IN PELASGIA.
Fast were they nearing the dear Pelasgian coast. And jubilant became
those returning. Hardly seemed it reality when they began to thread the
islands off-lying their land. But the exuberance of feeling was hidden
because of the sad-eyed Atlanteans, whose vessels followed dispiritedly.
Thus, the Pelasgians hugged their joy to themselves. Never had the sky
been a blue so deep, never the water so calm and tender, never the
islands so enchanting, never the breezes so odorous. For home was near.
But the morning before entering harbor, this happened.
Deucalion called Pyrrha to their small sleeping room, and when none
could hear, said: “Pyrrha, thou knowest that, since a little before the
sinking of Atlantis, my strange sight hath failed me. Thus, I thought it
had gone from me. But, a few minutes since, whilst sitting here thinking
upon our present happy state, again I saw clearly.” He paused, overcome.
“Deucalion, what is it?”
“Pyrrha, I saw our harbor lying waste, as though many waters had rushed
upon it. Naught was left. Houses, vessels, landings—all were gone. In a
flash it passed before me. But, ah how plain! Pyrrha, our harbor is a
ruin. The floods have swept it!”
She was stricken with fear. “Deucalion, never hath that strange inner
sight failed thee. What thou didst behold in that moment, _is_!”
“Pyrrha, I was not thinking of home. I was dwelling upon our life on
this vessel—when it came upon me.”
“It is a strange, a dread power. Thinkest thou it cometh of some fine,
airy force of the spirit?”
“It may. But what is that force?”
She mused a little to brighten and say confidently, “Could it be
that—that—for the moment—thy spirit leaveth its shell—and, as in a
flash—traveleth far—and back? That, in this, is thine inner sight?”
He was surprised. “Pyrrha, thou mayest have it. I have wondered much if
the sight of my body dulled before the sight of the spirit. It is in my
mind that the cares of the body hamper the spirit; but, if such cares
become as naught, the spirit hath full power, and then are the inner
sight and hearing opened. Again, I have questioned whether this strange
sight cometh not of some hidden force of matter. Ah, it doth confound
me!—For, all things are as air before it. They stand not in the way,
however far the seeing.
“Yea—yea—either the spirit flasheth out and back, or the sight of the
body giveth way to this second sight, this seeing of the spirit. When at
war, how often did I see thee. When our children were in Atlantis, how
often were they before me. And, when I was in Atlantis, how often I saw
thee, until a little ere I left. Then did this inner sight fail me. Thus
became I worried over thee—to fall into doubt. Why could I not see thee
then? Nor afterward?”
“Thy spirit was so torn with the evils about thee, the dangers besetting
the children, the risk in setting them free, that it could not become
calm enough to see.”
“That is it. Though, through all was I sure that I would master. Yet,
the dread.”
“Thou art but man. Therefore must hope join hands with dread, at times.
But tell me, why, if the children were so much before thee when in
Atlantis, didst thou not know of the Pelasgian speech of the queen?” She
smiled through her tears, hoping to tease him a little.
But he was ready. “Smile, if thou wilt, Pyrrha. Then will I. It was not
every day that I could see them; but only on those days when Atlantean
was spoken. Thou wilt call to mind that thou didst tell me the talk of
one day was in Atlantean, the next in Pelasgian.”
“Ah, but thou hast the last! As I might have known. Never art thou at a
loss!”
“Not whilst thou art of earth, Pyrrha. All is gain, cheer, with thee
beside me. And now wilt thou do thy best. For my heart faileth.”
“Yet here am I jesting, smiling.”
“It is well. But, ah, the vision! How plain was it. Thus are we warned.
But woe to Prince Pelasgus!”
“What is it?”
“His father is not of earth. He is with his wife above.”
“Deucalion!”
“Yea, yea, I feel it. Call to mind that I felt the ruin that was to come
upon Atlantis: and, that with all, I should save our children. Call to
mind that I felt their state in Atlantis even before my inner sight
showed such. Think how often I saw them afterward when under the care of
the queen. Did not I picture the queen? Did not I tell thee of their
daily life?”
“Thou didst—thou didst!”
“And—I felt—even before I saw.”
“I call it to mind.”
“So now I feel this about the king and queen.”
“Wilt thou tell the prince?”
“Ah, Pyrrha—he is so happy.”
“Wouldst thou have me tell him?”
