Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 335, September 1843

France now thought fit to enter on the field. According to the invariable principle of modern French diplomacy, she made no definite proposition either to the Greeks or the European powers; but she sent semi-official agents into the country, who made great promises to the Greeks if they would choose the Duke de Nemours, the second son of the Duke d'Orleans, now King Louis Philippe, to be sovereign of Greece. The Greeks had seen something too substantial on the part of Russia and England to follow this Gallic will-o'-the-wisp. But England and Russia, in order to brush all the cobwebs of French intrigue from a question which appeared to them too important to be dealt with any longer by unauthorized agents, signed a protocol at St Petersburg on the 4th April 1826, engaging to use their good offices with the Sultan to put an end to the war. The Duke of Wellington himself negotiated the signature of this protocol, and it is one of the numerous services he has rendered to his country and to Europe, as the Greek question threatened to disturb the peace of the East. France, as well as Austria, refused to join, until it became evident that the two powers were taking active measures to carry their decisions into effect, when France gave in her adhesion, and the treaty of the 6th of July 1827, was signed at London by France, Great Britain, and Russia.

Events soon ran away with calculations. The Turkish fleet was destroyed at Navarino on the 20th October 1827, the anniversary (if we may trust Mitford's History of Greece) of the battle of Salamis. France now embarked in the cause, determined to outbid her allies, and sent an expedition to the Morea, under Marshal Maison, to drive out the troops of Ibrahim Pasha. Capo d'Istria assumed the absolute direction of political affairs, and by his Russian partizanship and anti-Anglican prejudices, plunged Greece in a new revolution, when his personal oppression of the family of Mauromichalis caused his assassination. King Otho was then selected as king of Greece, and the consent of the Greeks was obtained to his appointment by a loan to the new monarch of £.2,400,000 sterling, and by a good deal of intrigue and intimidation at the assembly of Pronia.²² The Greeks, however, had already solemnly informed the allied powers, that the acts of their national assemblies, consolidating the institutions of the Greek state, and by securing the liberties of the Greek people, "were as precious to Greece as her existence itself;" and the protecting powers had consecrated their engagement to support these institutions, by annexing this declaration to their protocol of the 22d March 1830.²³

The three allied powers have not displayed more union in their councils, since the selection of King Otho, than they did before his appointment. In one thing alone they have been unanimous; but unfortunately this has been to forget their engagements to the Greek people, to see that the institutions and liberties of Greece were to be respected. England and France have, however, displayed at times some compunction on the subject; but, unluckily for the Greeks, their consciences did not prick them at the same moment. At one time the Duke de Broglie proposed that Greece should be reinstated in the enjoyment of her free institutions, but Lord Palmerston declared, that, her government being very anti-Russian at the time, institutions and liberty were a mere secondary matter, and he did not think the Greeks required such luxuries. Times, however, changed, and King Otho, displaying considerably more affection for Russia than for England—England conceived it necessary to propose, at one of the conferences in London on the affairs of Greece, that the Greeks should be called, in virtue of their national institutions, to exercise a control over the lavish and injudicious expenditure of the revenues of the kingdom by the royal government. But Russia and France, though admitting the incapacity of the king's government, declared that they considered it better to send commissioners named by the protecting powers, to control his Hellenic majesty's expenses. Russia, indeed, distinctly declared she would not allow the constitutional question to be discussed in the conferences at the Foreign Office, and Lord Palmerston, with unusual meekness, submitted. France, every ready to play a great game in small matters, really sent a commissioner to Greece, to control King Otho's expenses; but his Hellenic majesty soon gave proofs of how grievously the Morning Chronicle had mistaken his abilities. He gave the French commissioner a few dinners, a large star, and a good place at all court pageants in which he could display the uniform of Louis Philippe to advantage, and thereby made the commissioner the same as one of his own ministers. England and Russia kept aloof in stern disapprobation of this paltry comedy.

