The Staryteller. WITH THE CRETAN INSURGENTS.

Waikato Argus, Volume II, Issue 112, 27 March 1897, Page 1 (Supplement)

The Staryteller. WITH THE CRETAN INSURGENTS.

—-♦ AN ADVENTUROUS WEEK. IN FOUR CHAPTERS. —CHAPTER I. Canea at last. I had not bargained for the journey by w.vy of Constantinople, nor had I been warned of the difficulties I should have to overcome ere I could set foot openly in this « most distressful' of the Mediterranean islands. Tha Cretans were in revolt. That was the explanation. And Messieurs les Turques were much alarmed lest Europe should substantially aid the rebels and once for all hand the island over to Greece. We were a strange party on board the Osman: Moslem soldiers by the score, their officers a bad-looking iSt ; Borae Jews ; renegade Greeks who had in their own artful way curried favour with the authorities in Turkey ; two Italian doctors, and others. There was, in fact, but one man with whom I could fraternise. That was Nvylor. newspaper free-lance, and much else. How he got a • permit' to enter the island, I never made out. But ho had it, and meant, ho declared, to make the most of iL . _ i He and I were on the Osman s deck while the steamer screwed itself slowly into the contracted harbour, I glanced about me eagerly, possessed by a scene of adventure that had never yet stirred me. True I was only after olives; but as Naylor said, I was putting myself in the way of a good deal besides those estimable little fruits. •Look at the tall house to the left,' said Naylor, handing me his glass amid the Babel of voices. «Third storey, middle window.' ' Yes ¥ I said, when I had gazed, 4 The fellow with the fez is the Pasha. I'll bet my boots he isn't happy- , He has a "deluge of blood on his mind already, and he'll have more before he's disgraced.' 'Disgraced—why? I asked. The gentleman at the window watching us, Pasha or not, appeared nothing out of the common. ' Because he's on the horns of a dilemma, my dear sir. If he crushes the revolt in the usual way (and there's no other), all the Towers will cry "Shame on the Sultan, and clamour for atonement; his Excellency yonder will then be the scapegoat. And if the Cretans are too much for him, the Vizier anl Sultan together will chuck him into obscurity or worse for lmcompetence, Pleasant position, very ! —See those mountains V He pointed to a high ridge, well at the back of the jumble of houses. They were a faint purple in the early light, with none of their pinnacles and defiles brought into prominence. • That,' he proceeded, ' is where the trouble's at its warmest. That's Sphakia, and that, please luck and Giorgio Thyatis, is where I'm bound for, Pasha or no Pasha.' 'Risky,' I remarked. '.Risky, of course. But I'm nimble on my pin 3, and quite as good a shot as the average Turk, The more adventures, the more copy. That's my metier. -Hullo ! you're wanted.' " The Osman's captain had pronounced my name. He was indicating me to a fierce-looking person in Albanian dress, whose other conspicuous characteristics were a tremendous pair of moustaches and a brace of ivory-headed pistols stuck in his waistband. It was the consul's kavass, as it happened. 1 Follow me !' said this individual theatrically, when I h:id confirmod the captain's words. I nodded to Naylor, said I would see him later, at the Canea inn, and mixed myself up in the crowd of strugglers on the loose gang-way. As I understood neither Greek nor Turkish, I could not be sure the language I heard was unparliamentary ; but, from its sound and emphasis, I think much of it must have been. If so, there was some excuse. Even aided by my huge guide, I did not come out of the trouble without a large bruise on my left leg. An impatient warrior had scraped me hard against one of the iron joints on the gangway railings. However, we got ashore at length, and Canea's sweet smells declared themselves to my nose. The consulate was close to the harbour. I recognised it by its flag. There was a mosque hard by ; so near, in fact, that it seemed to be part of the establishment. Its white domes already glowed in the sunlight. Ordinarily, one would not have looked for an official of any kind to be at work at seven o'clock in the morning. But the times in Crete were extraordinary. Hence our good consul's energy. He greeted me politely enough, and at once proceeded to cross-examine me. ' I must warn you,' he said, ( that you could not have made a greater mistake than to come to Crete for commercial purposes—or any other —just now.' 1 said I was sorry to hear it, but proposed to take my chance. ' With '<d»m do you hope to do business T he continued. • Nicolopoulos,' I replied, ' is our agent,' The consul's lips pouted, and he shrugged his shoulders.

