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. 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.