ATLANTIS VERSUS PELASGIA.
A few days later the Atlantean fleet sailed to the eastward to invade
this upstart Pelasgia—these Pelasgians that had come from Western Asia
by way of the Cyclades to make an abiding place in the Greece of to-day,
as well as the islands of the Ægean Sea.
A mysterious people were the Pelasgians. Their appearance among the past
known races of the earth was sudden; their extinction has been complete.
Yet we know they were peaceful, and fond of agriculture; that, under the
favoring skies of their adopted land, they became the greatest merchants
and sailors of most ancient times, antedating the renowned Phœnicians;
that from Greece they passed over to Southern Italy, there, perhaps, to
inaugurate that “golden age of Saturn,” when peaceful agricultural
pursuits superseded the piratical habits of the Carians and Leleges. But
this is little.
However, their monuments endure. These are the vast Cyclopean remains of
Greece and Asia that puzzle while they amaze. Evidently intended for
fortification, they were built of huge polygonal stones, fitted together
without cement and mortar, so perfectly as to survive the structures of
succeeding ages and races. These are all that are left to point to a
people who, though forced everywhere to yield to the conqueror, must yet
have been possessed of indomitable energy and perseverance. Though
ineffaceable are their invisible imprints for good.
Under Pelasgus, their leader and king, this colony won renown so quickly
that it is no wonder Atlano should doubt its existence. But this
knowledge proved the impetus he had been desiring. Now there was new
life in the mere thought of the stifling of this menacing people.
Thus the fleet went gaily sailing along the Middle Sea, so high were the
hopes, so positive the convictions of success.
The skies were favorable: and the time dragged not, because of the
ravages made upon the coasts to the left. At length the islands off the
southern shore of Greece were sighted; and there came into view what
could only be some Pelasgian vessels. As the great fleet bore down upon
them, these took to flight, and made such good speed, the while warning
other vessels they met, that all were out of sight before reaching the
southern point of Attica.[10]
Up the western coast they speeded to their port,[11] whilst the
Atlanteans, mistaking their route, rounded Attica to sail up its eastern
coast. Nothing here invited them except some outlying hamlets, which
they pillaged and destroyed. When well along between Attica and Euboea,
the fleet lay to, and many warriors disembarked.
These advanced through Bœotia, the surprised Pelasgians fleeing before
them into Thessaly. But quickly did Thessaly prepare for defense,
calling as leader Deucalion, who, with his family, dwelt at Larissa, on
its southern shore.
This Deucalion was revered and beloved; and it was whispered that he
possessed mysterious powers that could come only of the gods. So none
but himself must lead these ready Thessalonians.
He, most willing, hastily gathered his neighbors. And then these
Pelasgians of Thessaly met the invaders, gave them fierce battle, and
forced them back, even through Bœotia, and into Attica. Meanwhile, a few
of the Atlantean vessels had proceeded along the coast of Attica and
Bœotia, seeking pillage; and, all too soon, came upon Larissa, whose
simple homes and cultivated lands were on either side of its gentle
stream and by the coast. Here, at this inviting spot, they paused to
descend upon its women and children, every man having gone with
Deucalion. When home after home had been pillaged and destroyed, these
defenseless ones fell before the red warriors to plead, agonized, for
mercy. But when unanswered, spurned, their importunities changed to
despairing cries for Deucalion, which the marauders were only too quick
to distinguish.
Thus the leader inquired of one of the shrieking women, in a tone she
could not fail to understand, “Deucalion?”
She, foolish one, by her gestures and pointing, made them comprehend
that this Deucalion had led his fellows southward to meet the invading
foe.
Grim was then the laughter of the Atlanteans. To this succeeded desire
to know which was Deucalion’s home. They were about to inquire, when the
same woman, of her frenzy, cried:
“See—Pyrrha, Pyrrha! The wife of Deucalion!”
The Atlanteans, following her glance, again comprehended. Under some
trees, at a little distance, were kneeling, entwined, a woman and two
children. The leader eagerly asked:
“Is that the wife of Deucalion?”
The woman, understanding, bowed in affirmation.
