CHAPTER XV--ROUND ABOUT ATHENS.--THE COUNTRY OF THE BRIGANDS.

_Mars’ Hill, the place where St. Paul Preached on the Unknown God--The Prison of Socrates--The Country of the Brigands--Escorted by Greek Soldiers--Captures by the Brigands--How they treat Captives--Extorting Ransoms--Buying Coins and Relics--Swindling Travellers--Among the Ruins--Strange Contrasts--“Chaffing” the Guide--Position of the Persian and Grecian Hosts--Xerxes’ Throne--“The King Sate on the Rocky Brow”--Making the Ascent by Proxy--“I no go ze Mountain”--The Battle of Marathon--A Survivor of the Battle--How the Victory was Won._

WE visited all the places of historic interest in Athens, including the hill where St Paul is said to have preached his sermon on the unknown God.

The place is admirably adapted for the delivery of an oration, and it is no wonder that it was a favorite one with the Athenians on the occasion of any public demonstration. Indications of its ancient uses are still visible. There is a stairway of sixteen steps hewn in the solid rock leading to a platform where there are three rectangular seats placed in a half circle, and looking toward the South.

On each side to the East and West, there is an elevated block of stone; these blocks are supposed to be the seats of accuser and accused, according to the description of Pausanias and others. The courts of justice were held here, with powers that varied from time to time, according to the decrees of the ruler.

It was here that Demosthenes was condemned to death, and not far away is the place where Socrates is said to have died.

To reach the prison of Socrates we passed through a ploughed field to the perpendicular side of a hill, where a cavity was hewn in the solid rock. There was nothing of interest in the prison; {214}nothing but four stone walls and a low roof, with a floor that would have been more presentable had it been swept and washed. The historians say that the authenticity of the prison is extremely doubtful and rests on very slight foundation.

We made an excursion to Eleusis, a pleasant ride of little more than two hours, when we informed our hotel-keeper of our intentions, Boniface shrugged his shoulders, smiled, shook his head, and uttered the magic word “brigands.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“You must get an escort,” he replied; “an escort of soldiers to protect you, and you must send your application to the chief of police as soon as possible.”

“But suppose we don’t want an escort, and are willing to take the risk ourselves?”

“That would not be permitted,” was his prompt response.

“The government was censured so much in the Takos affair that it will not allow anybody to go without an escort. They are determined to be on the safe side, and if you venture out without an escort, you will be liable to imprisonment for violating the regulations.”

He went on to explain that the escort would cost us nothing; that it would consist of regular soldiers, mounted and armed with carbines and pistols, and that we would be kept all the time, under the strictest surveillance. We would not have a large guard--from six to ten soldiers, commanded by a sergeant, and quite possibly we could get a _sous-officier_ who could speak French. The latter would not be absolutely necessary, as we would be obliged to employ a guide or dragoman, who would speak, or would claim to speak, all the modern languages, in addition to that of the country.

We sent our application to the police headquarters, stating where we wished to go, and how long we expected to be absent, and were informed that the escort would meet us at a little village a couple of miles outside of Athens.

In order not to attract too much attention and cause needless comment, they always arrange that the escort shall be taken up in this way. Consequently, our expectation that we should ride through the streets in grand style was ruthlessly disappointed. {215}We left our hotel in a very modest way, and attracted neither attention nor admiration as we rode along we found our escort waiting for us and solacing themselves with Greek wine at a wretched _brasserie_ in the edge of the village. The guide suggested that we should try the wine, and take a few bottles of it along for the general benefit of the party. We acceded to his proposal, and it very naturally happened that, in paying the bill, the score made by the escort was included. We did not demur, as we wanted to be on good terms with our guards, and as the wine of the country was very cheap and very bad, we gave orders that the escort should be kept filled up to the chin, and a little higher if possible.

During the whole time they were with us, the guard kept a careful watch over their charges; they divided up into advance, rear, and center, the advance keeping about two hundred yards ahead of the main body, and the rear about half of that distance behind us. There were seven soldiers and a sergeant, so that when the advance and rear of two men each were in their proper places, there were only four to form the centre. No elaborate military evolutions were attempted, if I except a little “cavorting” on the part of the sergeant’s horse, which resulted twice in unseating that hero, and throwing him headlong into the sand to the detriment of his uniform and temper.

We had expected to find a picturesque looking guard in Greek dress, and flourishing long lances, such as we see in pictures of the Phalanx and other celebrated bodies of troops. We found them a very common lot of soldiers in a uniform that looked very Frenchy, and I learned afterward that the outfit of the Greek army was furnished by French contractors, and made chiefly in Paris.

The French uniform seems to have invaded the Orient very generally, and half the armies of the countries bordering the Eastern part of the Mediterranean are now uniformed, with some modifications, after the model of _la grande nation_.