The last farthing of the loan has now been expended, and the protecting powers have intimated to King Otho, in very strong terns, that he must immediately commence paying the interest and sinking fund, due in terms of the treaty which placed the crown of Greece on his head. The whole burden of this payment, of course, falls on the Greek people, who, we have already shown, have suffered enough from the government of King Otho, without this aggravation of their misery. Is it, we ask, just that the Greeks should be compelled to pay sums expended on decorations to European statesmen, pensions to Bavarian ministers, staff appointments to French engineer officers, and ambassadors at foreign courts, when they never were allowed even to express their conviction of the folly of these measures, except by the public press? The truth is, that the loan was wasted, and the amount now to be repaid by Greece was very considerably increased by the allied powers themselves, who neglected to enforce the provisions of the very treaty they now call upon the Greeks to execute, though not a party to it. King Otho borrowed largely from Bavaria, as well as from the protecting powers—he was at liberty to do so without the allies attempting to interfere. But he was not entitled to repay any part of this loan from the revenues of Greece, until the claims of the protecting powers were satisfied. So says the treaty.

The allies were bound, also, to restrict the auxiliary corps of Bavarians to 3000 men; yet they allowed King Otho to assemble round his person, at one time, upwards of 6000 Bavarian troops, and a very great number of civil officers and forest guards. The King of Bavaria, when he was anxious to secure the throne for his son, promised "that limited furloughs should be granted to Bavarian officers, and their pay continued to them. This," says his Majesty, "will greatly relieve the Greek treasury, by providing for the service of the state officers of experience, possessing their own means of subsistence without any charge upon the country." Now, the allies knew that every Bavarian officer who put his foot in Greece, received the pay of a higher rank than he previously held in Bavaria from the Greek treasury. Is it, then, an equal application of the principles of justice to king and people, to compel the Greeks to pay for the violation of the King of Bavaria's engagement?²⁴

We believe that there now remains only one assertion which we have ventured to make, which we have not yet proved. We repeat it, and shall proceed to state our proofs. We say that Greece, if equitably treated, is not bankrupt, but on the contrary she possesses resources amply sufficient to discharge all just claims on her revenues, to maintain order in the country, and to defend her institutions. We shall draw our proof from the budget of King Otho for the present year, as this statement was laid before the allied powers to excite their compassion, and show them the absolute impossibility of King Otho paying his debts.

The revenues of Greece are stated at 14,407,795 drachmas: and we may here remark, that last year, when his Hellenic majesty expected to persuade the allies to desist from pressing their claims, he stated the revenues of his

Under the following heads:—

The expenses of the Greek government which have been imposed on the country by the protecting powers, but never yet approved of by the Greek nation, are as follows:—

It seems that the allies have made a very liberal allowance to King Otho. The monarch and his council of state cost more than the whole civil administration of the country, and almost as much as the Greek navy.

We humbly conceive that a court of equity would strike out the Bavarian loan as illegally contracted, and forming a private debt between the two monarchs of Bavaria and Greece—that it would diminish the claim of the protecting powers, by expunging all those sums which have been spent among themselves or on strangers, with their consent—that it would reduce the civil list of the king and the council of state to 500,000 drachmas—and that it would order the immediate convocation of a national assembly, in order to take measures for improving the revenues of the country.

If the allied powers will form themselves into this court of equity, and follow the course we have suggested, we have no doubt that in a very short period no kingdom in Europe will have its finances in a more flourishing condition than Greece.

* * * * *

A SKETCH IN THE TROPICS

FROM A SUPERCARGO'S LOG

It was on a November morning of the year 1816, and about half an hour before daybreak, that the door of an obscure house in the Calle St Agostino, at the Havannah, was cautiously opened, and a man put out his head, and gazed up and down the street as if to assure himself that no one was near. All was silence and solitude at that early hour, and presently the door opening wider gave egress to a young man muffled in a shabby cloak, who, with hurried but stealthy step, took the direction of the port. Hastening noiselessly through the deserted streets and lanes, he soon reached the quay, upon which were numerous storehouses of sugar and other merchandize, and piles of dye-woods, placed there in readiness for shipment. Upon approaching one of the latter, the young man gave a low whistle, and the next instant a figure glided from between two huge heaps of logwood, and seizing his hand, drew him into the hiding-place from which it had just emerged.

