The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence

Luckily for them wooded hills came down close to the plain here, and they struck for them desperately across the narrow strip of level land, for there the cavalry could not easily follow them, or only man to man. Nicholas, running down the slope from the road, tripped in a bush – as it turned out luckily for him, for a sabre at that moment swung over the place where his head should have been; and the Turk, not waiting to attack him singly when there were many little knots of men among whom he could pick and choose, rode on leaving him; and Nicholas, who had sprained his ankle slightly as he fell, plunged into the brushwood where it was thickest, to find refuge and concealment. His rifle he had thrown away, for it impeded his flight, and he found himself some distance behind the others, who were going in the right direction towards Valtetzi, where Petrobey had told them the camp would be. But though the rout had been complete and utter, and Nicholas was far from disguising the fact from himself, his heart was filled with a secret exultation at the way the troops had behaved for those two or three moments which try the courage of any man when he is being fired at and cannot return the fire. To be shot at when a man may shoot in return, and aim is matched with aim, is known to be strangely exhilarating, but to be shot at and not to shoot is cold stuff for the courage. They had been through the baptism of fire under the most trying circumstances, and with the exception of that one moment of wavering had stood their ground till they were told to stand no longer.

He crept painfully up the hill-side all alone, but the pursuit had passed, and the cavalry, he could see, were returning across the plain to the town, knowing it was useless to follow farther. That fatal road up to the gate was strewn with corpses, almost all Greek, with only a handful of Turks and horses. Other horses, however, were careering riderless about the plain; and Nicholas, limping from his sprain, thought how much more convenient it would be to go riding to Valtetzi than to drag along his swollen foot. A quarter of a mile away he could see two or three of the men trying to capture one of these, but they only succeeded in frightening it, and it bolted up towards the hill where Nicholas was, and a couple of minutes later he saw it burst through the first belt of trees and halt on a piece of open ground below him. There it stopped, and in a minute or so began cropping at the short-growing grass. Its bridle, he could see, was over its head, trailing on the ground.

Now Nicholas was an Odysseus of resource, and having lived in the open air all his days not witlessly, he knew the manners of many beasts, and could imitate certain of their calls to each other so that even they were deceived; and, furthermore, his foot was one burning ache; and, not wishing to walk more than he could help, he preferred that this horse should come to him rather than that he should go to the horse. It was about a hundred yards from him, but a long way below, and it was grazing quietly. So Nicholas, to make it a little alert, and also to assist in bringing it nearer him, took up a pebble, and with extreme precision lobbed it over the horse, so that it fell on the far side of him. The animal, startled by the noise, stopped grazing, and started off at a trot in the direction away from where the pebble had seemed to come and directly towards Nicholas. After a few yards, however, it stopped again, and Nicholas whinnied gently. At that it looked up again and sniffed the air, but before it had continued its grazing he whinnied once more, and then lay flat down on his back. In a moment the horse answered and Nicholas called to it a third time, and heard from below that it had left the open and was pushing towards him through the trees. Once again he called, and the answer came nearer, and in a few moments the horse appeared ambling quickly up the steep incline. For a moment it did not see Nicholas, for he lay flat on the ground, half covered by the bush; but when it did, seeing he lay quite still, it came close up to him and sniffed round him. Then quietly reaching out a hand, he caught the bridle as it trailed on the ground.

This was satisfactory, for, besides getting a mount, he had acquired a pistol which was stuck into its case on the holster, and getting up, he pushed the horse forward through the trees. Half an hour's ride brought him into a bridle-path, running loftily along the mountain-side, and he halted here to take his bearings. Straight in front of him, and not an hour's ride distant, stood the huddled roofs of a village, which he took to be Serrica, but at present he could only see a few of the outlying houses. But at the thought that this was Serrica his heart thrilled within him, for it was the village from which his wife had come. A wonderful return was this for him; already the work of avenging her death had begun, and soon, please God! should a Turk be slain for every hair of her head. Ah, the cursed race who had brought dishonor to her, and to him a wound that could never be healed! Helen, too – little Helen – who ran towards him, crying "Father, father!" Yes, by God, her father heard her voice still, and her cry should not be lifted up in vain!

In half an hour more he stopped to reconnoitre, turning off the path among the heather. His heart pulled him thither, yet for that very reason he would be cautious, and not risk the ultimate completeness of his vengeance. From the slope above he watched for ten minutes more, and, seeing no movement or sign of life in the village, concluded that here, too, the Greeks had risen, and, after driving out the Turks, had gone either to Petrobey or to Kalavryta. And as he looked he saw that a dozen houses at one spot were roofless, showing by their charred beams pointing up to the sky that they had been burned. At the end stood the church dedicated to the Mother of God; and, oh, the bitterness of that! It was there he had been married; from that door he had walked away with the dearest and fairest of women, the happiest man in Greece.

