Incidents of Travel in the Russian and Turkish Empires

Preface

. THE Incidents of Travel now presented to the Public precede, in point of time, the Author's Tour in Egypt, Arabia Petræa, and the Holy Land. He has reason to believe that part of his route, particularly from the Black Sea to the Baltic, through the interior of Russia, and from St. Petersburgh through the interior of Poland to Warsaw and Cracow, is comparatively new. As in his Rrst work, his object has been to present a picture of the every-day scenes which occur to the traveller in the countries referred to, rather than any detailed description of the coun triesthemselves. Nov. 1838. CONTENTS or THE FIRST VOLUME.

Chapter I

A Hurricane. — An Adventure. — Missolonghi. — Siege of Missolonghi. — Byron. — Marco Bozzaris. — Visit ;to the Widow, Daughters, and Brother of Bozzaris. — Halleck's " Marco Bozzaris" ...... Page I

Chapter II

Choice of a Servant. — A Turnout. — An Evening Chat. — Scenery of the Road. — Lepanto. — A projected Visit. — Change ot Purpose. — Padras. — Vostitza. — Variety and Magnificence of Scenery . . . . . .17 CHAPTER HI. Quarrel with the Landlord. — Ægma — Sicyon. — Corinth. — A distinguished Reception. — Desolation of Corinth. — The Acropolis. — View from the Acropolis. — Lechæum and Cenchreæ. — Kaka Scala. — Arrival at Athens. . . 36

Chapter IV

American Missionary School. — Visit to the School. — Mr. Hill and the Male Department. — Mrs. Hill and the Female Department. — Maid of Athens. — Letter from Mr. Hill. — Revival of Athens. — Citizens of the World. VI CONTENTS.

Chapter V

Ruins of Athens.— Hill of Mars.— Temple of the Winds.— Lantern of Demosthenes.— Arch of Adrian.— Temple of Jupiter Olympus —Temple of Theseus.— The Acropolis.— The Parthenon.— Pentelican Mountain.— Mount Hymettus — The Piræus.— Greek Fleas.— Napoli . - Page 65

Chapter VI

Argos.— Parting and Farewell.— Tomb of Agamemnon.— My. cenæ. — Gate ofthe Lyons. — A Misfortune — Meeting in the Mountains. — A Landlord's Troubles. — A Midnight Quarrel.— One good Turn deserves another. — Gtatitude of a Greek Family. — Megara. — The Soldiers' Revel . . 94

Chapter VII

A Dreary Funeral. — Marathon. — Mount Pentelicas. — A Mystery. — Woes of a Lover. — Reveries of Glory. — Scio's Rocky Isle. — A blood-stained Page of History. — A Greek Prelate. — Desolation.— The Exile's Return . . .118

Chapter VIII

A Noble Grecian Lady. — Beauty of Scio. — An Original.— Foggi.— A Turkish Coffee-house. — Mussulman at Prayers.— Easter Sunday.— A Greek Priest. — A Tartar Guide.— Turkish Ladies.— Camef Scenes. — Sight of a Harem. — Disappointed Hopes. — A rare Concert. — Arrival at Smyrna . 155

Chapter XII

Mr. Churchill. — Commodore Porter. — Castle of the Seven Towers. — The Sultan's Naval Architect. — Launch of the Great Ship. — Sultan Mahmoud. — Jubilate. — A National Grievance. — Visit to a Mosque. — The Burial-grounds. 218

Chapter XIII

Visit to the Slave-market. — Horrors of Slavery. — Departure from Stamboul. — The stormy Euxine. — Odessa. — The Lazaretto. — Russian Civility. — Returning Good for Evil . 236

Chapter XIV

The Guardiano. — One too many. — An excess of Kindness. — The last Day of Quarantine.— Mi. Baguet. — Rise of Odessa. —City-making. — Count Woronzow. — A Gentleman Farmer. — An American Russian .... IN GREECE, TURKEY, RUSSIA, & POLAND

