CXXII.-FAMILY OF MARCO BOZZARIS. FROM STEVENS. STEVENS was a celebrated American traveler, who visited the family of Marco Bozzaris, which he describes in this extract. His MARCO BOZZARIS was a leader of the Greeks in their revolution. He was killed in battle at Missolonghi, a Greek town, in 1823. last words were, "To die for liberty is a pleasure, not a pain." MUSTAPHA PACHA was leader of the Turkish troops. 1. MOVING on beyond the range of ruined houses, though still within the line of crumbling walls, we came to a spot, perhaps as interesting as any that Greece, in her best days, could show. It was the tomb of Marco Bozzaris! No *monumental marble emblazoned his deeds and fame; a few round stones, piled over his head, which, but for our guide, we should have passed without noticing, were all that marked his grave. 2. I would not disturb a proper reverence for the past. Time covers, with its dim and twilight glories, both distant scenes and the men who acted in them; but to my mind, Miltiades was not more of a hero at Marathon, or Leonidas at Thermopyla, than Marco Bozzaris at Missolonghi. When they went out against the hosts of Persia, Athens and Sparta were great and free, and they had the prospect of glory and the praise of men,-to the Greeks always dearer than life. But when the Suliote chief drew his sword, his country lay bleeding at the feet of a giant, and all Europe condemned the Greek revolution as fool-hardy and desperate. 3. For two months, with but a few hundred men, protected only by a ditch, and a slight parapet of earth, he defended the town, where his body now rests, against the whole Egyptian army. In stormy weather, living upon bad and unwholesome bread, with no covering but his cloak, he passed his days and nights in constant vigil; in every assault his sword cut down the foremost assailant; and his voice, rising above the din of battle, struck terror into the hearts of the enemy. In the struggle which ended with his life, with two thousand men, he proposed to attack the whole army of Mustapha Pacha, and called upon all who were willing to die for their country, to stand forward. 4. The whole band advanced, to a man. Unwilling to sacrifice so many brave men in a death-struggle, he chose three hundred, the sacred number of the Spartan band, his true and trusty Suliotes. At midnight, he placed himself at their head, directing that not a shot should be fired, till he sounded his bugle; and his last command was, "If you lose sight of me, seek me in the *pacha's tent." In the moment of victory, and while ordering the pacha to be seized, he received a ball in the loins; his voice still rose above the din of battle, cheering his men, until he was struck by another ball in the head, and borne dead from the field of his glory. 5. But the most interesting part of our day at Missolonghi was to come. Returning from a ramble round the walls, we noticed a large, square house, which our guide told us was the residence of Constantine, the brother of Marco Bozzaris. We were all interested in this intelligence; and our interest was in no small degree increased, when he added, that the widow and two of the children of the Suliote chief were living with his brother. The house was surrounded by a high stone-wall, a large gate stood invitingly open, and we turned toward it in the hope of catching a glimpse of the inhabitants; but before we reached the gate our interest had increased to such a point, that, after consulting with our guide, we requested him to say, that if it would not be considered an intrusion, three travelers, two of them Americans, would feel honored in being permitted to pay their respects to the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris. 6. We were invited in, and shown into a large room on the right, where three Greeks were sitting cross-legged on a divan, smoking the long Turkish pipe. Soon after, the brother entered, a man about fifty, of middling height, spare built, and wearing a Bavarian uniform, as holding a Colonel's *commission in the service of king Otho. In the dress of the dashing Suliote, he would have better looked the brother of Marco Bozzaris, and I might then more easily have recognized the daring warrior, who, on the field of battle, in a moment of extremity, was deemed, by universal acclamation, worthy of succeeding the fallen hero. Now, the straight, military frock-coat, buttoned tight across the breast, the stock, tight pantaloons, boots, and straps, seemed to repress the free tenergies of the mountain warrior; and I could not but think how awkward it must be, for one who had spent his whole life in a dress which hardly touched him, at fifty, to put on a stock, and straps to his boots. Our guide introduced us, with an apology for our intrusion. The colonel received us with great kindness, thanked us for the honor done his brother's widow, and requested us to be seated, ordering coffee and pipes. 