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    Chapter 32

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    Chapter 33
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    Home, again! For the first time, in many weeks, the ship's entire family
    met and shook hands on the quarter-deck. They had gathered from many
    points of the compass and from many lands, but not one was missing; there
    was no tale of sickness or death among the flock to dampen the pleasure
    of the reunion. Once more there was a full audience on deck to listen to
    the sailors' chorus as they got the anchor up, and to wave an adieu to
    the land as we sped away from Naples. The seats were full at dinner
    again, the domino parties were complete, and the life and bustle on the
    upper deck in the fine moonlight at night was like old times--old times
    that had been gone weeks only, but yet they were weeks so crowded with
    incident, adventure and excitement, that they seemed almost like years.
    There was no lack of cheerfulness on board the Quaker City. For once,
    her title was a misnomer.

    At seven in the evening, with the western horizon all golden from the
    sunken sun, and specked with distant ships, the full moon sailing high
    over head, the dark blue of the sea under foot, and a strange sort of
    twilight affected by all these different lights and colors around us and
    about us, we sighted superb Stromboli. With what majesty the monarch
    held his lonely state above the level sea! Distance clothed him in a
    purple gloom, and added a veil of shimmering mist that so softened his
    rugged features that we seemed to see him through a web of silver gauze.
    His torch was out; his fires were smoldering; a tall column of smoke that
    rose up and lost itself in the growing moonlight was all the sign he gave
    that he was a living Autocrat of the Sea and not the spectre of a dead
    one.

    At two in the morning we swept through the Straits of Messina, and so
    bright was the moonlight that Italy on the one hand and Sicily on the
    other seemed almost as distinctly visible as though we looked at them
    from the middle of a street we were traversing. The city of Messina,
    milk-white, and starred and spangled all over with gaslights, was a fairy
    spectacle. A great party of us were on deck smoking and making a noise,
    and waiting to see famous Scylla and Charybdis. And presently the Oracle
    stepped out with his eternal spy-glass and squared himself on the deck
    like another Colossus of Rhodes. It was a surprise to see him abroad at
    such an hour. Nobody supposed he cared anything about an old fable like
    that of Scylla and Charybdis. One of the boys said:

    "Hello, doctor, what are you doing up here at this time of night?--What
    do you want to see this place for?"

    "What do I want to see this place for? Young man, little do you know me,
    or you wouldn't ask such a question. I wish to see all the places that's
    mentioned in the Bible."

    "Stuff--this place isn't mentioned in the Bible."

    "It ain't mentioned in the Bible!--this place ain't--well now, what place
    is this, since you know so much about it?"

    "Why it's Scylla and Charybdis."

    "Scylla and Cha--confound it, I thought it was Sodom and Gomorrah!"

    And he closed up his glass and went below. The above is the ship story.
    Its plausibility is marred a little by the fact that the Oracle was not a
    biblical student, and did not spend much of his time instructing himself
    about Scriptural localities.--They say the Oracle complains, in this hot
    weather, lately, that the only beverage in the ship that is passable, is
    the butter. He did not mean butter, of course, but inasmuch as that
    article remains in a melted state now since we are out of ice, it is fair
    to give him the credit of getting one long word in the right place,
    anyhow, for once in his life. He said, in Rome, that the Pope was a
    noble-looking old man, but he never did think much of his Iliad.

    We spent one pleasant day skirting along the Isles of Greece. They are
    very mountainous. Their prevailing tints are gray and brown, approaching
    to red. Little white villages surrounded by trees, nestle in the valleys
    or roost upon the lofty perpendicular sea-walls.

    We had one fine sunset--a rich carmine flush that suffused the western
    sky and cast a ruddy glow far over the sea.--Fine sunsets seem to be
    rare in this part of the world--or at least, striking ones. They are
    soft, sensuous, lovely--they are exquisite refined, effeminate, but we
    have seen no sunsets here yet like the gorgeous conflagrations that flame
    in the track of the sinking sun in our high northern latitudes.