Shall I describe a sanguinary battle, in which prodigies of valor were displayed by our party, and a hundred brigands were compelled to bite the dust?

A great deal of dust was bitten, but we couldn’t help it; the dry earth was stirred up by our horses’ hoofs, and for much of {216}the time we rode in dense clouds that occasionally threatened to smother us. Our lungs were filled, and we ground in our teeth more of the classic soil of the land of Homer and Demosthenes than we found to our liking.

It may be a humiliation to say so, but I confess that the most of us were not very poetical on that occasion, and voted Greece a bore.

Candor compels me to say that we had no encounter with the brigands, but returned to Athens with no greater sufferings than the fatigue and general mussiness consequent upon most journeys of that length. Two or three times we saw some suspicious-looking vagabonds, and at sight of them our sergeant shook his head ominously, but they evinced no disposition to disturb us. We could have made a very fair fight, if attacked, as our guards were well armed, and there was a fair supply of revolvers in our own hands. We had inserted fresh charges before leaving the hotel, and were determined not to surrender without making some resistance at any rate. Capture at the hands of Greek brigands is no joke, and would have disarranged our plans very seriously.

The main object of brigandage is a financial one; the robbers are in want of money (many of us are in the same fix), and the best way for them to turn an honest penny is to steal it. When they capture travellers, they help themselves to watches, money, and jewels, and anything else that may be of value. But the end is not yet; they take the captives into the mountains, and hold them for something more, and they are careful to squeeze out as much as possible. If the victim is a wealthy nobleman or some other purse-proud aristocrat, they think it will be worth about £10,000 to release him, but if he is some ordinary mortal with no influential friends in Athens, a hundred or two hundred pounds will be sufficient. The foreign residents and travellers; who happen to be in a Greek or Italian city when ransom is demanded for some unhappy wretch, are frequently compelled to raise money to meet the demand.

There is a great deal of complaint at this, and much of it is well founded.

“Why should I,” said a gentleman to me in Naples, “be compelled to pay something every little while to get one of my coun{217}trymen out of the hands of the brigands? I wouldn’t venture where the scoundrels could catch me, and I wouldn’t allow any of my friends to do so if I could prevent it. But along comes some reckless fellow I never saw, goes into danger, and is captured. Then I am appealed to on the ground of humanity and all that sort of thing, and asked to help release him. It is his own fault if he is captured. If he had staid away, as I do, he would have been safe, and not compelled to appeal to strangers. If a man meets with an accident, I am willing to help him, but I think it hard to be asked to contribute for a man who has deliberately and with eyes open walked into trouble.”

The brigands generally treat their prisoners well and civilly. Sometimes they parole them not to attempt to escape, and allow them to do what they please; and at others they put them in charge of watchful guards, who have orders to shoot them if they try to get away. If pursued, and too much encumbered by their prisoners, they kill them, on the principle that dead men tell no tales, and it is in cases of pursuit that most of the persons in the hands of the brigands have lost their lives. In several instances prisoners have been kept three or four months by the brigands, and while negotiations were pending they have been allowed to see their friends, and even to visit neighboring cities to make personal appeals for raising the ransom demanded; and these instances have only been where parties of two or more were cap{218}tured. Only one was allowed to go away at a time, the rest being held as hostages.

Sometimes when the ransom is not forthcoming in a reasonable time, the brigands cut off the ear of a victim and send it to his friends with the intimation that the other ear will come soon, unless matters are hurried up. This generally has the desired effect.

Brigandage has been largely reduced in Italy and Greece, but it still exists in some localities. The Governments of those countries have made earnest efforts to render rural travelling safe, but they have base populations to deal with, and it will doubtless be a long time before the business will be entirely stopped.

Our route to Eleusis, was over the ancient sacred way traversed by the Theorie or procession which used to go from Athens to Eleusis for the celebration of the mysteries. Soon after leaving Athens we enter a forest of olive trees; it was once very extensive but has suffered greatly in the recent wars of which the country around Athens has been in great part the theatre. The road is very good, and as it has been traversed for thousands of years and is under the supervision of goverment, there is no reason why it should be otherwise.

The chapel of St. George and the monastery of Daphni are passed on the route, but there is nothing particularly interesting about them, if we except some very old and badly preserved mosaics. All the time of the Crusades the Daphni was a monastery of Benedictines, and had some celebrity. It was one of the earliest Christian centres in this part of Greece.

Occasionally the modern road leaves the ancient one, but the traces of the latter are distinctly visible where it was hewn out of the rock. During the Turkish occupation there was another road established by the Moslems, but it was so badly made that it was not considered worth following by the modern engineers.