' Nothing could be worse,' he said. ' Nicolopoulos is a "suspect" I'm bound to say he des'rves to be considered as such, too. If I were you, I would abandon my enterprise and return to Constantinople when the Osman leaves.' 'Do you mean that he sides openly with the patriots ?' I asked something upset by the news. ' No. If he did that, he would be imprisoned. But I will tell you, in confidence, Mr Graham that he may be in custody any day. What that means in the present state of affairs, you can guess.' ' Then the harvest this year' 1 May be, in all probability will be, a negative quantity. The Turks are destroying square miles of orchards. The island looks like being so depopulated that there'll bo no gathering the fruit that's left,' I uttered an exclamation of disgust. ' When will the boat return V I asked, ' To-morrow, the day after, or the next day ; one can never tell.' ' Oh. in that case, there's time to think it over,' I replied. ' And, meanwhile, I can't do better than see Nicolopoulos himself.' 1 Very well. You shall have my kavass, and I'll get you a pass from the Tasha. That isn't everything in Crete now, you understand ; and you can't be too careful what you do. Look in when you like, and make use of me when you want to.' I thanked the consul warmly, waited for the governor's letter, and then set off towards Khalepa for Nicolopoulos. Had I not seen the streets of the Sultan's capital, I should have marvelled at the filth and confusion of these of Canea. Both were extreme. The stones of the pavement were slippery with garbage, and stank. And to this evil odour were added others that came from the crowd of Jews, Turks, infidels, and negroes who jostled each other and us, and a third of whom seemed to be swinging blows and curses at the little donkeys with bent heads and bared hide, which they pushed before them ns best they could. The street cries were deafening. I was glad when we got out of their reach and were through the,sombre gateway of the town in the butchers' quarter. This was a little suggestive of Moslem barbarity, methought, in the way the slaughterers had stuck the heads of their victims on iron pikes and set them at their doors. But, as a matter of fact, the butshors were Greeks for the most part, . The kavass was in a hurry. His strides were needlessly long, considering the Cretan sun and my own comparative smallness. But 1 made no protest. If I was onlp wasting time in Crete, the sooner I settled the programme of my movements the better. In a little while, we struck the coast, near the great ochre walls of the town. There was a breeze on shore, and the sight of the whitecapped waves tumbling on to the sand was refreshing. Indeed, Crete looked more exhilarating now every minute. There were red-coats on the walls, trifling and eating out of copper pans, and very merry in spite of the insurrection. I could see the tees of some of the warriors sticking through their broken boots, and holes as big as my head in their jackets. But these are small matters to the military authorities in Turkey, who rely more on muscle and fatalism than mere externals such as discipline and neatness. After skirting the shore for a time, and passing the famous settlement of Bedouins—a unique thing out of Africa—and a dusty exer-cising-ground for troops, we struck up towards a rocky eminence with villas and gardens on it. This was Khalepa, the fashionable suburb of Cauea. Hence the White Mountains, their purpled sides spreckled with sunlight and cloud shadows, looked superb. As I wiped my face, I could not refrain from wishing I had Naylor's spirit and ability for adventure to carry me into their midst. It was hard to believe, however, that men were shooting each other up there like so many partridges. We paused at length outside a residence with a huge white wall to it. Even the kavass seemed willing to breathe in comfort tor a moment or two. Then we entered by a green gate, the fastening of which would have been too much for me unaided, We were in a glorious, leafy avenue, the lower part a bower of roses. On both sides of us was a tangled, beautiful garden. The scent of orange and lemon blossom was a joy to inhale. My guide strode, on in his aggressive, masterful way to the a verandahed porch of a pnle-blue villa at the end of the avenue. I followed him more at my leisure. It was now that 1 heard the faint musical twang of a mandoline in the garden. I looked for the musician, but saw no one. Twice the man rang the bell, the second time with extreme impatience. Never mind,' I said, in comment upon what I supposed to be an expletive of disgust : ' now that 1 know where he lives, I can come out again by mys'df in the afternoon.' But this proposition did not please the worthy fellow. ' I shall go behind,' he said ; ' perhaps they wash, and do not hear.'

