water-bottles, and cloaks in the boat, and after making fast the boat to
an iron ring, proceeded to let off the rocket in token of their success.
Crispin placed it in position, applied the match, then hastily got into
the boat with Gurt and pushed off to sea. Just as they were a few yards
from the shore, the rocket flashed skyward with a sharp whizz,
scattering trains of sparks in its ascent. Alarmed by the unexpected
sound, the pirates rushed out of their tents to ascertain the cause, but
the rocket, having expended its fire, had fallen back into the water, so
they could see nothing to account for the explosion.
After rowing out a little way, Gurt shipped the oars, and with the
assistance of Crispin, hoisted the sail, which bellied out with a groan
to the wind and made them glide rapidly forward. Then the sailor took
the helm. Crispin, wrapped in his cloak, laid himself down to sleep for
a few hours, and the little craft sped away lightly over the
white-crested waves into the profound darkness. When they were out some
considerable distance, the electric light suddenly flashed out a long
ray into the sea, in token of farewell, then reverted to its original
position, and the boat with its two brave occupants was swallowed up in
the night.
On the cliff those left behind waited and watched until the welcome
rocket shot its long trail of golden fire through the darkness, then
both simultaneously heaved a sigh of relief.
“Well, they are safe so far,” said the Demarch thankfully; “but, by
Jupiter, Maurice, those rascals have heard the rocket go!”
“Oh, they’ve seen nothing,” replied his nephew indifferently, as the few
men who had rushed out retired again to their tents; “the fire died out
before they caught even a glimpse of it. I’m glad Crispin is safely
away; his boat will be flying like a stormy petrel before this stiff
breeze. Let us go down, uncle, and send them a farewell flash of the
light.”
“But it might reveal the boat to those scamps,” said Justinian, as they
rapidly descended the narrow staircase.
“Oh, they’ve all gone inside again; besides, Crispin has got too much of
a start by this time. I’ll go and see Alexandros.”
Which he accordingly did, and the light, after flashing for a second on
the flying boat, was again turned on the camp, after which Maurice and
his uncle went to see how Dick and his dynamite mine were getting on.
Without doubt these amateur sappers had been working hard, for the
trench was dug, the dynamite cartridges placed therein, and the hole
filled up. Wires attached to each cartridge ran underground through the
palisade to the interior of the battery, and none of the enemy would
have suspected that the whole of that broad space in front was one
deadly mine, which, when exploded, would blow them to pieces by the
dozen.
“There, sir,” said Dick, wiping his heated brow; “now when Miss Helena
brings those broken bottles, we’ll smash ’em up on this ground between
the mine and the palisade, so if any of those beggars escape being cut
to pieces or blown to atoms it’ll be a miracle.”
“It’s splendid, Dick,” answered Justinian, clapping him on the shoulder.
“And now, my lad, you had better go and have some sleep.”
“D’ye think it ’ull be safe, sir?”
“Quite safe! All those scamps are sound asleep, and will not attack
before dawn. The barrier is built up as strongly as we can do it, your
cannon are all right, and, what with the mine and the broken glass, I
think they’ll find it pretty hard to get even as far as they did
to-day.”
“Is Mr. Crispin all right, sir?”
“Yes; he got safely into the boat, sent up a rocket to tell us of his
success, and by this time is on his way to Syra for help.”
“I saw the rocket, sir, so I guessed it ’ud be all right. D’ye think,
sir, we’ll hold out till he brings the yacht here?”
“Of course we will,” said Maurice, who had joined the pair; “our defence
here, even with our small numbers, is quite strong enough to stand one
storming. If some of them get their feet cut to pieces by the glass, and
others blown up sky-high by the mine, I wouldn’t be surprised if they
gave up the attempt and sailed away.”
“Suppose they don’t, sir?” questioned Dick dubiously.
“Then, my Richard, I have a plan for closing up this pass.”
“How, sir?”
“You see those overhanging rocks up there? Well, as they are just over
the entrance of the pass, to-morrow, so soon as we have beaten back
those wretches, we’ll go up and bore holes along the narrowest part for
dynamite cartridges. Then we’ll attach wires as in the mine, and if we
find that we can’t stand against a second assault, all we have to do is
to inveigle our friends under those rocks, explode the charge, and then,
my Richard—oh, what a time they will have!”
“But that ’ull shut us up in the island, sir.”
“Well, what of that? It’s a pleasant place to dwell in. But you needn’t
be afraid, Dick; it’s easier to get out than get in, and when the yacht
arrives we’ll not have much difficulty in getting on board.”
“Leave Melnos, sir!”
“No!” said Justinian angrily. “I’ve no doubt, if we are forced to fill
up the pass, those scoundrels will leave us. If they don’t, the arrival
of the yacht with fresh troops will drive them away. Then, we’ll go to
work to open up both the pass and tunnel.”
“Not enough men, Mr. Justinian.”
“Ah, my poor Melnosians! Well, we’ll have to get more settlers, that’s
all. The difficulty is not in getting men and women, but in getting
pure-blooded Greeks.”
Dick did not understand this latter remark, so wisely left it
unanswered, and, touching his cap, went off with his messmates to snatch
a few hours’ sleep before the grand assault which all anticipated would
take place at dawn. Justinian and his nephew made an inspection of all
the defences, saw that the sentries were posted, and then went to talk
to Alexandros about the small battery he was rigging up for the purpose
of exploding the mine when necessary.
“There will be no difficulty about this affair, Alexandros?”
“No, Kyrion. I have attached the wires leading to the cartridges to this
battery, and will have it under my charge to-morrow behind this rock,
which will protect me from the fire of the enemy. You wave your hand as
a signal, and I touch this button, when the mine will explode in a
second.”
“Excellent!” said Justinian, with great satisfaction. “And if we wanted
to close up the pass by bringing down those rocks above you?”
“In the same way, Kyrion. Make holes above for your cartridges and
attach wires of any length. With my battery at one end of those wires,
and the dynamite at the other, I could blow up the whole of this gorge
from the Acropolis.”
“You can trust your man in charge of the engine?”
“Yes, Kyrion. That is all he has to do, for the dynamo works by itself
without my being present.”
“All seems going smoothly,” said the Demarch to Maurice, as they turned
away. “That mine ought to do considerable damage.”
“I’m certain it will. But, uncle, you must be quite worn out for want of
rest; so you go to sleep, and I will watch.”
“I will sleep later on; but meanwhile I am going up to the Acropolis to
tell Helena that Crispin and Gurt have left the island safely. She will
be very anxious.”
“Give her a kiss for me,” cried Maurice, as his uncle walked away up the
pass.
“I am afraid it will be horribly damaged on the transit,” replied the
Demarch, smiling. “Good-by, my lad. Keep a sharp look-out, and if
anything goes wrong, send Temistocles to the Acropolis. I will be back
in an hour.”
He went away slowly; for, in spite of his iron spirit and determination
to keep up, the incessant fatigue was beginning to tell on his frame. At
seventy-five, one cannot play with a constitution; and hardened as was
the body of Justinian by temperate living and constant exercise, he yet
felt that he was not the man he was. Another thing which worried him
mentally, and thus acted on him physically, was the thought of the
volcano; for, in spite of the way in which he reassured Crispin, he felt
by no means easy in his mind regarding the safety of the island. Not
until he was absolutely forced to, would he close up the pass, and thus
shut himself up in a crater apparently on the verge of eruption. True,
if the worst came, he could escape with his people over the cliff, but
such a method would take some time; and, with the volcano spouting fire,
there would be but a small chance of any one escaping alive. Full of
these thoughts, he walked leisurely along, pondering over matters
volcanic and matters military; for with the treacherous crater on one
side, and the cruel enemy on the other, he could not but see that
matters were approaching a crisis.
Even if the volcano remained quiescent, and the enemy were beaten back,
still things were in anything but a satisfactory position; for he had
lost many of his men, and he knew how difficult it would be to supply
their places with Greeks of the old Hellenic stock. Those who were dead
had been trained up under his eye; they knew his aims and aspirations,
and were already developing greatly: but now all that was at an end;
they had been cut off by death, and even if he got new blood, it would
mean that the whole task of training up a new generation would have to
begin all over again. Justinian was a man of great self-control, but
when he thought of all he had lost, in the darkness of night he gave
free vent to his emotion, and wept bitterly at the downfall of his
hopes. Still all was not yet lost, for the island still remained, and
many of the old inhabitants; so he dried his eyes when he left the
gorge, and determined, notwithstanding his bad fortune, still to bear up
bravely in his efforts to reconstruct the old Hellenic civilization.
As he neared the Acropolis, he was astonished to see Helena, attended by
Zoe, come hastily along the road, with a face expressive of great fear.
“What is the matter?” he asked hurriedly, as she fell into his arms.
“Are you ill?—is the”—
“The lake! the lake, father!”
A terrible fear seized Justinian’s heart, but he nevertheless controlled
his feelings and spoke calmly.
“What do you mean, Helena?”
“The lake! it is dried up.”
In the dark Justinian could not see the lake at the bottom of the
valley, but he guessed what had happened. The lake’s bottom, shattered
by the subterranean convulsions, had been unable to hold the water in
its cup, and the whole body had been drained off into the bowels of the
earth. This, then, was the third warning of Hephaistos, and a very
terrible one it was, for if the crust of the crater was so convulsed,
the next thing that would happen would be an outburst of fire.
Justinian foresaw all this in a moment, but, without saying a word, led
his terrified daughter back to the Acropolis, where they sat down on the
steps. The moon, lately obscured by cirrus-shaped clouds, now burst out
in full splendor through the thin woof, and the Demarch with a pang saw
that his beautiful valley was bereft of its gleaming silver eye. Where
the calm expanse of water had been was now an ugly black gulf of rugged
rock, and Justinian half expected to see fire burst fiercely from those
black depths.
“It is nothing, it is nothing, my child,” he said, with a confidence he
was far from feeling; “the earthquake has shattered the lake, and of
course the water has drained off. Silly child, of what are you afraid?”
“I dread lest the crater should burst into fire.”
“There is no sign of that; we would have had warnings long ago.”
“But, father, the earthquake! the lake!”
“Those mean nothing. Look how frequent are earthquakes at Santorin, yet
people continue to live there. As to the lake, as soon as this war is
over, I will stop up the cracks at the bottom, and it will soon be
filled again. Are the women afraid?”
“Some of them; still they are all sleeping down below with the children,
so I don’t think they attach much importance to the disappearance of the
lake.”
“And are you less brave than these poor things? Helena, I thought you
were braver.”
“I told Miss Helena there was no danger,” said Zoe in English, with her
pretty foreign accent.
“There, you see, Helena! Zoe is not afraid.”
“Oh, I am better now you are with me,” said Helena, smiling through her
tears; “but it is so lonely here with no one but Zoe and that man who
drives the engine.”
“Where are the servants?”
“I sent them down to look after the wounded who are in the village. But,
papa—Maurice?”
“He is all right, and sends you this kiss—there!”
“Dear Maurice, he never forgets me!—and Crispin?”
“Has safely left the island with Gurt, so, you see, help will soon
arrive. You must be brave, Helena; things are not so bad as you think.”
“I am glad to hear you say so, father.”
“I do say so. You have not spoken of this volcano business to any
one—and you, Zoe?”
“No, no!” cried both the girls in chorus; “not a word.”
“That is right; I do not wish any one to be frightened unnecessarily,
and you will think of neither war nor volcanoes in a few days. But come,
Helena, give me something to eat.”
“Will you stay here, father?” asked the girl, as she led the way into
the Acropolis.
“No, I am a soldier, and must live as the other soldiers. Let me have a
meal here, and then you can go to bed, while I return to the front.”
“Can I come down to-morrow?”