Near the shores of the Bay of Eleusis the road leads past a couple of salt lakes which are mentioned in ancient histories. They are fed by springs and drained by small brooks flowing into the bay; modern and prosaic mills are on these brooks. Our guide explained that these lakes were anciently dedicated, {219}one to Ceres, and the other to Proserpine; we endeavored to ascertain if the mills appertained to those parties, and told him to go and ask if Mr. Ceres was at home. Rather than explain to us who and what Ceres was, he stopped the carriage and pretended to ascertain from a native the information we desired.

After a short conversation in the language of the country, he gravely informed us that Ceres had gone to Athens, and would not return till next week.

How that guide pitied our ignorance.

Eleusis is to-day a miserable village, whose inhabitants look as if they ought to be grateful to anybody who would drown them in the adjoining bay. They crowded around us to beg for money and to sell relics of the place; I bought several coins of the time of Hadrian, paying about a cent apiece for the lot. Somewhat to my surprise they were pronounced genuine by a coin-sharp to whom I showed them in Athens. I remarked by the way that you can buy any quantity of antique coins in Athens and no end of statuettes and other articles of terra-cotta. To obtain the genuine you must exercise considerable caution and be careful about trading with doubtful personages.

There are several shops that have a good reputation and are said to take great pains to have none but genuine coins. Sometimes they have large stocks on hand and some of these coins will be very rare; persons interested in making collections for public and private museums arrive there from time to time and almost exhaust the supplies of the dealers. Consequently you can never tell whether you are likely to find a large, medium, or small stock of antique coins on hand in the shops at Athens.

Eleusis was anciently one of the most celebrated cities of Greece, and its foundation dates in the ages of mythology. It was famous for the temple of Ceres and Proserpine, and for the mysteries which were celebrated there in honor of these two goddesses and considered the most sacred of all Greece during the time that paganism flourished.

It was one of the original twelve states of Attica, and was several times at war with Athens. In the last of these wars the Athenians were victorious and Eleusis became a province of Athens with the condition that its religion was to be respected {220}and the worship of Ceres and Proserpine continued as before. Once a year the grand procession went to Athens by the sacred way to celebrate the Eleusinian mysteries, which were maintained for many years.

The Persians destroyed the temple and the city but they were afterwards reconstructed only to be destroyed again.

We wandered among the ruins where the immense and carefully hewn blocks of marble contrasted strangely with the rude huts of the present dwellers on the spot. The destruction was so complete that one sees little more than the outline of one of the temples enclosing a space covered with masses of hewn stone tumbled together in the most complete confusion.

The ruins have been only partially excavated, and there was no work in progress at the time of my visit. Judging by the remains that were visible the temples must have been among the finest of ancient Greece.

From the hill that formed the Acropolis of Eleusis, we looked over the bay, and saw the locality where was fought the famous battle of Salamis, between the Greeks and Persians. The site of the silver throne of Xerxes was pointed out, but we were somewhat dubious about it as we could not see the throne though looking repeatedly and intently. The guide could not tell where it could be found and seemed rather disgusted when we requested him to ask the natives if they had seen anything of it lying around loose.

He persisted that the battle was fought more than two thousand years ago; we listened to his explanation and shook our heads as if we were not convinced.

I told him that we had had battles in our own country not near so long ago and that the people who were killed there were all dead.

He could not understand what that had to do with the matter and neither could I.

The positions of the armies and fleets during the battle are described with sufficient precision by the historians, though there has been much discussion concerning the movements which gave the victory to the Greeks, and destroyed the Persian fleet. The locality of the throne of Xerxes is also in dispute, one authority, {221}placing it in the hollow between two low hills, while another has it on the summit of a hill overlooking the bay. The latter theory is more likely to be the correct one. Byron says of the affair:

“The King sate on the rocky brow,

Which looks o’er sea-born Salamis,

And ships, by thousands lay below

And men in nations, all were his.

He counted them at break of day,

And when the sun set, where were they?”

The day after this excursion we made a journey to Mount Pentelicus, whence came the most of the marble used in the erection of the Parthenon, and other temples of Athens.

Part of the way the road is excellent and on another part it is not so good.

There is a Greek convent at the foot of the mountain and when we reached it we were told that the carriages could go no further.

Then we had an animated discussion with the guide. None of us wished to undertake the ascent, which requires about two hours on foot, and so we decided to let the guide do it for us, and when we stated our plan his eyes opened so wide that they appeared really to drop out.

“I not goes up mitout you gentlemens,” he said as soon as he had sufficiently recovered himself to be able to speak.

“You won’t, eh; well, what have we engaged you for.”

“For five francs ze day, five francs _par jour_.”

“Very well, then, we are to pay you five francs a day to be our guide and you are to guide us where we want to go.”

“Yees! yees, zat is so.”

“If we wanted to go up that mountain you would go with us.”

“Certainly, genteelmens, certainly zat is to guide you up ze mountain.”