“And the children of Deucalion?”
Again the woman bowed her “Yes.”
There was a swift movement of the chief and his men toward the group.
Perceiving this, Pyrrha, with her children, arose, and the three stood
in passive dignity. But less swift grew the approach of the marauders,
as they the better beheld this Pyrrha, this fair, noble, most lovely
woman, who, with the mother fear in her eyes, was holding tightly a
youth well grown and a little maiden. For the moment a feeling akin to
reverence came upon the fierce men, so that they halted. But the leader,
overcoming this, went still nearer, and demanded:
“Give me the children!”
Of her intuition, Pyrrha understood. Tighter grew her grasp, as she
besought mercy with her eyes. But the chief hardened only the more, for
he was calculating upon the ransom that these children must bring. So he
laid his hand upon the youth, strong in his purpose.
Then fine it was to behold the youth’s flashing eyes, his proud crest,
and the brave air with which he turned to repel this mighty-looking
warrior. Though Pyrrha, by tone and grasp, endeavored to restrain him,
as she, in her Pelasgian, pleaded for mercy. Vain, however, were her
sweet tones. The chief’s hands went about young Hellen; the cruel men
pressed sore; and Pyrrha and her daughter, bereft, sank upon their
knees, heart pressed to heart, to cry to heaven for help.
But again went the hands at their work. The mother was drawn back
ruthlessly, and the maiden wrenched from her arms. Brave, unyielding,
Pyrrha struggled to her feet, prepared to follow, to drag her children
back. But the evil spirits held high their captives, and gathered about
them in mass as they moved onward to the ships. Dark became everything
to Pyrrha; her lovely body tottered, and she fell unconscious. Heaven at
last was kind.
The other women, with their children, collected about her. But to all
efforts for her revival, she responded not. So they forbore, to fall on
their knees, and gaze dumbly at the vessels, which, with booty and
captives, were already beginning the journey southward. When these were
out of sight, they arose, their thought only for the miserable creature
who had revealed Deucalion’s family to the despoilers. As one, they fell
upon her with their tongues; and of her it need hardly be told that, for
the balance of her life, it would have been better had she never been
born.
The despoilers hastened southward to hear evil. The brave Atlanteans who
had disembarked to destroy these Pelasgians, had met with defeat. Yes,
Atlano had been pressed back into Attica by Deucalion, and there had
been routed by a small army under Pelasgus. In consequence the ranks of
the Atlanteans could only tear their way to the coast, many dying as
they went of exhaustion or wounds, so that Atlano with the other
survivors appeared but as a handful to those awaiting them on the ships.
When Atlano was again on his own vessel, his rage and humiliation were
so intense that none dared to venture near him to tell of the presence
of the two young captives. Even Maron, his chief attendant, kept aloof
and eyed him in fear—the great, grim, swarthy Maron, who had never known
awe until now.
But the king had not been long on board when, as he stood gazing upon
the shore of this uncrushed Pelasgia, he heard a sound as of sobbing,
and that not far from him. Surprised, he listened for some seconds, and
then signed to Maron. The latter came forward eagerly, while the others
of the vessel scarcely breathed in their interest.
“What is that noise, Maron?”
“Most gracious king, it cometh from the two children made captive on the
coast above, at a place where some of our vessels landed for booty.”
“Who took them?”
“Most gracious king, it was the chief captain, Zekil.”
“Let them be brought before me.”
Maron signed to an officer, who hastened to the middle of the vessel,
where there was a small apartment used for storage, to return with the
two miserable ones. When these beheld the fierce, dark red face of the
king, they cried out in alarm.
“Bring the rod,” ordered the king, “and let Zekil come before me.”
The two children had fallen on their knees to supplicate for
deliverance. This Atlano well understood from their signs, their tones,
their agony. With contempt he looked down upon them until the bronze rod
was brought. At his word a blow upon the back of each brought the
hapless pair to their feet. But their tears had ceased, and, with eyes
shining of indignation, they held to each other. Their shoulders were
smarting, but the pain was as nothing beside the indignity, for these
children had known only tenderness and reverence hitherto.
