And Even In Their Mode Of
Navigation They Have Admitted No Such An Entire Change As You Would
Suppose Probable.
It is true that they have so far availed
themselves of modern discoveries as to look to the compass
Instead
of the stars, and that they have superseded the immortal gods of
their forefathers by St. Nicholas in his glass case, {11} but they
are not yet so confident either in their needle, or their saint, as
to love an open sea, and they still hug their shores as fondly as
the Argonauts of old. Indeed, they have a most unsailor-like love
for the land, and I really believe that in a gale of wind they
would rather have a rock-bound coast on their lee than no coast at
all. According to the notions of an English seaman, this kind of
navigation would soon bring the vessel on which it might be
practised to an evil end. The Greek, however, is unaccountably
successful in escaping the consequences of being "jammed in," as it
is called, upon a lee-shore.
These seamen, like their forefathers, rely upon no winds unless
they are right astern or on the quarter; they rarely go on a wind
if it blows at all fresh, and if the adverse breeze approaches to a
gale, they at once fumigate St. Nicholas, and put up the helm. The
consequence of course is that under the ever-varying winds of the
Aegean they are blown about in the most whimsical manner. I used
to think that Ulysses with his ten years' voyage had taken his time
in making Ithaca, but my experience in Greek navigation soon made
me understand that he had had, in point of fact, a pretty good
"average passage."
Such are now the mariners of the Aegean: free, equal amongst
themselves, navigating the seas of their forefathers with the same
heroic, and yet child-like, spirit of venture, the same half-
trustful reliance upon heavenly aid, they are the liveliest images
of true old Greeks that time and the new religions have spared to
us.
With one exception, our crew were "a solemn company," {12} and yet,
sometimes, when all things went well, they would relax their
austerity, and show a disposition to fun, or rather to quiet
humour. When this happened, they invariably had recourse to one of
their number, who went by the name of "Admiral Nicolou." He was
an amusing fellow, the poorest, I believe, and the least thoughtful
of the crew, but full of rich humour. His oft-told story of the
events by which he had gained the sobriquet of "Admiral" never
failed to delight his hearers, and when he was desired to repeat it
for my benefit, the rest of the crew crowded round with as much
interest as if they were listening to the tale for the first time.
A number of Greek brigs and brigantines were at anchor in the bay
of Beyrout. A festival of some kind, particularly attractive to
the sailors, was going on in the town, and whether with or without
leave I know not, but the crews of all the craft, except that of
Nicolou, had gone ashore. On board his vessel, however, which
carried dollars, there was, it would seem, a more careful, or more
influential captain, who was able to enforce his determination that
one man, at least, should be left on board. Nicolou's good nature
was with him so powerful an impulse, that he could not resist the
delight of volunteering to stay with the vessel whilst his comrades
went ashore. His proposal was accepted, and the crew and captain
soon left him alone on the deck of his vessel. The sailors,
gathering together from their several ships, were amusing
themselves in the town, when suddenly there came down from betwixt
the mountains one of those sudden hurricanes which sometimes occur
in southern climes. Nicolou's vessel, together with four of the
craft which had been left unmanned, broke from her moorings, and
all five of the vessels were carried out seaward. The town is on a
salient point at the southern side of the bay, so that "that
Admiral" was close under the eyes of the inhabitants and the shore-
gone sailors when he gallantly drifted out at the head of his
little fleet. If Nicolou could not entirely control the manoeuvres
of the squadron, there was at least no human power to divide his
authority, and thus it was that he took rank as "Admiral." Nicolou
cut his cable, and thus for the time saved his vessel; for the rest
of the fleet under his command were quickly wrecked, whilst "the
Admiral" got away clear to the open sea. The violence of the
squall soon passed off, but Nicolou felt that his chance of one day
resigning his high duties as an admiral for the enjoyments of
private life on the steadfast shore mainly depended upon his
success in working the brig with his own hands, so after calling on
his namesake, the saint (not for the first time, I take it), he got
up some canvas, and took the helm: he became equal, he told us, to
a score of Nicolous, and the vessel, as he said, was "manned with
his terrors." For two days, it seems, he cruised at large, but at
last, either by his seamanship, or by the natural instinct of the
Greek mariners for finding land, he brought his craft close to an
unknown shore, that promised well for his purpose of running in the
vessel; and he was preparing to give her a good berth on the beach,
when he saw a gang of ferocious-looking fellows coming down to the
point for which he was making. Poor Nicolou was a perfectly
unlettered and untutored genius, and for that reason, perhaps, a
keen listener to tales of terror. His mind had been impressed with
some horrible legend of cannibalism, and he now did not doubt for a
moment that the men awaiting him on the beach were the monsters at
whom he had shuddered in the days of his childhood.
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