Эдвард Бенсон
The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence

 
"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 framed in one of the dark windows the upper part of a girl's figure dressed in white. 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. Then a 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 at all. Mitsos, little Mitsos, is it well with you?"

Mitsos crept silently out of the shadow and stretched out his arms to her. "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, and though the house is dark, one never knows. So go, beloved, beloved, beloved, and I shall not be waiting long, shall I? And, Mitsos, there will soon be … soon, maybe, I shall come to you with a gift."

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

"Yes, even so," said Suleima; "but, oh, Mitsos, I pray that you may soon 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 meet the 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, and waiting below the wall till the sentry had gone by, he climbed in again where he had got out. For the most part the men were gone to bed, but he passed a few on his way back to the little hut he shared with Yanni and two Mainats, all of whom had gone with Petrobey, and, undressing quickly, lay down on his bed to feast alone on this great happiness. With the irrepressible hopefulness of youth his fears had vanished before the sight of the one – they had never been, and he set himself to tell over, like a rosary of hallowed beads, the moments of the night. Not till then did he recollect the mysterious paper which he had received, and then, getting hastily up, he struck a light on his tinder-box, and lit a small, oil-fed wick. The illumination was dim and flickering, but the handwriting was large and clear, and by holding it close to the light he could easily read it. It was very short, and written 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 the whole bearing, of it, and then putting it back in his pocket blew out his light, and lay with wide-open eyes staring at the darkness, while the full meaning of the words slowly dawned on him.

First came hot indignation. A Greek captain at the head of five hundred men was privately trafficking with the besieged for his private gains. But close on the heels of his anger came fierce, overwhelming temptation. Abdul Achmet was the owner of Suleima, and to Mitsos this paper meant not only safe conduct to Abdul, but to her. Had it been in his power he would have doubled the bribe to the further side of possibility to secure that, and thrown his own soul into the bargain. Suleima safe, no more fear for her, nor any chance blow upsetting a too sanguine security! And because he loved her with a true and honest heart all thought of himself was absent; he would have paid the demand of angels, men, and devils to secure her from hurt or death, even though – and he ground his teeth at the thought – security meant only to go on living in the harem of Abdul. All the nightmares of the day before the expedition of the fire-ship he lived through again, feeling at first that there was no question of choice before him, that somehow or other he must let this note go to Poniropoulos. For this was the more insidious temptation, as it could be managed so that no one, or at the worst the man for whom it was intended, should know his share in it. Yet here again was the choice between two impossibilities; but slowly as before, aching and bruised in spirit, he struggled back to choose the honorable.

But thus a new difficulty stood in his way. It was his clear duty to let Nicholas know of this clandestine traffic, and in so doing Mitsos would have to tell him of his own absence by night from the camp without leave. Nicholas would ask the reason, and probably be very angry with him, though as he had not been detected, but confessed it himself, the offence would find mitigation. But how came he to be waiting under the walls of Tripoli?

Mitsos thought this over for some little time before he arrived at the best and most obvious solution, namely, to tell Nicholas everything. The taking of Tripoli could not be far off, and he knew that when that came near he would, for her greater safety, let others know the prize the town held for him, and a week or two sooner or later did not make much 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 just got outside his hut when he heard the voice of the sentry challenging some 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 man clambered over the wall and spoke a few words to him. Standing in the shadow of his doorway not thirty yards off, Mitsos could see who both of 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 to interfere, and he strode out of the shadow to where the two were standing. They stood asunder a few paces as he came up and took Christos by the arm.

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

Poniropoulos came a step nearer.

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

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 that will cost you the best part of a hundred in blood and bruises, if you don'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-morrow morning 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 off and leave the coast clear, for he wished to get to Nicholas without making a disturbance in the camp, and, shutting the door, waited for five minutes till he heard Poniropoulos walk off one way and Christos continue his rounds. Then going out again he went straight to Nicholas's quarters and knocked at the door.

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

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

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

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

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

"There is a powder-box where you can sit, little Mitsos," said Nicholas, "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 that Poniropoulos, for the sum of two hundred pounds, will insure safety to Abdul 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 spoke again – 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 be repeated before he answered.

"Who is it?" he asked.

"Christos Choremis," said the voice, "the sentry for the last two hours."

"Well?"

"Half an hour ago, sir, the Captain Poniropoulos climbed in over the camp 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 can begin and tell me how you got this."

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

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

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

"But when you blew up the Turkish ship, Mitsos," he said, "did it not occur to you that she might be on board?"

