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
"For it is already evening with them," he cried, "and when the day
dawns night shall have swallowed them, and they will awake no more. Do
you know what is the strongest feeling that ever grips a man's heart?
No, not love, nor yet fear, but revenge. And if you had suffered as I
have suffered you would know what it is to be filled with one thought
only--to see blood in the sunrise and blood in the setting of the sun;
to feel that you have ceased to be a man and have become a sword. That
is what I am, and the hand that holds me is the right hand of God. And
by me He will smite and spare not. And when there are no more to smite,
perhaps I shall become a man again, and live to see peace and plenty
bless a free people. But of that I know nothing, and I do not greatly
care. Come, now, what answer do you give me?"
Nicholas rose to his feet; the other had risen too, and they faced each
other. There was something in the earnestness and intensity of this man
with one idea which could not but be felt, for enthusiasm is the one
fact that cannot be gainsaid, a noble disease in which contagion ever
makes infection. And his companion felt it.
"Tell me more," he said, eagerly; "but wait a moment--here is the wind."
He hurried aft to give orders to the men. Far away on the polished
surface of the water behind them, smooth and shining as a sealskin,
a line had appeared as if the fur had been stroked the wrong way. In
a couple of minutes the men were busy with the ropes, and two stood
ready to slacken the sheets of the heavy square sail if the squall was
violent, and one stood at the tiller, for some cross-current had turned
the boat round, and it would be necessary to put about. Meantime the
rough line had crept nearer, and behind it they could see the tops of
little waves cut off by the wind and blown about in spray. A couple of
men had put out the long sweep-oars, and were tugging hurriedly at them
to get the head of the boat straight before the wind before it struck
them. But they were not in time; the wind came down with a scream,
the boat heeled over till the leeward gunwale touched the water, and
the mast bent; then, and with a perfect precision, the sheets were
slackened for a moment to let her right herself; and, braced again, she
began to make way, and in a few seconds they were scudding straight
down the gulf almost directly before the wind, till, with their
increasing speed, it seemed to die down again. The water all round them
was broken up into an infinite number of little green foam-embroidered
wave troughs, through which, at the pace they were going, they moved as
quietly as a skater over smooth ice.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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