pastry cook, Christodulos, in Hermes Street, were persons of a more
adventurous temperament. Borrowing the only two horses that Christodulos
possessed, they rode out into the country. But they had scarcely gone a
mile when they were stopped by a band of brigands, and urgently invited
to pay a visit to the King of the Mountains. The Americans refused to
go, as the King of the Mountains had an unkindly way of holding his
visitors to large ransoms, and killing them if the money were not
quickly paid. But the brigands--there were fourteen of them--insisted,
and got out ropes and began to bind their captives. Neither Harris nor
Lobster was made of the kind of wood of which faggots are composed. They
drew their revolvers, and used them with astonishing effect. They lost
the horses, but got safely back to Athens.

"I suppose I mustn't grumble over two horses," said Christodulos. "I
served under Hadgi Stavros, the King of the Mountains, in the War of
Independence, and earned enough money to set up in business."

Then, over a bottle of Santorin wine, Christodulos related the story of
the great brigand chief. Hadgi Stavros was by far the most popular
leader among the insurgent Greeks. His hatred of the Turks did not blind
him to such a point that he passed through a Greek village without
plundering it. A vigorous impartiality enabled him to advance his fame
by increasing his wealth. Lord Byron dedicated an ode to him, and
sympathisers with the Greek cause throughout Europe sent him subsidies.
The result was that when Greece was at last liberated from the Turks,
Hadgi Stavros returned to his old trade with a large capital, and a
genius for organisation which enabled him to revolutionise the business
of brigandage. He entered into arrangements with army officers and
politicians, and saw to it that his allies were entrusted with the
government of his free, enlightened and progressive country.