Then, as the youth Hellen turned from his sister to flash at him a look
as haughty, as fierce, Atlano smiled in derision, and asked:
“Maron, is this the son of a king?”
“Most gracious King, he is the son of a great chief. Zekil knoweth; and
yonder he cometh.”
Soon Zekil was on board, and kneeling to the king. When bidden to arise,
he stood up as if well satisfied with himself.
“Zekil, whence came these children?”
“Most gracious King, we brought them from the coast above.”
“Whose children are they?”
“Most gracious King, the people whom we fell upon were ever calling upon
their father, as if he had all power. It was ‘Deucalion!’ ‘Deucalion!’
on every side.”
“Deucalion!” Atlano gasped the word. Then, of his astonishment and
exultation, cried:
“Ha—Deucalion! Art thou sure?”
“Most gracious King, their father is Deucalion.”
“Knowest thou who is Deucalion? Knowest thou who he is, Zekil?”
Even Zekil was shrinking back at the fury of his tone.
“He is the one who headed the horde—that drove us back—into the way of
loss, ruin. But for Deucalion, we would have swept from earth this
Pelasgia!
“Yea, and as they thronged about him, and pressed against us, it was to
the cry of ‘Deucalion—Deucalion!’ And we fled before this ‘Deucalion!’”
He hissed the word at the terrified children.
“Now to pay him—now to pay him! And it shall be fine ransom! Ah, what
ransom will I have for you, ye thrice-cursed children of Deucalion!”
He raised his hand as if to smite. Æole, comprehending, looked full in
his face, calmly but beseechingly. And, as he, for the first time,
obtained a clear view of the sweet, innocent, fair, lovely countenance
of this child of thirteen, and received the appealing look of eyes
beautiful like violets, eyes of a color unknown in Atlantis, the hand,
losing force, fell to his side.
Further, as he continued to stare into these eyes, and note the gestures
of the small, perfect hands, he understood that she was imploring their
return to Pelasgia. But, at his frowning shake of the head, she
desisted, to speak in quick, firm tone, to his comprehension:
“Then free my brother, and I will stay.”
At perceiving the king’s threatening hand, Hellen had raised his own to
ward off the blow. Great was his astonishment when the king’s hand fell
to his side, as he was not aware of Æole’s look or gestures. But, at her
words, he started, shocked, and faced her.
“Æole, thou knowest not what thou askest. Thinkest thou I will go, and
leave thee here, to the mercy of these?” And he looked with scorn at
King Atlano, who was quick to interpret his words.
In spite of himself, Atlano could not but admire Hellen’s courage. He
glanced from one to the other, the uncowed demeanor of both so
impressing him that he said to those in attendance:
“They are a noble pair, this brother and sister. If we take naught of
the spoil of Pelasgia with us to Atlantis, we are rich in them, for
their value must bring us fine ransom, and before the sun of the morrow.
Meanwhile, let them be held in honor. Maron, lead them whence they
came.”
Then he turned to speak apart with Zekil. And Maron conducted the youth
and maiden to the outside room.
Later, there was a conference of the king and his few surviving nobles
and chief captains when it was decided that the Atlantean fleet would
remain where it was, and, on the morrow, dictate terms for the ransom of
the captives.
After Atlano had sent away his nobles and captains, he went to look upon
the sufferers, and found them reclining upon some cushions, in the very
stupor of grief. They heeded him not as he stood and watched them. And
many forms did his thoughts take as he noted their beauty and grace. The
one that would recur most often was, “I would almost keep them in spite
of many ransoms.”
But, as it proved, there was no ransom on the morrow. For, that night,
the vessels of the Pelasgians, hurriedly brought together from every
available point, so harassed and destroyed a portion of the Atlantean
fleet that the remainder was forced to speed off in the early morning,
leaving to an uncertain future the wished-for ransom.
Thus the invading fleet passed away. And the bitterly weeping children
stood straining their eyes at the beloved, the fast disappearing shores.
At about the time that their dear Pelasgia was beyond their view,
Deucalion rejoined his still unconscious wife, and learned from those
about her of this terrible bereavement.