“Well, now let’s have no more nonsense about it. Pentelicus would be nowhere by the side of Pike’s Peak or Mount Shasta. And you say, gentlemen come here and climb this potato-hill. We don’t intend to climb it ourselves, and we came here to do it by proxy. We have hired you for that purpose, so now go ahead.” {222} “But I have been up ze mountain many times. Why I go now all alone without ze genteelmens.”

“That is our affair. We pay you five francs a day for that kind of work, you are to do anything for us that we find disagreeable.”

The guide was puzzled, and after a thorough examination of our faces to ascertain if we were really lunatics, he started off.

He went about twenty yards and then returned, declaring that he would not ascend the mountain unless we furnished him with a saddle horse.

“Once for all,” said the Judge, “will you go or not? If you don’t we shall be obliged to murder you, and then report your misconduct to the police.”

“Veree well,” sulkily replied the descendant of Sophocles, “I no go ze mountain, and I no be guide for you again. Tomorrow you have one other guide.”

We took him at his word and that night paid him off and discharged him. He had been a nuisance from the first, bothering us with all sorts of importunities, and we were glad to be rid of him in such a way that he could have no real or fancied claim upon us. During the rest of our stay in Athens he did not condescend to speak to us; he had formerly been all obsequiousness, but now he considered us quite unfit to associate with him. I am afraid our reputations suffered somewhat in his hands. He described us to some gentlemen who were in Athens the week after we left, as the greatest fools he had ever seen.

Mount Pentelicus is about thirty-six hundred feet above the level of the sea, and the view from its summit is said to be quite extensive.

Looking toward the southwest one sees the plain of Attica with its smaller mountains, and with Athens and the Acropolis occupying a prominent place on the plain.

Beyond them are the Piraeus, Salamis, and Egina, and further away the coast and mountains of the Morea, form a background to the picture. Toward the southeast are Mount Hymettus, all the promontory of Attica to Cape Sunium and beyond this cape, the jagged summits of the Cyclades are visible. On the northeast the hills fall away in undulations till they sink into the plain {223}of Marathon, where was fought the battle that resulted in the defeat and partial destruction of the Persian army. The numerous bays of this part of the coast are distinctly visible, and the combinations of sea, mountain, and plain make a picture of unusual beauty.

In a clear day nearly all the great islands of the Greek Archipelago can be made out, and sometimes the coast of Asia is visible away to the east. Altogether the view from Mount Pentelicus is one of the finest in Greece, as it includes nearly the whole of Athens, and awakens many historical associations.

The battle of Marathon was fought in the year 450 B. C., between the Persians and Greeks. The former had landed forty thousand men, but owing to bad generalship, only half that number were engaged.

The Persian army was drawn up in the Plain of Marathon, with its center directly in front of the Greek position.

Military critics who have studied the history of the battle on the memorable ground, say that the Persians were lamentably deficient in strategy, as their line was too much extended, and its right was pushed out between a swamp and the mountain chain. This arrangement secured them against a flank movement on the right, but it left no line of retreat for the right wing in case the centre was pierced.

The Greeks were about eighteen thousand strong, according to the best authorities. They debouched from the mountains in two columns, one attacking the Persian right, and the other its left, and in both movements they were successful. Then they attacked the Persian centre, which they defeated and put to flight; the vanquished were pursued into the sea and into the swamps, and it is said that more of them perished in this way than by the arms of the conquerors.

Did you ever see a survivor of the battle of Marathon? I have, and instead of being twenty-four hundred years old, as you might expect, he was not fifty.

We had in our late civil war a cavalry general who was reputed to be a good soldier, and, at the same time, a tremendous “blower.” He could tell wonderful stories of his and others’ prowess; and the deeds of daring that he narrated were of the{224}most remarkable character. Mention any battle in his hearing, especially when he had partaken of the beverage that cheers while it inebriates, and he would be sure to tell you that he had led the cavalry on the right, the left, or the centre, just as it might occur to his mind.

One day, somebody mentioned a battle in Virginia, and our general immediately described how he broke the centre that day, with four regiments of cavalry.

Then another person spoke of a battle that occurred the same day in Arkansas or Louisiana, and the general told us how he led three regiments and a battalion of cavalry, against the right wing and broke it without trouble, capturing two batteries and half a dozen wagon loads of ammunition.

The attempt was now made to floor him, but it was unsuccessful.

“That was a splendid move of General Miltiades at Marathon,” said one of the party, with a most solemn face; “he attacked in two columns an army larger than his own.”

“Ah, yes,” our brave general responded, “that was one of the toughest places I was ever in. I led the cavalry against the left, two full brigades with two batteries and howitzers. They cut us up with grape and canister, but we broke them and took all their guns. The general complimented me personally in presence of his whole staff. I had three horses shot under me and two bullet holes in my coat.”

Up to that moment I had never hoped to see a survivor of Marathon, but you cannot always tell what will happen.

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