Chapter I

A Hurricane. — An Adventure. — Missolonghi. — Siege of Missolonghi — Byron. — Marco Bozzaris. — Visit to the WidoW; Daughters, and Brother of Bozzaris. ON the evening of the — February, 1835, by a bright starlight, after a short ramble among the Ionian Islands, I sailed from Zante, in a beautiful cutter of about forty tons, for Padras. My companions were Doctor W., an old and valued friend from New York, who was going to Greece merely to visit the Episcopal missionary school at Athens, and a young Scotchman, who had travelled with me through Italy, and was going farther, Hke myself, he knew not exactly why. There was hardly a breath of air when we left the harbour, but a breath was enough to RH our Httle sail. The wind, though of the gentlest, was fair; and as we crawled from under the lee of the island, in a short time it became a Hne sailing breeze.

We sat on the deck till a late hour, and turned in with every prospect of being at Padras in the morning. Before daylight, however, the wind chopped about, and set in VOL. t. B dead a-head, and when I went on deck in the morning it was blowing a hurricane. We had passed the point of Padras ; the wind was driving down the Gulf of Corinth, as if old Æolus had determined on thwarting our purpose ; and our little cutter, dancing like a gull upon the angry waters, was driven into the harbour of Missolonghi. The town was full in sight, but at such a distance, and the waves were running so high, that we could not reach it with our small boat. A long Rat extends several miles into the sea, making the harbour completely inaccessible, ex cept to small Greek caiques, built expressly for such navigation.

We remained on board all day ; and the next morning, the gale still continuing, made signals to a Rshing-boat to come off and take us ashore. In a short time she came along side ; we bade farewell to our captain — an Italian, and a noble fellow, cradled, and, as he said, born to die on the Adriatic — and in a few minutes struck the soil of fallen but immortal Greece. Our manner of striking it, however, was not such as to call forth any of the warm emotions struggling in the breast of the scholar, for we were literally stuck in the mud. We were yet four or Rve miles from the shore, and the water was so low that the Rshing-boat, with the addi tionalweight of four men and luggage, could not swim clear. Our boatmen were two long, sinewy Greeks, with the red tarbouch, embroidered jacket, sash, and large trousers, and with their long poles set us through the water with pro digious force ; but, as soon as the boat struck, MISSOLONGHI. they jumped out, and, putting their brawny shoulders under her sides, heaved her through into better water, and then resumed their poles.

In this way they propelled her two or three miles, working alternately with their poles and shoulders, until they got her into a channel, when they hoisted the sail, laid directly for the harbour, and drove upon the beach with canvas all Hying. During the late Greek revolution, Missolonghi was the great debarking-place of European ad venturers ; and, probably, among all the despe radoes who ever landed there, none were more destitute and in better condition to " go a-head " than I ; for I had all that I was worth on mv back. At one of the Ionian Islands I had lost my carpet-bag, containing my note-book, and every article of wearing apparel except the suit in which I stood. Every condition, however, has its advantages; mine put me above porters and custom-house ofHcers ; and while my companions were busy with these plagues of travellers, I paced, with great satisfaction, the shore of Greece, though I am obliged to confess that this satis factionwas for reasons utterly disconnected with any recollections of her ancient glories.

Business before pleasure : one of our Rrst inquiries was for a breakfast. Perhaps, if we had seen a monument, or solitary column, or ruin of any kind, it would have inspired us to better things ; but there was nothing, absolutely nothing, that could recal an image of the past. Besides, we did not expect to land at Missolonghi, and were not bound to be inspired at a place into which we B.3 were thrown by accident ; and, more than all, a drizzling rain was penetrating to our very bones ; we were wet and cold, and what can men do in the way of sentiment when their teeth are chat tering? The town stands upon a Rat, marshy plain, which extends several miles along the shore. The whole was a mass of new-made ruins — of houses demolished and black with smoke — the tokens of savage and desolating war.

