We went back to the hotel, and, ordering dinner, spent the time till it was ready in the reading-room. There were no London papers, of course, of Saturday’s date, but there were plenty of French and Italian. Most of them had a paragraph about us and our doings, very guardedly expressed. None of them went further than merely saying there had been an audacious attempt at robbery in the rooms at Monte Carlo on Friday night, and much excitement in consequence; but without exception they hastened to add that all connected with it were in the hands of the police, tranquillity reigned, and play was going on as usual. Teddy and I pointed each other out the paragraphs as we found them, and chuckled over them amazingly.
Over the voyage I draw a veil; enough that it was exceedingly rough and uncomfortable, and we were both very unwell, as somehow one always is if one has to go second class. My only consolation lay in occasionally seeing an extremely good-looking Italian stewardess, who looked in on us every now and then, and sympathetically said “Male?” I never answered her; I don’t know a word of Italian, and I couldn’t have said it if I had; but it was something occasionally to see her fine, serious, handsome face, shining in over our deathliness like a star.
At Corfu we managed to drag ourselves ashore for a couple of hours, and mooned about arm-in-arm, in unsteady rapture at the warmth and sunshine. At the hotel where we lunched we found the English papers. One of them (that hebetated old ——, I think it was) had “Extraordinary Story from Monte Carlo” among its foreign intelligence—just a few lines, to say an attempt had been made by some Americans to raid the rooms, that it had been completely frustrated, so far as plunder was concerned, but the desperadoes had got clear away in a yacht known as the Saratoga. And that, so far as I could ever afterwards learn, was the only reference to our affair in the whole of the English press.
As for the New York Guardian, they declared the thieves were all English, many of them well-known in New York, where the season before they had masqueraded as peers and peers’ sons, and some of them nearly succeeded in marrying prominent and wealthy society young ladies. Really, when one happens to be a little behind the scenes, one is amazed at the pompous inaccuracy of much of the information in the newspapers. But, on the whole, I thought it wisest not to write and attempt to put them straight.
On the Wednesday morning, early, we reached Patras, and were in Athens soon after six. We drove up to the best hotel, but there was no news whatever of the yacht. We had been so unwell, for after leaving Corfu it again became fearfully rough, we looked more disreputable than ever. It was no time, however, to be scrupulous, and I carried matters with such a high hand, and was so dissatisfied and overbearing, we soon got rooms, dined, and went to bed. I have always noticed, by-the-way, that if you are rude and give yourself airs of importance, even without luggage, you can generally get what you want in the way of accommodation. Most people think you wouldn’t swagger or be insolent unless you were really somebody, and either get out of the way and let you take what you want, or give it you, bent double with obsequiousness. But, then, most people are fools. So Teddy and I got two of the best bedrooms, after totally refusing others, and slept in them with great comfort and soundness; though all the money we had between us was seven francs fifty.
Next morning, soon after breakfast, we went up to the Acropolis. From my school-days I knew it commanded a fine view, and hoped from thence soon to descry the Amaranth.
’Οιμοι! there wasn’t a sign of her. We could look right down into the harbor of the Piræus, three or four miles away, and the only occupants were a Greek man-of-war and a couple of trading brigs. To comfort Teddy, I pointed him out various famous islands—Salamis and Aegina, and so forth—telling him such stories from Greek history as I could remember, or partially invent. In the Acropolis itself, wandering among the splendid and touching ruins, there wasn’t a soul but a dirty man, with large patches on his knees, gathering snails.
“He follows the footsteps of Pericles, of Alcibiades, and of Solon,” I said, “and from their dim traces he gathers snails for soup. Such, my dear Teddy,” I added, tranquilly, “is all the history he knows. To him the Acropolis is nothing but a hunting-ground for snails.”
“You’re talking exactly like Mr. Barlow!” replied Teddy, with a dissatisfied snort.
In the afternoon we again set out for the Acropolis. At the bottom of the sacred ascent a couple of carriages were waiting.