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

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

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

"There, there!" said Nicholas, soothingly; "but what is the matter with the young wolf? He has had good news to-night, has he not? and has he not 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 that nothing shall stay me – not fever, nor wounds, nor booty, nor glory, only honor alone – from doing what in me lies to save her from all peril. Will that do, little one?"

Mitsos pressed his hand, but could not speak.

"But this you must promise," went on Nicholas, "that never again will you go out of the camp by night without leave. It leads with other men to ugly things, and to-morrow there will be one man the less in the army. The treacherous villain! But to-morrow he leaves the camp with disgrace and hissing, for he has made true the false slander of the primates, and brought shame on us all. And now go to bed, Mitsos. The service you have done in discovering this atones for your fault. Poor little cub, but it has been a hard time for you."

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

The news that Monemvasia had surrendered, and the details of its surrender, were bitter and sweet and tragic and absurd. Prince Demetrius, it appeared, defying the senate, in a fit of impotent rage against their perfectly proper opposition to his wishes, had insisted on signing the treaty of capitulation with his own name as viceroy of the country, effendi or lord of the country, and what not, and the Turks, opening the gates in order to go down to the ships and take their promised departure, found themselves met by a crowd of angry Mainats, who considered that the treaty as signed by the prince and not by the senate was null and void. A riot took place, and several Turks were killed on the point of embarking; but the better part of the Greek officers, seeing that the capitulation had been signed, and that whoever was to blame the Turks were not, soon stopped it, and let the embarkation proceed, but not before five men had been killed and several houses sacked. Monemvasia had surrendered – so much was good; but all the rest was bad. The fleet and the army distrusted each other, and the soldiers distrusted their commanders, who, thanks to the primates, were represented to them as having made private treaties with the wealthier Turks, and there was a fine quarrel as to who should set up the Greek standard on the fallen town. In one thing only was there unanimity, and that was in the feeling towards the prince. He had shown himself weak and indecisive before, and that had been forgiven him; he had shown himself dilatory and incapable, and the commander under him bore the blame; but now he showed himself, though with characteristic futility, evading and tampering with the recorded vote of the senate, in which he had acquiesced at the last meeting in Tripoli. The futility of 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 from the Hetairia were torn from him, and for all practical purposes his connection with the revolution may be said to have been over.

Without doubt the capitulation was hopelessly mismanaged, and the Turks got off without paying a penny towards the expenses of the siege. If the same terms were given to every fortified place in the Morea, the national treasury and the funds of the Hetairia would be certainly drained dry before half the country was evacuated; and though morally nothing can excuse the scenes of horror which were about to take place, yet palliation may be found in those two things – that without plunder gained from the Turk the war was impossible, and that the nation was a nation of slaves, long ground down by cruelty of all kinds, now in the first hour of its freedom. The despised but long dominant race was underfoot, and they stamped it down.

The Mainat corps was still at Monemvasia, where Petrobey was raising fresh recruits for the siege of Tripoli, and the prince occupying his leisure time, of which he had twenty-four hours every day, in trying to festoon the walls of the town with red tape, when news came of the fall of Navarin, a port on the west coast. Ypsilanti had sent there a civilian from his suite to represent the shadow of nothingness and the senate, one of the worst type of men, who, under the guise of patriotism, had got together a large band of freebooters, to plunder and seize all that he could lay hands on. Before the capitulation, which granted the besieged their lives and safe transport to Egypt or Tunis, had been concluded, many of the Turks had, under stress of hunger, escaped from the town, and thrown themselves on the mercy of the Greeks, with whom they had lived on friendly terms. But the town itself refused to capitulate till starvation compelled. Already for four days nothing could be bought, for a couple of sparrows or a half-starved cat represented a few hours' life, whereas a bushel of gold represented – a bushel of gold. One man the day before the surrender was found with a secret supply of food, on which he had subsisted for some days, the remains of which were seized from him by two starving savages and devoured before his eyes, after which they pelted him with all the money they had about them, telling him he was well paid. Perhaps some strange premonition of their fate induced the gaunt garrison to hold out; perhaps tales had reached them of what had been the fate of those who had thrown themselves on the mercy of the besieging army; and it was not till August 19th, just a fortnight after Monemvasia 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 the representative of the Peloponnesian senate thrust into the fire the treaty of capitulation, so that all evidence against him might be destroyed, and himself gave the signal for the massacre to begin. A pretext was easily found, and a blow given to a Greek by a Turk for insisting on searching the person of one of his wives for treasure concealed about her was enough, and in an hour no Mussulman was left alive. Women were stripped of their clothing, and rushing into the sea to hide their shame were shot from the shore; babies were snatched out of their mothers' arms and flung in their faces; others, remembering the fate of the patriarch, hanged men and women from the lintels of their own doors; others, it is said, were tortured before some one of their persecutors, more humane than his fellows, despatched them. Here, in mockery of the Turkish atrocities, a man was offered the choice between Christianity and death, and when he chose the former, was "baptized with steel" or crucified; a dozen or more were burned alive in a house where they had run for refuge. In an hour the infamous work was finished, and then arose quarrelling over the booty. Knives and rifles were brought in to settle the disputes, while in the mean time two Spetziot ships quietly went off with the greater part of the spoils.