“No, you have acted the heroine quite enough. There will be some tough
work to-morrow, and I don’t want to risk losing you, my treasure.”
“I may lose Maurice.”
“Don’t think of such a thing. He is a true Roylands, and bears a charmed
life; something to do with that amber heart, I suppose.”
“Did Maurice tell you, father?”
“No; some magical nonsense, I suppose. Well, well, come and give your
poor father something to eat, for, war or no war, I must have supper.”
CHAPTER XXXVII.
UNDER THE UNION JACK.
The cross of St. Andrew, the cross of St. George,
Are blent in the folds which are flung to the air,
And proud floats the flag at the head of the gorge,
Proclaiming the presence of Englishmen there.
Red tint for the blood which is shed for the brave,
White, symbol of honor no cowardice taints,
With blue as a sign of the circling wave,
And crosses that witness our faith and our saints.
It streams o’er the battle, forbidding retreat,
Reminding us ever of Albion’s name;
Brave banner of England, unsoiled by defeat,
The token of victory, valor, and fame.
Shot-ragged with bullets on numberless plains,
It’s folds with the hearts’ blood of Englishmen red,
Unbeaten, undaunted it ever remains,
A sign for the living, a shroud for the dead.
“It must remain here,” said Justinian proudly; “once the English flag
has been brought to the front, it cannot retreat.”
“Let us hoist it by all means,” replied Maurice cheerfully; “but,
remember, only seven Englishmen fight under its folds.”
“Well, I guess, Mr. Roylands, half a dozen Englishmen are worth fifty
Greeks!” cried Dick, with great confidence. “Once we get that Union Jack
up, and I’d like to see who’d pull it down.”
It was early morning, and they were talking about the flag which Helena
had brought down on the previous day. As the bulk of their army
consisted of Melnosians, who did not understand the sacred feeling with
which it was regarded by the English, Maurice thought it hardly worth
while to plant it on the palisade; but the Demarch, in spite of his
independent sovereignty, was patriotic to the core of his brave old
heart, and, with a touch of sentiment, insisted that the attack should
be repelled under the unconquered banner. Maurice therefore humored his
uncle, and agreed to his wish, so the five sailors planted a stout pole
just inside the barricade, and in a few minutes the flag of England was
floating proudly at the mouth of the gorge.
As yet the enemy had made no move, so Justinian had plenty of time to
complete his defensive preparations. In spite of her father’s veto,
Helena, mindful of Maurice’s instructions regarding broken glass, had
come down at dawn with her women, all bearing bottles, crockery, and
earthen jars, which were speedily smashed to atoms and strewn
plentifully on the ground between the mine and the barrier. Alexandros
had his battery in good working order, and had ensconced himself behind
a rock some little distance away, from which, on being signalled to by
the Demarch, he could explode the mine at the proper time. The
Melnosians had managed to snatch a few hours’ sleep, and, encouraged by
their victory of the previous day, were ready for the fight, so a sense
of great hopefulness was diffused among the valiant little garrison.
What with the mine to blow up the enemy, the broken glass to cut their
bare feet,—no ineffective defence,—the guns ready loaded to sweep them
down as they swarmed up, and the stern determination of the defenders to
fight to the bitter end, Justinian felt that, in spite of being
outnumbered, he would be able to hold the island until the return of
Crispin with re-enforcements. The more perilous became the position, the
higher arose the spirits of the defenders, especially those of the
sailors, on whose patriotic feelings the presence of their country’s
flag had a wonderfully inspiring effect.
“Now then, Helena,” said her father, when all preparations were
complete, “you had better return to the Acropolis with the women.”
“Very well, father; but I will be very anxious for your safety.”
“What about me?” asked Maurice reproachfully.
“Oh, you’ve got your talisman,” she replied, with an attempt at
lightness, “so you will be quite safe; but I am not so sure about
father.”
“Don’t trouble your head about me,” said the Demarch, kissing her; “if I
die I die, and if I live I live—it’s the fortune of war. The best thing
you can do, Helena, is to go down to the valley and attend to those poor
fellows who are wounded. I know you will be very anxious, my dear, so I
will send Temistocles to you every now and then with information as to
how the fight is getting on. Now, good-by, my dear child, and keep up
your spirits.”
“I will walk up with you to the head of the pass,” said Maurice, turning
away from the palisade; “there is no sign of the enemy getting under
arms yet, so I can easily spare a few minutes.”
Helena of course was delighted at thus having her lover all to herself
for even a quarter of an hour, and walked beside him up the gorge,
followed by the women, who had taken an affectionate farewell of their
sons, husbands, and brothers. Zoe also was weeping bitterly, as she had
just parted from Dick, and dreaded lest she should never see him again.
Indeed, despite the danger, the men at the front were less to be pitied
than those women remaining behind in the interior of the island, for
while the former were at least too occupied to fret over their troubles,
the latter, with nothing to take their minds off the disasters
surrounding them, were in a state of suspense pitiable to behold.
“Do you think Crispin will come back within the week, Maurice?” asked
Helena, as she walked arm in arm with her lover.
“I hope so! If he is picked up by the Cretan steamer, and his yacht is
now lying at Syra, I have no doubt he will; but it is all the merest
chance. However, come what may, I think we can defend the island to the
end.”
“It is not of the danger without, but of the danger within I am
thinking.”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“This volcano”—began Helena, upon which Maurice interrupted her with a
merry laugh of scorn.
“My dear one, do not fright yourself with false fire. I suppose you are
thinking of the earthquake?”
“Yes; and of the lake and the springs.”
“What is the matter with them?”
“The springs are spouting furiously, and the lake has disappeared.”
“Great heavens! that does sound ominous,” said Maurice anxiously. “Does
your father know?”
“Of course he does, but he told me not to speak of it, lest the people
should become panic-stricken, but of course such prohibition does not
extend to you.”
“The lake gone! the springs active!” repeated Roylands in a musing tone.
“I am afraid there is danger of the volcano breaking out again.”
“So I think; but father laughs at all my fears.”
“It would be a terrible catastrophe should such a thing happen, for not
one of us could hope to escape. Besides, if Melnos became an active
volcano, all your father’s forty years of hard work would go for
nothing.”
“Do you think it is likely an eruption will take place, Maurice?” asked
Helena in a tremulous voice. “You have no idea how afraid I am.”
“Egad! it is enough to make any one afraid; however, I think you can set
your mind at rest, Helena. The eruption, if there is to be one, cannot
possibly take place for a week, and by that time Crispin’s yacht will
have arrived; so if there are any signs of an outbreak, we can escape at
once.”
“Oh, I hope so! I trust so!”
“What does worry me,” pursued Maurice meditatively, “is all this war
going on for what may turn out to be nothing but a heap of cinders. It
would be the very irony of fate, if, after beating back the foe, this
volcano should start, and drive us away from the very place we have
defended.”
“If such a thing happened, I do not think my father would survive.”
“It would be a blow, certainly,” replied Roylands, affecting a
cheerfulness he was far from feeling; “but one can do nothing against
the giant forces of nature. However, Helena, remember all the wealth of
Melnos is safe in London, thanks to the wisdom of my uncle; so if
Hephaistos did start a forge here, which he seems inclined to do, we
would simply have to abandon this island, and start our scheme of a new
Hellas on another; but this time we would select one less dangerous from
a volcanic point of view.”
“But think of forty years’ work thrown away!”
“And think of leaving this paradise! However, if the archangel waves his
flaming sword, we must; still, if I go, my Eve will be with me, and that
will comfort me greatly.”
“Ah, my dear, dear Maurice!—Oh, what is that?”
“The roll of a drum,” cried Roylands, stopping abruptly. “The enemy must
have begun the attack, so I will have to return to my post. Good-by, my
dearest, and don’t trouble yourself. Remember, I have your amber heart.”
“And my real heart also.”
“Well, I leave mine with you for safety; so I can’t be shot through the
heart, can I? Jove! there’s the drum again. Give me a kiss. There,
good-by, my dear one.”
Down the gorge he tore at full speed, for he already heard the sharp
crack of a musket-shot; and Helena, remaining where she was, sank on her
knees, which example was followed by all her women; and the whole
company, with uplifted hands, implored the protection of Heaven for
their dear ones at the front.
Maurice arrived at the barrier just in time, for the enemy were already
scrambling up the slope; and Justinian, catching sight of his nephew,
shouted out to him to redouble his speed.
“Quick, quick, Maurice! Confound it, sir! they’ll be on us in a few
minutes!”
“Well, that will be just time for me to recover my breath,” said the
young man good-humoredly. “All in order, uncle?”
“Yes. We’ll meet them with rifle-shots first, and give them a chance of
cutting their feet to pieces.”
“But if we let them get so near, they will assault the barrier.”
“What! after crossing those broken bottles barefooted? Don’t you believe
it, my lad. They will be jumping about like cats on hot bricks shortly!”
All the Melnosians were in a high state of glee over this snare for the
enemy, which was so simple, yet dangerous, and yelled with laughter as
the foremost stormers dashed with their bare feet right into the centre
of the sharp points. Of course, the vigor with which they rushed forward
rendered the glass all the more effective; and, after receiving them
with a volley of musket-shot, the garrison paused to roar with laughter
at the sight of the bare-legged islanders hopping in agony over the
broken points. Is was not dignified, it was not particularly dangerous,
and could hardly be called legitimate war; yet, by this simple means,
the first rush was effectually checked; and streaming with blood, the
enraged stormers retired, leaving a few of their dead, who had been
killed and wounded by the volley, lying on the field.
The information concerning this stratagem soon passed from mouth to
mouth, and those of the enemy who were not yet climbing up the hill,
dashed back to their tents, from whence, after a time, they emerged,
wearing tough leathern sandals, with the hair still on, bound round
their feet by strong thongs. Those who had been wounded in this novel
manner had, regardless of safety, sat down within rifle range to tie up
their bleeding feet; and Justinian, with more generosity than they would
have displayed in like circumstances, refrained from firing on them thus
defenceless.
Caliphronas, who, since the death of Alcibiades, now held supreme
command of this irregular army, saw his forbearance, and, sneering at
Justinian for a soft-hearted fool, with, for him, exceptional courage,
led those of his men who were booted across the dangerous ground.
Apparently he had quite forgotten how Alcibiades had carried forward his
stormers the previous day under the shelter of the cliff, for, advancing
thus in a compact body full in front of the palisade, they were exposed
to a raking fire from the muskets of the garrison.
“Lions led by a deer are not dangerous,” quoth Justinian grimly, on
seeing this bad generalship. “I don’t think we’ll have such a bad time
of it as we did yesterday.”
“Certainly not, while Caliphronas is general of the enemy,” replied
Maurice, laughing; “but he has some courage, I see, for he leads the
stormers.”
“I’ll soon frighten him back, sir,” said Dick, who hated Caliphronas for
his treachery on the night of the wreck; “will I fire?”
“Wait a minute, till they are more conglomerate. Now!”
The gun roared, and a shower of grape-shot splashed over the advancing
body, which did considerable damage in their ranks, that is, if such
disorderly huddling could be dignified by such a name. They still
continued to come on, however, on noting which, Justinian, who, in
default of Gurt, had charge of the other gun, sent another shower of
grape among them.
They wavered for a moment, but, as their leader still urged them to come
on, Maurice snatched a rifle from the man nearest him, and aimed
deliberately at Caliphronas, not with the intention of killing him, but
merely forcing him to retire wounded. The ball struck Caliphronas on the
elbow of his sword-arm, and with a yell of pain he dropped his weapon
and ran away, followed as a matter of course, by his soldiers.
“At this rate, Maurice, we can hold the island for a year,” said the
Demarch, with a jeering laugh; “it’s child’s play compared with
yesterday.”
“If we can get them on that mine, and explode it in good time, the siege
will be over,” replied his nephew decisively.