    But what were sunsets to us, with the wild excitement upon us of
    approaching the most renowned of cities! What cared we for outward
    visions, when Agamemnon, Achilles, and a thousand other heroes of the
    great Past were marching in ghostly procession through our fancies? What
    were sunsets to us, who were about to live and breathe and walk in actual
    Athens; yea, and go far down into the dead centuries and bid in person
    for the slaves, Diogenes and Plato, in the public market-place, or gossip
    with the neighbors about the siege of Troy or the splendid deeds of
    Marathon? We scorned to consider sunsets.

    We arrived, and entered the ancient harbor of the Piraeus at last. We
    dropped anchor within half a mile of the village. Away off, across the
    undulating Plain of Attica, could be seen a little square-topped hill
    with a something on it, which our glasses soon discovered to be the
    ruined edifices of the citadel of the Athenians, and most prominent among
    them loomed the venerable Parthenon. So exquisitely clear and pure is
    this wonderful atmosphere that every column of the noble structure was
    discernible through the telescope, and even the smaller ruins about it
    assumed some semblance of shape. This at a distance of five or six
    miles. In the valley, near the Acropolis, (the square-topped hill before
    spoken of,) Athens itself could be vaguely made out with an ordinary
    lorgnette. Every body was anxious to get ashore and visit these classic
    localities as quickly as possible. No land we had yet seen had aroused
    such universal interest among the passengers.

    But bad news came. The commandant of the Piraeus came in his boat, and
    said we must either depart or else get outside the harbor and remain
    imprisoned in our ship, under rigid quarantine, for eleven days! So we
    took up the anchor and moved outside, to lie a dozen hours or so, taking
    in supplies, and then sail for Constantinople. It was the bitterest
    disappointment we had yet experienced. To lie a whole day in sight of
    the Acropolis, and yet be obliged to go away without visiting Athens!
    Disappointment was hardly a strong enough word to describe the
    circumstances.

    All hands were on deck, all the afternoon, with books and maps and
    glasses, trying to determine which "narrow rocky ridge" was the
    Areopagus, which sloping hill the Pnyx, which elevation the Museum Hill,
    and so on. And we got things confused. Discussion became heated, and
    party spirit ran high. Church members were gazing with emotion upon a
    hill which they said was the one St. Paul preached from, and another
    faction claimed that that hill was Hymettus, and another that it was
    Pentelicon! After all the trouble, we could be certain of only one
    thing--the square-topped hill was the Acropolis, and the grand ruin that
    crowned it was the Parthenon, whose picture we knew in infancy in the
    school books.

    We inquired of every body who came near the ship, whether there were
    guards in the Piraeus, whether they were strict, what the chances were of
    capture should any of us slip ashore, and in case any of us made the
    venture and were caught, what would be probably done to us? The answers
    were discouraging: There was a strong guard or police force; the Piraeus
    was a small town, and any stranger seen in it would surely attract
    attention--capture would be certain. The commandant said the punishment
    would be "heavy;" when asked "how heavy?" he said it would be "very
    severe"--that was all we could get out of him.

    At eleven o'clock at night, when most of the ship's company were abed,
    four of us stole softly ashore in a small boat, a clouded moon favoring
    the enterprise, and started two and two, and far apart, over a low hill,
    intending to go clear around the Piraeus, out of the range of its police.
    Picking our way so stealthily over that rocky, nettle-grown eminence,
    made me feel a good deal as if I were on my way somewhere to steal
    something. My immediate comrade and I talked in an undertone about
    quarantine laws and their penalties, but we found nothing cheering in the
    subject. I was posted. Only a few days before, I was talking with our
    captain, and he mentioned the case of a man who swam ashore from a
    quarantined ship somewhere, and got imprisoned six months for it; and
    when he was in Genoa a few years ago, a captain of a quarantined ship
    went in his boat to a departing ship, which was already outside of the
    harbor, and put a letter on board to be taken to his family, and the
    authorities imprisoned him three months for it, and then conducted him
    and his ship fairly to sea, and warned him never to show himself in that
    port again while he lived. This kind of conversation did no good,
    further than to give a sort of dismal interest to our quarantine-breaking
    expedition, and so we dropped it. We made the entire circuit of the town
    without seeing any body but one man, who stared at us curiously, but said
    nothing, and a dozen persons asleep on the ground before their doors,
    whom we walked among and never woke--but we woke up dogs enough, in all
    conscience--we always had one or two barking at our heels, and several
    times we had as many as ten and twelve at once. They made such a
    preposterous din that persons aboard our ship said they could tell how we
    were progressing for a long time, and where we were, by the barking of
    the dogs. The clouded moon still favored us. When we had made the whole
    circuit, and were passing among the houses on the further side of the
    town, the moon came out splendidly, but we no longer feared the light.
    As we approached a well, near a house, to get a drink, the owner merely
    glanced at us and went within. He left the quiet, slumbering town at our
    mercy. I record it here proudly, that we didn't do any thing to it.

