On another part of the
gulf stand the ruins of Nicopolis, built by Augustus in honour of his
victory. Last night I was at a Greek marriage; but this and a thousand
things more I have neither time nor space to describe.
"I am going to-morrow, with a guard of fifty men, to Patras in the
Morea, and thence to Athens, where I shall winter. Two days ago I was
nearly lost in a Turkish ship of war, owing to the ignorance of the
captain and crew, though the storm was not violent. Fletcher yelled
after his wife, the Greeks called on all the saints, the Mussulmans on
Alla; the captain burst into tears and ran below deck, telling us to
call on God; the sails were split, the main-yard shivered, the wind
blowing fresh, the night setting in, and all our chance was to make
Corfu, which is in possession of the French, or (as Fletcher
pathetically termed it) 'a watery grave.' I did what I could to
console Fletcher, but finding him incorrigible, wrapped myself up in
my Albanian capote (an immense cloak), and lay down on deck to wait
the worst.[129] I have learnt to philosophise in my travels, and if I
had not, complaint was useless. Luckily the wind abated and only drove
us on the coast of Suli, on the main land, where we landed, and
proceeded, by the help of the natives, to Prevesa again; but I shall
not trust Turkish sailors in future, though the Pacha had ordered one
of his own galliots to take me to Patras. I am therefore going as far
as Missolonghi by land, and there have only to cross a small gulf to
get to Patras.
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