of a dear old friend of mine who works there. I don’t think I’ve ever
told you about Mr. Sheston, have I? And now I come to think of it I
don’t believe I’ve told _anyone_ all he meant to me when I was a little
boy, no older than you are now. I’ve never seen him since, but he
was better to me then than a thousand beautiful mysterious books. He
used to tell me the most wonderful stories, and I’ve never forgotten
them. He must be a very old man now. (I thought him very old _then_,
but, of course, he wasn’t really.) I believe he sometimes goes to see
your Aunt Hester, and I want you to meet him. Perhaps he will tell
you some of the strange things he told me. Perhaps even you will have
‘adventures’ when you’re with him! And perhaps not. Anyhow, if you _do_
have ‘adventures,’ take my advice and don’t talk about them. People as
a rule don’t understand Mr. Sheston, and some of them say all sorts of
silly things about him, and even think he’s mad. He isn’t. He’s the
_oldest_ and the wisest man in the world.”
Rachel folded up the letter feeling very happy. She and “Daddy” were
great friends, and she was as she said to herself “frightfully glad”
that Dad had known Mr. Sheston when he was a little boy. That hint
he gave about “adventures” pleased her very much, as also his remark
about Mr. Sheston being the oldest man in the world! Oh, yes, certainly
Dad had passed through the same sort of experiences as those she had
enjoyed since her meeting with his old friend. That was a splendid
thought. And all at once she remembered that Dad also was the seventh
child in his family. “So _he’s_ mixed up with _sevens_ too,” was her
next reflection. “He’s one of the lucky people—like me. He’ll be
awfully interested when he gets my last letter to say I’ve met Mr.
Sheston already!”
That very same morning, Aunt Hester had a note from the old man to
ask if Miss Moore would be kind enough to bring Rachel to tea at his
house the following day, at three o’clock. “I will bring her back again
myself. Don’t trouble to answer this, because I shall rely upon seeing
Rachel at the appointed time.”
Aunt Hester brought the note into the schoolroom, and, after reading it
aloud, laughed a little and shrugged her shoulders.
“This is a _command_,” she said, addressing Miss Moore. “He always gets
his own way. Will you see that the child arrives punctually?”
Rachel wanted to jump for joy.
“It’s exactly seven days since the last time I saw him,” she exclaimed.
“How exciting!”
Mr. Sheston’s house was tucked away in a little quiet square, near the
Museum. It had a narrow front-door with a brass knocker that shone with
much polishing, and above it, in the shape of a crescent, panes of
glass divided by a tracery in white plaster.
Within, the walls of hall and staircase were panelled with dark wood,
and the room into which Rachel followed her host after Miss Moore had
left her was, she thought, the nicest she had ever seen.
It had three windows, and was long and low, and like the hall,
panelled right up to the ceiling. There were cushioned window-seats,
and books everywhere, and great bowls of spring flowers on the tables.
And in an old-fashioned grate with hobs, a fire sparkled cheerfully,
for it was a cold gloomy afternoon.
Tea was laid on a table in front of the fire, and in a few moments the
dearest old woman in a frilled close-fitting cap and a spotless apron,
entered, bringing a teapot and a kettle, which she placed on the hob.
[Illustration]
She smiled at Rachel.
“The very image of her father, isn’t she, sir?” she remarked.
“Oh! Did you know Dad?” enquired Rachel, joyfully.
“Martha has known all my young friends,” said Mr. Sheston.
“Many’s the time your father has sat where you’re sitting now, my
dear,” the old woman continued. “He was no older than you then, and had
just your look.”
She went out of the room quietly, leaving Rachel much interested, and
glad to be in a place that Dad had once known well.
She would like to have asked all sorts of questions about her father
when he was a little boy, but, remembering his letter, she felt in some
curious way that it would be better not to do so.
Tea was a most cosy and delicious meal, but it was only after old
Martha had cleared the table and swept up the hearth that Rachel said
rather disappointedly—“Then we’re not going to the British Museum?”
Mr. Sheston smiled. “Not to-day. I’m going to tell you a story instead.
But first you’ll have to listen to a little lecture.” He took an atlas
from one of the book-shelves, and opened it on the table before her.
“The story I am going to tell you has something to do with Greece, and
in order that you may understand it better, I want you first to look
at this. It is a map of Europe as it was three thousand years ago,
showing the countries round the Mediterranean Sea. All the parts of the
countries that belonged to Greece in those days are coloured pink.”