“We will wait, and think upon it.”
The two, dejected, sat down to ponder. After a little, Deucalion
concluded, “Pyrrha, this night will I speak with him. Let him spend one
more day of joy. Before he seeketh his couch will I warn him.”
“I know thou wilt cheer him. Ah, what misery is ever ready to swoop upon
us of earth! Here are these poor Atlanteans with grief sorely checking
their pulses, beginning to rouse a little. Their sluggish hearts are
quickening. And to what? To further misery, further death of hope. Ah,
our own misery will be as naught beside theirs!”
“True—true. It doth confound me.”
Too soon came the night. When all had parted for rest, the unhappy
Deucalion led the prince aside that he might relate the vision. The
latter, though greatly shaken, could not bring himself to accept it, but
again and again insisted:
“Deucalion, thou art wrong. For once, mayst thou be wrong. I cannot
believe. Our dear harbor, the vessels that have done such service, the
homes, the lives!”
Deucalion was agonized; and his pallor was extreme.
“Deucalion, be not thus wrought. Let mine be the sorrow. Enough hast
thou borne.”
“It may be that I should not have told thee.”
“Thou hast my thanks. Should the worst come, I am ready. Shouldst thou
be wrong, should our harbor welcome us in its pride, there is the more
cause for joy.”
Deucalion looked upon him piteously; then taking his hand kissed it.
“Dear Prince,” he wept, “Dear Prince!”
“Thou hast more to tell, Deucalion? My father, my mother—is it well with
them?”
“Dear Prince, it is well with them—too well.”
“Too well?”
“I fear it.”
“Thou hast seen?”
“Nay, I have but felt.”
“Ah—I know what that meaneth!”
The words came in gasps. He turned aside, forlorn. But Deucalion,
seizing his hands, besought. “May I be wrong—may I be wrong!”
The prince shook his head. A deathly paleness was upon him, and he began
to totter. Deucalion, as he sustained him, implored him not to be
overcome; and led him to a couch. Here he remained as if in stupor; but,
erelong, stood up, himself, calm and resolute.
“Deucalion, I will look for the worst. But will beseech thou mayst be
wrong.”
Then, under the stars, the two walked and whispered through the dreary
night.
Early the next morning, they drew nigh the harbor. Almost was the moment
at hand when the dear port in its tranquillity and beauty would gladden
their eyes. Eagerly did the strangers, as well as the returning ones,
await the first glimpse of this lauded haven.
And it came.
They looked to see—the peaceful bay, the busy landings, the speeding or
quiescent vessels, the houses, the hurrying figures of the port, the
glory of the distant hills?—
Alas, they saw them not!
What was this? In mistake had they entered some unknown bay that had
been scourged by the furious elements? Yon hills were blasted. This was
not their tranquil harbor, their happy port! Where were the vessels, the
houses, the active figures, the smiling hills? This place was a
nightmare!
Almost frenzied, strangers and returning ones looked about them—all save
Deucalion and Prince Pelasgus who stood frozen.
But—on went the vessels—the fact growing upon the horrified beholders
that some mighty rush of waters must have swept the place—this harbor
they had hoped to enter, some in resignation, some in exultation. For,
trunks of trees, pieces of houses, portions of vessels, everywhere began
to impede their progress. Soon were descried the floating remains of
animals—and later, here and there a gruesome remnant of humanity. At
sight of the first of the latter, the women fled shrieking below. The
men could but remain to gaze mute, despairing, heartsick. And some, in
derision, thought, “Is this the haven of peace promised the stricken
Atlanteans?”—It was a mockery.
But on they went, their eyes fastened on the wrecked haven, the ruined
hills, until Deucalion ordered,
“We will turn yonder point.”
It was done. They rounded this to perceive, in a sheltered cove, a few
vessels and some apparently hastily constructed cots on the shore. They
shouted. And figures appeared on the vessels to answer lustily. Then
spoke Prince Pelasgus:
“Deucalion, come with me into the boat that we may question them. Let
the vessels rest.”
At the order, the vessels paused. Then Deucalion and the prince moved
off in the fantastic boat. Upon reaching the nearest vessel, Deucalion,
at behest of the prince, called, “We would speak with the captain.”
The captain proclaimed himself. Deucalion asked, “Sir Captain, when came
the flood?”
“Sir, the flood came the full of the moon four moons since.”
