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dc.contributor.authorRouse, William Henry Denham
dc.coverage.spatialΆδηλου τόπου
dc.date.accessioned2016-01-15T11:06:48Z
dc.date.available2016-01-15T11:06:48Z
dc.date.issued1906
dc.identifier.urihttp://hdl.handle.net/20.500.11853/292659
dc.languageΑγγλική
dc.language.isoeng
dc.rightsΑναφορά Δημιουργού-Μη Εμπορική Χρήση-Όχι Παράγωγα Έργα 4.0 Διεθνές
dc.rights.urihttps://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-nd/4.0/deed.el
dc.titleMy skipper was down by the old harbor of Gos, waiting, like Mr Micawber, for something to turn up. I turned up, and took to the old man at once because he was so ragged. He wore what once had been a pair of trousers, above it the relics of a frock – coat, and a waistcoat without buttons; on his head was fez bleached by the weather, its tassel worn away. This was his dress of ceremony; the dress of service was beneath, white linen drawers and white linen shirt. The skipper’s manners were engaging, in spite of the fact that only two long tusks were left in the top jaw. We went to the agora for our coffee, and sat in cool shade under the gigantic plane tree which was planted by Hippocrates, if report speak true. All round the agora are open shops for the sale of coffee, except where the Turkish guardhouse stands, and a green gardens behind a white walls where the personages of the place sometimes spend the evening. The little square is paved with cobbles, and set all over with chairs and little round tables; above it is the shaped of the plane, and a fountain trickles beside the huge trunk. All is quiet, peace, and ease; it is a delightful place of seclusion out of sight of the world; even the old Genoese fort is invisible, and nothing reminds us of the world, except the barbaric howl of Turkish sentinels away in the fort, whose voices pierce the still air as of dogw baying at the moon. Next day I set sail with old Kapetan Giorgis and his crew, named Yiannis, in a caique. For the island of Astypalaea some fifty miles away. A fresh breeze blows us out of the old harbour, away from the Genoese fort and the Turkish sentinels, howling no longer in the daylight. We pass the light house on Cos point, and steer westwards. Kepetan Giorgis, like all his tribe, is talkative; he is a Hajji, he has been to Holy City, ha has seen the world. “How old are you, Hajji?” I asked. “Eh, seventy, seventy – one, seventy – two – I don’t know exactly how old I am. The Papadhia (parson’s wife) was forty - two when she died, and that was how many years ago?” “Oh, about ten or fifteen years ago,” said the other man. “I’ve been a skipper” said Giorgis, “for fifty years : what do I know about it?” “So you have been to Jerusalem, Hajji?” “Yes; I took my wife and children there with me. I had a large ship then; we sailed from Boudroumi (Halicarnasson)”. “And where’s your ship now?” “I sold it, and bought another; sold that, and bought another; sold that, and bought another; two hundred pounds, one hundred pounds, fifty pounds, as it might be. Ah, if I only had all the money I have spent in buying ships, I should be a rich man. But now – eh! What can a man do? You see what a poor thing I have here. God knows why”. Yiannis broke in here : “Anyhow, that is better than a vapori (streamer). A vapori I cannot stand. Touko – takko, touko – takko they go all the time; they make me afraid; but give me a ship – I’ll go where you will.” By this time we were abreast of a small barren isle called Pserimos, and the wind which had been fresh so far, suddenly fell : the sail flapt. Hajji Giorgis turned a cynical eye on the sail, and foresaw that they must get out the sweeps. “Ah, bah”, he said, “that’s the way of the wind : χίλια μίλια ένας τάκκος, χίλιοι τάκοι ένα μίλι – you may go a thousand miles on one loaf, or eat a thousand loaves before you go one mile. There by hangs a tale!” “Pray tell it, barba (uncle).”Ah, that was when I had a fine caravi , a brig it was, and I used to carry fruit to Alexandra. Eh! Well, we loaded up at Marmari over yonder, with grapes and water melons, set out for Alexandra. By evening we had got as far as the fanari (lighthouse) there on the point. What could one do? Out sweeps, and we pulled across here to Pserimo for the night, and lay up at the Krevvatia. Next day we had another try : by evening we were at the fanari. Same thing three days running, if you will believe me! Well the fourth day, about two hours after midnight, when we usually set sail, you know, a sharp wind blew from the north. What shall we do, lads? Astropalya shall it be? Good : off we go for Astropalya. In four hours, there we were! Good : we’ll go on to Crete – and so we did, and we made Crete that night. All the