A quarter of an hour elapsed, and the first faint tinge of day just began to appear, when the noise of oars was heard, and presently in the grey light a boat was seen darting out of the mist that hung over the water. As it neared the quay, the two men left their place of concealment, and one of them, pointing to the person who sat in the stern of the boat, pressed his companion's hand, and hurrying away, soon disappeared amid the labyrinth of goods and warehouses.

The boat came up to the stairs. Of the three persons it contained, two sailors, who had been rowing, remained in it; the third, whose dress and appearance were those of the master of a merchant vessel, sprang on shore, and walked in the direction of the town. As he passed before the logwood, the stranger stepped out and accosted him.

The seaman's first movement, and not an unnatural one, considering he was at the Havannah and the day not yet broken, was to half draw his cutlass from its scabbard, but the next moment he let it drop back again. The appearance of the person who addressed him was, if not very prepossessing, at least not much calculated to inspire alarm. He was a young man of handsome and even noble countenance, but pale and sickly-looking, and having the appearance of one bowed down by sorrow and illness.

"Are you the captain of the Philadelphia schooner that is on the point of sailing?" enquired he in a trembling, anxious voice.

The seaman looked hard in the young man's face, and answered in the affirmative. The stranger's eye sparkled.

"Can I have a passage for myself, a friend, and two children?" demanded he.

The sailor hesitated before he replied, and again scanned his interlocutor from head to foot with his keen grey eyes. There was something inconsistent, not to say suspicious, in the whole appearance of the stranger. His cloak was stained and shabby, and his words humble; but there was a fire in his eye that flashed forth seemingly in spite of himself, and his voice had that particular tone which the habit of command alone gives. The result of the sailor's scrutiny was apparently unfavourable, and he shook his head negatively. The young man gasped for breath, and drew a well-filled purse from his bosom.

"I will pay beforehand," said he, "I will pay whatever you ask."

The American started; the contrast was too great between the heavy purse and large offers and the beggarly exterior of the applicant. He shook his head more decidedly than before. The stranger bit his lip till the blood came, his breast heaved, his whole manner was that of one who abandons himself to despair. The sailor felt a touch of compassion.

"Young man," said he in Spanish, "you are no merchant. What do you want at Philadelphia?"

"I want to go to Philadelphia. Here is my passage money, here my pass. You are captain of the schooner. What do you require more?"

There was a wild vehemence in the tone and manner in which these words were spoken, that indisposed the seaman still more against his would-be passenger. Again he shook his head, and was about to pass on. The young man seized his arm.

"Por el amor de Dios, Capitan, take me with you. Take my unhappy wife and my poor children."

"Wife and children!" repeated the captain. "Have you a wife and children?"

The stranger groaned.

"You have committed no crime? you are not flying from the arm of justice?" asked the American sharply.

"So may God help me, no crime whatever have I committed," replied the young man, raising his hand towards heaven.

"In that case I will take you. Keep your money till you are on board. In an hour at furthest I weigh anchor."

The stranger answered nothing, but as if relieved from some dreadful anxiety, drew a deep breath, and with a grateful look to heaven, hurried from the spot.

When Captain Ready, of the smart-sailing Baltimore-built schooner, "The Speedy Tom," returned on board his vessel, and descended into the cabin, he was met by his new passenger, on whose arm was hanging a lady of dazzling beauty and grace. She was very plainly dressed, as were also two beautiful children who accompanied her; but their clothes were of the finest materials, and the elegance of their appearance contrasted strangely with the rags and wretchedness of their husband and father. Lying on a chest, however, Captain Ready saw a pelisse and two children's cloaks of the shabbiest description, and which the new-comers had evidently just taken off.