    Seeing no road, we took a tall hill to the left of the distant Acropolis
    for a mark, and steered straight for it over all obstructions, and over a
    little rougher piece of country than exists any where else outside of the
    State of Nevada, perhaps. Part of the way it was covered with small,
    loose stones--we trod on six at a time, and they all rolled. Another
    part of it was dry, loose, newly-ploughed ground. Still another part of
    it was a long stretch of low grape-vines, which were tanglesome and
    troublesome, and which we took to be brambles. The Attic Plain, barring
    the grape-vines, was a barren, desolate, unpoetical waste--I wonder what
    it was in Greece's Age of Glory, five hundred years before Christ?

    In the neighborhood of one o'clock in the morning, when we were heated
    with fast walking and parched with thirst, Denny exclaimed, "Why, these
    weeds are grape-vines!" and in five minutes we had a score of bunches of
    large, white, delicious grapes, and were reaching down for more when a
    dark shape rose mysteriously up out of the shadows beside us and said
    "Ho!" And so we left.

    In ten minutes more we struck into a beautiful road, and unlike some
    others we had stumbled upon at intervals, it led in the right direction.
    We followed it. It was broad, and smooth, and white--handsome and in
    perfect repair, and shaded on both sides for a mile or so with single
    ranks of trees, and also with luxuriant vineyards. Twice we entered and
    stole grapes, and the second time somebody shouted at us from some
    invisible place. Whereupon we left again. We speculated in grapes no
    more on that side of Athens.

    Shortly we came upon an ancient stone aqueduct, built upon arches, and
    from that time forth we had ruins all about us--we were approaching our
    journey's end. We could not see the Acropolis now or the high hill,
    either, and I wanted to follow the road till we were abreast of them, but
    the others overruled me, and we toiled laboriously up the stony hill
    immediately in our front--and from its summit saw another--climbed it and
    saw another! It was an hour of exhausting work. Soon we came upon a row
    of open graves, cut in the solid rock--(for a while one of them served
    Socrates for a prison)--we passed around the shoulder of the hill, and
    the citadel, in all its ruined magnificence, burst upon us! We hurried
    across the ravine and up a winding road, and stood on the old Acropolis,
    with the prodigious walls of the citadel towering above our heads. We
    did not stop to inspect their massive blocks of marble, or measure their
    height, or guess at their extraordinary thickness, but passed at once
    through a great arched passage like a railway tunnel, and went straight
    to the gate that leads to the ancient temples. It was locked! So, after
    all, it seemed that we were not to see the great Parthenon face to face.
    We sat down and held a council of war. Result: the gate was only a
    flimsy structure of wood--we would break it down. It seemed like
    desecration, but then we had traveled far, and our necessities were
    urgent. We could not hunt up guides and keepers--we must be on the ship
    before daylight. So we argued. This was all very fine, but when we came
    to break the gate, we could not do it. We moved around an angle of the
    wall and found a low bastion--eight feet high without--ten or twelve
    within. Denny prepared to scale it, and we got ready to follow. By dint
    of hard scrambling he finally straddled the top, but some loose stones
    crumbled away and fell with a crash into the court within. There was
    instantly a banging of doors and a shout. Denny dropped from the wall in
    a twinkling, and we retreated in disorder to the gate. Xerxes took that
    mighty citadel four hundred and eighty years before Christ, when his five
    millions of soldiers and camp-followers followed him to Greece, and if we
    four Americans could have remained unmolested five minutes longer, we
    would have taken it too.