Left to myself, I listened intently. There was something seducing about the mandoline among the blossoms' I could just distinguish the air, which was plaintive. Then a voice in me bade me seek the author of the sweet sounds, and, without hesitation, I crept through a tangle of vines and sweet peas, and so gained a clear space under a widespreading fig-tree. Beyond, nestled in more greenery, was a tiny arbour, and a figure in white stirred amid the verdure—a girl's form, with the profile towards me. I could not at first understand why my heart made sucli a fuss about this petty prowl of mine. It beat in my body a? if it were seriously disordered. But I read the riddle when I had moved a few steps more and caused the girl suddenly to turn and face me, It realised that it was in the presence of one of God's most beautiful creations. X cannot describe her except in bald category. She may have been seventeen or eighteen : appearances, are deceptive in the warm south. She was tall and slender, with features of extraordinary regularity and softness combined. There was a lovely colour in her cheeks as she looked at me, with parted lips, and an expression in which surprise and something of timidity were sweetly blended. And her eyes were large, and of that rare true violet colour which I am told is only to be found in Crete, and that seldom. She held the mandoline to her side with her left hand, round which a handkerchief was wrapped. Never have I seen any one sa beautiful, I don't know that I was more susceptible than other men of seven-and-twenty, but I know that it was all I could do to keep myself from approaching this girl, and kneeling to her, as if she were the goddess of Beauty herself. The voice of that miserable kavass, crying ' Monsieur ! monsieur !' came as a most undesirable distraction. Y6t perhaps it was as well. Otherwise, in my infatuation, there is no telling what I might not have done. And so, instead of allowing my heart to confess its folly by a word or a look, I merely raised my hat and returned to the avenue. ' That was not right, monsieur,' axclaimed the kavass, when I came alongside of his petticoated legs. ' At any rate,' I replied, ' it is my own affair.—ls he not in ?' 'I shall find him for you, if you' will return with me,' was the sullen rejoinder. I listened afresh for the mandoline, but could nob hear it. I tried to pierce the lattice-work of fruittrees, creepers, and flowers for one more glimpse of that wonderful face : but it was in vain. We recurred to the hot dusty road, my haughty guide taking longer strides than ever. Once I questioned him about the girl in the garden. He answered with a look that ought to have set me laughing, but which irritated me extremely instead. Only when we were nearieg the town did a sensible idea enter my head. ' Wait a moment/ I said, with my hand in my pocket, ' Isn't that a wine-shop V It was a commonplace little booth, with a bush over the porch : a wine-shop, sure enough. ' Here's something for yourself, my friend,' I added, ' You have wasted much time on me ; and we are both thirsty, or ought to be.' The exuberant salute with which the man acknowledged the tip told me I had done the proper thing. We entered the shanty and drank malvasia, the blue-breeched Cretan who served us staring considerably. ' You think we shall find Nbolopoulos this time V 1 began diplomatically. I I think so, sir. He has a sick wife. He visits her once a week. It is the day.' ' A sick wife ! What an odd thing that she doesn't live with him !' The kavass shook his head gravely, drank, and then wiped one end of his moustaches : it had dropped into his wine-glass like a rat's tail. ' By the way,' 1 continued, as indifferently as possible, ' I saw up there in the garden a young lady in white.' ' Ah ! you see her?' The man's animation piqued me. ' Yes. Who is she V ' She in the only child, the daughter, poor thing!' said the kavass. He cooled his red face with his white skirts in a most unbecoming manner. ' Nicolopoulos's daughter V ■ 'That is it, sir. She is fine to see, but it is not good to love her.' At these words, I am afraid I blushed ; and for the second or third time in our brief acquaintance, I yearned to kick the kavass. I did not condescend to ask for an explanation. ' What is her name V I inquired instead. 1 1 have heard, sir, that she is called Helena, But no matter what she is called. And now, please, we must go.' Helena ! I tonguod the name a hundred times ere we were through the town by one gate and out of it by another. It was the wry name for so pure and spotless a maiden. It also fitted her beauty like no other name. I assured myself that even as of old Helen of Troy was the most lovely damsel among mankind, so Helena Nicolopoulos of Khalepa, Crete, was just as matchless. This was significant enough. But my state was