“I am averse to useless massacre.”
“So am I, but if we don’t put the fear of God into their souls, they
will wear us out by these puny attacks. One bold stroke, and they will
fly.”
“Well, do what you will. I have every confidence in your generalship.”
The enemy again charged up the hill, but this time Caliphronas was
conspicuous by his absence, as he was evidently in the camp attending to
his wound. A huge man in an Albanian dress was leading this time, and
had at least the virtue of brute courage, for, in spite of the
musket-shots and double discharge of the cannon, which killed many, he
still advanced with his men right up to the palisade.
“Hand-to-hand again,” said Dick, as the Melnosians began to use their
bayonets, “but they won’t get over the barricade this time.”
As the barrier was now built of nothing but turf overlaid with sank-bags
and gabions, the besiegers found their axes of no use, and were reduced
to try to swarm up to the top of the parapet in overwhelming numbers.
The garrison, however, shot freely into the struggling mass, but in
doing this had to expose themselves greatly, and in consequence lost
many men. Still, they managed to drive back the besiegers, and the two
cannon belched forth grape-shot alternately, so that at length the enemy
were forced to retreat over the brow of the hill. Thus relieved from
immediate danger, the Melnosians busied themselves with their dead and
wounded, carrying both to the rear, so that their fighting might not be
hampered by the cumbering of the ground with bodies. In front of the
barrier, the ground right over the brow of the hill was thick with the
fallen of the enemy, and some of the wounded were trying to crawl to a
place of safety, while others, lifting up their hands, cried out on
“Christos.”
In a remarkably short space of time, the pirates re-formed into
something like order, and, still led by the Albanian, came once more to
the point of attack. This time, however, instead of assaulting the
barricade, they lay down on the crest of the hill, and began to pick off
the garrison with their rifles, while every now and then a small body
would make a sally forward, only to be beaten back with bayonet and
cutlass. Quite unaware of the danger they were in, the whole of the
firing party were camped right on top of the mine, and Justinian,
wishing to end this desultory warfare, waited until they were pretty
well massed before giving the signal to explode.
Twice he raised his hand to give the sign, and twice he dropped it
again, from a sentiment of regret, for, scum though the besiegers were,
it yet seemed a terrible thing to hurl into fragments the fifty or sixty
men who were so calmly seated over the mine. Still it was a case of
necessity, for the garrison, worn out with incessant fighting, were not
fit to stand another assault such as had taken place the day before,
and, if the pirates captured the island, every living person would be
ruthlessly put to death.
Justinian was not a uselessly cruel man, and would fain have been spared
the necessity of such a wholesale massacre, but when he thought of his
child, and the defenceless women who would be left to the mercy of these
savages in case of capture, all feelings of pity died in his breast, so
when the enemy were massed in a great number above the mine, he gave the
signal.
Alexandros at once sent the electric spark along the buried wires, the
ground in front of the barrier heaved like a convulsed serpent, and in
the concussion which followed the roar of the explosion, every one of
the garrison was thrown to the ground. When they arose to their feet,
the sight which met their eyes was frightful, for the ground was strewn
with fragments of human bodies, legs, arms, trunks, heads, all lying
about in ghastly confusion. The sky seemed to have rained blood, for
their garments were splashed with the crimson fluid; and the whole space
of ground on the crest of the hill was rent and riven into huge holes.
Of all the human beings resting there a few minutes before, hardly one
was left alive, and down the hill fled the frightened survivors, yelling
out that an earthquake had taken place. Those still in the camp caught
the alarm, and ran for the boats, so in a few minutes the harbor was
dotted with craft pulling hard for the entrance. Not one pirate, save
those who were wounded, remained on the beach, for this frightful
catastrophe, which they ascribed to natural causes, had completely
routed the whole host which had stormed the palisade so confidently a
few hours before.
“The war is over,” said Maurice, who was very pale, for the shocking
sight of the bodies in fragments was enough to make the bravest shudder;
“they have had a lesson, and won’t come back again.”
“I trust not,” said Justinian, who stood sternly under the drooping
folds of the Union Jack, “but I doubt it while Caliphronas is alive.
Still, we have gained the victory this time, and, though I am ashamed of
having perpetrated such a wholesale massacre under this flag, yet
necessity knows no law or mercy either.”
“If we had not beaten them by that time, they would have beaten us,”
said Maurice, taking a pull at his brandy-flask, “for all our men are
about worn out, and could not have stood another assault. We have lost a
good few too, and I doubt, uncle, if, out of your hundred and twenty
subjects, you have more than thirty left.”
“It has indeed been a severe struggle,” replied Justinian sadly, “but
now, thank God, it is over—at least, for a time; but, as sure as you
stand there, Maurice, Caliphronas will come back with a fresh set of
blackguards.”
“By that time, Crispin and his re-enforcements will have arrived, so we
will soon be able to drive them back. Dick!”
“Yes, sir?”
“We must repair damages, and bury the dead.”
“Right, sir!”
It was about four o’clock in the afternoon when they began this task,
and not until nightfall were the dead buried decently in shallow graves
dug in the sea-shore sand. Papa Athanasius came down with all the women
from the village, and read the service of the Greek Church over the
remains of friend and foe alike, so that when the moon arose above the
peaks of Melnos, there was no sign of a struggle having taken place,
save in the battered barricade and the rent ground.
When all was completed, Justinian held a consultation with his nephew
and Dick as to the probability of the foe returning soon, as, if there
was a possibility of such an event happening, it would be unwise to
leave the barrier unguarded. Ultimately, it was decided to leave
sentries on guard, with cannon and muskets loaded, and Alexandros
directed the search light full on the entrance of the harbor, so that in
the event of the enemy returning, they could be seen before reaching
shore, and the alarm given at once. Temistocles, who was still in good
condition, as he had done no fighting, was left behind also, in order
that if an attack were made, he might run to the Acropolis to alarm
Justinian.
These arrangements having been made, the survivors of the fierce
fighting returned to the village, in order to take the rest they so much
needed. Loud were the wailings for the dead from the Melnosian women,
many of whom were now alone in the world, and all that night, those
sleeping in the Acropolis heard the sounds of bitter sorrow rising from
the valley below. It had been a tough fight, many had been lost, and
much damage had been done; still, the foe had been forced to retreat,
and Melnos was still under the rule of the Demarch.
That night the leaders were all gathered round the supper-table, to make
the first good meal they had tasted for days, and Helena and Zoe waited
on them, for all the rest of the servants were down in the village
looking after the wounded men. All of them looked worn out and haggard,
for the strain, both physical and mental, had been something terrible;
and even now, like Justinian, Maurice and Dick, gifted as they were with
iron constitutions, were nearly broken down by the terrible experiences
they had undergone.
“My poor Helena, you look fit to drop,” said Maurice tenderly, drawing
her down beside him. “Rest yourself for a time, and do not be so afraid.
All danger is now past.”
“But think of the many lives that have been lost.”
“I do, and regret them; still, selfish as it may sound, remember we are
all safe, and, after all, that is a great thing.”
“I am sure I don’t know how long we will be safe with this volcano.”
“Nonsense, Helena!” said her father in a vexed tone; “I tell you there
is no danger there. Nothing new has happened that I know of. The island
is quite safe, but if there are any chances of an outburst, we will get
away in Crispin’s yacht.”
“That is what I was saying to Helena this morning. But will you abandon
the new Hellas?”
“I must if Hephaistos bids me. The bravest man can do nothing against a
burning mountain. No, Maurice, if I am driven from Melnos, I will no
longer fight against fate; already, by the death of so many, a great
deal of my forty years’ labor has proved futile, so if the crowning
touch is put to it by the outbreak of the volcano, I will throw up the
game.”
“And return to England?”
“Yes. I am old now, and want rest, so I have no doubt you and Helena
will give me a corner at the Grange. It will be a great blow to me
should things turn out in this way; still, I may be too pessimistic, and
all may yet be well.”
“If I may make so bold, sir,” said Dick, who had been talking in a
whisper to Zoe, “what, may I ask, is to become of me? Zoe, here, says,
if Miss Helena goes to England, she will go too.”
“Well, you will accompany her, Dick,” said Maurice genially; “and I have
no doubt that, when you are married, I will be able to give you a billet
at the Grange.”
“Buy a yacht, sir?”
“No, I leave that to Mr. Crispin, so you can still take service under
him, and make Zoe stewardess. But we are all looking at the black side
of things; the mountain may remain quiet, in which case I will still
stay here and carry out Justinian’s scheme of the new Hellas.”
“Hear! hear!” cried Dick, lifting his glass. “Beggin’ pardon, sir, but
here’s to the health of Mr. Justinian!”
“Coupled with the name of Mr. Roylands, who is a hero,” said Justinian,
bowing his thanks for the compliment.
“And add Helena’s name also, for she is a heroine,” cried Maurice gayly.
“Now then, uncle, Dick, Helena, Zoe! three cheers for our noble selves!”
These were given, and after that, quite worn out, all retired to rest.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
THE PREY OF THE GODS.
Far down the valley the altars are reared,
The off’ring no power can delay;
For gods never honored, yet gods ever feared,
Claim their prey.
The fire that springs from the womb of the earth
Will flame on these altars of fear;
The songs of the living, the laughter and mirth,
None will hear.
For weepings and wailings of hundreds afraid
Roll up ’neath the sting of the rods;
The worship is ended, the sacrifice made
To the gods.
Things went along very smoothly for the next two days, as there was no
sign of the pirates returning, nor did the volcano hint at any near
outbreak of fire. Gradually the diminished population settled down to
their old occupations, for Justinian, in spite of the terrible events
which had lately taken up the attention of every one, judged it wisest
to prevent any disorganization of his social system. The few men
surviving returned to their work, and did their best by constant
industry to make up for their lack of numbers, though, indeed, a dismal
silence had settled down on this rural population, once so gay and
mirthful. Later on, when all fear of an invasion had passed away,
Justinian intended to make an excursion round the Archipelago in search
of new colonists, and had but little fear that he would be able to
obtain as many as he wished, for many islanders would be only too glad
to place themselves under the protection of the wealthy, eccentric
Englishman.
Thanks to the Demarch’s wisdom in placing his money with his London
solicitors, he had plenty of capital on which to draw, and when things
were once more quiet, and Melnos repopulated from the adjacent islands,
he made up his mind at once to restore the tunnel to its former
perfection. Certainly it would take some time to gather a number of
pure-blooded Hellenes for his colony, but with plenty of capital at his
back, and the productions of the island in a flourishing condition, he
could afford to wait. Besides, he had Maurice now beside him, and the
young fellow was a man after his own heart, for, in contrast to his
former listlessness when in England, he flung himself into Justinian’s
schemes with an ardor which delighted the old man. With himself to
conceive, and his nephew to carry out, the Demarch was quite jubilant in
spite of his late reverses, for he foresaw that in such capable hands
Melnos would soon be restored to its pristine glory.
The only thing, therefore, which agitated his mind, was the dread he
felt lest Caliphronas should again assault Melnos with another army of
cut-throats. Calmly as Justinian had taken the treachery of the Greek,
yet in his own soul he felt deeply hurt that his years of kindness had
met with so base a return. He had found Caliphronas a poor shepherd lad
on the island of Andros, he had educated, clothed, and fed him for many
years, and now, when perilous times came, not only was the ungrateful
scamp absent from his side, but actually arrayed against him, being in
every way an active agent in bringing ruin on his benefactor. However,
if the pirates, headed by this accomplished villain, did appear again,
the Demarch knew well that he could not hope to hold out against them
for any lengthy period, as, owing to the smallness of his garrison,
incessant watching, fighting, and suspense would wear out even the
bravest among them.