In front, and running directly along the shore, was a long street of miserable one-story shantees, run up since the destruction of the old town, and so near the shore that sometimes it is washed by the sea, and at the time of our landing it was wet and muddy from the rain. It was a cheerless place, and reminded me of Communipaw in bad weather. It had no connexion with the ancient glory of Greece, no name or place on her historic page, and no hotel where we could get a breakfast ; but one ofthe ofHcers of the customs conducted us to a shantee Riled with Bavarian soldiers drinking. There was a sort of second story, accessible only by a ladder; and one end of this was partitioned off with boards, but had neither bench, table, nor any other article of house keeping. We had been on and almost *./. the water since daylight, exposed to a keen wind and drizzling rain, and now, at eleven o'clock, could probably have eaten several chickens a-piece ; but nothing came amiss, and, as we could not get chickens, we took eggs, which, for lack of any vessel to boil them in, were roasted.

We placed a huge loaf of bread on the middle ofthe Roor, SIEGE OF MISSOLONGHI. 5 and seated ourselves around it, spreading out so as to keep the eggs from rolling away, and each hewing oH* bread for himself. Fortunately, the Greeks have learned from their quondam Turkish masters the art of making coffee, and a cup of this Eastern cordial kept our dry bread from choking us. When we came out again the aspect of matters was more cheerful ; the long street was swarming with Greeks, many of them armed with pistols and yataghan, but miserably poor in appearance, and in such numbers that not half of them could Rnd the shelter of a roof at night. We were ac costed by one dressed in a hat and frock-coat, and who, in occasional visits to Corfu and Trieste, had picked up some Italian and French, and a suit of European clothes, and was rather looked up to by his untravelled countrymen.

Asa mart of the world, who had received civilities abroad, he seemed to consider it incumbent upon him to reciprocate at home, and, with the tacit consent of all around, he undertook to do the honours of Missolonghi. If, as a Greek, he had any national pride about him, he was imposing upon himself a severe task; for all that he could do was to conduct us among ruins, and, as he went along, tell us the story of the bloody siege which had reduced the place to its present woful state. For more than a year, under unparalleled hardships, its brave garrison resisted the combined strength of the Turkish and Egyptian armies, and when all hope was gone, resolved to cut their way through the enemy or die in the attempt. Many of the aged and sick, the wounded and the women, refused tojoin in the sortie, and preferred to shut themselves up in an old-mill, with the desperate purpose of re sistinguntilthey should bring around them a large crowd of Turks, when they would blow all up to gether.

An old invalid soldier seated himself in a mine under the Bastion Bozzaris (the ruins of which we saw), the mine being charged with thirty kegs of gunpowder ; the last sacrament was administered by the bishop and priests to the whole population, and, at a signal, the besieged made their desperate sortie. One body dashed through the Turkish ranks, and, with many women and children, gained the mountains; but the rest were driven back. Many of the women ran to the sea and plunged in with their children ; husbands stabbed their wives with their own hands to save them from the Turks, and the old soldier under the bastion set Rre to the train, and the remnant of the heroic garrison buried them selvesunder the ruins of Missolonghi. Among them were thirteen foreigners, of whom only one escaped. One of the most distinguished was Meyer, a young Swiss, who entered as a volunteer at the beginning of the revolution,be came attached to a beautiful Missolonghiote girl, married her, and, when the Rnal sortie was made, his wife being sick, he remained with her, and was blown up with the others.

A letter written a few days before his death, and brought away by one who escaped in the sortie, records the condition of the garrison. " A wound which I have received in my shoul der, while I am in daily expectation of one which BYRON will be my passport to eternity, has prevented me till now from bidding you a last adieu. We are reduced to feed upon the most disgusting animals. We are suffering horribly with hunger and thirst. Sickness adds much to the calamities which over whelm us. Seventeen hundred and forty of our brothers are dead ; more than a Hundred thousand bombs and balls, thrown by the enemy, have destroyed our bastions and our homes. We have been terribly distressed by the cold, for we have suffered great want of food. Notwithstanding so many privations, it is a great and noble spectacle to behold the ardour and dcvotedness of the garrison.