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

CHAPTER IX
PRIVATE NICHOLAS VIDALIS

Before September was a week old the Mainat corps, with Petrobey and the prince, were back at Tripoli. The course events had taken at Monemvasia had inclined the latter again to the side of the primates, for he interpreted the attitude and action of the army with regard to the capitulation of the place as an insult levelled at him. Germanos was not long in perceiving this; but being acute enough to see that the prince's authority was just now naught but a paper sceptre, he reasoned that his friendship was equally valueless, unless he could manage to rescue for him a few rags of the authority of which he had, by his own folly, denuded himself. In any case the support of the primates was a prop to the prince, and as the power of the primates varied in inverse ratio to that of the military commanders, Germanos set to work again to discredit them with the troops. There it was that the strength of the revolution was beginning to lie – not in the prince, who could not command others, nor in the senate, which was unable to command itself, but in the people and the soldiers, who now for more than four months had waited for the fall of the city, still obedient to many utterly incompetent captains, and still steadfast in their watchings on the hills. And Germanos's subtle brain, spinning threads out of itself like a spider, was busy to catch the army, while in the end the army, like some great blundering bee, burst unheeding through his palace of silk, and left him angrily hungry and in ruins.

The tales of slander went on, and another captain was detected in his infamous traffic with the besieged. It was certain also that provisions were being sold to the men within the walls, for one night a Turk was captured outside, and to save his life, confessed that the besieged were supplied at starvation rates with bread and fresh meat. Upon this second detection Petrobey gave notice that if another case occurred the offender would be shot, and the night sentries were doubled. But whether the treason was more wide-spread than they feared and the sentries were bribed, or whether the traitors were cunning enough to elude them, never came to light; but more evidence was found that the traffic still went on, and one day, at a meeting of the senate, Germanos rose and denounced the whole body of officers.

"The siege still drags on," he said, "and where are the preparations to bring it to a conclusion? In the name of patriotism, I ask, Where? To whose advantage is it that all these men are kept here from their homes and their work, when the grapes are already growing ripe for the gathering, and there is none to gather them, but only the birds? Is it the men who prefer to stop here in these kennels, roasted under the mid-day sun, and doing tedious hours of drill? Is it to the advantage of the primates that we remain here, while our churches stand empty and the tithes are remitted? Is it the most noble Prince Demetrius who detains the army on this inhospitable mountain? The reason is not far to seek. Who was it who was found trafficking with Abdul Achmet for the safety of the Turk and his harem, if not one of these captains? Who was it but another of his class who, last week only, was detected in the same treasonable business? Who is it now who is selling, as you all very well know, provisions to the besieged at rates which make a man soon rich? To whose advantage is it that we linger here, while within the town the Turk lives at ease and knows no lack, being sure no attack will be made, and only waiting till these infamous men are satisfied? The siege of Tripoli is this called? There has never been any such thing. This is the market-place of Tripoli – a busy, profitable market; and the men who bring their country produce for sale are none other than the captains of the army. In particular, there is one among them who might have brought the siege to an end six weeks before, had he wished. While the most noble prince – whose eyes I feel it my duty to open on this point – was, and is, with us, the captains have the excuse that his authority is over them, that without his consent they can do nothing. Very sedulous, no doubt, are their efforts to obtain his consent. Yet there is a speciousness about such an excuse, and we will leave it. But during the whole month of August Prince Demetrius was not with us, and Nicholas Vidalis was supreme here. I ask him, therefore, before you all, why, if he is an honest man, he did not attempt to take the town?"

Several times during this speech an angry murmur went up from the military section of the senate, but Nicholas more than once rose to his feet and quieted them with an uplifted hand. He himself listened attentively with a smile on his face, and when Germanos alluded to his honesty he laughed aloud. For ever since Mitsos had told him the story of his own part in the war, unsuspected by all, and only divulged when necessity drove – of his silent, boyish heroism, his uncalculating elimination of self – Nicholas had been privy to a secret shame at his own deeds, or rather his own words. To withstand the primates in so far as they injured the cause was well; but was it seemly to brawl, to throw ineffectual words about, to waste, as he called it, "good anger on an unprofitable thing"? What fruit had his angry gibes and sneers borne? Were the primates wagging their unamiable tongues less zealously? Were they not even speaking bitter truth when they said that nefarious traffic was going on between the captains of the army and the besieged? If the evil was to be checked, it must be checked another way, and not by sprinkling the scandal-mongers with insults. For a long time he had contemplated taking a certain step, and now that opportunity offered itself so fitly he took it with as light a heart as that which a tired man bears homeward. At the same time the openness of the accusation prompted an equal openness. Germanos should be answered once for all with his own frankness, and then for the highest trump card to take the honor-laden trick.