    The garrison had turned out--four Greeks. We clamored at the gate, and
    they admitted us. [Bribery and corruption.]

    We crossed a large court, entered a great door, and stood upon a pavement
    of purest white marble, deeply worn by footprints. Before us, in the
    flooding moonlight, rose the noblest ruins we had ever looked upon--the
    Propylae; a small Temple of Minerva; the Temple of Hercules, and the
    grand Parthenon. [We got these names from the Greek guide, who didn't
    seem to know more than seven men ought to know.] These edifices were all
    built of the whitest Pentelic marble, but have a pinkish stain upon them
    now. Where any part is broken, however, the fracture looks like fine
    loaf sugar. Six caryatides, or marble women, clad in flowing robes,
    support the portico of the Temple of Hercules, but the porticos and
    colonnades of the other structures are formed of massive Doric and Ionic
    pillars, whose flutings and capitals are still measurably perfect,
    notwithstanding the centuries that have gone over them and the sieges
    they have suffered. The Parthenon, originally, was two hundred and
    twenty-six feet long, one hundred wide, and seventy high, and had two
    rows of great columns, eight in each, at either end, and single rows of
    seventeen each down the sides, and was one of the most graceful and
    beautiful edifices ever erected.

    Most of the Parthenon's imposing columns are still standing, but the roof
    is gone. It was a perfect building two hundred and fifty years ago, when
    a shell dropped into the Venetian magazine stored here, and the explosion
    which followed wrecked and unroofed it. I remember but little about the
    Parthenon, and I have put in one or two facts and figures for the use of
    other people with short memories. Got them from the guide-book.

    As we wandered thoughtfully down the marble-paved length of this stately
    temple, the scene about us was strangely impressive. Here and there, in
    lavish profusion, were gleaming white statues of men and women, propped
    against blocks of marble, some of them armless, some without legs, others
    headless--but all looking mournful in the moonlight, and startlingly
    human! They rose up and confronted the midnight intruder on every side
    --they stared at him with stony eyes from unlooked-for nooks and recesses;
    they peered at him over fragmentary heaps far down the desolate
    corridors; they barred his way in the midst of the broad forum, and
    solemnly pointed with handless arms the way from the sacred fane; and
    through the roofless temple the moon looked down, and banded the floor
    and darkened the scattered fragments and broken statues with the slanting
    shadows of the columns.

    What a world of ruined sculpture was about us! Set up in rows--stacked
    up in piles--scattered broadcast over the wide area of the Acropolis
    --were hundreds of crippled statues of all sizes and of the most exquisite
    workmanship; and vast fragments of marble that once belonged to the
    entablatures, covered with bas-reliefs representing battles and sieges,
    ships of war with three and four tiers of oars, pageants and processions
    --every thing one could think of. History says that the temples of the
    Acropolis were filled with the noblest works of Praxiteles and Phidias,
    and of many a great master in sculpture besides--and surely these elegant
    fragments attest it.

    We walked out into the grass-grown, fragment-strewn court beyond the
    Parthenon. It startled us, every now and then, to see a stony white face
    stare suddenly up at us out of the grass with its dead eyes. The place
    seemed alive with ghosts. I half expected to see the Athenian heroes of
    twenty centuries ago glide out of the shadows and steal into the old
    temple they knew so well and regarded with such boundless pride.