A few days more, and these brave men will be angelic spirits, who will accuse before God the indifference of Christendom. In the name of all our brave men, among whom are Notho Boz zaris, * * * I announce to you the resolution, sworn to before Heaven, to defend, foot by foot, the land of Missolonghi, and to bury ourselves, without listening to any capitulation, under the ruins of this city. We are drawing near our Rnal hour. History will render us justice. I am proud to think that the blood of a Swiss, of a child of William Tell, is about to mingle with that of the heroes of Greece." But Missolonghi is a subject of stillgreaterin terestthan this, for the reader will remember it as the place where Byron died. Almost the Rrst questions I asked were about the poet, and it added to the dreary interest which the place in spired,tolistento the manner in which the Greeks spoke of him.

It might be thought that here, on the spot where he breathed his last, malignity would have held her accursed tongue ; but it was not so. He had committed the fault,unpardona ble in the eyes of political opponents, of attach ing himself to one of the great parties that then divided Greece ; and though he had given her all that man could give, in his own dying words, " his time, his means, his health, and, lastly, his life," the Greeks spoke of him with all the ran cour and bitterness of party spirit. Even death had not won oblivion for his political offences; and I heard those who saw him die in her cause afHrm that Byron was no friend to Greece. His body, the reader will remember, was transported to England and interred in the family sepulchre. The church where it lay in state is a heap of ruins, and there is no stone or monument recording his death ; but, wishing to see some memorial connected with his residence here, we followed our guide to the house in which he died.

It was a large square building of stone ; one of the walls still standing, black with smoke, the rest a confused and shapeless mass of ruins. After his death it was converted into a iiospital and magazine ; and, when the Turks entered the city, they set Rre to the powder; the sick and dying were blown into the air, and we saw the ruins lying as they fell after the explosion. It was a melancholy spectacle, but it seemed to have a sort of moral Rtness with the life and fortunes of the poet. It was as if the same wild destiny, the same wreck of hopes and fortunes that attended him through life, were hovering over his grave. Living and dead, his actions and his character have been the subject of obloquy MARCO BOZZARIS. and reproach, perhaps justly; but it would have softened the heart of his bitterest enemy to see the place in which he died.

It was in this house that, on his last birthday, he came from his bedroom and produced to his friends the last notes of his dying muse, breath ing a spirit of sad foreboding and melancholy recollections; of devotion to the noble cause in which he had embarked, and a prophetic con sciousness of his approaching end. " My days are in the yellow leaf, The flowers and fruits of love are gone ; The worm, the canker, and the grief Are mine alone. If thou regret'st thy youth, mAy .i'pe ? The land of honourable death Is here : up to the held, and give Away thy breath ! " Seek out — less often sought than found — A soldier's grave, for thee the best ; Then look around, and choose thy ground, And take thy rest." Moving on beyond the range of ruined houses, though still within the line of crumbling walls, we came to a spot perhaps as interesting as any that Greece in her best days could show.

It was the tomb of Marco Bozzaris ! No monumental marble emblazoned his deeds and fame ; a few round stones piled over his head, which but for our guide, we should have passed without noticing, were all that marked his grave. I would not disturb a proper reverence for the past : time covers with its dim and twilight glories both distant scenes and the B3 men who acted in them, but, to my mind, Miltia des was not more of a hero at Marathon, or Leo nidas at Thermopylæ, than Marco Bozzaris at Missolonghi. When they went out against the hosts of Persia, Athens and Sparta were great and free, and they had the prospect of g-ory and the praise of men, to the Greeks always dearer than life. But when the Suliote chief drew his sword, his country lay bleeding at the feet of a giant, and all Europe condemned the Greek revolution as foolhardy and desperate.

For two months, with but a few hundred men, protected only by a ditch and slight parapet of earth, he defended the town where his body now rests against the whole Egyptian army. In stormy weather, living upon bad and unwholesome bread, with no coveting but his cloak, he passed his days and nights in constant vigil ; in every assault his sword cut down the foremost assailant, and his voice, rising above the din of battle, struck terror into the hearts of the enemy. In the struggle which ended with his life, with two thousand men be proposed to attack the whole army of Musta pha Pacha, and called upon all who were willing to die for their country to stand forward. The whole band advanced to a man. Unwilling to sacriHce so many brave men in a death-struggle, he chose three hundred, the sacred number ofthe Spartan band, his tried and trusty Suliotes.

