The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of IndependenceBenson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
History
The Vintage: A Romance of the Greek War of Independence
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
Greece -- History -- War of Independence, 1821-1829 -- Fiction
The next two days Mitsos spent in learning the working of the
fire-ship. Every morning before daybreak Nicholas used to leave the
village and lie hidden in the pine-woods on the hills above, returning
with Mitsos at nightfall. But on the second evening, as they got near
the house, they saw a Turkish soldier in the road, himself on horseback
and holding two other horses. Nicholas stepped quickly out of the
moonlight into the shadow, and beckoned to Mitsos to do the same.
"This means trouble," he said; "I knew it, I knew it. Go you in,
Mitsos, and I will wait in the alder clump by the mill, going out of
the village, for there will be news for you to bring me."
And he stole along in the shadow of the wall until he was out of sight.
Mitsos waited till he was gone, and then walked unconcernedly forward,
whistling the while. At the gate the soldier stopped him.
"Yassak," he said, which means "There is no passing."
Mitsos stared and stood silent a moment, running over in his mind his
small vocabulary of Turkish abuse.
"Ugh! cross-legged one, where is your hat?" he said, rudely and
cheerfully. "But why should I not see my cousin?"
"There is no passing," said the Turk, and with that he drew out his
pistol.
Mitsos hesitated a moment. He was quite willing to rush in and take his
chance of the bullet going wide, for he held the Turks in light esteem
as marksmen since the adventure with Yanni; but he doubted the wisdom
of the scheme, for there were, as the horses showed, at least two more
inside. So he turned on his heel.
"I shall go back home, then," he said. "Shall I find more little men
there saying I may not see my father? Go home, too, my little man, if
you are as wise as you are little, and eat sweets with the women of
your master's harem, and wash your dirty face."
The man answered nothing, for he knew well that to fire a shot in
a village of the Mavromichales was to put his own head into a nest
of hornets that could sting sore. He and the others had entered the
village very quietly after dark so as not to provoke any attention,
and had been fortunate enough to get to Petrobey's house without being
noticed. Mitsos went along quietly enough till he was out of sight, and
then ran as he had never run before to the alder clump where he would
find Nicholas.
"Quick, quick!" he whispered; "tell me what to do. There are Turkish
soldiers at Petrobey's, and they will not let me in. Oh, uncle, this
bodes no good for Yanni! What shall I do?"
"Ah, it is even so!" said Nicholas. "Sit you, Mitsos, and let us think."
For five minutes or so they sat quite silent. At last Nicholas spoke.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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