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
Tall and beautiful she came slowly on till her whole length appeared
opposite the ambush. Her decks and rigging were alive with the sailors,
who were swarming over the masts and furling sail, or stood ready to
drop the anchor on the word of command. On the bridge stood the captain
with two other officers, and, marshalled in rows on the aft deck,
about two hundred soldiers, carrying arms. Simultaneously through the
ambushed Greeks the same thought ran, "The soldiers first," and as the
great ship glided steadily past the end of the breakwater the fire of a
hundred men broke out, and they went down like ninepins. The ship moved
on, and, like the echo of the first volley, a second swept the decks,
and close on the second a third. The captain fell and two officers
with him, and a panic seized the crew. They ran hither and thither,
some seeking refuge below, some jumping overboard, some standing where
they were, wide-eyed and terror-stricken. A few of the soldiers only
retained their presence of mind, and with perfect calmness, as if they
were practising at some sham-fight, brought a gun into position and
proceeded to load it. But again and again they were mowed down by the
deadly short-range fire of the Greeks, while others took up the ramrods
and charge from their clinched hands, only to deliver it up from their
death-grip to others. But still the great ship went on, running the
gauntlet of the whole ambush, while every moment its decks grew more
populous with a ghastly crew of death. The well-directed and low fire
of the Greeks had left the half-furled sails untouched, and the wind
still blew steadily. But in a few moments more there were none left to
take the helm, and, swinging round to the wind, she changed her course
and went straight for the low, sandy beach on the other side of the
harbor. There, fifty yards off the shore, she grounded heavily, with a
slight list to starboard, striking a sand-bank on the port side; and
there, all the afternoon, she stood, white and stately, with sails
bulging with the wind, but moving not, like some painted or phantom
ship with wings that feel not wind nor any gale.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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