At midnight he placed himself at their head, directing that not a shot should be Rred till he sounded his bugle; and his last command was, "If you lose sight of me, seek me in the pacha's tent." In the moment of victory he ordered the pacha to be MARCO BOZZARIS. seized, and received a ball in the loins; his voice still rose above the din of battle, cheering his men until he was struck by another ball in the head, and borne dead from the Reid of his glory. Not far from the grave of Bozzaris was a pyra mid of sculls, of men who had fallen in the last attack upon the city, piled up near the blackened and battered wall w hich they had died in defend ing. In my after wanderings I learned to look more carelessly upon these things; and, perhaps, noticing everywhere the light estimation put upon human Hfe in the East, learned to think more lightly of it myself; but, then, it was melancholy to see bleaching in the sun, under the eyes of their countrymen, the unburied bones of men who, but a little while ago, stood with swords in their hands, and animated by the noble resolution to free their country or die in the attempt.

Our guide told us that they had all been collected in that place with a view to sepulture; and that King Otho, as soon as he became of age and took the government in his own hands, intended to erect a monument over them. In the meantime, they are at the mercy of every passing traveller ; and the only remark that our guide made was a comment upon the force and unerring precision of the blow of the Turkish sabre, almost every scull being laid open on the side nearly down to the ear. But the most interesting part of our day at Missolonghi was to come. Returning from a ramble round the walls, we noticed a large square house, which, our guide told us, was the residence of Constantine, the brother of Marco Bozzaris. We were all interested in this intelligence, and our interest was in no small degree increased when he added that the widow and two of the children of the Suliote chief were living with his brother.

The house was surrounded by a high stone wall, a large gate stood most invitingly wide open, and we turned toward it in the hope of catch ing a glimpse of the inhabitants ; but, before we reached the gate, our interest had increased to such a point that, after consulting with our guide, we requested him to say that, if it would not be considered an intrusion, three travellers, two of them Americans, would feel honoured in being permitted to pay their respects to the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris. We were invited in, and shown into a large room on the right, where three Greeks were sit ting cross-legged on a divan, smoking the long Turkish chibouk. Soon after the brother entered, a man about Rfty, of middling height, spare built, and wearing a Bavarian uniform, as holding a colonel's commission in the service of King Otho.

In the dress of the dashing Suliote he would have better looked the brother of Marco Bozzaris, and I might then more easily have recognised the daring warrior who, on the Reid of hattle, in a moment of extremity, was deemed by universal acclamation, worthy of succeeding the fallen hero. Now the straight military frockcoat, buttoned tight across the breast, the stock, tight panta loons, boots and straps, seemed to repress the free energies of the mountain warrior; and I could not but think how awkward it must be for one who had spent al! his Hfe in a dress which BROTHER AND FAMILY OF MARCO BOZZARIS. hardly touched him, at Rfty to put on a stock, and straps to his boots. Our guide introduced us with an apology for our intrusion. The colonel received us with great kindness, thanked us for the honour done his brother's widow, and re questing us to be seated, ordered coffee and pipes.

And here, on the very Rrst day of our arrival in Greece, and from a source which made us proud, we had the Rrst evidence of what after ward met me at every step, the warm feeling ex isting in Greece toward America ; for almost the Rrst thing that the brother of Marco Bozzaris said was to express his gratitude as a Greek for the services rendered his country by our own ; and, after referring to the provisions sent out for his famishing countrymen, his eyes sparkled and his cheek Rushed as he told us that, when the Greek revolutionary Rag Rrst sailed into the port of Napoli di Romania, among hundreds of vessels of all nations, an American captain was the Rrst to recognise and salute it. In a few moments the widow of Marco Bozzaris entered. I have often been disappointed in my -preconceived notions of personal appearance, but it was not so with the lady who now stood before me ; she looked the widow of a hero ; as one of her Grecian mothers, who gave their hair for bowstrings, their girdle for a sword-belt, and, while their heart-strings were cracking, sent their young lovers from their arms to Hght and perish for their country.

