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

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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?[H]

[Footnote H: The paper from which we have quoted the above passage, is
printed as an annex to the protocol appointing King Otho, in the
Parliamentary papers.]

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

kingdom at ... 17,834,000
The national expenses only amount to ... 11,735,546

Under the following heads:--

Drachmas.
Foreign Affairs, 394,712
Justice, 904,902
Interior, 1,073,182
Religion and Education, 651,658
War Department, 5,255,804
Navy, 1,404,465
Finances, 486,600
Expenses of managing the Revenue, which, in
all preceding years, has been a part of the
expenses of the Finance Department, 1,564,222
Another section of Finance Department, 60,000
----------
Making a total of 11,735,546

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:--

Drachmas.
Interest and sinking fund of debt due to the three
protecting powers, debt to Bavaria, and pensions, 4,703,232
Civil list of King Otho, 1,209,064
----------
5,912,296

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 Jose!_" 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,
Senor, 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, Senor; 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, Senor," said be, "to partake of a slight _dejeuner-a-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.

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