_Death in a Cavern_
[Sidenote: An Ocean Temple]
The cavern thus opened to us[39] seemed to be the magazine of some place
of trade. It was crowded with chests and bales, heaped together in
disorder. What dangerous owners we might meet cost us no question; life
and liberty were before us. I cheered Jubal till his scattered senses
returned, and he clasped my feet in humiliation and gratitude.
We were now like men created anew. We forced our way through piles that
but an hour before would have been mountains to our despairing strength.
The cavern opened into another, which seemed the dwelling of some master
of extraordinary opulence. Silken tissues hung on the walls; the ceiling
was a Tyrian canopy; precious vases stood on tables of citron and ivory.
A large lyre, superbly ornamented, was suspended in an opening of the
rock, and gave its melancholy music to the wind. But no human being was
to be seen. Was this one of the true wonders that men classed among the
fictions of Greece and Asia? The Nereids with their queen could not have
sought a more secluded palace. Onward we heard the sounds of ocean. We
followed them, and saw one of those scenes of grandeur which nature
creates, as if to show the littleness of man.
An arch three times the height of the loftiest temple, and ribbed with
marble, rose broadly over our heads. Innumerable shafts of the purest
alabaster, rounded with the perfection of sculpture, rose in groups and
clusters to the solemn roof; wildflowers and climbing plants of every
scent and hue gathered round the capitals, and hung the gigantic sides
of the hall with a lovelier decoration than ever was wrought in loom.
The awful beauty of this ocean temple bowed the heart in instinctive
homage. I felt the sacredness of nature. But this grandeur was alone
worthy of the spectacle to which it opened. The whole magnificence of the
Mediterranean spread before our eyes, smooth as polished silver and now
reflecting the glories of the west. The sun lay on the horizon in the
midst of crimson clouds, like a monarch on the funeral pile, sinking in
the splendors of a conflagration that lighted earth and ocean.
[Sidenote: On the Edge of the Cavern]
But at this noble portal we had reached our limit. The sides of the
cavern projected so far into the waters as to make a small anchorage.
Access or escape by land was palpably impossible. Yet, here at least, we
were masters. No claimant presented himself to dispute our title. The
provisions of our unknown host were ample, and, to our eager tastes, were
dangerous from their luxury. The evening that we passed at the mouth of
the cave, exhilarated with the first sensation of liberty, and enjoying
every aspect and voice of the lovely scene with the keenness of the most
unhoped-for novelty, was a full recompense for the toils and terrors of
the labyrinth.
The sun went down. The surge that died at our feet murmured peace; the
wheeling sea-birds, as their long trains steered homeward, pouring out
from time to time a clangor of wild sounds that descended to us in
harmony; the little white-sailed vessels, that skimmed along the distant
waters like summer flies; the breeze waving the ivy and arbutus, that
festooned our banquet-hall, alike spoke to the heart the language of
peace.
“If,” said I, “my death-bed were to be left to my own choice, on the edge
of this cavern would I wish to take my last farewell.”
“To the dying all places must be indifferent,” replied my companion;
“when Death is at hand, his shadow fills the mind. What matters it to the
exile, who in a few moments must leave his country forever, on what spot
of its shore his last step is planted? Perhaps the lovelier that spot the
more painful the parting. If I must have my choice, let me die in the
dungeon or in battle: in the chain that makes me hate the earth, or in
the struggle that makes it forgotten.”
“Yet,” said I, “even for battle, if we would acquit ourselves as becomes
men, is not some previous rest almost essential? and for the sterner
conflict with that mighty enemy before whom our strength is vapor, is
it not well to prepare the whole means of mental fortitude? I would
not perish in the irritation of the dungeon, in the blind fury of man
against man, nor in the hot and giddy whirl of human cares. Let me lay my
sinking frame where nothing shall intrude upon the nobler business of the
mind. But these are melancholy thoughts. Come, Jubal, fill to the speedy
deliverance of our country.”
[Sidenote: Jubal’s Remorse]
“Here, then, to her speedy deliverance, and the glory of those who fight
her battles!” The cup was filled to the brim, but just as the wine
touched his lips he flung it away. “No,” exclaimed he, in bitterness of
soul, “it is not for such as I to join in the aspirations of the patriot
and the soldier. Prince of Naphtali, your generous nature has forgiven
me, but there is an accuser here”—and he struck his withered hand wildly
upon his bosom—“that can never be silenced. Under the delusions, the
infernal delusions of your enemies, I followed you through a long period
of your career, unseen. Every act, almost every thought, was made known
to me, for you were surrounded by the agents of your enemies. I was
driven on by the belief that you were utterly accursed by our law, and
that to drive the dagger to your heart was to redeem our cause. But the
act was against my nature, and in the struggle my reason failed. When I
stood before you on the morning of the great battle, you saw me in one of
those fits of frenzy that always followed a new command to murder. The
misery of seeing Salome’s husband once more triumphant finally plunged me
into the Roman ranks to seek for death. I escaped, followed the army, and
reached Bethhoron in the midst of the assault. Still frantic, I thought
that in you I saw my rival victorious. It was this hand, this parricidal
hand, that struck the blow.” He covered his face and wept convulsively.
The mystery of my captivity was now cleared up, and feeling only pity for
the ruin that remorse had made, I succeeded at last in restoring him to
some degree of calmness. I even ventured to cheer him with the hope of
better days, when in the palace of his fathers I should acknowledge my
deliverer.