    The full moon was riding high in the cloudless heavens, now. We
    sauntered carelessly and unthinkingly to the edge of the lofty
    battlements of the citadel, and looked down--a vision! And such a
    vision! Athens by moonlight! The prophet that thought the splendors of
    the New Jerusalem were revealed to him, surely saw this instead! It lay
    in the level plain right under our feet--all spread abroad like a
    picture--and we looked down upon it as we might have looked from a
    balloon. We saw no semblance of a street, but every house, every window,
    every clinging vine, every projection was as distinct and sharply marked
    as if the time were noon-day; and yet there was no glare, no glitter,
    nothing harsh or repulsive--the noiseless city was flooded with the
    mellowest light that ever streamed from the moon, and seemed like some
    living creature wrapped in peaceful slumber. On its further side was a
    little temple, whose delicate pillars and ornate front glowed with a rich
    lustre that chained the eye like a spell; and nearer by, the palace of
    the king reared its creamy walls out of the midst of a great garden of
    shrubbery that was flecked all over with a random shower of amber lights
    --a spray of golden sparks that lost their brightness in the glory of the
    moon, and glinted softly upon the sea of dark foliage like the pallid
    stars of the milky-way. Overhead the stately columns, majestic still in
    their ruin--under foot the dreaming city--in the distance the silver sea
    --not on the broad earth is there an other picture half so beautiful!

    As we turned and moved again through the temple, I wished that the
    illustrious men who had sat in it in the remote ages could visit it again
    and reveal themselves to our curious eyes--Plato, Aristotle, Demosthenes,
    Socrates, Phocion, Pythagoras, Euclid, Pindar, Xenophon, Herodotus,
    Praxiteles and Phidias, Zeuxis the painter. What a constellation of
    celebrated names! But more than all, I wished that old Diogenes, groping
    so patiently with his lantern, searching so zealously for one solitary
    honest man in all the world, might meander along and stumble on our
    party. I ought not to say it, may be, but still I suppose he would have
    put out his light.

    We left the Parthenon to keep its watch over old Athens, as it had kept
    it for twenty-three hundred years, and went and stood outside the walls
    of the citadel. In the distance was the ancient, but still almost
    perfect Temple of Theseus, and close by, looking to the west, was the
    Bema, from whence Demosthenes thundered his philippics and fired the
    wavering patriotism of his countrymen. To the right was Mars Hill, where
    the Areopagus sat in ancient times and where St. Paul defined his
    position, and below was the market-place where he "disputed daily" with
    the gossip-loving Athenians. We climbed the stone steps St. Paul
    ascended, and stood in the square-cut place he stood in, and tried to
    recollect the Bible account of the matter--but for certain reasons, I
    could not recall the words. I have found them since:

    "Now while Paul waited for them at Athens, his spirit was stirred in
    him, when he saw the city wholly given up to idolatry. Therefore
    disputed he in the synagogue with the Jews, and with the devout
    persons, and in the market daily with them that met with him.
    * * * * * * * * *
    "And they took him and brought him unto Areopagus, saying, May we
    know what this new doctrine whereof thou speakest is?
    * * * * * * * * *
    "Then Paul stood in the midst of Mars hill, and said, Ye men of
    Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious; For
    as I passed by and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this
    inscription: To THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom, therefore, ye ignorantly
    worship, him declare I unto you."--Acts, ch. xvii."

    It occurred to us, after a while, that if we wanted to get home before
    daylight betrayed us, we had better be moving. So we hurried away. When
    far on our road, we had a parting view of the Parthenon, with the
    moonlight streaming through its open colonnades and touching its capitals
    with silver. As it looked then, solemn, grand, and beautiful it will
    always remain in our memories.

    As we marched along, we began to get over our fears, and ceased to care
    much about quarantine scouts or any body else. We grew bold and
    reckless; and once, in a sudden burst of courage, I even threw a stone at
    a dog. It was a pleasant reflection, though, that I did not hit him,
    because his master might just possibly have been a policeman. Inspired
    by this happy failure, my valor became utterly uncontrollable, and at
    intervals I absolutely whistled, though on a moderate key. But boldness
    breeds boldness, and shortly I plunged into a Vineyard, in the full light
    of the moon, and captured a gallon of superb grapes, not even minding the
    presence of a peasant who rode by on a mule. Denny and Birch followed my
    example.

