, told him all that had taken placebetween him and Suleima from the time he had first heard the voice outof the darkness down to this night, when again it had come to him,lying outside the walls of Tripoli, and Nicholas heard him in absolutesilence.

  "And, oh, uncle, if it be possible," cried Mitsos, "let her be safewhen the end of the time comes. For there is no one like her, and ithas been hard for me."

  Nicholas heard it in wonder and amazement, but he had one more questionto ask.

  "But when you blew up the Turkish ship, Mitsos," he said, "did it notoccur to you that she might be on board?"

  "I thought she certainly was there," said Mitsos, "and it was not tillit was all over I heard she was not."

  Nicholas reached out in the darkness and took Mitsos' smooth hand inhis. "God forgive us all!" he said; "and can you forgive us, littleMitsos?"

  The pain and relief of telling all the story to a man whom he trustedand loved had been too much for the boy, and he choked in trying tofind his voice.

  "There, there!" said Nicholas, soothingly; "but what is the matter withthe young wolf? He has had good news to-night, has he not? and has henot seen the one he loves? There is no cause for this, little Mitsos.But this will I do: by the oath of the clan I swear to you thatnothing shall stay me--not fever, nor wounds, nor booty, nor glory,only honor alone--from doing what in me lies to save her from allperil. Will that do, little one?"

  Mitsos pressed his hand, but could not speak.

  "But this you must promise," went on Nicholas, "that never again willyou go out of the camp by night wit
hout leave. It leads with other mento ugly things, and to-morrow there will be one man the less in thearmy. The treacherous villain! But to-morrow he leaves the camp withdisgrace and hissing, for he has made true the false slander of theprimates, and brought shame on us all. And now go to bed, Mitsos. Theservice you have done in discovering this atones for your fault. Poorlittle cub, but it has been a hard time for you."

  Next day Poniropoulos was publicly expelled from the camp, andafterwards Mitsos sought out Christos and in private told him that hewas a better fellow than he had supposed, and that the lie he had toldNicholas to screen the captain found favor in his eyes. Christos wasreasonably surprised that Mitsos knew of the falsehood, and relieved tofind he was not disposed to quarrel with it, and the two went off andput away a quart or two of resined wine, for which Mitsos paid.

  The news that Monemvasia had surrendered, and the details of itssurrender, were bitter and sweet and tragic and absurd. PrinceDemetrius, it appeared, defying the senate, in a fit of impotent rageagainst their perfectly proper opposition to his wishes, had insistedon signing the treaty of capitulation with his own name as viceroy ofthe country, effendi or lord of the country, and what not, and theTurks, opening the gates in order to go down to the ships and taketheir promised departure, found themselves met by a crowd of angryMainats, who considered that the treaty as signed by the prince andnot by the senate was null and void. A riot took place, and severalTurks were killed on the point of embarking; but the better part ofthe Greek officers, seeing that the capitulation had been signed, andthat whoever was to blame the Turks were not, soon stopped it, andlet the embarkation proceed, but not before five men had been killedand several houses sacked. Monemvasia had surrendered--so much wasgood; but all the rest was bad. The fleet and the army distrusted eachother, and the soldiers distrusted their commanders, who, thanks to theprimates, were represented to them as having made private treaties withthe wealthier Turks, and there was a fine quarrel as to who should setup the Greek standard on the fallen town. In one thing only was thereunanimity, and that was in the feeling towards the prince. He had shownhimself weak and indecisive before, and that had been forgiven him; hehad shown himself dilatory and incapable, and the commander under himbore the blame; but now he showed himself, though with characteristicfutility, evading and tampering with the recorded vote of the senate,in which he had acquiesced at the last meeting in Tripoli. The futilityof his act was comic; his motive was warped and crooked. In a word,in that moment all the rags of authority which he had brought fromthe Hetairia were torn from him, and for all practical purposes hisconnection with the revolution may be said to have been over.

  Without doubt the capitulation was hopelessly mismanaged, and the Turksgot off without paying a penny towards the expenses of the siege. Ifthe same terms were given to every fortified place in the Morea, thenational treasury and the funds of the Hetairia would be certainlydrained dry before half the country was evacuated; and though morallynothing can excuse the scenes of horror which were about to take place,yet palliation may be found in those two things--that without plundergained from the Turk the war was impossible, and that the nation wasa nation of slaves, long ground down by cruelty of all kinds, now inthe first hour of its freedom. The despised but long dominant race wasunderfoot, and they stamped it down.

  The Mainat corps was still at Monemvasia, where Petrobey was raisingfresh recruits for the siege of Tripoli, and the prince occupying hisleisure time, of which he had twenty-four hours every day, in tryingto festoon the walls of the town with red tape, when news came of thefall of Navarin, a port on the west coast. Ypsilanti had sent therea civilian from his suite to represent the shadow of nothingness andthe senate, one of the worst type of men, who, under the guise ofpatriotism, had got together a large band of freebooters, to plunderand seize all that he could lay hands on. Before the capitulation,which granted the besieged their lives and safe transport to Egyptor Tunis, had been concluded, many of the Turks had, under stress ofhunger, escaped from the town, and thrown themselves on the mercyof the Greeks, with whom they had lived on friendly terms. But thetown itself refused to capitulate till starvation compelled. Alreadyfor four days nothing could be bought, for a couple of sparrows ora half-starved cat represented a few hours' life, whereas a bushelof gold represented--a bushel of gold. One man the day before thesurrender was found with a secret supply of food, on which he hadsubsisted for some days, the remains of which were seized from him bytwo starving savages and devoured before his eyes, after which theypelted him with all the money they had about them, telling him he waswell paid. Perhaps some strange premonition of their fate induced thegaunt garrison to hold out; perhaps tales had reached them of what hadbeen the fate of those who had thrown themselves on the mercy of thebesieging army; and it was not till August 19th, just a fortnight afterMonemvasia was taken, that the capitulation was signed.

  For that day an eternal blot of infamy is black against the Greeks.Hardly had the garrison evacuated, giving up their arms, when therepresentative of the Peloponnesian senate thrust into the fire thetreaty of capitulation, so that all evidence against him might bedestroyed, and himself gave the signal for the massacre to begin. Apretext was easily found, and a blow given to a Greek by a Turk forinsisting on searching the person of one of his wives for treasureconcealed about her was enough, and in an hour no Mussulman was leftalive. Women were stripped of their clothing, and rushing into the seato hide their shame were shot from the shore; babies were snatched outof their mothers' arms and flung in their faces; others, rememberingthe fate of the patriarch, hanged men and women from the lintels oftheir own doors; others, it is said, were tortured before some one oftheir persecutors, more humane than his fellows, despatched them. Here,in mockery of the Turkish atrocities, a man was offered the choicebetween Christianity and death, and when he chose the former, was"baptized with steel" or crucified; a dozen or more were burned alivein a house where they had run for refuge. In an hour the infamous workwas finished, and then arose quarrelling over the booty. Knives andrifles were brought in to settle the disputes, while in the mean timetwo Spetziot ships quietly went off with the greater part of the spoils.

  Thus ended a day, the disgrace of which will only be forgotten whenthe glory of men like Nicholas has faded too. Dark and horrible in partas were the deeds which were to follow, no cruelty so cold-blooded andpreconcerted stains the other pages of the war. Cruelties there were,and many black and shameful deeds, but deeds wrought in hot blood andin the drunkenness of revenge; and happily the massacre of Navarin isunapproached and unparalleled.