With a pressure of the hand and a melancholy smile, “I know,” said he,
“that I have not long to live. But if a prayer of mine is to be answered
by that greatest of all Powers whom I have so deeply offended, it would
be, to die in some act of service for my prince and my pardoner! But
hark!”
[Sidenote: A Dying Man]
A groan was uttered close to the spot where we sat. I perceived for the
first time an opening behind some furniture; entered, and saw lying on a
bed a man apparently in the last stage of exhaustion.
He exclaimed: “Three days of misery—three days left alone, to die—without
food, without help, abandoned by all. But I have deserved it. Traitor and
villain as I am, I have deserved a thousand deaths!”
I looked upon this outcry as but the raving of pain, and brought him some
wine. He swallowed it with avidity, but even while I held the cup to his
lips, he sank back with a cry of horror.
“Aye,” cried he, “I knew that I could not escape you; you have come at
last. Spirit, leave me to die! Or if,” said he, half rising and looking
in my face with a steady yet dim glare, “you can tell the secrets of the
grave, tell me what is my fate. I adjure you, fearful being, by the God
of Israel; by the gods of the pagan, or if you acknowledge any god beyond
the dreams of miserable man, tell me what I am to be?”
I continued silent, struck with the agony of his features. Jubal entered,
and the looks of the dying man were turned on him.
“More of them!” he exclaimed, “more tormentors! more terrible witnesses
of the tortures of a wretch whom earth casts out! What I demand of you is
the fate of those who live as I have lived—the betrayer, the plunderer,
the man of blood? But you will give me no answer. The time of your power
is not come.”
He lay for a short period in mental sufferings; then, starting upon his
feet by an extraordinary effort of nature, and with furious execrations
at the tardiness of death, he tore off the bandage which covered a wound
on his forehead. The blood streamed down and made him a ghastly spectacle.
[Sidenote: Conscience-Stricken]
“Aye,” cried he, as he looked upon his stained hands, “this is the true
color; the traitor’s blood should cover the traitor’s hands. Years of
crime, this is your reward. The betrayal of my noble master to death,
the ruin of his house, the destruction of his name; these were the right
beginnings to the life of the robber.”
A peal of thunder rolled over our heads and the gush of the rising waves
roared through the cavern.
“Aye, there is your army,” he cried, “coming in the storm. I have seen
your angry visages at night in the burning village; I have seen you in
the shipwreck; I have seen you in the howling wilderness; but now I see
you in shapes more terrible than all.”
The wind bursting through the long vaults forced open the door.
“Welcome, welcome to your prey!” he yelled, and drawing a knife from his
sash, darted it into his bosom. The act was so instantaneous that to
arrest the blow was impossible. He fell and died with a brief, fierce
struggle.
“Horrible end,” murmured Jubal, gazing on the silent form; “happier for
that wretch to have perished in the hottest strife of man or nature,
trampled in the charge or plunged into the billows! Save me from the
misery of lonely death!”
“Yet,” said I, “it was our presence that made him feel. He was guilty
of some crime, perhaps of many, that the sight of us awoke to torment
his dying hour. I saw that he gazed upon me with evident alarm, and not
improbably my withered face, and those rags of my dungeon, startled him
into recollections too strong for his decaying reason.”
“Have you ever seen him before?”
“Never.”
I gave a reluctant look at the hideous distortion of a countenance still
full of the final agony. I turned away in awe.
“Now, Jubal, to think of ourselves. Soon we shall have fairly tried our
experiment. A few days must exhaust our provisions. The surges roll on
the one hand; on the other we have the rock.”
“But we shall die at least in pomp,” said Jubal. “No king of Asia will
lie in a nobler vault, nor even have sincerer rejoicings at his end; the
crows and vultures are no hypocrites.”
The dead man’s turban had fallen off in his last violence, and
I perceived the corner of a letter in its folds. I read it; its
intelligence startled me. It was from the commandant of the Roman fleet
on the coast mentioning that a squadron was in readiness to “attack the
pirates in their cavern.”
A heavy sound, as if something of immense weight had rushed into the
entrance of the arch, followed by many voices, stopped our conversation.
“The Romans have come,” said I, “and now you will be indulged with your
wish—our lives are forfeited—for never will I go back to the dungeon.”
[Sidenote: The Arrival of Pirates]
“I hear no sound but that of laughter,” said Jubal, listening; “those
invaders are the merriest of cutthroats. But before we give ourselves
actually into their hands, let us see of what they are made.”
We left the chamber and returned to the recess from which we had
originally emerged. It commanded a view of the chief avenues of the
cavern; and while I secured the door, Jubal mounted the wall, and
reconnoitered the enemy through a fissure.
“These are no Romans,” whispered he, “but a set of the most jovial
fellows that ever robbed on the seas. They have clearly been driven in by
the storm, and are now preparing to feast. Their voyage has been lucky,
if I am to judge by the bales that they are hauling in; and if wine can
do it, they will be in an hour or two drunk to the last man.”
“Then we can take advantage of their sleep, let loose one of their boats,
and away,” said I.
[Sidenote: Plunderers]
I mounted to see this pirate festivity. In the various vistas of the
huge cavern groups of bold-faced and athletic men were gathering, all
busy with the work of the time; some piling fires against the walls and
preparing provisions; some stripping off their wet garments and bringing
others out of heaps of every kind and color, in the recesses of the rock;
some wiping the spray from rusty helmets and corselets. The vaults rang
with songs, boisterous laughter, the rattling of armor, and the creaking
and rolling of chests of plunder. The dashing of the sea under the
gale filled up this animated dissonance; and at intervals the thunder,
bursting directly above our heads, mingled with all and overpowered all.