In this dilemma there was only one thing left to do, should the pirates
reappear, and that was to close up the pass by means of the overhanging
rocks at the cliff entrance. True, it would shut all within the island
up in a crater which threatened to break out; still, from all
appearances, such a volcanic outburst did not seem likely to take place,
therefore, if the pass were firmly sealed, they would at least be free
from their dangerous enemies without, until such time as Melnos could be
repeopled, and thus defend itself. Notwithstanding the earthquake, the
disappearance of the lake, the activity of the hot springs, the Demarch
could not believe that this crater, extinct for so many thousands of
years, would break out in eruption without giving, at least, some
serious warning; therefore, with this idea, he determined, if the worst
came to the worst, to shut himself and his people in, by closing up the
gorge, rather than abandon his forty years of work to the mercy of a
band of Levantine black-guards.
As to Helena and Maurice, they were perfectly happy in making love to
each other; and, in the intervals of such a delightful occupation, the
young Englishman looked after the palisade, at which two sentries were
constantly posted, wandered about the village with his uncle, attending
to local matters, and twice or thrice a day went to the vantage-point
above the side staircase, in order to watch for the appearance of
Crispin and his yacht. Daily both Maurice and his uncle swept the offing
with their glasses, but no thin line of smoke or glancing white sail
showed that The Eunice was on her way to aid these unfortunates.
Nor during all this time was Dick idle, for, with a small body of men,
he had posted himself above the overhanging rocks at the entrance of the
pass, and there they drilled holes in the soft volcanic soil for the
reception of dynamite cartridges. When these were placed sufficiently
deep, Alexandros attached his wires to them, and then threw these
thread-like conductors across the abyss to the opposite side of the
pass. At the point where Crispin had gone over the cliff a few nights
previously, he established a small battery and fixed the wires thereto,
so, in the event of the pirates approaching the island, the man who was
on the look-out at the vantage-point had simply to touch the button of
the battery, when the enormous rocks on the other side of the gorge
would crash down in Titanic fragments, closing up the narrow way
irretrievably. Still, as before stated, the Demarch, on account of a
lurking suspicion of the extinct volcano, was unwilling to avail himself
of this aid until the last moment, but in any event, if that last moment
did come, the rocks could be exploded from the vantage-point with the
greatest ease. The ropes which had been used to let down Crispin and
Gurt were still attached to the trunk of the pine tree, but had been
carefully drawn up, lest by chance, if the pirates arrived, they could
enter the island by ascending such a convenient ladder, notwithstanding
the closing of the pass.
On the early morning of the fourth day after Crispin had departed,
Justinian and his nephew, ascending the path at the back of the
Acropolis, went down to the vantage-point through the altar glade,
according to custom, in order to look for signs of the poet’s return.
The east was yet rosy with the dawn, and the great expanse of ocean
slept below them in serene calm. The long white waves broke gently on
the sandy beach, there was not a breath of wind, and when the sun arose
suddenly out of the sea, his long yellow rays shot like bridges of gold
across the water, while his orb, invisible to the watchers, projected
the shadow of the island on the liquid plain in front.
Temistocles had been on the watch for some considerable time, and as the
electric light was kept all night constantly sweeping the surface of the
sea in search of strange boats, Justinian asked the runner if there had
been any indications of approaching danger. Receiving a reply in the
negative, he put up his glass in hopes of discovering some signs of the
long-expected and much-desired yacht, but not a speck could he behold,
in spite of the power of his glasses and the keenness of his eyesight.
“It’s four days since he went away,” said the Demarch to Maurice, with a
sigh, as he put down his glass; “yet he does not seem to be coming
back.”
“You must allow him more time, uncle,” replied Maurice comfortingly;
“you know everything may not have gone exactly as we thought. He may
have cruised about some time before being picked up by the Cretan
steamer, and even if he were fortunate in meeting a boat at once on his
arrival at Syra, the yacht may not have been lying there.”
“The yacht has had plenty of time to get to Syra, Maurice; but either he
has missed the steamer, or else he finds some difficulty in obtaining
men from the Eparch of Syra.”
“But surely in an urgent case like this the Eparch will send you help at
once. You say he is your friend.”
“Certainly he says he is, but my belief is that he is jealous of my
independent sovereignty, and would not be sorry to see my little
government come to an end.”
“What a nice old gentleman he must be! But tell me, uncle, what is the
difference between a Demarch and an Eparch?”
“One rules over one island, the other over many. As a matter of fact, a
Demarch is a kind of mayor, and really it is too small a title for me,
seeing I have a whole island to myself. Still, I am quite satisfied with
it, as King of Melnos is out of the question, and Prince of Melnos
sounds like the hero of a penny novelette.”
“And what islands does the Eparch of Syra rule over?”
“Well, really, I quite forget; but the Eparch of Santorin rules over
Amorgos, Anapli, Santorin, and Ios.”
“Of course all these Epachs—or what is it?—Eparchs—are subject to the
government of King George?”
“Certainly.”
“Then I don’t wonder they envy you this island. I suppose you are the
only independent prince in the Ægean?”
“I am now, but in former times there were many. An Italian family ruled
as Dukes of Naxos, another line governed Seriphos, but those potentates
were somewhere about the fifteenth century. I think the ruler likest to
myself was one Capsi, a kind of ancient pirate, of the Alcibiades type,
who became ruler of Melos.”
“Melnos?”
“No; the island of Melos, without the ‘n.’ It is a curious coincidence,
is it not, the similarity of name and rule?”
“Very; but what became of King Capsi?”
“Oh, the Turks invited him to Stamboul, and then cut off his head for
presuming to set himself up as a rival to the Sultan. But such a fate is
not likely to happen to me, as I am very good friends with Abdul Hamid.”
“I think we had better establish a line of princes, uncle,” said Maurice
in a joking tone. “You will take the title of Justinian I.; when I
succeed to the throne, I will be Justinian II.; and if Helena and myself
are fortunate enough to present you with a grandson, he will be
Justinian III. So, you see, we have an excellent beginning for a royal
family.”
“I do not see why it should not be so,” replied the Demarch seriously;
“look at the Brookes, who became Rajahs of Sarawak, and the Bernadottes,
now Kings of Sweden, and then again the Bonaparte family. My dear
Maurice, believe me, there are still kingdoms to be gained, if he who
seeks has the nerve, judgment, and fortune of a born adventurer.”
“Such as yourself.”
“Exactly; and you are of the same type. Oh, that I were younger,
Maurice, and with you by my side, we would go to South America and carve
out a kingdom. You smile, but I tell you it can be done.”
“It has been done in Melnos.”
“Oh, that is nothing! an intellectual training school only; but I mean a
real large kingdom on a continent.”
“I may be like you in some things, uncle, but I do not think I have your
ambition, as I will be quite content with my island sovereignty of
Melnos.”
“I daresay you are wise. But, Maurice, what a story all your and my
adventures would make—the way you were brought here by Andros—the
description of the crater—the attack on the island—why, it would make a
capital romance!”
“Which nobody would believe. They would look upon it as an embroidered
lie of the ‘Alroy’ species.”
“Ah, the author of that book—Disraeli—what a man!”
“‘The wondrous boy wot wrote “Alroy,”’” said Maurice. “Yes, he certainly
was clever; a little too fond in his books of Oriental splendor perhaps,
but a genius as a statesman.”
“If Disraeli had been an Eastern vizier, he would have become a king.”
“What a desultory conversation!” said his nephew, laughing; “we began
with Eparchs and end with possible sovereigns. Well, as far as I am
concerned, this island is big enough for me and the Princess Helena.”
“Who is talking of the Princess Helena?” cried a gay voice behind them,
and, on turning, they saw the princess herself, with her arms as usual
full of flowers, looking at them both with a smile in her eyes.
“I am the culprit, your highness,” said Maurice, bowing. “When did you
arrive?”
“This very moment; so if you have been saying nice things about me, you
may as well repeat them.”
“Vanity! vanity!”
“All is vanity! If that is the only thing you have to say to me, I will
go.”
“I think we had better all go,” said Justinian, turning away from the
cliff. “I am anxious for breakfast, but you young people, I suppose, are
content to live on love.”
“Not in this keen morning air, father. But have you seen any sign of the
yacht?”
“Not the slightest!”
“What a bad thing! and the pirates?”
“No appearance of those gentlemen either.”
“What a good thing! I wonder who will arrive first, Crispin or
Caliphronas!”
“I trust the former,” answered her father hopefully; “but I dread the
latter.”
“Oh dear me!” said Helena, with a sigh; “I do wish he would leave us
alone. Why cannot he get an island of his own?”
“Ah, that’s just it, my child! He does not desire an island so much as
you.”
“He will never get me,” she answered resolutely. “Sooner than become the
wife of that traitor, I would throw myself over the cliff.”
“You can rest quite content, Helena,” said Maurice, with quiet
determination; “if Caliphronas overwhelms Melnos with his forces, he
shall not obtain the prize he desires. If he captures you, it will be
over my dead body.”
“Then he’ll never capture me, for you can easily conquer such a coward,”
retorted the girl, with great spirit; “and, after all, I don’t believe
he’ll have the courage to come back.”
“Uncle,” exclaimed Roylands suddenly, as he saw Justinian stumble, “what
is the matter? Do you feel ill?”
“Not exactly ill,” replied the Demarch, taking his nephew’s arm; “but,
to tell you the truth, I awoke this morning feeling very sick and
faint.”
“Why, papa, so did I!” exclaimed Helena in surprise; “that is why I came
down to the cliffs to obtain a breath of fresh air.”
“I also had a headache when I awoke,” said Maurice, after a pause; “so,
as we have all felt the same thing, there must be some malaria in the
air.”
Justinian gave a cry of alarm, and his face blanched white under its
bronze.
“Oh, Maurice! I dread to think what it may be!”
“Why, uncle, what do you mean?”
“The vapors of the volcano!”
Both Helena and her lover grew pale at these ominous words.
“Still,” said the latter anxiously, “if they do nothing but give
headaches”—
“You forget,” replied Justinian in a sombre tone, as they entered the
Acropolis; “we are half-way up the crater, but if the vapors are rising
from the volcano, think of all my people in the valley.”
Without waiting a moment, the three, in a state of great alarm, hurried
to the platform in front of the temple, and looked anxiously down to the
village. Although it was now seven o’clock, and the Melnosians were
early risers, there was no appearance of life in the valley below, no
sound of labor or voices ascended, no smoke curled upward from the
chimneys; but in the still morning the cup of the crater lay spread out
before them, a scene of exquisite beauty, yet terribly, ominously calm.
“Great God!” cried Justinian, with a strangled sob; “can it be as I
feared?”
A man came staggering along the mulberry avenue, waving his arms wildly,
and when he came sufficiently near, they saw it was the bos’n Dick, pale
and haggard, reeling in his gait like a drunken man.
Maurice ran forward to help him as he advanced, and ultimately had to
carry him to the steps of the Acropolis, while Helena, by her father’s
direction, ran inside for brandy and smelling-salts. With these they
revived the almost insensible sailor, who opened his eyes with a
shudder, only to find three faces scarcely less haggard than his own
bending over him. None of them asked what had happened, for the intense
quiet of that valley told its own terrible story, and Justinian knew
that in one night he had lost the whole of his subjects through the
deadly vapors breathed by the awakening volcano.
“Oh, Mr. Justinian! Mr. Roylands! it is horrible—horrible!” said Dick,
sitting up with difficulty. “They are all dead!—not one left alive; and
my poor messmates are gone also. Let us leave this cursed place, sir, or
we will die also.”
Dick had fought bravely all through the campaign, and was a man but
little given to emotion, yet so unnerved was he by the fearful
catastrophe that had happened, that he buried his face in his hands and
almost wept in the intensity of his agony. Maurice and Helena also were
paralyzed with dread, for, however daring human beings may be, the most
resolute quail before the gigantic powers of nature, and, high-spirited
as they all were, their hearts thrilled with fear as they recognized in
what a death-trap they were snared.