Rachel looked, and saw many pink islands in the Mediterranean Sea, as
well as pink strips along the coast of Asia Minor, and even a pink tip
to the heel of Italy.
“The Greek people had a lot of land—only all scattered about,” she
remarked.
Mr. Sheston nodded.
“Like England, it was a little country owning a lot of land—‘scattered
about,’ as you say. Well now, these islands were the Greek colonies,
just as India and South Africa and Australia are our colonies. Again,
like the English, the Greeks were great colonists. They sent out their
people to live and build and work in places sometimes far distant
from the mother country. But now I want you to find on the map one
particular island-colony called _Rhodes_.”
“Here it is!” cried Rachel, in a minute, putting her finger on a
pink-coloured spot. “It’s a good long way from Greece,” she observed,
“and quite close to Asia Minor.”
“It belonged to Greece, however,” said Mr. Sheston, folding up the map.
“I only want you to remember its name, and where it is. Now come and
look at this statue.”
He got up, and Rachel followed him to a recess on which stood a
beautiful little figure of a god.
“That is a god called Phœbus Apollo,” said Mr. Sheston. “To the Greeks
he meant all the best things in the world—the sun, poetry, music,
wisdom and truth, and everything that is free and beautiful.”
“The gods they worshipped in Egypt and Babylon weren’t beautiful,” said
Rachel. “But this god _is_. He’s much better than the others.”
“Because the Greeks themselves were in some ways higher and better than
the Egyptians or the Babylonians. They were thinkers and artists, and
their minds were free. Therefore they were able to imagine beautiful
gods, and they became the greatest race of people that ever lived....
Do you remember the name of their chief city?”
“Athens,” answered Rachel, who was rather good at geography.
“Yes, Athens,” repeated Mr. Sheston, softly. “Wonderful Athens! Well,
now, my dear, I can begin my story, asking you to remember that Greece
had many colonies, peopled by Greeks whose general life was very much
like the life led by the citizens of Athens in the mother country. They
worshipped the same gods—Phœbus Apollo amongst them—and they were, in
fact, part of the Grecian Empire....”
He was silent for a minute or two, and the room was so quiet and
restful that Rachel had almost begun to feel pleasantly drowsy when
she heard his voice again. “What I am going to tell you, I once told
your father years ago in this very room, and he sat just where you are
sitting now,” he said. Before she had time to make a reply, he began
the story, and though his first words ought, as Rachel afterwards
reflected, to have been rather startling, they seemed perfectly
natural, for she was getting used to the idea that, as Dad said, Mr.
Sheston was “the _oldest_ man in the world.”
* * * * *
“When I was a little boy, nearer three than two thousand years ago,
I lived in the island of Rhodes. You know where it is, because a
minute or two ago, you found it on the map, and saw it marked in the
Mediterranean Sea as an island some long way from Greece.
“In the map, it was nothing but a little blotch coloured pink, so it’s
not surprising if you have no idea what _I_ see, when I remember Rhodes
as I knew it nearly three thousand years ago. I’ll describe the vision
that rises before me now.
“First of all, my own home. It is a big white house with pillars at the
entrance, and a flat roof, standing in a garden full of roses that
slopes down almost to the harbour of the town of Rhodes. The harbour is
full of ships—our own, and those from Tyre and Athens and Smyrna, and
all the great seaports on the Mediterranean—ships with curious curved
sails, some of them purple and embroidered with strange devices.”
(“Like the ships from Tyre I saw at Babylon,” thought Rachel, though
she did not care to interrupt.)
“Beyond the great harbour with its crowded shipping and merchandise of
green and purple figs, heaps of dates, bales of fine muslin and linen,
chests—some full of spices, others of gold and ivory—lies the sea,
blue as the bluest sapphire, over which, going and coming from every
harbour of every country whose shores touched the Mediterranean, ships
go sailing. That is the picture I have in my mind when I think of
Rhodes as I knew it ages ago.
“My name in those days was Cleon, and I had a beautiful mother, and a
little sister called Penelope.