So Nicholas, still smiling courteously, asked permission from the prince, and in dead silence made his reply, speaking very quietly.

"We have open dealings at length from the archbishop," he said, "and though I have dealt very openly with him from the first, yet never before has he favored me thus. He has told us that no preparations are being made for bringing the siege to a conclusion. That, with the permission of all present, I declare to be a deliberate lie. Ah, I must ask you to sit down," he said to Germanos, as the latter rose angrily to his feet. "You have had a fair hearing, and I claim and shall receive the same. A lie," he continued, "because I can tell him it is untrue; a deliberate lie, because there is no need for me to tell him. He was here throughout the month of August – a month to which he again alluded later – and he knows that during that month I was a tired and busy man, for I was drilling successive companies of men all day, and if he knew anything of military matters he would be well aware that it was my pleasure to see them improve considerably, so that now the greater part of them are efficient soldiers. He has told us that it is not to the advantage of the soldiers to remain here, and that was in a sense true, though not wholly; for if it is to the advantage of these men that Greece becomes a free country – and it is their duty to help in securing its freedom – it is to their advantage that they remain here, for here they can acquire that knowledge which will enable them to fight successfully. He went on to tell us that it was not to the advantage of the primates to remain here. Then why, in the name of God, do they do so? for it is not to the advantage of the soldiers that they cause divisions and dissensions among us. Let them go home and gather in the tithes their hearts desire. No one, not even I, will try to stop them. Yet they do not go, and we must suppose it is for some one's advantage that they stop. Can it be that some of them have an idea of getting possession of even a considerable part of the booty we shall take? Can it be that one of them – yes, no other than the archbishop – came here in the name of his Master and asked certain men – no other than Petrobey and myself – for half the spoils which would be taken, giving half to the national treasury, and to the men – the soldiers who had fought and bled for it – the rest? Those spoils were to be devoted to the glory of God, and who but His priests, the primates and bishops, were to be trustees? And on that chance of getting, not half the spoils, but still enough to make it worth while to wait, we shall find the reason of their stopping here."

Nicholas looked across at Germanos, who sat white and shaking with anger, and for a moment his passion flamed up.

"Sit there and hate me!" he cried, "for that will not harm me! If your motives were honest, why should I not tell them? and, if not, there is more cause for them to be known."

Germanos suddenly started up.

"It is an infamous slander!" he exclaimed; but Petrobey, without moving from his seat, turned to the prince, speaking loud enough to be heard by all.

"What my cousin has said is perfectly true," he remarked. "I was present myself."

"Please to sit down, archbishop," said the prince. "Nicholas Vidalis is speaking to us."

"This man has told us," continued Nicholas, "that an infamous traffic is going on between the Turks and the captains of this army. We all know, unhappily, that there is some truth in that. Two months ago, when this assertion was as yet false, he was saying the same thing, and he and others busied themselves in spreading reports that it was so. Was that the part of an honorable man – to spread those infamous lies about us, to slander and defame us to our troops? Is not the motive as clear as the noonday? By sowing discord and dissension and mistrust in our ranks he hoped to see his grand scheme realized, to have the army flocking to him, pouring in gold and treasure for the glory of God into the hands of his trustees. No great success has attended these efforts, and when Prince Demetrius left the camp I do not know that the primates found themselves very popular men. Finally, an attack has been made on me personally. You have been told that at any time during the month of August I might have stormed the town if I had wished. That is a black falsehood, though perhaps not deliberate, since the archbishop knows nothing of military affairs. For, in the first place, my hands were full – it was necessary to bring a mere disorderly rabble to military efficiency, and that, to the best of my power, I did; and, in the second place, though I was in command of these troops, I had agreed with my superior in command not to make any attempt while the army was weakened by the withdrawal of the Mainat division, who were at Monemvasia. I appeal to him to know whether this is or is not true."

"It is true," said Petrobey.

"As to my having profited by these delays," continued Nicholas, "you have only my word against the word of another; but if the archbishop has any evidence to bring on that point, I should be glad to hear it. I wait for his reply."