Only Justinian preserved a certain amount of calmness,—Justinian, who
suffered more than the others, for this was the crowning blow, and his
whole untiring labor of forty years had been swept away as naught in a
single hour.
“It is not a valley,” he cried, looking downward in despair; “it is a
tomb enclosing many dead. Oh, my poor Melnosians!”
“How did you discover it, Dick?” asked Maurice in an awed tone.
“After you went away this morning, sir. I walked down to the valley, in
order to get my messmates to go on with that mining work in the pass;
but I felt a bit headachy and queer. However, I did not think about it,
and went down the stair. Just as I got down half-way, I felt a poisonous
breath of air wafted up from below, which seized me by the throat, and
made me fall down insensible by that statue of Apollo. I don’t know how
long I lay; but it was lucky I was not farther down, or else I would
have been stifled; as it was, little breaths of the gases floated up,
but the cool air above revived me somewhat, and I managed to crawl up
higher. Then I came along, sir; and you helped me here.”
“And are they all dead?”
“They must be,” said Justinian in a tone of despair. “I see how it is we
escaped. You know the Grotto del Cane at Naples, Maurice, where a man
can enter freely, but a dog dies? that is because the vapors only rise a
certain height. Down below there, when all were sleeping, the gases must
have been breathed slowly from the mouth of the volcano, and stifled
every soul. They could not rise higher on account of their weight, so we
managed to escape death. Look at that valley!” cried the Demarch, with a
passionate gesture; “it is a smiling death-trap. We can see nothing; but
half-way up the cup it is filled with deadly poison, which would kill us
were we to descend. Oh, my poor people! dead! dead! all dead!”
He hid his face in his hands, overcome with horror at the sight; and
Dick, somewhat cured of the poisonous vapors he had inhaled, arose to
his feet with an effort.
“We must get away from here, Mr. Maurice. We dare not stay another
night, for even if that volcano does not burst out, the gases will rise
and rise until the Acropolis will be below their level. We must fly.”
“And how can we fly?” asked Justinian abruptly. “We have no boats—those
scoundrels of Caliphronas’ have destroyed them all. The only thing we
can do is to abandon the Acropolis, and go to the sea-shore, in order to
wait the arrival of Crispin to save us.”
“But if the volcano breaks out, uncle?”
“In that case we must die. The island is so small, that, with this
crater in full fury, we would be crushed under the weight of the stones
thrown out, or burned to death by the streams of lava. Our only hope is
Crispin; and as to this death-trap we must leave it at once. Helena!”
Helena did not answer. She was crouching down with her head on the lap
of Zoe, who had joined the group; and the two girls were too terrified
to speak, but lay silent with horror, a mere huddled mass of humanity.
“How many of us are left alive?” asked Maurice, raising the girl to her
feet.
“About ten, sir,” replied Dick, making a rapid calculation. “Those two
who are on the sentry-go at the palisade, Alexandros, who is down there
attending to the mine, Temistocles, who is on the look-out, the man here
who drives the engine, myself, Zoe, Miss Helena, yourself, and Mr.
Justinian.”
The Demarch flung up his hands with a cry of horror.
“Ten survivors out of nearly two hundred people! Oh, there is a curse on
me and mine! It is useless to fight against fate, Maurice. We must fly
this very minute, and trust to Providence to be spared until the arrival
of the yacht. Hark! what is that?”
There was a low moan, which seemed to come from the lips of the crater,
and a moment afterwards the earth trembled slightly. It was the dreaded
voice of the earthquake, as they knew only too well; and, with a sudden
impulse, all turned to fly. The valley smiled peaceful and serene in the
brilliant sunshine, the white peaks glittered like Pentelican marble
against the sky, the delicate green of the foliage, the myriad hues of
the flowers met their eyes on all sides; yet under this mask of smiling
loveliness raged fierce subterranean fires, which were already pressing
furiously upward to shatter the whole beautiful scene into Titantic
fragments of stone.
“Let us take provisions, water, wine—what we can,” said Justinian
rapidly, as he led the way into the Acropolis. “There is not a moment to
be lost. We must fly without delay.”
The unfortunates made as much speed as they could, and collected all the
food they could find, assisted by Argyropoulos, who had been called by
the Demarch from his engine. Fortunately there were but few valuables to
take away, as Justinian had always lived with great simplicity, and all
his money was safe in London. The Demarch hastily gathered up a few of
his papers, some money, and a little jewelry which belonged to Helena;
while the others loaded themselves only with necessaries, such as
provisions, wine, water, and cloaks to protect them should they have to
pass the night on the beach. Helena, weeping bitterly, took leave of all
her beloved flowers; and never had the court, with its snowy pillars,
sporting fountain, and mass of blossoms, looked so beautiful as it did
on this fatal morning. Argos, poor bird, was strutting proudly about,
quite unaware of his danger; and Helena, touched by a feeling of
compassion, impulsively spoke to Maurice.
“Shall we take Argos with us?”
“I am afraid we cannot, my dear girl. See, we are all heavily laden.
Where is my uncle?”
“He has gone to take a last look at the valley,” said Helena, bursting
into tears.
“Poor uncle!”
At that moment Justinian reappeared in the court, with a haggard face,
his shoulders bent with the weight of his grief. In a few hours he had
aged years, and now this terrible blow had broken him down completely.
He had taken one last farewell of the valley he loved so much, of his
dead people who were there sleeping in their terrible tomb, of all his
schemes for reviving the old Hellas of the past; and now took up his
burden, in common with the rest, to abandon the Acropolis forever.
The little band sadly left the beautiful home in which they could no
longer hope to dwell, and took their melancholy way up the winding path
which led up to the altar glade. Argyropoulos went first, then Dick
came, supporting the weeping Zoe, and finally Justinian, with his nephew
on one side and his daughter on the other, came slowly walking along,
overcome with grief. All his schemes, all his expenditure, all his works
were now at an end; and, as far as results went, the last forty years of
his busy life had been absolutely wasted.
Just as they reached the altar inscribed Θεόν, which had witnessed of
late the birth of young love, Temistocles, in a state of great
excitement, came running up the path which led from the cliffs.
“Kyrion! Kyrion! the pirates! pirates!” he cried in Greek.
“Another blow!” said Justinian, with a harsh cry. “Are we not to escape
with our lives? How many boats?”
“Eight, Kyrion, crowded with men.”
“What misfortune!” muttered the Demarch, letting his chin sink on his
breast. “Pirates without—fire within. We are lost!”
“On the contrary, we are saved,” cried Maurice, with a sudden
inspiration. “Don’t give way, uncle. Caliphronas has arrived at a most
opportune moment, for we will use their boats in order to escape.”
“Impossible!”
“Not at all. I will explain my scheme when we get down to the verge of
the cliff. Come, Temistocles, Dick, Argyropoulos. Forward all. We will
hoist those scoundrels on their own petard.”
“If I can,” cried Justinian in a rage, raising his hands to heaven, “I
will make a holocaust of them to the infernal gods!”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
JUSTINIAN’S REVENGE.
The past is shattered,
The future lost.
Now tempest-battered,
My soul is tossed
From billow to billow on life’s wild sea,
With nothing but sorrow and care for me.
The gods have spoken,
My prayers they spurn,
Yet tho’ thus broken,
I make return
Of holocausts high on their altars bare,
An offering bitter of my despair.
The saying, “It never rains but it pours,” was fully exemplified by the
series of calamities which had befallen the once peaceful Isle of
Fantasy and its inhabitants. First the treachery of Caliphronas, then
the war which had killed so many people, now a threatened eruption of an
apparently extinct volcano, and, to crown all, a band of pirates waiting
at the only outlet of escape, to massacre the survivors as they fled
from the perils within. Evidently the sins of Rudolph Roylands’ youth
were now bearing fruit, and his ancestral Ate was now exacting her full
penalty for those half-forgotten episodes of his early life, by
depriving him of all he valued most in the world. One thing after
another had been torn from his reluctant grasp, and now it seemed as if
his life itself was to crown the measure of repayment. Standing on the
lofty cliff, with his nephew, daughter, and dependants beside him,
Justinian watched the pirates landing from their boats with cynical
despair, feeling that the end of all things had come as far as he was
concerned.
Owing to the mental and physical trials of the last few weeks, the
Demarch had lost to a great extent his iron nerve, and could no longer
conceive, decide, and execute his projects with his former promptitude.
The loss of his island had turned him from a vigorous, determined leader
into a feeble old man, and although now and then his spirits did flash
up with a gleam of brilliancy, it was apparent to every eye that he was
no longer fitted either to lead or control matters at this final crisis
of affairs. It was then that Maurice showed himself a capable commander,
and, leaving his worn-out uncle to the care of the women, instinctively
took affairs into his own hands without further loss of time.
Of course he still deferred to Justinian as ostensible head of all
things, but it was he who made all suggestions, and the Demarch did
little else than agree to all his propositions. First of all, Maurice,
getting from Justinian the key of the iron gate, sent Temistocles down
the staircase to call up Alexandros and the two Melnosians, in order to
concentrate in one spot all the survivors of the island, and decide upon
a course of action. When they came up to the vantage-point, Temistocles
locked the iron gate again, and restored the key to his master, after
which all the men sat down to consider the position of affairs.
It was now noon, and the sun at his zenith was blazing hotly down on the
lava rocks of Melnos, which, flinging back the glare, rendered the heat
almost intolerable. The pirates, having drawn up their boats on the
beach inside the harbor, had retreated to their old camp, the tents of
which, untouched by the Melnosians, were still standing. There they
evidently intended to remain until it grew cooler, in order to assault
the palisade, quite ignorant that the inhabitants of Melnos were all
dead, and that the volcano was on the point of bursting out in eruption.
Had they known this latter fact, they would speedily have fled away from
the ill-omened spot; but Maurice was glad they were thus ignorant, as he
wished to use one of their boats, in order that himself and his party
might escape from the coming explosion of the mountain.
“Do you think the pirates will assault the palisade this afternoon,
uncle?” asked Maurice, anxious for the old warrior’s opinion.
“No, I don’t think so,” replied Justinian, shaking his head. “They have
evidently been rowing here all the morning, and are tired out. It is
probable they will sleep all the afternoon, and attack us just when it
grows dusk. What do you propose to do, Maurice?”
“First, pull down the palisade.”
“What! and thus lose our only defence! You are mad!”
“There is some method in my madness, as you will see, uncle. I wish to
pull down the barrier, so that when the pirates come up to assault, they
will find no difficulty in passing up the gorge. Of course, suspecting
nothing, they will make their way right into the interior of the island,
while we, who are in their rear, can go down the side staircase, on to
the beach, and then push off in a boat before they return.”
“It’s a good idea, sir,” said Dick, scratching his head; “but suppose,
when they get inside the palisade, they should come up the stair and
find us here.”
“They won’t do that, Dick, for we will lock the gate; and you can depend
upon it, when they find the pass open, they will not waste their time in
trying to force this side path. If they can gain the interior of the
island by an open way, they certainly won’t try to pass in by a blocked
one.”
“Don’t you think they will suspect treachery, Maurice?”
“No, uncle. In the first place, most of these are new arrivals, and, in
spite of what their comrades have told them, won’t believe we are—or
rather were—so strong. And in the second place, they will think we have
retreated up to the second palisade, so even if they stop there, we will
have time to get to sea.”
“What about this, Kyrion?” said Alexandros, pointing to the battery,
which stood near; “will we not wait till the enemy are under the rocks,
and then bring them down to crush all?”