“But before I go on, I must tell you that by the time I came into the
world, Athens, our mother city, where my father had been born, was
no longer so great and powerful as it had been in the days a hundred
years before my time. All sorts of trouble had come to Greece. It had
been conquered by a certain king called Alexander the Great, who died
just before I was born, and all the time I was a child, the generals
of his army were quarrelling among themselves—each one trying to get
the largest share of all the great kingdoms their master King Alexander
had won. You will ask what that had to do with Rhodes, and with my
beautiful home, and with the happiness of everyone I loved. It had all
too much to do with us, as I will explain.
“Our island had indeed been conquered by Alexander the Great, but fifty
years before I was born we had regained our liberty, had become a
republic and also the greatest sea nation in the world. But now, though
the great conqueror himself was dead, one of his generals, jealous of
our power, determined to subdue us and make us slaves again. This man’s
name was Demetrius, and, because he had become so famous in war, he was
generally called Demetrius, the Besieger of Cities.
“I was twelve years old when the news came that this dreaded Demetrius
had declared war on Rhodes, and was coming to besiege us, and never
shall I forget the speech my father (who was Governor of Rhodes) made
to the citizens that day!
“‘We are Greeks,’ he said, ‘and worthy children of Athens, our mother
city. Never will we yield to Demetrius! Let us prepare for the greatest
siege that has ever been known.’
“A great shout answered him, and my father at once began to make
preparations.
“‘First of all,’ he said, ‘every useless person must be sent out of
Rhodes.’ That meant all the women and children, and all men who were
not strong enough to fight. For, in the long siege that was expected,
there would not be sufficient food for anyone but workmen and soldiers.
Workmen must instantly begin to make every sort of warlike weapon,
including machines as far as possible like those which Demetrius would
certainly employ against the city. Other workmen must strengthen its
walls, toiling day and night. Everyone in fact must labour as they had
never done before. I followed him from the marketplace that day full of
dread. If all the children were to go, should I have to leave Rhodes
just at this stirring time, when I so longed to be in the midst of
things? Yet I dared not ask my father to let me stay, for I knew I must
not trouble him with my affairs when he had the whole town’s business
on his mind. I was very miserable, for I knew he intended to send me,
with my mother and little sister, to Athens. But you shall hear how
it was that I after all remained in Rhodes through the whole dreadful
siege.
“One of our greatest friends was a certain young sculptor called
Chares. He was very fond of me, and deeply interested in a curious gift
which, even as a child, I possessed. My greatest amusement and interest
had always been to draw _plans_ of houses and towns, and I drew them
so correctly and well that everyone was amazed, for I had never been
taught. To _me_ there was nothing wonderful about this, for it seemed
quite easy, and I could never understand why Chares looked upon my work
with so much astonishment.
“As soon as I dared I began to beg and entreat not to be sent away,
till my father, growing angry, silenced me, and I was just creeping off
miserably when Chares, who was with us, spoke.
“He had picked up a plan of the town on which I had been working, and I
saw him studying it attentively, all the time I was begging to stay.
“‘Yield to the boy, Hippias,’ he exclaimed, suddenly. ‘Who knows that
this gift of his,’ he tapped the paper he held, ‘may not be of value? I
think he should remain with us.’
“My father looked from me to Chares, and, after a moment’s silence,
said quietly, and to my great joy, ‘So be it. That is’—turning to
me—he went on: ‘if you can bear hunger and even wounds perhaps, like a
man. We must have no whimpering children in Rhodes.’
“I felt I could bear anything if only I might remain, and I was
unspeakably grateful to my dear Chares for his interference. I knew my
father not only trusted him greatly, but also had an idea that he was
favoured by the gods, and could look into the future. It was because
_he_ pleaded for me that my wish was granted.
“In a few days I was the youngest person left in Rhodes, which was
now filled only with soldiers and workmen. Those were wonderful days
when we waited for the coming of the fleet that was to destroy us!
Almost every hour fresh troops were landed, for the countries that were
friendly to us sent us soldiers in plenty. Many of them were our own
countrymen—Greeks from other colonies, who rejoiced to fight with us,
and arrived shouting, singing, and full of delight. All day long I ran
here, there and everywhere in the town. Now I was down by the harbour
to see a fresh ship full of warriors come sailing in; now I walked
round the city walls to watch the workmen strengthening and repairing
them. But most time of all I spent in the sheds where the great war
engines were being built, for these fascinated me beyond measure, and
I wondered whether even the celebrated Demetrius had better or larger
ones than those we were making. I was soon to know.