The seaman's suspicions returned at all this disguise and mystery, and a doubt again arose in his mind as to the propriety of taking passengers who came on board under such equivocal circumstances. A feeling of compassion, however, added to the graceful manners and sweet voice of the lady, decided him to persevere in his original intention; and politely requesting her to make herself at home in the cabin, he returned on deck. Ten minutes later the anchor was weighed, and the schooner in motion.

The sun had risen and dissipated the morning mist. Some distance astern of the now fast-advancing schooner rose the streets and houses of the Havannah, and the forest of masts occupying its port; to the right frowned the castle of the Molo, whose threatening embrasures the vessel was rapidly approaching. The husband and wife stood upon the cabin stairs, gazing, with breathless anxiety, at the fortress.

As the schooner arrived opposite the castle, a small postern leading out upon the jetty was opened, and an officer and six soldiers issued forth. Four men, who had been lying on their oars in a boat at the jetty stairs, sprang up.

The soldiers jumped in, and the rowers pulled in the direction of the schooner.

"Jesus Maria y José!" exclaimed the lady.

"Madre de Dios!" groaned her husband.

At this moment the fort made a signal.

"Up with the helm!" shouted Captain Ready.

The schooner rounded to; the boat came flying over the water, and in a few moments was alongside. The soldiers and their commander stepped on board.

The latter was a very young man, possessed of a true Spanish countenance—grave and stern. In few words he desired the captain to produce his ship's papers, and parade his seamen and passengers. The papers were handed to him without an observation; he glanced his eye over them, inspected the sailors one after the other, and then looked in the direction of the passengers, who at length came on deck, the stranger carrying one of the children and his wife the other. The Spanish officer started.

"Do you know that you have a state-criminal on board?" thundered he to the captain. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Santa Virgen!" exclaimed the lady, and fell fainting into her husband's arms. There was a moment's deep silence. All present seemed touched by the misfortunes of this youthful pair. The young officer sprang to the assistance of the husband, and relieving him of the child, enabled him to give his attention to his wife, whom he laid gently down upon the deck.

"I am grieved at the necessity," said the officer, "but you must return with me."

The American captain, who had been contemplating this scene apparently quite unmoved, now ejected from his mouth a huge quid of tobacco, replaced it by another, and then stepping up to the officer, touched him on the arm, and offered him the pass he had received from his passengers. The Spaniard waved him back almost with disgust. There was, in fact, something very unpleasant in the apathy and indifference with which the Yankee contemplated the scene of despair and misery before him. Such cold-bloodedness appeared premature and unnatural in a man who could not yet have seen more than five-and-twenty summers. A close observer, however, would have remarked that the muscles of his face were beginning to be agitated by a slight convulsive twitching, when, at that moment, his mate stepped up to him and whispered something. Approaching the Spaniard for the second time, Ready invited him to partake of a slight refreshment in his cabin, a courtesy which it is usual for the captains of merchant vessels to pay to the visiting officer. The Spaniard accepted, and they went below.

The steward was busy covering the cabin table with plates of Boston crackers, olives, and almonds, and he then uncorked a bottle of fine old Madeira that looked like liquid gold as it gurgled into the glasses. Captain Ready seemed quite a different person in the cabin and on deck. Throwing aside his dry say-little manner, he was good-humour and civility personified, as he lavished on his guest all those obliging attentions which no one better knows the use of than a Yankee when he wishes to administer a dose of what he would call "soft sawder." Ready soon persuaded the officer of his entire guiltlessness in the unpleasant affair that had just occurred, and the Spaniard told him by no means to make himself uneasy, that the pass had been given for another person, and that the prisoner was a man of great importance, whom he considered himself excessively lucky to have been able to recapture.

Most Spaniards like a glass of Madeira, particularly when olives serve as the whet. The American's wine was first-rate, and the other seemed to find himself particularly comfortable in the cabin. He did not forget, however, to desire that the prisoner's baggage might be placed in the boat, and, with a courteous apology for leaving him a moment, Captain Ready hastened to give the necessary orders.