proved to conviction by the deter mination that entered me not to sail by the Osman, even though I could not do a farthing's worth of business with Nicolopoulos or any one else. This time we left Canea as if we were going straight to Sphakia. The green plain stretched before us to the lirst of the purple swellings which, rising one above the other, get to a height of eight thousand feet with sublime abruptness, We passed the lepers of the town, squatted on the sand among the aloes of the roadside. ' Aman ! aman !'(Pity ! pity !) they cried, as they showed their blotched and swollen bodies, tingerless hands, and toeless feet or stumps of feet. ' Are there many of them in Crete?' I asked the kavass. He had set me the good example of charity. ' Chere are many, monsieur,' he replied. 'We come now to the houses.' It was the leper village, in fact : a coterie of little white dwellings set close together, and hedged about with prickly-pear, aloes, and tamarisk bushes. Convenient, too, for the begging purposes of the inmates, seeing that the high-road to the villages of the plain traversed their midst. ' Wait,' I said : ' I should like to look inside one of the houses.' ' There is not need to wait to do it,' said my guide. 'We go to the last one to find Nicolopoulos.' ' What ! here?' I exclaimed. 'lt is his wife. She is a leper, monsieur, like others.' ' A leper!' The mother of Helena Nicolopoulos a leper 1 The bare suggestion seemed to act upon me like a poison. And yet it was too brutal a possibility to be entertained. But, sure enough, as we were approaching the end of the village, Nicolopoulos, gray - bearded and stately, and with something of the sternness of Greek tragedy in his face, came from within and met us. His greeting was as dignified and tragic as his countenance. ' I do not do business flu's year,' he replied to my question, which I fear I put with cold-blooded promptitude after a minute or two. • But as agent merely ' 'lt is all one, sir. I think I give up my business altogether. There are reasons that I will not tell : God knows there are reasons. And, another thing, it is not worth your while to make much thought of the oil here this year. There will be much lire in Crete, and fire burn oil. You understand!' This with a meaning look. Then he turned and said something to the kavass in Gr-ek. The kavass replied with a shrug of the shoulders almost to his ears. He made so long an answer, sinking his voice lower and lower, that, having looked long enough at the handsome, though ragged, countryman who was coming towards us from Canea, I turned towards the hovel in which Madame Nicolopoulos the leper lived. It was too horrible to think of. But the sight I now saw was even more horrible still. A woman was standing at the threshold of the house. Her sex was hardly more than conjecturable by her dress, which hung about her like a sack tied at the waist. She did not seem inordinately large in the body, her face was little better than a purple patch, radiant as if it had been rubbed with oil. Nose and lips seemed wanting, and the eyes were almost closed by the swellings about and beneath their cavities. This poor object was beckoning. I shuddered in spite ot my efforts to do no such thing, touched Nicolopoulos on the shoulder to draw his attention to her, and turned away. ' I shall see you again, if you will do me the favour,' said the merchant. In this suggestion I acquiesced eagerly enough. ' And now for the inn,' I said to the kavass. 'lt is quite time to release you.' Nicolopoulos rejoined his wife—his awful wife, whom he still loved, poor fellow, We set out faces towards Canea, We were passing the countrymen already mentioned, when the kavass suddenly drew himself up and put on the braggart air that goes so comically with the starched petticoats of the Greek warrior. The two exchanged a salutation, brief, but, as it seemed to me, forcible. There was even in the kavass's. ' Who is that good-looking man V I asked. 'And one might suppose he was in a disguise,' ' That,' said the kavass, 'is Giorgio Thyatis, the Sphakiot. He is bold to come into the city. His life is wanted, and he will lose it one day.' I remembered tho name Thyatis as that of Naylor's patriot, and turned to have another look at the splendid Cretan. I was just in time to see him slip into the hovel that held Nicolopoulos and his wife— Helena's mother ! (To be roiUinneil).