“My father had brought me up to reverence the gods, and the chief god
of our worship was Phœbus Apollo—lord of the sun which poured its
light so gloriously upon our island, and ripened our grapes and figs,
and made the whole land lovely and pleasant to the sight.
“In our garden there was a little white marble temple, and in it, with
an altar in front, stood a beautiful statue of the god, made by our
friend, Chares, the sculptor. Here I often went to pray for victory.
One morning I woke before sunrise, and the loveliness of the sky made
me wish to worship the god of the approaching day.
“Like a vast mirror the scarcely heaving sea reflected the pink glow of
the sky, where little golden clouds like feathers floated just above
the horizon, and a broad band of amber was growing momentarily brighter.
“I rose quickly from my place on the roof, and, running past rooms
filled with sleeping soldiers (for our house had been turned into a
barracks), made my way into the garden all mysterious, dim and dewy in
the dawn.
“I crossed wet lawns, stopped to pick a handful of the roses that
poured in a crimson torrent from a stone urn, and then ran on to the
grove of lemon trees in which stood the temple.
“To my surprise I found someone there before me. A dark figure stood
within. Just at that moment, the first ray of the risen sun darted like
a golden arrow between the pillars of the temple, and the marble statue
of the god appeared bathed in dazzling light.
“The figure I had seen was now kneeling at the foot of the altar, and I
recognised Chares.
“Very softly I crept into the temple, and, dropping my roses on the
altar, knelt beside him.
“Then Chares rose to his feet, and stretching out his arms, prayed
aloud. His words, spoken in the Greek tongue, sounded like beautiful
poetry, but I can only give you in another and different language, a
poor idea of the prayer he offered to Phœbus Apollo.
“‘O mighty lord of the sun and of all the beauty in striving for which
men are raised above the beasts that perish, grant us victory in the
coming strife. I, Chares, thy worshipper, who have many times fashioned
in thine honour statues which but faintly show forth my dreams of thy
perfection, do make a vow before thee here, at the rising of the sun,
that, if to thy people of Rhodes comes the victory we crave, I will
raise to thy glory such a statue as never man yet beheld—the Wonder of
the World, an everlasting sign of thy mercy, the best and last work of
my hands.’
“The little temple was flooded with sunlight, and the heap of roses on
the altar was glowing like a crimson fire, when Chares turned, and,
seeing me beside him, laid his hand on my shoulder. We moved out of the
temple, and he was just going to speak when I pointed with a cry to the
horizon. Crowding sails were in sight, and Chares started. ‘They come!’
he exclaimed. ‘At what better moment than after my prayer and vow?’
“But, even before the last words were uttered, such a shout went up
from the harbour and the town as to make my heart beat and set me
trembling with excitement. From the house, across the lawns to the
gates which led to the seashore, the soldiers came rushing, and, in a
few moments, Rhodes was humming and buzzing like a hornet’s nest.
“So the famous siege of Rhodes began. You will read all about it when
you are older, for it was one of the most celebrated sieges in history.
To me, as to hundreds of others, it was a time which, though full of
excitement, was still more full of misery and sorrow. My dear father
was killed fighting bravely, and many, many of our friends.
“Months passed, and sometimes we won a victory, breaking through the
enemy forces, and sometimes Demetrius, with his terrible war machines,
triumphed. He had succeeded in landing on our island and was encamped
on a hill near our city, while _we_ within _our_ walls, resisted all
his efforts to break them down.
“After nine or ten months of fighting, our sailors won a splendid
victory against the fleet of Demetrius, and the temples of the gods
were crowded with worshippers giving thanks for our success.
“Since my father’s death, Chares had lived with me in our once
beautiful house (now a barracks for the soldiers), and he and I
preferred to worship in our own little private temple of Phœbus Apollo.
When we left it that day, the sun was setting, and the roses, which
during the war had grown in wild profusion, almost smothered the
shrine, and made it look as though set in the midst of scarlet flames.
“Chares glanced back at it, and put his hand on my shoulder.
“‘Cleon,’ he said, ‘if the statue I have in mind ever rises to the
honour of the god, it will be through _you_.’
“I was startled and impressed by his words which I did not understand.
How could I, still a child, and not even allowed to fight, have
anything to do with victory—if victory ever came? For we knew that
Demetrius had but retired to bring fresh forces against us. I began to
say something like this, but Chares paid no heed to my words.
