Petrobey saw what was coming, but he hesitated. His mouth watered after the baggage train below, but he feared to weaken the defence of the camp by sending men for that purpose. Nicholas, however, was clear. Guns and ammunition and baggage were fine things in their way, but not worth measurable risk; every hand was needed at Valtetzi, and, besides, any movement from the Greek camp, even if they sent the men round by a circuitous route down the next ravine, would be observed by the scouts; an opportunity, however, might come later.
For three hours more desultory and skirmishing attacks were made by the Albanians on the camp; four times they advanced a column right up to one or other gate, and as many times it was driven back—twice by a sortie from the inside, twice by the heavy firing from the walls; and at last, as the sun began to decline towards the west, they were called back, and retreated hurriedly towards the cavalry. Then Nicholas saw the opportunity; the scouts had been withdrawn from the ridges, for they no longer expected an attack from the flank, and he with a hundred Mainats set off down a parallel ravine hotfoot to the plain, while the rest of the men, under Petrobey's orders, followed the enemy at a distance, keeping their attention fixed on them in expectation of another attack. Achmet Bey at last thought that the Greeks had fallen into the trap he had baited so many times, and hoped to draw them down into the plain, where he would turn and crush them with his cavalry.
They were already approaching the last hill which bordered on the level ground when Petrobey, who kept his eye on the plain, saw Nicholas and his band wheel round the baggage animals, shooting down their drivers, and force them up the ravine down which they had come. On the moment he gave the order to fire, and the Greeks poured a volley into the rear of the infantry. The Turks were fairly caught. If Achmet sent the cavalry on to rescue the baggage, the Greeks, whose numbers were now far superior to the infantry, would in all probability annihilate them; if, on the other hand, he kept the cavalry to support the infantry, the baggage would be lost. He chose the lesser evil, and as the ground was now becoming smoother and more level, he directed the cavalry to charge on the Greeks, and Petrobey fairly laughed aloud.
"Run away, run away," he cried; "let not two men remain together."
The cavalry charged, but there was simply nothing to charge. Up the hill-sides in all directions fled the Greeks, choosing the stoniest and steepest places, and dispersing as they ran as a ball of quicksilver breaks and is spread to all parts of the compass.
Again the retreat of the Turks began, and once more the Greeks gathered and engaged their attention. In the growing dusk no attack could be made, for the horses were already beginning to stumble and pick their way carefully to avoid falling, while the Greeks still hung on their rear and flanks like a swarm of stinging insects. When the hills began to sink into the plain Petrobey, too, sounded the retreat, and the men, though tired and hungry, went singing up the hill-side. At first some sang the "Song of the Vine-diggers," others the "Fountain Mavromati," others the "Swallow Song," but by degrees the "Song of the Klepht" gained volume, and by the time they entered the camp again the men were all singing it, and it rang true to the deed they had wrought. And thus they sang:
"Mother, to the Turk
I will not be a slave,
That will I not endure.
Let me take my gun,
Let me be a Klepht,
Dwelling with the beasts
On the hills and rocks;
Snow shall be my coverlet,
Stones shall be my bed.
Weep not, mother; mother, mine,
Pray that many Turks
Bite the dust through me."