In Greek Waters: A Story of the Grecian War of Independence

by G. A. Henty

“It would avail if they had pluck,” Horace said bitterly. “The English ships that went out to engage the great galleons of the Spanish Armada were as inferior in tonnage and in weight of metal as the Greeks are; but for all that they gave a good account of them.”

“Yes, Horace; but you must remember that the English sailors had been fighting and thrashing the Spaniards for years before, and had come almost to despise them; while the Greeks have never fought before, have no confidence in themselves, and hold the Turks in high respect.”

“You can’t expect,” the doctor put in, “that bulldogs are going to be manufactured out of mongrels in one generation, Horace. A fighting race grows up little by little. The Greeks fought just as pluckily in the old days, against big odds, as we ever did, and may do it again in time; but they have got to be built up to it.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Mr. Beveridge said. “We keep on forgetting that the Greeks have been slaves, and that slaves lose all their military virtues. It was just the same thing with the Britons. Their valour excited the admiration of Cæsar; but after being under the domination of the Romans for generations, they completely lost all their manhood, and fell easy victims to the Saxons. We must not be too hard on the Greeks, Horace, or expect them to behave as men whose fathers have been free and independent.”

In the evening Miller went ashore with Mr. Beveridge and had a talk with some Philhellenes who had joined the expedition. They all agreed that Miaoulis had manœuvred his ships well, always keeping the weather-gauge of the Turks; but there was no shadow of discipline among the ships, and their fire was as wild and inefficient as that of the Turks, the men loading and firing as quickly as they could, quite regardless of the direction or distance of their shot, the great part of which entered the sea half-way between the combatants.

“Kanaris is here,” they said, “and you will see that he at least will attempt something against the Turks before he is done.”

It was not, however, until fifteen days later that any move was made. Kanaris had paid a visit to the Misericordia, and was greatly struck by the order and discipline that prevailed.

“Our men will not submit to it, Mr. Beveridge. It is in vain to assure them that nothing can be done unless we can introduce discipline such as prevails on ships of war of other nations. Unfortunately they have been accustomed to another state of things. The sailors are always paid by a share in the profits of our voyages, and everyone has a say as to the ports to be visited and the course to be steered. Before any change is made there is always a general council of all on board, and the matter is decided by vote. Such being the habit, you can understand the difficulty of getting these men to submit to anything like discipline. Another thing is, that the ships belong to private persons, and not to the state, although they may receive pay from government. They are therefore very chary of exposing their vessels to the risk of loss, for which, more likely than not, they would never receive a penny from the central government, which has plenty of objects of much greater interest to its members to spend its money upon. Until some total change takes place in the organization and manning of our fleet, I can see no hope of any improvement.”

On the 18th of June two ships got up anchor and sailed. On board the schooner their progress was watched with interest. Kanaris had confided to Mr. Beveridge that the ships were loaded with combustibles, and that he was going to attempt to set fire to the Turkish fleet. The wind was contrary, and the two craft tacked backwards and forwards off the north of Chios as if intending to beat up the Gulf of Smyrna. Four hours after they had started the schooner also got under way, as all were anxious to see what would take place, and Mr. Beveridge had told Kanaris that he would go within a short distance of the Turkish fleet and burn a blue light, so that the boats on leaving the fire-ships could row off to him and be taken back to Psara.

It was the last day of the Ramazan, and a number of the principal officers of the Turkish fleet had been invited by the Capitan Pasha to dine with him on board his flag-ship to celebrate the feast of Bairam. The night was a dark one, but the whole of the Turkish vessels were illuminated in honour of the festival, and their outlines were clearly visible. The Misericordia had entered the northern passage an hour after nightfall; the two Greek ships being, when last seen, about three miles ahead. The schooner lay to a couple of miles distant from the anchorage. They had scarcely done so when they made out the sails of two vessels between them and the lines of light on the Turkish war-ships.