Just as the earliest tinges of the dawn flushed the eastern sky and turned the pillared Parthenon to a broken harp hung in the pearly horizon, we closed our thirteenth mile of weary, round-about marching, and emerged upon the sea-shore abreast the ships, with our usual escort of fifteen hundred Piraean dogs howling at our heels.  We hailed a boat that was two or three hundred yards from shore, and discovered in a moment that it was a police-boat on the lookout for any quarantine-breakers that might chance to be abroad.  So we dodged—­we were used to that by this time—­and when the scouts reached the spot we had so lately occupied, we were absent.  They cruised along the shore, but in the wrong direction, and shortly our own boat issued from the gloom and took us aboard.  They had heard our signal on the ship.  We rowed noiselessly away, and before the police-boat came in sight again, we were safe at home once more.

Four more of our passengers were anxious to visit Athens, and started half an hour after we returned; but they had not been ashore five minutes till the police discovered and chased them so hotly that they barely escaped to their boat again, and that was all.  They pursued the enterprise no further.

We set sail for Constantinople to-day, but some of us little care for that.  We have seen all there was to see in the old city that had its birth sixteen hundred years before Christ was born, and was an old town before the foundations of Troy were laid—­and saw it in its most attractive aspect.  Wherefore, why should we worry?

Two other passengers ran the blockade successfully last night.  So we learned this morning.  They slipped away so quietly that they were not missed from the ship for several hours.  They had the hardihood to march into the Piraeus in the early dusk and hire a carriage.  They ran some danger of adding two or three months’ imprisonment to the other novelties of their Holy Land Pleasure Excursion.  I admire “cheek.”—­[Quotation from the Pilgrims.]—­But they went and came safely, and never walked a step.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

From Athens all through the islands of the Grecian Archipelago, we saw little but forbidding sea-walls and barren hills, sometimes surmounted by three or four graceful columns of some ancient temple, lonely and deserted—­a fitting symbol of the desolation that has come upon all Greece in these latter ages.  We saw no ploughed fields, very few villages, no trees or grass or vegetation of any kind, scarcely, and hardly ever an isolated house.  Greece is a bleak, unsmiling desert, without agriculture, manufactures or commerce, apparently.  What supports its poverty-stricken people or its Government, is a mystery.