“‘Are you keeping your drawings and plans in safety?’ he asked, as
though to change the subject. For he knew that my days now were chiefly
occupied in making plans of different parts of the city, and also
careful drawings of our own, as well as of the enemy’s war machines.
This I did to amuse myself, and often, though Chares did not know this,
ran into great danger in my eagerness to see something I thought useful
or important, more closely.
“‘How do you think this gift has come to you?’ asked Chares presently,
when I had assured him that I kept all my drawings.
“And when I said I had never thought about it, and did not consider it
a ‘gift,’ because to me it was like a kind of game, he replied gravely,
“‘Some day you will know.’
“We were not left long to enjoy our victory, for soon rumours began to
fly about which filled us with anxiety.
“Demetrius, beaten for the time, had indeed retired, but it was known
that he had invented, and was building, a new and a more terrible war
engine than had ever before been designed. By this time, in Rhodes, we
were nearly starving, for our food was almost all gone, and Phrynis,
our general, was full of anxiety, for though he did not doubt the
courage of our troops, he knew they could not fight if they were weak
for lack of nourishment. You may imagine his relief when, just at the
blackest moment of despair, some ships sent by our friend, the King of
Egypt, managed to get past the watching fleet of the enemy, laden with
corn, and, a few days afterwards, other ships arrived with fresh troops
to help our tired men.
“After they had rested and been well fed, Phrynis gave orders for
soldiers and sailors to prepare for the great machine which would
soon be at our gates, by building an _inner_ wall behind that which
encircled the city. To do this it was necessary to pull down a great
many houses, and, among them, my own beautiful home, and even the
little temple of Phœbus Apollo. Before this was done, we held a solemn
service within the temple, and again Chares renewed his vow to make the
statue, and begged forgiveness of the god for having to destroy one of
his dwelling-places. I thought my heart would break when instead of
the white house I knew and loved, with its marble columns, its flights
of marble steps leading to a garden beautiful as a dream, I saw waste
land, scattered over with stones and rubbish, all the roses trampled
under foot, and desolation far and wide about the new wall that was
rising. But we were fighting for our lives, and there was no time
either for sorrow or regret.
“Meanwhile, the war machine which Demetrius was preparing for our
destruction was nearly completed. It was being built upon that part of
the island already in possession of the enemy, and marvellous tales
about its size and deadliness were daily brought into the city by those
of our soldiers who had seen it. The name they said that was given to
the new engine was _helepolis_, which means _destroyer of cities_. As
time went on, I could think of nothing but this awful monster, which I
was quite sure _might_ be overcome if only one could think of the means.
“By now, so many were the plans I had made of our city that there was
scarcely a yard of it I did not know, and one day I said to Chares,
“‘If only we could discover to which point of the walls this
_helepolis_ will be brought when it begins its attack upon us.’
“Chares glanced at me quickly.
“‘Why?’ he asked.
“‘Because, if only I knew that, I should also know at once what to do.’
“I spoke with great confidence, for I was really quite sure of the plan
I had in mind—though _why_ I was so sure, I could not tell.
“Chares looked at me again, and then as though he had dismissed the
subject, said, ‘To-day I will take you where you may work at your maps
and plans in greater quiet.’
“Since the destruction of our house, another in the heart of the town
had become our General Headquarters, and here everything was crowded
and rough and noisy with the incessant tramping of soldiers about its
door, and there was no spot in it that I could call my own. So I was
glad that Chares had found a place for me, and, when after several
hours’ absence, he returned, I willingly followed him to a house on
the hill-side beyond the walls. We passed through a quiet garden and
presently entered a room, where, to my surprise, I saw our general
Phrynis, several other officers, and one or two men I knew to be
engineers. These men smiled in an amused way when I came in, and I
heard one whisper to another,
“‘Have we been brought here to consult with a child?’
“But Chares drew a stool up to the table in the window space, and told
me to open the ground plans of the city and the maps I had brought, and
when the men crowded round to see, I noticed that their faces altered
as they passed my drawings from one to the other in silence.
“At last Phrynis, who was very grave, spoke touching a point on one of
my plans of the town.
“‘Cleon,’ he said, ‘if the new war engine should be posted at _this_
part of the wall, what would you do supposing you had everything you
wanted at your command?’
“Then I began to explain very fast and confidently—(for it all seemed
quite simple to me)—just the way in which I would lay a mine under
that part of the wall, and just the spot where the engine would sink,
if certain directions were carried out.