    Now I had grapes enough for a dozen, but then Jackson was all swollen up
    with courage, too, and he was obliged to enter a vineyard presently. The
    first bunch he seized brought trouble. A frowsy, bearded brigand sprang
    into the road with a shout, and flourished a musket in the light of the
    moon! We sidled toward the Piraeus--not running you understand, but only
    advancing with celerity. The brigand shouted again, but still we
    advanced. It was getting late, and we had no time to fool away on every
    ass that wanted to drivel Greek platitudes to us. We would just as soon
    have talked with him as not if we had not been in a hurry. Presently
    Denny said, "Those fellows are following us!"

    We turned, and, sure enough, there they were--three fantastic pirates
    armed with guns. We slackened our pace to let them come up, and in the
    meantime I got out my cargo of grapes and dropped them firmly but
    reluctantly into the shadows by the wayside. But I was not afraid. I
    only felt that it was not right to steal grapes. And all the more so
    when the owner was around--and not only around, but with his friends
    around also. The villains came up and searched a bundle Dr. Birch had in
    his hand, and scowled upon him when they found it had nothing in it but
    some holy rocks from Mars Hill, and these were not contraband. They
    evidently suspected him of playing some wretched fraud upon them, and
    seemed half inclined to scalp the party. But finally they dismissed us
    with a warning, couched in excellent Greek, I suppose, and dropped
    tranquilly in our wake. When they had gone three hundred yards they
    stopped, and we went on rejoiced. But behold, another armed rascal came
    out of the shadows and took their place, and followed us two hundred
    yards. Then he delivered us over to another miscreant, who emerged from
    some mysterious place, and he in turn to another! For a mile and a half
    our rear was guarded all the while by armed men. I never traveled in so
    much state before in all my life.

    It was a good while after that before we ventured to steal any more
    grapes, and when we did we stirred up another troublesome brigand, and
    then we ceased all further speculation in that line. I suppose that
    fellow that rode by on the mule posted all the sentinels, from Athens to
    the Piraeus, about us.

    Every field on that long route was watched by an armed sentinel, some of
    whom had fallen asleep, no doubt, but were on hand, nevertheless. This
    shows what sort of a country modern Attica is--a community of
    questionable characters. These men were not there to guard their
    possessions against strangers, but against each other; for strangers
    seldom visit Athens and the Piraeus, and when they do, they go in
    daylight, and can buy all the grapes they want for a trifle. The modern
    inhabitants are confiscators and falsifiers of high repute, if gossip
    speaks truly concerning them, and I freely believe it does.

    Just as the earliest tinges of the dawn flushed the eastern sky and
    turned the pillared Parthenon to a broken harp hung in the pearly
    horizon, we closed our thirteenth mile of weary, round-about marching,
    and emerged upon the sea-shore abreast the ships, with our usual escort
    of fifteen hundred Piraean dogs howling at our heels. We hailed a boat
    that was two or three hundred yards from shore, and discovered
    in a moment that it was a police-boat on the lookout for any
    quarantine-breakers that might chance to be abroad. So we dodged--we
    were used to that by this time--and when the scouts reached the spot we
    had so lately occupied, we were absent. They cruised along the shore,
    but in the wrong direction, and shortly our own boat issued from the
    gloom and took us aboard. They had heard our signal on the ship. We
    rowed noiselessly away, and before the police-boat came in sight again,
    we were safe at home once more.

    Four more of our passengers were anxious to visit Athens, and started
    half an hour after we returned; but they had not been ashore five minutes
    till the police discovered and chased them so hotly that they barely
    escaped to their boat again, and that was all. They pursued the
    enterprise no further.

    We set sail for Constantinople to-day, but some of us little care for
    that. We have seen all there was to see in the old city that had its
    birth sixteen hundred years before Christ was born, and was an old town
    before the foundations of Troy were laid--and saw it in its most
    attractive aspect. Wherefore, why should we worry?

    Two other passengers ran the blockade successfully last night. So we
    learned this morning. They slipped away so quietly that they were not
    missed from the ship for several hours. They had the hardihood to march
    into the Piraeus in the early dusk and hire a carriage. They ran some
    danger of adding two or three months' imprisonment to the other novelties
    of their Holy Land Pleasure Excursion. I admire "cheek."--[Quotation
    from the Pilgrims.]--But they went and came safely, and never walked a
    step.
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