Nicholas hesitated no longer; it was still an hour before noon, and he did not care to travel during the day. He would go down once more to the place, he would see it all again, and let its memories scourge him into an even keener anguish, a keener lust for vengeance, and, putting his horse to an amble down the crumbling hill-side, in ten minutes more he stood in the straggling village street. There was the house – her house – just in front of him, and he went there first. The door was standing open, and inside he found, as Mitsos had found at Mistra, the signs of a sudden departure. His brother-in-law then, to whom the house belonged, must have gone to Petrobey, or Kalavryta, probably the latter, and the thought was wine to him. Husband and brother, a double vengeance, and his should be the work of three men!

He had not eaten that day, but he soon found bread, meat, and wine, and, after stabling his horse and eating, he went out again to the church. Every step seemed a tearing open of the wound, yet with every step his heart was fed with fierce joy. Ah, no, Helen should not call in vain!

The church door was open and he entered. It had not altered at all in those twenty years since he had seen it last. Over the altar hung a rude early painting, showing the Mother of God, and nestling in her arms the wondrous Child. In front the remote kings did obeisance, behind stood the ox and the ass in the stall. And casting himself down there, in an agony bitter sweet, he prayed with fervor and faith to the Mother of the Divine Child. All the hopes and the desires of years were concentrated into that moment, and he offered them up humbly, yet at his best, to the Lord and the Handmaid of the Lord. Then, in the excitement of his ecstasy, as he gazed on that rude picture with streaming eyes, it seemed to him that a sign of acceptance, visible and immediate, was given him. A light as steadfast, but milder than the sun, grew and glowed round the two figures, the rough craft of the artist was glorified, and on the face, so human yet divine, there came the soft and sudden graciousness of life; it was touched with a pitiful sympathy for him, and the eyes smiled acceptance of his offering. Bowed down by so wonderful a pity, he hid his face in his hands, faith struck fear from his heart, and in that moment he felt that he had not prayed alone, that his wife had knelt by him, and that it was her prayers mingled with his that had brought for him that signal favor of the Thrice Holy Maid on his work.

That night, as soon as the sun went down and the ways grew dark, he went on his journey with a soul refreshed and strengthened; he felt that the vow he had made over the dead body of his wife had been attested and approved by Christ and the Mother of Christ, and from that hour to the end of his life never for a day did that gracious vision, like bread from heaven, fail to sustain and strengthen him. And all through the clear spring night the hosts of heaven that rose and wheeled above him were ministering spirits, and the wind that passed cool and bracing over the hill-sides the incense which carried his prayer upward. He, to whom vengeance belonged, had chosen him as His humble but willing agent. His sword was the sword of the Lord.

He crossed the first range of hills by midnight, and then struck the road which led by the khan where Mitsos and Yanni had stopped on their way from Tripoli. It was now within two hours of daybreak, but seeing a light in the windows, he drew rein to inquire whether Anastasis had seen aught of the other fugitives. Looking in cautiously through the windows, he saw that the floor was covered with Greeks, who lay sleeping, while Anastasis, good fellow, was serving others with hot coffee and bread.

Nicholas tied up his horse and went in. As he entered several of the men in a group round the fire turned and looked to see who it was, instinctively clutching at their knives. Then one got hastily up, and his head was among the roof-beams.

"Uncle Nicholas!" he cried, "is it you?"

"Who else should it be, little Mitsos? And what do you here?"

"Petrobey sent me down this morning to see if anything could be seen or heard of you, and when you did not come, and we heard from the others what had happened, we were afraid, or almost afraid – "

"I am not so easily got rid of," said Nicholas. "Anastasis, I shall not forget that you were good to the fugitives. Yes, I will have some coffee."

Most of the men sleeping on the floor had awoke at the noise and were sitting up. Nicholas took a chair and began sipping his coffee.

"Little Mitsos," he said, aloud, "I do not know what the others may have told you has happened, but I will tell you what I saw. I saw a body of men, who knew nothing of war, stand steady under a heavy fire because they were told to stand. I saw them go on under it when there was room to move, but not one did I see do aught else until I had to set the example, and told them to run."

Mitsos grew rather red in the face.

"The cavalry charged on them, and from behind the fortifications came a hail of bullets. And I never desire," he said, striking the table a great thump, "nor would it be possible, to command braver men."

Mitsos held out his hand to the man nearest him.

"Christos, shake hands or knock me down," he said. "I eat my words as one eats figs in autumn – one gulp."

"What have you been saying, little Mitsos?" asked Nicholas.

"I said they were cowards to run away. Oh, but I am very sorry! They are bad words I am eating."

