ere closely pressed by a
throng of wild-looking, dancing, shrieking figures, dressed in strange
attire, and carrying pistols, it was not a little alarming. The fray had
lasted six or seven minutes, and there were no signs of cessation, when
there appeared on the edge of the throng a neatly dressed little man in
spectacles. He made his way within, and rescued us by the simple process
of repeating something that sounded like "La, la, la, _la_! La, la, la,
_la_!" Breathless, freed, we stood, saved, in the square, while our
preserver went back and captured our bags, bringing them out and
depositing them gently, one after the other, on the ground by our side.
We then waited until a handcart, trundled by a petticoated porter,
appeared, when the little man led us quietly to the custom-house near
by, where, after some delay, we obtained our luggage, which was piled
upon the cart. Followed by this cart, we walked across the square to the
hotel. Throughout the whole of this process, which lasted twenty
minutes, the brigands surrounded us in a close, scowling circle that
moved as we moved. When its line drew too near us the little man walked
round the ring--"La, la, la, _la_! La, la, la, _la_!"--and it widened
slightly, but only slightly. We reached refuge at last, and escaped into
a lighted hall. It was a real escape, and the hotel seemed a paradise.
It was not until the next day that we recognized it as a mortal inn,
with the appearance of the well-known tepid soup in the dining-room; but
the coffee was excellent. And this showed that there was a German
influence somewhere in the house; it proved to emanate from our
preserver, who was also the landlord, and an exile from the Rhine. I
think he was homesick. But at least he had learned the dialect of his
temporary abode, and also the way to treat the last remnants of the
pirate and brigand days, as its spirit reappears now and then, though
faintly, among the hangers-on of a Greek port town.

Though I have talked of brigands, for Greece as a whole, for the young
nation, I have but one feeling--namely, admiration. The country,
escaping at last from its bondage to Turkey, after a long and exhausting
war, had everything to do and nothing to do it with. There was no
agriculture, no commerce, no money, and only a small population; there
were no roads, no schools, no industries or trades, and few men of
education. (I quote the words of Mr. Shaw-Lefevre, written in 1891.) The
Greeks have