When the captain reached the deck, a heart-rending scene presented itself to him. His unfortunate passenger was seated on one of the hatchways, despair legibly written on his pale features. The eldest child had climbed up on his knee, and looked wistfully into its father's face, and his wife hung round his neck sobbing audibly. A young negress, who had come on board with them, held the other child, an infant a few months old, in her arms. Ready took the prisoner's hand.

"I hate tyranny," said he, "as every American must. Had you confided your position to me a few hours sooner, I would have got you safe off. But now I see nothing to be done. We are under the cannon of the fort, that could sink us in ten seconds. Who and what are you? Say quickly, for time is precious."

"I am a Columbian by birth," replied the young man, "an officer in the patriot army. I was taken prisoner at the battle of Cachiri, and brought to the Havannah with several companions in misfortune. My wife and children were allowed to follow me, for the Spaniards were not sorry to have one of the first families of Columbia entirely in their power. Four months I lay in a frightful dungeon, with rats and venomous reptiles for my only companions. It is a miracle that I am still alive. Out of seven hundred prisoners, but a handful of emaciated objects remain to testify to the barbarous cruelty of our captors. A fortnight back they took me out of my prison, a mere skeleton, in order to preserve my life, and quartered me in a house in the city. Two days ago, however, I heard that I was to return to the dungeon. It was my death-warrant, for I was convinced I could not live another week in that frightful cell. A true friend, in spite of the danger, and by dint of gold, procured me a pass that had belonged to a Spaniard dead of the yellow fever. By means of that paper, and by your assistance, we trusted to escape. Capitan!" said the young man, starting to his feet, and clasping Ready's hand, his hollow sunken eye gleaming wildly as he spoke, "my only hope is in you. If you give me up I am a dead man, for I have sworn to perish rather than return to the miseries of my prison. I fear not death—I am a soldier; but alas for my poor wife, my helpless, deserted children!"

The Yankee captain passed his hand across his forehead with the air of a man who is puzzled, then turned away without a word, and walked to the other end of the vessel. Giving a glance upwards and around him that seemed to take in the appearance of the sky, and the probabilities of good or bad weather, he ordered some of the sailors to bring the luggage of the passenger upon deck, but not to put it into the boat. He told the steward to give the soldiers and boatmen a couple of bottles of rum, and then, after whispering for a few seconds in the ear of his mate, he approached the cabin stairs. As he passed the Columbian family, he said in a low voice, and without looking at them,

"Trust in him who helps when need is at the greatest."

Scarcely had he uttered the words, when the Spanish officer sprang up the cabin stairs, and as soon as he saw the prisoners, ordered them into the boat. Ready, however, interfered, and begged him to allow his unfortunate passenger to take a farewell glass before he left the vessel. To this young officer good naturedly consented, and himself led the way into the cabin.

They took their places at the table, and the captain opened a fresh bottle, at the very first glass of which the Spaniard's eye glistened, his lips smacked. The conversation became more and more lively; Ready spoke Spanish fluently, and gave proof of a jovialty which no one would have suspected to form a part of his character, dry and saturnine as his manner usually was. A quarter of an hour or more had passed in this way, when the schooner gave a sudden lurch, and the glasses and bottles jingled and clattered together on the table. The Spaniard started up.

"Captain!" cried he furiously, "the schooner is sailing!"

"Certainly," replied the captain, very coolly. "You surely did not expect, Señor, that we were going to miss the finest breeze that ever filled a sail."

Without answering, the officer rushed upon deck, and looked in the direction of the Molo. They had left the fort full two miles behind them. The Spaniard literally foamed at the mouth.

"Soldiers!" vociferated he, "seize the captain and the prisoners. We are betrayed. And you, steersman, put about."

And betrayed they assuredly were; for while the officer had been quaffing his Madeira, and the soldiers and boatmen regaling themselves with the steward's rum, sail had been made on the vessel without noise or bustle, and, favoured by the breeze, she was rapidly increasing her distance from land. Meantime Ready preserved the utmost composure.

"Betrayed!" repeated he, replying to the vehement ejaculation of the Spaniard. "Thank God we are Americans, and have no trust to break, nothing to betray. As to this prisoner of yours, however, he must remain here."