melons had gone bad, but the grapes were good, and in Crete we sold them.” I dropped off to sleep soon after this on the pebbly ballast; and when I awoke it was sunset, and the wind had quiet dropt. We were slowly creeping in to the Krevvatia! It was quiet certain that no wind would spring up until soon after midnight; so we made fast, and proceeded to take our modest meal of bread, fruits and olives. As darkness fell, flocks of crows which had been earning their daily bread in Cos, flew across, solemnly cawing, to the barren isle for the night : and slowly over the smooth sea two or three sponge – fishers were crawling towards our place of refuge. The sun set over Calymnos : there was not a sound, save the cawing of the crows and the faint creaking of sweeps in the approaching caiques. “Ha,” said Hajji Giorgis, “I’ll show you a wonderful thing when you come back. I found last year a wild sponge with fifty – two oysters upon it, and on that she had grown a tame sponge! The mother was black, the wild one, and the other was white”. The fisher lads were now busy about their supper : blowing up the charcoal fire, and warming a mess of stew upon it, or making coffee. Clad only in a pair of linen drawers, or in nothing at all, they climbed about like bronze statues come to life, the picture of wiry vigour. The sponges which they had caught to-day were put into small nets and hung in the sea to soak, to prepare them for treading. We all exchanged greetings in the approved fashion; and having learnt each other’s names and businesses, parted, and all settled down for a final talk before sleeping. The night was perfectly still : there was no wind and very little night, for the sky had clouded over; on the shore of Cos opposite, lights twinkled in the villages, on the plain, and up the hillside; Marmari and Aspendiou, and the other hamlets, dotted about in the black shadow of the mountain. “Ah, well,” says Giorgis, “’tis a poor trade this, as the holy Elias found.” “What was that?” I asked. “The prophet Elias,” quoth he, “was a fisherman; he had weather, terrific storms, so that he became afraid of the sea. Well, so he left his nets and his boat on the store, and put on oar over his shoulder, and took to the hills. On the way, who should he see but a man. “A good hour to you” says he. “Welcome,” says the man. “What‘s this, can you tell me?” says St Elias. “That?” says the man, “Why that’s an oar.” Eh, on he goes till be meets another man. “A good hour to you” says St Elias.” “You are welcome,” says the man. “What‘s this?” says St Elias. “Why, that’s an oar, to be sure,” says the man. On he goes again, until he comes to the very top of the mountain, and there he sees another man. “Can you tell me what this is?” asks St Elias. “That” says the man, “Why, that’s a stick.” “Good!” says St Elias, “this is the place for me, here I abide.” He plants his oar in the ground, and that is why his chapels are all built on the hill tops.” “Well, well, I didn’t know the prophet Elias followed the sea; of course the holy apostles did, we all know that. “Aye, and so they did. You know why they left it, sir, don’t you?” “Why?” “Well, you see, Christ and the Apostles went a fishing. The Apostles fished all day, and caught nothing. Christ took the nets and turned them upside down, so that the corks sank and the lead floated; and they caught a great haul –a masterpiece! (Αριστούργημα). At this the Apostles were frightened. What! Said they, we are fishers, and understand that craft, and we catch nothing; Christ knows nothing about it, yet catches a great haul with the nets upside down. We will have no more to do with this uncanny trade; so they left their nets and boats, and ceased to be fishers.” “Upon my word, Hajji, you have clearly been to the Holy Land; you know as must as the Despotis (Bishop) himself!” “Eh, eh, I can tell you a few tales; but it’s time to turn in – we shall have wind before morning, or I am much mistaken. Goodnight”
dc.typeΠαραδόσειςel
dc.description.drawernumberΠαραδόσεις Ι΄- ΙΕ΄
dc.relation.sourceW. H. D. Rouse , The Cambridge review, vol. XXVII, 24 May 1906, σελ. 414 – 415
dc.relation.sourceindexThe Cambridge review, 1906
dc.relation.sourcetypeΠεριοδικό
dc.description.bitstreamD_PAA_01318w, D_PAA_01318w2
dc.subject.legendtitleA Greek skipper
dc.subject.legendΠαράδοση Ιστ 23
edm.dataProviderΚέντρον Ερεύνης της Ελληνικής Λαογραφίας της Ακαδημίας Αθηνώνel
edm.dataProviderHellenic Folklore Research Center, Academy of Athensen
edm.providerΚέντρον Ερεύνης της Ελληνικής Λαογραφίας της Ακαδημίας Αθηνώνel
edm.providerHellenic Folklore Research Center, Academy of Athensen
edm.typeTEXT
dc.coverage.geoname390903/Άδηλου τόπου


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