“By no means, Alexandros; for by so doing we would close up the only
avenue of escape left to us. It will not be much gratification crushing
the enemy, if we only attain that by letting ourselves be blown up by
the volcano.”
Alexandros looked rather unhappy at this, as he was proud of his work,
and would have liked to show how skilfully his battery worked; but he
recognized the force of Roylands’ reasoning, so said no more about it.
Justinian was also silent, but simply because he had conceived a plan
for punishing his enemies; and looking at the battery, the rocks
frowning over the pass, and the coils of rope near the pine tree, he
glanced suddenly at Alexandros with a significant smile, whereupon the
quick-witted Greek saw that the Demarch had some scheme in his head, and
that his battery would yet be utilized. Accordingly, when all the men
descended to the gorge for the purpose of levelling the palisade,
Alexandros lingered behind with Justinian to receive his orders.
“What is it, Kyrion?” he asked in Greek.
“Alexandros,” replied the Demarch fiercely, “I am leaving this island
forever, for, as you know, all our friends are dead; but I will leave
behind me an offering to their manes of all those scoundrels who have
given me such trouble. You must carry out my wish.”
“I will, Kyrion.”
“By those coils of rope up there you can escape down the face of the
cliff?”
“Easily, Kyrion; I am a monkey in climbing.”
“Good! Well, when the pirates have gone up the pass, and we have gained
the boat on the beach, you remain behind, and, when I give the signal,
explode the mine. Thus the pass will be closed up, sealing the pirates
up in the crater, so if the volcano does burst out, they will be blown
to pieces.”
“I will do it, Kyrion,” said Alexandros, who liked this scheme
immensely; “and then I can escape down the cliff.”
“Keep it to yourself,” said the Demarch in a whisper, as they went out
of the iron gate; “Mr. Maurice is too tender-hearted, and might not like
it.”
How Justinian could reconcile this proposed massacre with the aversion
he had felt the previous day in exploding his mine, it is hard to say,
but the fact is, with all his troubles, his brain was becoming slightly
affected, and he now deemed it a point of honor to sacrifice his enemies
to the manes of his dead subjects. After all, as he considered, and very
truly, these pirates were but dangerous desperadoes, which the Ægean
could very well spare, so the sooner they were cut short in their
nefarious careers the better for the islanders of the Cyclades. Besides,
Rudolph Roylands had, even in his old age, a wild and lawless spirit,
only curbed by his wonderful powers of self-control, and in thus
avenging himself on the enemies who had destroyed his cherished schemes,
he was indulging in a burst of that Baresark fury which he inherited
from his Norse ancestors.
With hard work the eight men managed to make a breach in the earthworks
through which the enemy could pass, and all the carefully-built
fortifications were levelled to the ground. It was growing dusk when
they finished, and already they could hear a stir in the camp of the
enemy, so, rapidly completing their work of devastation, they returned
to the vantage-point, where they had left the women. Only the Demarch
and his nephew lingered behind, the one to lock the iron gate, and the
other to carry away the Union Jack, which still floated proudly over the
ruined barricade.
“They won’t get this, at all events, uncle,” said Maurice gleefully, as
he hauled down the flag; “I wouldn’t have it fall into their hands for a
thousand pounds.”
“Sooner burn it,” retorted the Demarch fiercely; “but hurry up, Maurice,
for, judging from the noise they are making, I suspect their forces are
being drawn up.”
Roylands, with the folds of the flag wrapped round his body, ran through
the iron gate with his uncle, and the latter having locked it carefully,
they ascended the staircase in order to wait events.
It was just at that hour after sunset, when the day blending with the
night produces that luminous twilight so noticeable in the
Mediterranean. The little band, concealed from sight on the high cliff,
could easily see in the warm glow how rapidly the enemy were gathering
their forces together, but, in spite of all endeavors, none of them
could see Caliphronas.
“I don’t expect he has come back, uncle.”
“Oh yes, he has,” replied the Demarch grimly; “but, on the plea of his
wound, he will remain behind in the camp, and let his army do the work.
Once they conquer, he will come out and crow. That is Andros all over;
he likes to be the monkey, and use others as cats to pull the chestnuts
out of the fire.”
“I am very glad he is not leading them,” said Maurice thoughtfully, “for
he would be keen enough to mistrust appearances, and refrain from
entering the pass in case of treachery, in which case we would be kept
prisoners up here.”
Helena uttered a low cry of fright, and hid her face on Maurice’s
shoulder, for at this moment the earth began to tremble slightly. The
shock, however, was not a severe one, and did no damage, still it made
the whole party feel uneasy, and wish they were relieved from their
perilous position. The four Melnosians, who had lost all their friends
and relatives, looked like statues of despair; still, so selfish is man
for himself, that, though all their pleasure in life was gone, they were
as uneasy and anxious to be saved as the rest of the party.
Luckily, owing to the ardor with which the enemy were forming their
lines, they had not noticed the ominous warning of the earthquake, and
were evidently about to make a grand assault on the barrier. At a given
signal, they rushed wildly up the hill, shrieking like fiends, but
recoiled in dismay as they saw the ruins of the palisade. Evidently
suspecting treachery, they consulted together for a moment, then
cautiously went forward into the pass. Finding no foe there to confront
them, they became more confident, and as Caliphronas, who could have
shown them the way, was not present, they took no notice of the iron
gate, but marched boldly up the gorge, firing their rifles at intervals,
until there was not a single man left either at the palisade or on the
beach.
There was not a moment to be lost, so, Justinian leading, with Maurice
and Dick following with the women and the Melnosians, they went down to
the foot of the stair, unlocked the door, and as rapidly as possible ran
down the hill to the beach. Placing Helena, Zoe, and all their bundles
in the best boat they could select in their hurry, Dick and Argyropoulos
pushed it off into deep water.
“Where is Alexandros?” asked Maurice, noticing the absence of the
electrician for the first time.
Justinian, with a grim smile, turned his face towards the cliffs and
raised his hand, both to point out Alexandros to Maurice, and to give
the signal for the exploding of the mine. Maurice stared aghast for a
moment, and would have spoken, but before he could open his mouth there
was a tremendous roar, and the great rocks at the mouth of the pass
crashed down with a noise like thunder, blocking up the entrance for
ever.
“You have shut the pirates in, uncle!”
“Yes,” said the Demarch fiercely; “I have triumphed over my enemies.”
“But Alexandros?”
“Is safe. See! he is sliding down the rope.”
“And the volcano!”
Even while the words were on his lips, the ground began to shake
convulsively, and with a cry, Helena fell back in the boat in a dead
faint. Maurice and Justinian were thrown to the ground, and high above,
amid the encircling peaks, shot up a mighty column of smoke, streaked
with red fire.
“The volcano!” cried Maurice, dragging his uncle to his feet. “Quick!
quick! get into the boat. Dick! Alexandros!”
They were both beside him, and assisted to take the Demarch towards the
boat, but, to their dismay, found it had been left high and dry by the
receding waters, which were curling backward from the land in streaks of
livid white. The volcano now began to cast out great stones, and at
intervals showers of boiling water, while lurid flames flashed fiercely
through the gigantic column of smoke which loomed terrible and vague
above the fatal island.
“God! we will be killed!” cried Maurice, as, with the aid of Dick and
Alexandros, he began to push the boat slowly towards the sea. “Helena!
Helena! lie down at the bottom of the boat.”
In order to push the craft to sea, Maurice had been forced to leave his
uncle, but the old man was now on his feet running towards him. Suddenly
there was a shriek of agony, and through the falling stones, through the
blinding dust, through the rain of fire, rushed Caliphronas, making for
the boat.
“Save me, save me, Justinian! Maurice, help!”
“Traitor!” cried Justinian, turning fiercely on the Greek; “now you
shall reap the reward of your treachery.”
A thick, sulphurous smoke was spread around, and in this the two men
were struggling, locked in a deathly grip. Temistocles and his three
countrymen were already afloat, pulling away as hard as they could; but
Maurice gave himself up for lost, as, in spite of all his efforts and
those of Dick, the boat was too firmly imbedded in the sand to be moved.
Great bombs came shooting up into the sky from the heart of the volcano,
and, bursting in the lurid air, huge rocks and showers of stones came
crashing down on all sides; and, to add to the horror of the night,
Maurice, with a cry of despair, saw the sea rushing violently up to the
land.
“Uncle! uncle! the boat! the boat!”
Dick and Alexandros scrambled in, while Maurice ran to help Justinian;
but, before he could reach him, he was ingulfed in the waves of the sea,
and half blindly saw a huge stone fall from heaven on his uncle and the
struggling Greek. The waves foamed around the pair, but, without a cry,
Caliphronas had been struck down, a bleeding, smashed-up mass, under the
cruel rock; while Justinian, also struck on the chest, could make no
effort to save himself. Borne up by the force of the sea, Maurice felt
rather than saw the boat rush past him towards the beach, but with an
almost superhuman effort he managed to clutch his insensible uncle and
keep afloat. The waters around were seething furiously, great stones
kept splashing down on all sides, and above he could but see a sky of
intense black smoke, through which played forked flashes of red fire.
The sea, having dashed right up to the cliffs, began to retire, upon
which Dick and Alexandros leaped out of the boat to lighten her, and
thus try to float her back into deep water. Maurice staggered to his
feet, with his uncle in his arms, and strove to reach the boat. Borne
outward by the retreating waters, the light craft swept past him, but he
also, abandoning himself to the waves, was carried seaward. In another
second the boat was in deep water, and Dick, who had never let go the
gunwale, leaped in with Alexandros. They looked anxiously through the
gloom for Maurice and the Demarch, and as at this moment a flash of
scarlet fire lighted up the furious sea, they caught a glimpse of them,
and, in spite of the still outward-rushing water, tried to row obliquely
towards the pair. For a moment it looked as if they could not be saved,
but fortunately, Maurice, though half stunned, still retained his
senses, and was able to clutch the oar which Dick held out towards him.
By this he was drawn gradually to the boat, which was rocking violently
in the disturbed sea.
“Take—uncle!—uncle first!”
Dick, with the assistance of Alexandros, managed to pull the insensible
man on board, after which, Maurice, half dead with exhaustion, also
scrambled into the boat, and, the sea now being calmer, they rowed
rapidly out to sea.
The volcano was now spouting fire furiously, and by the glare they were
able to see the entrance of the breakwater. By a miracle, they escaped
the falling stones, but, just as they were gliding past the massive
masonry, they saw the boat of Temistocles dashed to pieces, and all on
board go down in the crimson flood. Much as they wished to save the
unfortunate men, they were unable to do so, for every second they
expected to be dashed to pieces, so, with the strength of despair, they
shot out of the harbor far into the sea beyond. Justinian, Helena, and
Zoe were all lying insensible at the bottom of the boat, Maurice was at
the helm, and Alexandros, with Dick, was pulling for dear life, so as to
get beyond the range of the projectiles shot from the volcano.
Alas, the beautiful Island of Fantasy! it was now nothing but a pillar
of fire, and all the dead Melnosians, the living pirates, had been
reduced to ashes in that terrible furnace. Already streaks of glowing
lava began to move slowly down the sides of the mountain, colossal
tongues of fire shot upward to the silent stars, and explosions, like
distant cannonading, shook the mountain to its base. The noise was
something deafening, but, luckily for the fugitives, they were now
beyond the rain of stones, rocks, and bombs, while the sea, though still
disturbed, was comparatively quiet.
They were floating on an ocean of blood, for the crimson glare of the
spouting fire smote sky and sea alike with its fiery blaze, and away in
the distance arose the deserted Melnos, with its peaks crowned with
thick vapors, from whence flashed streaks of fire.
The ever-turning wheel of time had come full circle, and the long
extinct volcano was once more a burning mountain, vomiting death and
destruction on all sides; while far beyond, on the scarlet waters,
floated the little boat containing five human beings, all that remained
of the inhabitants who had dwelt in the beautiful valley of Melnos.