"Here!" sneered the Spaniard—"We'll soon see about that you treacherous"—

"Here," quietly interrupted the captain. "Do not give yourself needless trouble, Señor; your soldiers' guns are, as you perceive, in our hands, and my six sailors well provided with pistols and cutlasses. We are more than a match for your ten, and at the first suspicious movement you make, we fire on you."

The officer looked around, and became speechless when he beheld the soldiers' muskets piled upon the deck, and guarded by two well armed and determined-looking sailors.

"You would not dare"—exclaimed he.

"Indeed would I," replied Ready; "but I hope you will not force me to it. You must remain a few hours longer my guest, and then you can return to port in your boat. You will get off with a month's arrest, and as compensation, you will have the satisfaction of having delivered a brave enemy from despair and death."

The officer ground his teeth together, but even yet he did not give up all hopes of getting out of the scrape. Resistance was evidently out of the question, his men's muskets being in the power of the Americans who, with cocked pistols and naked cutlasses, stood on guard over them. The soldiers themselves did not seem very full of fight, and the boatmen were negroes, and consequently non-combatants. But there were several trincadores and armed cutters cruising about, and if he could manage to hail or make a signal to one of them, the schooner would be brought to, and the tables turned. He gazed earnestly at a sloop that just then crossed them at no great distance, staggering in towards the harbour under press of sail. The American seemed to read his thoughts.

"Do me the honour, Señor," said be, "to partake of a slight dejeuner-à-la fourchette in the cabin. We will also hope for the pleasure of your company at dinner. Supper you will probably eat at home."

And so saying, he motioned courteously towards the cabin stairs. The Spaniard looked in the seaman's face, and read in its decided expression, and in the slight smile of intelligence that played upon it, that he must not hope either to resist or outwit his polite but peremptory entertainer. So, making a virtue of necessity, he descended into the cabin.

The joy of the refugees at finding themselves thus unexpectedly rescued from the captivity they so much dreaded, may be more easily imagined than described. They remained for some time without uttering a word; but the tears of the lady, and the looks of heartfelt gratitude of her husband were the best thanks they could offer their deliverer.

On went the schooner; fainter and fainter grew the outline of the land, till at length it sank under the horizon, and nothing was visible but the castle of the Molo and the topmasts of the vessels riding at anchor off the Havannah. They were twenty miles from land, far enough for the safety of the fugitive, and as far as it was prudent for those to come who had to return to port in an open boat. Ready's good-humour and hearty hospitality had reconciled him with the Spaniard, who seemed to have forgotten the trick that had been played him, and the punishment he would incur for having allowed himself to be entrapped. He shook the captain's hand as he stepped over the side, the negroes dipped their oars into the water, and in a short time the boat was seen from the schooner as a mere speck upon the vast expanse of ocean.

The voyage was prosperous, and in eleven days the vessel reached its destination. The Columbian officer, his wife and children, were received with the utmost kindness and hospitality by the young and handsome wife of Captain Ready, in whose house they took up their quarters. They remained there two months, living in the most retired manner, with the double object of economizing their scanty resources, and of avoiding the notice of the Philadelphians, who at that time viewed the patriots of Southern America with no very favourable eye. The insurrection against the Spaniards had injured the commerce between the United States and the Spanish colonies, and the purely mercantile and lucre-loving spirit of the Philadelphians made them look with dislike on any persons or circumstances who caused a diminution of their trade and profits.

At the expiration of the above-mentioned time, an opportunity offered of a vessel going to Marguerite, then the headquarters of the patriots, and the place where the first expeditions were formed under Bolivar against the Spaniards. Estoval (that was the name by which the Columbian officer was designated in his passport) gladly seized the opportunity, and taking a grateful and affectionate leave of his deliverer, embarked with his wife and children. They had been several days at sea before they remembered that they had forgotten to tell their American friends their real name. The latter had never enquired it, and the Estovals being accustomed to address one another by their Christian names, it had never been mentioned.