7. And here, on the very first day of our arrival in Greece, and from a source which made us proud, we had the first evidence of what afterward met me at every step, the warm feeling existing in Greece toward America; for almost the first thing that the brother of Marco Bozzaris said, was to express his gratitude as a Greek, for the services rendered his country by our own; and after referring to the provisions sent out for his famishing countrymen, his eye sparkled and his cheek. flushed, as he told us, that when the Greek trevolutionary flag first sailed into the port of Napoli di Romania, among hundreds of vessels of all nations, an American captain was the first to recognize and salute it. 8. In a few moments, the widow of Marco Bozzaris entered. I have often been disappointed in my *preconceived notions of personal appearance, but it was not so with the lady who now stood before me. She looked the widow of a hero; as one worthy of those Grecian mothers, who gave their hair for bow-strings, and their girdles for sword-belts, and while their heart-strings were cracking, sent their young lovers from their arms, to fight and perish for their country. Perhaps it was she that led Marco Bozzaris into the path of timmortality, that roused him from the wild guerrilla warfare in which he had passed his early life, and fired him with the high and holy ambition of freeing his country. Of one thing I am certain: no man could look her in the face, without finding his wavering purposes fixed, without treading more firmly in the path of high and honorable enterprise. She was under forty, tall and stately in person, and habited in deep black, fit emblem of her widowed condition. We all rose as she entered the room; and, though living *secluded, and seldom seeing the face of a stranger, she received our compliments and returned them with far less embarrassment, than we both felt and exhibited. 9. But our embarrassment-at least, I speak for myself— was induced by an unexpected circumstance. Much as I was interested in her appearance, I was not insensible to the fact, that she was accompanied by two young and beautiful girls, who were introduced to us as her daughters. This somewhat bewildered me; for, while waiting for their appearance, and talking with Constantine Bozzaris, I had, in some way, conceived the idea that the daughters were mere children, and had fully made up my mind to take them both on my knee and kiss them; but the appearance of the stately mother recalled me to the grave of Bozzaris; and the daughters would probably have thought that I was taking liberties, upon so short an acquaintance, if I had followed up my benevolent purpose in regard to them; so, with the long pipe in my hand, which at that time, I did not know how to manage well, I can not flatter myself that I exhibited any of the advantages of continental travel. 10. The elder was about sixteen, and even in the opinion of my friend, Dr. W., a cool judge in these matters, a beautiful girl, possessing all the elements of Grecian beauty; a dark, clear complexion; dark hair, set off by a little red cap, embroidered with gold thread, and a long blue tassel hanging down behind; and large black eyes expressing a melancholy quiet, but which might be excited to shoot forth glances of fire more terrible than her father's sword. Happily too, for us, she talked French, having learned it from a French marquis, who had served in Greece, and been domesticated with them; but young, and modest, and unused to the company of strangers, she felt the embarrassment common to young ladies, when attempting to speak a foreign language. And we could not talk to her on common themes. Our lips were sealed, of course, upon the subject which had brought us to her house. We could not sound for her the praises of her gallant father. 11. At parting, however, I told them that the name of Marco Bozzaris was as familiar in America, as that of a hero of our own revolution; and that it had been hallowed by the +inspiration of an American poet; and I added, that if it would not be unacceptable, on my return to my native country, I would send the tribute referred to, as an evidence of the feeling existing in America toward the memory of Marco Bozzaris. My offer was gratefully accepted; and afterward, while in the act of mounting my horse to leave Missolonghi, our guide, who had remained behind, came to me with a message from the widow and her daughters, reminding me of my promise. 12. I make no apology for introducing to the public, the widow and daughters of Marco Bozzaris. True, I was received by them in private, without any expectation, either on their part or mine, that all the particulars of the interview would be noted and laid before the eyes of all who choose to read. I hope it will not be considered *invading the *sanctity of private life; but, at all events, I make no apology; the widow and children of Marco Bozzaris are the property of the world. CXXIII.-MARCO BOZZARIS. FROM HALLECK. 1. Ar midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk lay dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, In dreams, through camp and court, he bore In dreams, his song of triumph heard; As Eden's garden bird. 2. At midnight, in the forest shades, True as the steel of their tried blades, There, had the Persian's thousands stood, And now, there breathed that haunted air, With arms to strike, and soul to dare, As quick, as far as they. |