In character they are not over-trustworthy, and they have the reputation of being ready to turn to piracy whenever it will pay better than honest work. In times past their reputation was worse than at present, and they were at one period the terror of Oriental waters. Steam cruisers put an end to their piracy, as it has to that of many enterprising mariners elsewhere.
In our first evening in Syra we saw a couple of fights, but they possessed no interest, as the disputants were separated before they had time to disembowel each other. Two of the descendants of Homer and Ulysses were drunk in the café; under ordinary circumstances they would have been allowed to stay there, but the proprietor felt himself honored by our visit, and determined to eject his friends and regular patrons. He informed them that they had been sent for, and as the night was dark he would allow one of the waiters to escort them. They fell into the trap, and were quietly taken out, and the waiter returned after walking a couple of blocks and leaving them in a low drinking shop where they wished to slake their thirst. The whole business was managed very adroitly, and showed how much better it is for a head bar-keeper to tell a lie than to indulge in brute violence, in which he might break some of his furniture.
On this evening we did nothing in the sight-seeing line beyond the visit to the café and the public square, the journey to Old Syra being made on our return from Greece. We returned about nine o’clock to the quay, and were taken on board the Stamboul, which had her steam up for departure. Half-a-dozen other steamers were in port, and there were thirty or more sailing ships, so that the harbor presented a reasonably lively appearance. The terraces of lights in the town and extending to and through Old Syra had a curious effect, and made the city resemble an illuminated mountain. The light-houses, which mark the entrance of the harbor, were each sending out a clear flame, the rain had ceased, and the stars were beaming clear and distinct in the sky.
Although in the harbor, the steamer was pitching and rolling about, and we had experienced a very lively tossing on our way from shore to ship. A regular vent du diable was blowing outside, and things indicated that we should have all we wanted when we got into it and were plowing our way towards the Piraeus.
Half a dozen passengers were sitting at the cabin table and contemplating a bottle of Scotch whisky, which they discussed in a polyglot of languages. Two who were drunk imagined themselves sober, and two who were sober, imagined themselves drunk, so that there was a very mixed condition of things. Smoking was forbidden in the cabin, but as there was only one lady passenger, and she had retired, and moreover belonged to our party, and had a smoking husband, we lighted cigars and made ourselves comfortable before going to bed.
Just as I entered my bunk I heard the anchor chain coming in, and soon we were out on the open waters. We went along nicely for a while, till we had passed the shelter of the Island of Syros and then we caught it. Our course lay between the islands of Thermia and Zea, in the direction of Cape Sunium, which forms the extremity of the Peninsula of Attica.
All night long we tossed, and the timbers of the ship creaked so that you couldn’t hear yourself snore. Sometimes we didn’t make two miles an hour, and I could hear the other passengers, in momentary intervals of creaking, groaning and falling to pieces in the agonies of mal-de-mer. In the morning the captain said it was one of the roughest nights he had ever known in those waters. “Had I not felt,” said he, “the greatest confidence in my ship, and known that she was perfectly staunch and strong, I should have turned back after passing the Island of Syra, and learning the strength of the wind.”
And yet the Stamboul was an old tub, with a quarter of a century on her head, and barnacles on her bottom.. Let no one despise an old tub hereafter. I would give more now for the one in which Dionysius—no it was Diogenes—used to live, than for the best modern article of the same sort from the hands of the most skillful cooper that breathes, as I could sell it for more money.
When I went on deck in the morning Mount Olympus was in sight, and we could see the classic shores of Greece (expression claimed as original and secured by two patents). They were not over-cheerful in appearance, but the leaden sky, and the cold wind that was then blowing, had doubtless much to do with their aspect. Mount Olympus was less lofty than I expected to find it, and greatly disappointed me, but I felt better afterwards, when I learned that the real mountain chain which bears that name, is on the Morean peninsula and between Thessaly and Macedonia. The mountain which was pointed out to me was a small affair opposite to Mount Keratia; between the two is a small village called Olympus, and inhabited by a few Greeks, and a great many fleas.
Next we saw a long mountain with a wooded summit, and were told it was Mount Hymettus of history. This was something like a mountain and it stretched away in a ridge toward the north, where Pentelicus lay in the dim distance. In a little while we saw a sharp conical hill that marked the position of Athens, and for a short time we had the Acropolis in sight. The shore of Greece, as we skirted it, had a rough and rather barren appearance, and seemed to be indented with many small bays. Not a ship, not a fishing boat even, was in sight, and our steamer appeared to have everything to herself. Certainly our first view of Greece was not calculated to inspire us with enthusiasm.