"Well, let there be no mistake, Mitsos," said Nicholas; "down they go!"

Christos, a huge, broad-shouldered country Greek, looked up at Mitsos, grinning.

"There is no malice," he said. "I called you a liar."

"So you did, and there were nearly hard blows. Oh, we should have made a fine fight of it, for we are neither little people. But there will be no fighting now, unless you are wishful, for I will deny no one anything, now Uncle Nicholas has come. Why, are you lame, uncle? How did you get here?"

"I rode a fine Turkish horse," remarked Nicholas; "may I never ride a finer!"

Mitsos' frank and unreserved apologies had quite restored the amiability of those present, who, when Nicholas had entered, were growling and indignant, for Mitsos had made himself quite peculiarly offensive. But, though he could not clearly see how bravery was compatible with running away, Nicholas must be taken on trust.

Nicholas had fallen in with the last batch of fugitives. Since noon they had been streaming up the hills. Only a few apparently were wounded, and these had been sent on on mules to the camp. Those who had been wounded severely, it was feared, must all have fallen into the hands of the Turks, for there had been no possibility of escape, except by flight. Altogether Nicholas reckoned they had lost three hundred men, and but for his own promptness in seeing the utter hopelessness of trying to stop the cavalry charge, they would have lost five times that number. Having satisfied himself on these points, he turned to Mitsos again.

"How about the ship?" he said; "and when did you get back?"

"Two days after you left Taygetus," said Mitsos; and then, with a great grin, "the ship is not."

"Tell me about it, and I, too, afterwards have something to tell."

Mitsos' story, which was, of course, news to all present, was received with shouts of approval, though he left out that part of it which raised the exploit to a heroism, and Nicholas smiled at him when he had finished.

"It was well done," he said, "and I think, little Mitsos, that I, too, have friends who will, perhaps, aid me, as they have aided you"; and he told them the story of his strange vision.

"And by this I know," he concluded, "that our work is a work which God has blessed, and, come what may, not for an hour will I shrink from it or flinch till it is finished, or till my time comes. Look, the east is already lightening! Get up, my lads, for we must push on to the camp."

In a quarter of an hour they were off, the men marching in good order as long as they kept the road, but falling out when they had to climb the rough hill-side. An hour's walking brought them to the top of the hills, and on a detached spur standing alone and commanding the valley they could see the lines of the fortifications which Petrobey was erecting. He himself, seeing them coming while still far off, rode out to meet them, and Nicholas spurred his horse forward.

"Praise the Virgin that you have come, Nicholas," he said, "for by this I know that there was no disgrace."

"You are right. Had there been disgrace I should not be here. But there was nothing but bravery among the men, and the disgrace, if so you think it is, is on my head." And he told him what had happened.

"They are brave men," said Petrobey, "and yet I think you are the braver for giving that order."

"I should have been a foolish loon if I had not," said Nicholas, laughing.

CHAPTER V

THE HORNETS' NEST AT VALTETZI

Since his arrival at Valtetzi three days before, Petrobey had hardly rested night or day. The ground he had occupied and was fortifying with feverish haste was the top of a large spur of hill, going steeply down into the valley, and commanding a good view of it. Its advantages were obvious, for the cavalry, which at present they were particularly incompetent to meet, could not possibly attack them on such a perch, and also it would be difficult for the Turks to get up any of their big guns, of which there were several in Tripoli, to make an assault. They knew that in that town there were at least ten six-pounders, and certainly fifteen more nine-pounders, though since they had occupied the place, and found that the Turk had made no efforts whatever to bring artillery to bear on them, Petrobey suspected, and as it turned out rightly, that they were not all serviceable. Furthermore, occupying Valtetzi, they cut off Tripoli from Kalamata, whither before long, in all probability, the Turks would send a relief expedition by sea. However, by this occupation of Valtetzi there would be two passes to capture before they could send help to Tripoli, and, as he said, "they will be strong men if they take this."

Tripoli itself lay about eight miles to the northeast, and at present the whole body of Greeks was occupied in fortifying the post they had taken. A village, largely Turkish, had stood on the spot, and the demolition of the houses went on from daybreak to nightfall to make material for building up a defensive wall. The soldiers, meantime, as their barracks were converted into fortifications, substituted for them huts made of poles woven in with osiers and brushwood, similar to those they used on Taygetus. The walls, it must be confessed, presented a curiously unworkmanlike aspect – here and there a course of regular square stones would be interrupted by a couple of Byzantine columns from the mosque, or the capital of a Venetian pillar in which a strange human-faced lion looked out from a nest of conventional acanthus leaves. Farther on in the same row would come a packet of roof tiles plastered together with mud, and a plane-tree standing in the line of the wall was pressed into the service, and supplied the place of a big stone for eight upright courses. Above that it had been sawn off, and the next section of the trunk being straight made a wooden coping for five yards of wall. Here a chimney-pot filled with earth and stones took its place among solider materials; here a hearthstone placed on end, with two inches of iron support for the stewing-pot, staring foolishly out into vacancy. Then came a section where the builders had drawn from a richer quarry, and a fine slab of porphyry and two rosso antico pillars formed an exclusive coterie in the midst of rough blocks of limestone. But though heterogeneous and uncouth, the walls were stout and high, and, as Petrobey said, their business was not to build a pretty harem to please the women.