CHAPTER XL.
DEATH PAYS ALL DEBTS.
The day is ended, the night is near—
That’s how I look at my end.
The night is over, the day breaks clear—
Such is your creed, my friend.
But, yours or mine, does it matter much
Which of our faiths is the true one—
Mine, with its failure a future to touch,
Or yours, so sure of a new one?
We both know nothing of what comes next,
For that is my firm belief;
’Tis waste to preach on an unproved text,
And harrow our souls with grief.
My life has not been what you call pure,
Yet when drops this vexed life’s curtain,
I think my future is quite as sure
As yours with its heaven certain.
Without doubt Crispin’s star was in the ascendant when he left Melnos on
that perilous voyage to Syra, for in a very short space of time he was
picked up by a Cretan steamer, and, on his arrival at his destination,
found the yacht lying in the harbor. Owing to her likeness to the
unfortunate Eunice which had been wrecked, he had no difficulty in
recognizing her among the gay-colored caiques and steamers from all
countries which thronged in the bay below the white town of Syra.
Hurrying at once on board, he was met by the Rector, Mrs. Dengelton, and
Eunice, who were both surprised and delighted to see him so soon after
their arrival in the Ægean. A long conversation at once ensued between
the four, and Crispin described the perilous position in which he had
left Justinian, much to the astonishment of the Rector, who could not
understand that pirates still existed. As for Mrs. Dengelton, she
asserted that no power on earth would induce her to go to Melnos, where
there were so many dangers; but in this selfish determination she was
overruled by her daughter and Mr. Carriston.
It having been settled that all on board would remain, Crispin, in
company with Gurt, hurried off to see the Eparch, and, on explaining the
state of Melnos to him, managed to obtain about fifty men in order to
assist the besieged. They were marched on board at once; and late next
day the yacht set sail for the Island of Fantasy, with every one in a
fearful state of excitement at the prospect of coming adventures.
During the voyage they met with a head wind, but this made but little
difference to The Eunice, which, beating the water with her powerful
screw, forged steadily ahead in spite of wind and wave. The Hon. Mrs.
Dengelton had long since recovered from sea-sickness, and was now as
lively as ever, chatting gayly with Mr. Carriston, while Crispin, now
being for the time at leisure, made love to Eunice. Both the lovers were
in the seventh heaven of happiness at thus being reunited, and, had it
not been for the state of uncertainty he felt about Melnos, Crispin
would have been perfectly happy. For a wonder, Mrs. Dengelton had kept
her promise, and not persuaded Eunice to marry any one else; for which
honorable conduct she deserved no praise, for as yet Crispin was the
wealthiest suitor The Parrot had secured for her daughter. The lady,
however, made a virtue of necessity, and frequently pointed out to
Crispin how straightforwardly she had behaved, for which meritorious
conduct the poet was duly thankful.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Dengelton, recovering her breath after a long harangue;
“when I make a promise I keep it. I said, Find out whom you are, and you
shall have my daughter. Well, here is Eunice, and here am I, both
waiting for the promised explanation. Now, then, Mr. Crispin, who are
you?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“Do you mean to say you cannot find out?” screamed the lady.
“No, I don’t say so, Mrs. Dengelton. As soon as we arrive at Melnos,
Justinian will tell me everything I and you desire to know.”
“Justinian!” echoed Mrs. Dengelton crossly, determined not to be
satisfied. “Oh, dear Mr. Crispin, do not call my brother by that
heathenish name!”
“It is an honorable name!” said the Rector good-naturedly. “You know it
was Justinian, the Emperor of the East, who built St. Sophia, and was
the author of the Pandects. My old friend Rudolph could scarcely have
chosen a more suitable name for a lawgiver.”
“It is really wonderful to think of Rudolph still being alive,” mused
Mrs. Dengelton, taking no notice of the Rector’s historical explanation.
“It will be like meeting a stranger, for I was a child in long clothes
when he left England.”
“Yes; fifty years does make a difference.”
“Fifty years!” shrieked Mrs. Dengelton, seeing he had made a mistake.
“Oh, quite impossible, my dear Rector!—why, I am only forty-five, and as
I was born when Rudolph left, it really cannot—it cannot”—
She was unable to utter that nauseous statement of fifty years, so the
Rector good-humoredly came to her relief.
“Of course not—of course not, my dear lady. Time flies so quickly that
we are apt to make mistakes. Your age, of course, is—is—?”
“Forty-five,” murmured the lady bashfully. “Ah, I am indeed growing old.
But I will be glad to see Rudolph again, and my niece. You say she is
beautiful, Mr. Crispin?”
“Lovely!—as lovely as Eunice here.”
“Good looks run in our family,” said Mrs. Dengelton complacently. “I
myself—well, there, I was just like Eunice at her age. Yes, I will be
glad to see Helena!”
“And I will be glad to see Melnos!” interposed the Rector. “You can have
no idea, my dear Crispin, how interested I was in Maurice’s letter
concerning this scheme of reconstituting Hellas. It is a noble dream,
which may turn out into a reality.”
“Always provided there is no trouble from the pirates or the volcano,
Mr. Carriston.”
“Oh, I trust that the volcano is quiescent; and as for the pirates, I
judge, from your description of the defences, that Maurice will be able
to keep them at bay until we arrive.”
“Certainly as a last resource they can close up the pass,” said Crispin
thoughtfully; “but that would leave them at the mercy of the volcano.”
“They may be all burnt up,” observed Mrs. Dengelton in a sepulchral
tone; “and instead of Rudolph I may meet a cinder.”
“I don’t think so, Mrs. Dengelton. Whatever happens, I have full faith
in Justinian’s powers of extricating himself from any dilemma; besides,
Maurice also is ingenious in ideas.”
“My dear lad!” said the Rector, with emotion. “I am so anxious to see
him. This siege seems to have made a new man of him.”
“I don’t think you would recognize him, Rector. He is not listless now,
but full of life and spirits. Love, open-air life, and responsibility
have wrought wonders.”
“And when do you think we will be in sight of Melnos?”
“To-morrow morning, I think, but Gurt will know.”
Leaving Mrs. Dengelton and Eunice in the cabin, the two gentlemen went
on deck to see Gurt, who gave it as his opinion that they certainly
would sight Melnos at dawn.
“I hope we will find them alive, Gurt.”
“Don’t you fear, Mr. Crispin, sir. Why, I’d back Mr. Roylands against
the Dook of Wellingtin himself for fightin’.”
The Rector was much delighted with Gurt, especially when he saw how the
sailor worshipped Maurice; and the tale of the siege of the island, as
told by Gurt, with Maurice as the hero, was as brilliant and unreliable
as “The Arabian Nights Entertainments.” Never being able to hear enough
about his dear lad, Mr. Carriston asked Gurt to once more recite his
Iliad, which the sailor was nothing loath to do, and the story lasted
until all retired to rest.
The next morning at dawn they were in Cretan waters, and the Rector,
Crispin, and Gurt were all on the lookout for the island. Just about
sunrise they saw its conical shape dimly on the horizon, and Crispin,
who had his glasses up, uttered a cry of dismay.
“Why, there’s smoke!” he said anxiously. “Can the volcano have broken
out?”
“I hope not! I trust not!” cried Carriston, turning pale. “Let me look,
Crispin. You surely must be mistaken.”
Alas! there was no mistake, for, as they drew nearer, even without the
aid of the lengthy tube of the binocle, the crest of the island appeared
to be topped by a dark cloud of smoke, and they could hear at intervals
the muffled roar of the volcano breathing fire and fury.
“O God! O God! my poor friends!” groaned Crispin, sinking down in deep
despair; while the Rector, stunned with the magnitude of the calamity,
could say nothing—not even a word of comfort. Both Mrs. Dengelton and
Eunice were weeping bitterly at the thought of their terrible loss; but
Gurt, in spite of the smoking volcano before his eyes, sturdily refused
to believe that Justinian and his company were dead.
“Don’t ’ee believe it, Mr. Crispin! Mr. Maurice knows a thing or two. If
any one’s frizzled, I guess it’ll be them pirates; but Mr. Justinian and
Miss Helena!—Lor’, sir, Mr. Maurice ’ull see to ’em!”
At this moment the man on the lookout cried out that there was a boat in
sight to the eastward, on which cheering intelligence the hearts of all
revived, in the hope that it would prove to be their friends escaped
from the fatal island. The yacht’s head was turned towards the speck in
the distance, and she steamed ahead at full speed, so as to put an end
to all suspense, while every one crowded to the taffrail, in order to
catch the first glimpse of the occupants.
“Glory! glory!” yelled Gurt, dancing about in a state of great
excitement. “There’s Mr. Maurice, sir! and Dick! What did I tell ’ee,
Mr. Crispin! Glory! glory!”
“I don’t see Justinian,” said Crispin anxiously; “but see, there are two
women. Those will be Helena and Zoe!”
“Sum’at lyin’ in the boat,” cried Gurt, who had climbed up the weather
rigging; “maybe it’s Mr. Justinian. Get her ahead, sir, an’ we’ll soon
have ’em on board.”
The Eunice slowed down her engines when she approached the caique, and
the anxious faces bending over the side saw that it contained Maurice,
Dick, Helena, and Zoe, all frightfully haggard-looking objects, and that
at the bottom of the boat lay the form of a man covered with the folds
of the Union Jack. The two young men, who seemed quite worn out with
fatigue, brought the caique alongside the yacht, and, having passed up
the women and the insensible Justinian, climbed on board themselves.
Then ensued a scene of heartfelt welcome and congratulations, in which
Maurice especially was nearly overwhelmed by the embraces of Crispin and
the Rector.
“Is Justinian dead?” asked Crispin, when the first excitement had
somewhat subsided.
“No; but I am afraid he is dying!”
“My poor lad!” said the Rector pityingly; “you are quite worn out.
Crispin, are you still going on to Melnos?”
“What is the use, sir?” said Dick bitterly; “it’s nothing but a heap o’
cinders.”
“Any one still left on the island?”
“Crispin,” said Maurice solemnly, “with the exception of those you see,
every soul on the island is dead. I will tell you all soon, but
meanwhile I must have something to eat, a bath, and a sleep.”
The women had already carried off Helena and Zoe, to attend to them in
their cabin, Justinian was taken down and put to bed, and the yacht’s
head was turned back to Syra without delay, in order to obtain a doctor
for the dying Demarch.
“Where is Alexandros, Dick?” asked Gurt, as he attended to the wants of
the boatswain.
“Fell overboard!” replied Dick sadly; “he got away with us from that
cursed island, but, being weak with all his work, tumbled into the
water. We tried to save him, but he was so weak that before we could
reach him he went down.”
“And that ’ere Count?”
“Oh, a stone from the volcano smashed him up.”
“Served him jolly well right!” said Gurt cruelly. “My eye, Dick, ’ow
glad I am t’ see ye, and Zoe too!”
“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Roylands, we’d all have been lost, Gurt!”
“Didn’t I say so!” cried Gurt, bringing his fist down on the table with
a mighty thump. “Wot a man he is! Lord Nelsing and the Dook of
Wellingtin were nothin’ to him—nothin’!”
In spite of the speed of the yacht, she was unable to reach Syra in time
to save the life of the Demarch, for the stone from the volcano had so
crushed in his chest, that internal hemorrhage had taken place, and
there was no hope of saving his life. He revived, however, shortly after
being taken on board, and was conscious to the last, not without some
gleams of his former grim humor at the cause of his death.
“That ungrateful Melnos!” he said feebly, as he lay back in his berth,
clasping his daughter’s hand; “I gave it bread, and it returns me a
stone—a stone to crush me to death. Well, at all events it killed
Andros, and of that I am glad.”
