The Autobiography of a Journalist, Volume II | Page 7

overrun
by rats, and where we should have to pass two weeks dependent on the
enterprise of the Corfiotes for our subsistence. The yacht was accepted,
and came to an anchor off the marina, two or three hundred yards from
the quay, and we transshipped at once, as the steamer continued her
voyage. The putting us in quarantine was a monstrous injustice. We
came from a clean port, on a steamer which had not for several months
touched at a foul port; but the panic was such amongst the people that
there was no reasoning with them. We had not lain a day at the
anchorage when the fright of the Corfiotes at our proximity, as great as
if we had the plague on board, caused a popular demonstration against
us, and the health-officer coming off in a boat ordered us from a
distance to move off to the lazaretto island. I replied that if he was
prepared to come and weigh the anchor and navigate us there he might
do so, but that no one of the yacht's people should touch the anchor,
and on that I stood firm; and, as no one dared come in contact with the
yacht in contumacy, there we remained. The panic on shore increased
to such a point that Woodley and the health-officer had a quiet
consultation, and it was agreed to give us pratique immediately. We
went that night to the hotel, and the question was forgotten by the next
day. The Corfiotes are certainly the most cowardly people I have ever
known, and in later years we had other evidence of the fact; but, as they
disclaim Hellenic descent, and boast Phoenician blood, this does not
impeach the Greek at large.
We left Corfu by the steamer of the Hellenic Navigation Company on
the eve of the Greek Christmas, my family being the only passengers,
and without the captain of the steamer, who pretended illness, in order
to be able to enjoy the festa with his family; the command being taken
by the mate, a sailor of limited experience in those waters. The
engineers were English or Scotch, the chief being one of the Blairs.

What with the Christmas festivities and the customary dawdling, we
did not sail till 10 P.M., instead of at 10 A.M., and, to make up for the
delay, the commander _pro tem._ made a straight course for the port of
Argostoli in Cephalonia, our next stopping place. We made the island
about 10 A.M. of the next morning, and were well in towards the shore
when we were caught by one of the sudden southwesterly gales which
are the terror of the Mediterranean, and more dangerous than a
full-grown Atlantic gale. The cliffs to the north of Argostoli were in
sight, looming sheer rock above the sea line, and the wind, rapidly
increasing, blew directly on shore, bringing with it a quick, sharp sea,
and getting up before long a cross sea by the repercussion from the
cliffs, so that in the complicated tumult of waters the old, heavy paddle
steamer rolled and pitched like a log, the water pouring over the
bulwarks with every roll either way. Soon, what with the wind and the
sea, she made nothing but leeway. They put her head to the wind, and
we soon found that even to hold her own was more than she could do,
while our port lay ten miles away dead on the beam, and the cliffs dead
astern.
The plunging and rolling of the ship made it impossible to stand or
walk on deck, and I sent Laura and the children to their stateroom and
to bed, lest they break their bones. The wind, a whistling gale, cut off
the caps of the waves and filled the air with a dense spray, and the main
deck was all afloat. There were no orders heard, none given, nothing
but the monotonous beat of the paddles and the roar of the wind, and
the crew were all under shelter, for it was no longer a question of
seamanship, but of steam-power; only the commander pacing the
bridge to and fro, like a polar hear in a cage, and the engineers
changing their watch, broke the monotony of the merciless blue day,
for, except a little flying scud, the sky was as blue as on a summer day.
I walked aft to the engineers' mess-room, on the upper deck, and found
Blair and the two assistants off duty, seated round the table, not eating,
but mute, with their elbows on the table and their heads in their hands,
looking each other in the face in grim silence. We had made friends on
leaving Corfu, and were on easy terms, so that, as I entered and no one
spoke