Inside, a hardy sufficiency was the note. The soldiers' huts, though small, would stand a good deal of rough weather; they were built squarely in rows, camp-wise, and the floors were shingled with gravel from a quarry close by. Two houses only had been kept, in one of which were stored the arms, in the other the ammunition, Petrobey and Nicholas, as before, occupying huts exactly like those tenanted by the common soldiers. The mules and herds of sheep and goats were driven out every morning under an armed escort to pasture on the hills near, and penned to the south of the camp for the night. Food was plentiful, and the men seemed well content, for the booty already taken was very considerable.

In ten days more, before the end of April, the walls were complete, and Petrobey, following out the plan he had formed from the first, sent out daily and nightly skirmishing expeditions, who made unlooked-for raids on the villages scattered on the plain about Tripoli, the inhabitants of which, feeling secure in their neighborhood to the fortress, had not yet sought refuge within its walls. Men, women, and children alike were slain, the valuables seized, the flocks and herds driven up to the camp, and the villages burned. In such operations, inglorious and bloody it is to be feared, but a necessary part of the programme of extermination, which the Greeks believed, not without cause, to be their only chance of freedom, their losses were almost to be numbered on the fingers; once or twice some house defended by a few men inside resisted the attack and fired upon them, in which case the assailants did not scruple to set light to the place; and in ten days more only heaps of smoking ruins remained of the little white villages, which had been dotted among the vineyards like flocks of feeding sheep.

Petrobey also established another small camp on the hills to the east of Tripoli, to guard the road between it and the plain of Argos and Nauplia. They had already intercepted and had a small skirmish with troops coming to that place from Nauplia. The loss on the Greek side was about one hundred; on that of the Turks nearly double, for when it came to hand-to-hand fighting the slow and short-legged Turk was no match for the fresh vigor of the mountain-folk. On this occasion they had lain in ambush on both sides of the road, and opened fire simultaneously at the regiment as it passed. The Turks had with them a contingent of cavalry, but on the rocky and wooded ground they were perfectly useless; and their infantry, leaving the road, had driven the Greeks from their ground, though in the first attack they had lost severely. But this readiness to retreat when necessary, and not waste either powder or lives profitlessly, was in accordance with the policy which Nicholas had indicated, and had been the first to put in practice at Karitaena; and it was exactly this harassing, guerilla warfare, in which cavalry could not be brought into play, in which attack was unexpected and flight was immediate upon any sign of a regular engagement, which made the Turks feel they were fighting with shadows. Though their number at the beginning of the war exceeded those of the Greeks, yet each engagement of the kind lessened them in a far greater proportion than their enemies, who seemed, on the other hand, to be mustering fresh troops every day. Had Petrobey at this period consented to give battle in the plains it is probable that his army would have been wiped out if they had fought to a close, and it says much for his wisdom that he persisted in a policy which was tedious and distasteful to him personally. But the Greeks were acquiring every day fresh experience and knowledge, while the strength of the Turks, which lay in their admirable cavalry and their guns, was lying useless.

In the north, however, affairs had not sped so prosperously. Germanos, who was practically commander-in-chief of the army at Kalavryta – less wise than his colleague at Valtetzi – had risked an attack on the citadel at Patras and suffered a severe defeat. As at Karitaena, a cavalry charge ought to have made him follow Nicholas's example, but he stuck with misplaced bravery to his attempt, until a second body of cavalry took him in the rear and cut off his retreat. With desperate courage his men cut their way through the latter, but a remnant only came through; his loss was enormous compared to that sustained by the Turks, and nothing was gained by it, for the citadel of Patras still remained in the hands of the enemy.

News of this disaster was brought to Valtetzi about the 5th of May, with the information that Turkish soldiers, consisting of eight hundred cavalry and fifteen hundred infantry, had set out eastward along the Gulf of Corinth, under the command of an able Turkish officer, Achmet Bey. Five days afterwards it was reported that they had reached Argos, and next day, while a skirmishing party engaged the Greeks on the hills opposite, the rest of the force passed quietly down the road and reached Tripoli the same evening. It was a splendid achievement boldly and successfully carried out, and Petrobey from that hour held himself in readiness to repel any attack that might be made.