“Hush, hush, my dear friend!” said the Rector gently; “you must not talk
like that. Forgive your enemies.”
“What! forgive that monster of ingratitude, who brought so many troubles
on me, and ruined my schemes.”
“Yes,” said Carriston firmly; “the greater the sinner, the more need has
he of forgiveness. If you forgive not your enemies their sins, how can
you expect God to forgive you?”
“What about yourself, Rector?”
“I have no enemies,” replied Carriston, with great dignity; “but even if
I had, I would forgive them freely.”
“Very well,” said the Demarch, with a cynical smile, which but ill
became his pallid face; “I will put you to the test. Call in every one.”
Considerably puzzled at this remark, the Rector did as he was bidden,
and in a short space of time, Maurice, Crispin, Mrs. Dengelton, and
Eunice were gathered round the bed of the dying man. Helena still sat
near him, holding his hot hand; and the Demarch, thus having got his
audience together, began to make his last confession.
“You say, Hector, you have no enemies.”
“No, not that I know of!”
“Think a little, Mr. Carriston. What about thirty years back?”
“Thirty years back!” repeated Carriston, growing pale.
“And Captain Malcolm, who ran off with your wife and child!”
“How do you know that?” asked the Rector, with a reproachful glance at
Roylands. “Has Maurice”—
“I have said nothing, sir,” cried Maurice, flushing deeply; “how can you
suspect me of such a thing?”
“I beg your pardon, my dear lad,” replied the Rector penitently; “I was
wrong to do so. Still, how does Mr. Justinian know”—
“For the very simple reason that he was Captain Malcolm,” said the
Demarch faintly.
“You!” cried Carriston, recoiling with a shudder,—“you! Are you the man
who wrecked my life, and stole my dear ones from me?”
“I am that man!” said Justinian, looking at him with weak defiance.
“Come now, where is your forgiveness?”
The Rector was deeply moved, and sat on the edge of the berth, with his
hands clasped, and great drops of perspiration rolling down his pale
face. A terrible struggle was going on in his mind, for it appeared to
him almost impossible to forgive this man, who had wronged him so
bitterly. Justinian, observer of human nature to the last, looked at him
with a faint sneer on his dying lips.
“I thought you would not practise what you preached.”
“You are wrong! you are wrong!” cried the Rector, springing to his feet.
“God forgive me! I should not have hesitated a moment. I do forgive you!
I forgive you freely.”
Justinian was so moved to sudden emotion at this noble behavior on the
part of the man he had wronged, that for the moment he was deprived of
speech.
“I see there are some good men still on earth,” he said at length in a
faltering voice. “Mr. Carriston, I thank you for your noble conduct,
which has taken me quite by surprise. I acknowledge I have wronged you
deeply, and cannot palliate my conduct, but I can and will make
reparation.”
“My wife?” groaned the Rector bitterly.
“Is dead; but your son is by your side.”
The Rector turned suddenly round and found himself face to face with
Crispin, whose countenance was as pallid as his own. They gazed for a
moment at one another, suffocated with emotion, then, casting all
restraint to the winds, fell into one another’s arms.
“You will find all the necessary papers to convince you of this truth
with my lawyers in London,” said the Demarch, with evident pleasure at
this meeting of long parted father and son.
“I am convinced now,” replied Carriston, as he stood with his hand on
Crispin’s shoulder. “Yes! this is indeed my son.”
“Still, you had better see the papers,” said Justinian faintly. “There
is a letter for you from your wife, which will tell you all you wish to
know. Rector, I have been a great sinner, I know, still I don’t think
there are many actions I regret so much as robbing you of your wife.
However, I have done my best to make amends, and you have forgiven me.
But Crispin?”
“I also forgive you freely,” said Crispin, clasping the hand of the
dying man; “for by this confession you have not only given me a father,
but a wife.”
“Yes, take her!” sobbed Mrs. Dengelton, pushing her daughter towards the
poet. “I always liked you, Crispin,—or shall I say Mr. Carriston?”
“I think it must be Crispin Carriston,” said the Rector, drawing Eunice
towards him, “for I love the name of Crispin too well to part with it.”
“My dear father!”
“Maurice!” said Justinian, who was getting weaker.
“Yes, uncle?”
“You will find my will at my lawyer’s; it leaves all the money to you
and Helena, who is to be your wife.”
“My dear wife!” repeated Maurice, kissing the weeping girl. “As to your
money, uncle, I do not require it.”
“You must take it, my son. Helena is my heiress, and alas! now Melnos
has vanished in smoke and fire, there is no use for it there. You will
return to England, Maurice, and, with all this wealth, do what good you
can in the world. Crispin is already rich, so it would be useless to
leave him anything.”
“I have Eunice, and that is enough for me.”
“Well, now all is arranged, we must drop the curtain on this comedy of
life,” said Justinian, with a flash of his old cynicism. “After all, I
have played my part to the best of my ability on this life’s stage, but
Fate has been too strong for me.”
“It is the will of God,” observed the Rector solemnly.
Justinian said nothing, as he did not wish to offend the firm faith of
the old clergyman, but he could not, for the life of him, think that it
was the will of God that forty years of hard work to raise up a new
civilization should be blotted out for no reason whatsoever.
“Life’s a problem!” he said, with a faint sigh; “we do our best, and
remain poor, we do our worst, and become rich. However, it is all over
now, and of all my schemes nothing remains. Dust, ashes, smoke, fire,
have they all come to, and I, after seventy-five years of life, die
foiled and beaten by Fate.”
“Oh, father, do not talk so! You will not die! you will live!”
“I am afraid not, my child!” replied the dying man faintly; “the parting
gift of Melnos has crushed the life out of me. Oh, my island, my
beautiful island! that bloomed like a rose on the waters! how your glory
has departed! The forge of Hephaistos hath supplanted the garden of
Cytherea.”
“Will I not pray for you?” asked the Rector gently.
“To whom? God? Well, a good man’s prayers can do no harm, and, if there
is truth in your belief, may do some good. But we are all in the dark,
you with your Christianity, I with my paganism. The comedy is ended,
drop the curtain.”
“Oh, father, father! do not talk so!” sobbed Helena, burying her face in
her hands.
“Hush, my child! I am not afraid. Rector, you can pray for me, but, now
all is told and done, leave me with my child. Good-by, my sister; I
never knew you, so we are almost strangers—good-by. Kiss me, Eunice, and
be a good wife to Crispin, who loves you so dearly. Crispin, I have
wronged you, but made reparation. Dick! Gurt! you have been true men,
and Maurice will look after your future. Maurice, my dear son, good-by.
Be a kind husband to my child, and comfort her in her sorrow. Bury me at
sea, for I will have no meaner grave than the mighty ocean. Good-by, one
and all—good-by!”
They took leave of him in silence, one by one, and then left the cabin
quietly, leaving him alone with Helena and the Rector, who was already
on his knees reciting the service for the dying. On deck, the sun was
setting in splendor, leaving trails of glory in the heavens, and sadly
they remained there, waiting for the end. In about half an hour, the
Rector, pale and sad, appeared on the deck.
“It is all over!”
The next day, the yacht arrived at Syra, with her ensign half-mast, as a
token of the dead on board. Here the men whom Crispin had recruited for
the defence of Melnos were paid off and dismissed. No one on board cared
to remain longer in the Archipelago, now so fraught with sad
associations, so, after a few hours’ stay, The Eunice steamed out of the
harbor on her way to old England once more.
Off the island of Cerigo, to the extreme south of the Peloponnesus,
Justinian’s body was committed to the deep, wrapped in no meaner shroud
than that ragged Union Jack, shot nearly into tatters, which had floated
so proudly over the well-defended stockade. The Rector, in a voice
broken by emotion, read the burial service over the body of the dead
Demarch, who, whatever his faults might have been, was a great man. The
engines were slowed down, the body, wrapped in its glorious pall, shot
with a sullen splash into the sea, and then the yacht, with set sails
and beating screw, plunged on, through the purple seas, towards England.
Helena was almost broken-hearted with her loss, and shut herself up in
her cabin to lament in solitude. This, however, Maurice would not allow,
as he was afraid of her becoming ill, and one evening, when all were at
dinner, he persuaded her to come up on deck, where the glory of the
sunset was burning with splendor in the far west.
“My dearest,” he said tenderly, taking her in his arms, as they stood
facing the keen sea breeze, “you must not break your heart like this.
Your father would never have survived the loss of Melnos, so he had his
wish, and died when all his hopes of a new Hellas were at an end. I must
be your comforter now, Helena, and when you are my dear wife, I trust to
make you so happy, that you will be able to look back with calmness on
this loss, which you now think—and justly—so bitter. Hush, hush, my dear
love! We will face the future together, and live down our past sorrows.”
Helena, drying her eyes, put her cold little hand into his, and looked
trustfully up into his face, but was too overcome by her feelings to
trust herself to speech.
The sun, dying in the west, was flooding the heavens with gold, and just
above the intolerable brilliance on the horizon appeared a fantastically
shaped cloud, like an isle all broken into bays, capes, peaks, and
plains. In the glowing splendor it looked so frail and ethereal, that,
even as they gazed, it melted away before their eyes like a fairy
vision.
“The Island of Fantasy!” murmured Helena.
“My love! The real Island of Fantasy has vanished; the cloud Island of
Fantasy has disappeared; but in our hearts, my Helena, there is a land
of fairy loveliness, which will endure forever, and some day, my child,
when we leave this world, we will find our beautiful island once again,
more glorious than of yore, with your father to welcome us there.”
FINIS.
“Down where the living waters flow.”
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
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------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
Compound words which appear on page or line breaks either retain or
forgo the hyphen depending on usage elsewhere in the text.
Inconsistencies of hyphenation in words appearing midline are retained,
unless there is a clear preponderance of one or the other.
Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and
are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.
15.23 such arid chips of wi[ds/sd]om Transposed.
16.4 which renders your life so bitter[./?] Replaced.
30.26 said Mrs. Den[e]gelton Removed.
46.35 I learned [Greek/English] from a roving Confused.
Englishman
104.8 —misnamed a palace[./,]— Replaced.
129.30 [“]I must think it over. Added.
130.34 [“]I talk very confidently, but I am doubtful. Removed.
136.46 To bitterness.[’] Removed.
137.40 any national songs of your country.[”] Added.
162.2 such as ‘a hungry beast,’ ‘a ravenous Added.
monster,[’]
191.35 with the most appalling cynicism.[”] Added.
211.34 I should like nothing better[?/.] Replaced.
237.40 with this accomplished cut-throat.[”] Removed.
238.37 with Crispin a[u/n]d Maurice on either side of Inverted.
him.
251.25 his chair a little nearer.[”] Removed.
251.35 Decide[d]ly these two young people Inserted.
254.2 his offer to make her an[ ]odalisque of the Inserted.
harem.
279.8 in these post-revolu[n]tionary days Removed.
282.28 [“]who are you?” Inserted.
286.16 well versed in Dick’s ta[c]tics Inserted.
287.8 there were flat-racing[,] hurdle-racing Inserted.
289.1 [“]she thought it was Gurt, sir!” Added.
304.16 to her favorite haunt[-/.] Replaced.
317.1 [“]As to Justinian’s breaking faith Removed.
325.1 now you can understand how [de]delighted I am Redundant.
327.28 now being able to talk f[r]eely of himself Inserted.
373.32 However, it was to[ to] all appearances Redundant.
403.6 [“]it is too dangerous. Added.
417.24 like cats on hot bricks shortly![”] Added.
420.4 who were so calm[l]y seated over the mine Inserted.
429.6 “Not the sligh[t]est!” Inserted.
431.2 their hearts thrilled with[,] fear Removed.
452.33 he said tenderly, taking[,] her in his arms Removed.