Perhaps it was she that led Marco Bozzaris into the path of immortality ; that roused him from the wild guerilla warfare in which be had passed his early Hfe, and Rred him with the high and holy ambition of freeing his country. Of one thing I am certain, no man could look in her face without Rnding his waver ing purposes Rxed, without treading more Rrmly in the path of high and honourable enterprise. She was under forty, tall and stately in person, and habited in deep black, Rt emblem of her wi dowed condition, with a white handkerchief laid Hat over her head, giving the Madonna cast to her dark eyes and marble complexion. We all rose as she entered the room : and though living secluded, and seldom seeing the face of a stranger,she received our compliments and returned them with far less embarrassment than we both felt and exhibited.

But our embarrassment, at least I speak for myself, was induced by an unexpected circum stance. Much as I was interested in her appearance, I was not insensible to the fact that she was accompanied by two young and beautiful girls, who were introduced to us as her daughters. This somewhat bewildered me. While waiting for their appearance, and talking with Constantine Bozzaris, I had in some way conceived the idea that the daughters were mere children, and had fully made up my mind to take them both on my knee and kiss them ; but the appearance of the stately mother recalled me to the grave of Boz zaris; and the daughters would probably have thought that I was taking liberties upon so short an acquaintance if I had followed up my bene volentpurpose in regard to them ; so that, with the long pipe in my hand, which, at that time, WIDOW AND DAUGHTERS OF BOZZARIS. 15 I did not know how to manage well, I cannot Ratter myself that I exhibited any of the beneRt of continental travel.

The elder was about sixteen, and even in the opinion of my friend Doctor W., a cool judge in these matters, a beautiful girl, possessing in its fullest extent all the elements of Grecian beauty : a dark, clear complexion, dark hair, set off by a Httle red cap embroidered with gold thread, and a long blue tassel hanging down behind, and large black eyes, expressing a me lancholy quiet, but which might be excited to shoot forth glances of Rre more terrible than her father's sword. Happily, too, for us, she talked French, having learned it from a French marquis who had served in Greece and been domesticated with them ; but young and modest, and unused to the company of strangers, she felt the embarrassment common to young ladies when attempting to speak a foreign language. And we could not talk to her on common themes.

Our lips were sealed, of course, upon the sub ject which had brought us to her house. We could not sound for her the praises of her gallant father. At parting, however, I told them that the name of Marco Bozzaris was as familiar in America as that of a hero of our own revolution, and that it had been hallowed by the inspiration of an American poet ; and I added that, if it would not be unacceptable, on my return to my native country I would send the tribute referred to, as an evidence of the feeling existing in America toward the memory of Marco Bozzaris. My offer was gratefully accepted; and afterward, while in the act of mounting my horse to leave Missolonghi, our guide, who had remained be hind, came to me with a message from the widow and daughters reminding me of my promise. I do not see that there is any objection to my mentioning that I wrote to a friend, requesting him to procure Halleck's " Marco Bozzaris," and send it to my banker at Paris.

My friend, thinking to enhance its value, applied to Mr. Hal leck for a copy in his own handwriting. Mr. Halleck, with his characteristic modesty, evaded the application ; and on my return home I told him the story of my visit, and reiterated the same request. He evaded me as he had done mv friend, but promised me a copy of the new edition of his poems, which he afterward gave me, and which, I hope, is now in the hands of the widow and daughters of the Grecian hero. I make no apology for introducing in a book the widow and daughters of Marco Bozzaris. True, I was received by them in private, without any expectation, either on their part or mine, that all the particulars of the interview would be noted and laid before the eyes of all who choose to read. I hope it will not be considered in vading the sanctity of private Hfe ; but, at all events, I make no apology ; the widow and chil dren of Marco Bozzaris are the property of the world.