“It was then Atlantis sank,” whispered the prince.
Deucalion continued, “Sir Captain, tell us of it.”
“Sir, these vessels here lying have since come into harbor from their
voyages. This they found. Now we wait for others, when we will build
again the port. Some of yonder vessels look Pelasgian; and thou art of
us. Tell me, when sailed thy vessels? And greeting to them, and thee. So
much will every vessel and every man help to bring the port to itself.”
The prince now spoke. “Thou wilt find us but too glad to help. But, Sir
Captain, I would question thee. Do any of the port live?”
“Not one liveth.”
“Doth the king know?”
“The king! Ah, the king lieth low!”
“What sayest thou?”
“The king, with some of his mighty men, was tenting in a vale to the
north of this place. There the sudden torrents came upon them, there
broke upon them the spouts of water from the hills, there were they
swept to death!”
“How knowest thou?”
“Two of the mighty men who were on the mountains above the vale hunting,
and who had gone within a cave to rest, are the sole living ones. They
are ill in yon cot. They beheld the waters rush upon the fleeing ones.”
“The queen?”
“The queen had been one week dead. They had but come from her burial in
the country above.”
“They are together, then,” moaned the prince. “It is well. Ah, my
father! I see thee—running—followed fast by the cruel waters!”
“Thy father! Thou art not the prince?”
The prince threw aside his mantle. “Sir Captain Pelio of Magnesia, thou
canst but know me.”
The captain sank upon his knees, as did his officers and sailors. Of
their quickness, the observing ones on the neighboring vessels did
likewise. Indeed, others of the captains were familiar with the looks of
the prince.
When the prince had bidden them arise, Captain Pelio spoke out loud, and
in reverence:
“Thou art our king! We had begun to fear thou wouldst not come back.
Long mayst thou live—and in our hearts—as did thy father!”
“Ah, king it is. If it could but be ‘Sir Prince’!—But, Sir Captain, tell
me of my father.”
“King Pelasgus, I would tell thee this. Think not that thy father ran
from the waters. Ah, no. From the heights, the two mighty men beheld him
meet the waters as if in glad greeting. He tried not to fly as did the
others.”
“It is no wonder, with my mother gone.”
He was so weak and trembling, and hoarse of voice, that Deucalion put
his arm about him, and asked for him, “Sir Captain, where lieth the body
of the king?”
“It lieth beside that of the queen.”
Deucalion was trembling sorely, but the bowed figure of the prince
forced him to continue. “Sir Captain, as thou seest, the prince, our
king, is weak of his grief. If I am faint, what is his state. It is best
we go back to our vessels for this day; but, on the morrow, we will see
thee and all, again. And now, for the prince, I thank thee.”
The captain bowed low. Of his pity, he could not speak.
Gently did Deucalion seat the pliant prince. Then, after waving
farewell, he speeded off. Hard, hard was it to watch the suffering in
this face so dear, harder to note the dryness of the eyes, the rocking
of the body. And no reply could he get upon speaking. In anguish rowed
Deucalion on.
He reached the vessel to find Æole bending over its side, pale,
resolved; and surely she comprehended, from her eyes.
“Father,” she said in lowest tone, “Father, I will come down, after thou
hast come up.”
“It is well.”
He ascended, and assisted her. When almost at the bottom of the ladder,
she spoke:
“Help me, Sensel.”
This dear voice aroused him. He stood, and held out his arms. Into these
she crept, knowing well how to comfort him. Then she coaxed him to sit
down beside her that they might talk. With her hand in his, and no
thought for the eyes upon them, she whispered, “What is it, Sensel?”
Little by little, he related the sad story. At the end, she was weeping.
Distressed, he begged her not to be overcome. But the tears were as much
for himself as for the evil news, so changed was he from the happy,
ardent, brilliant Sensel who had so fondly dwelt upon his hopes only the
night before.
He begged her to grow calm, whereupon she cried the more giving this as
reason, “How can I not weep when I behold thee in such grief?”
Then started the tears in his own eyes; and they wept together, to their
comforting. Thus does nature afford compensation.
But shortly they were drawn from this by calls from Queen Atlana’s
galley, and looked to find Deucalion was beckoning to them. So Prince
Pelasgus began to row to him, when near enough receiving this as
explanation:
“I have but just brought hither, Pyrrha. And the queen would speak with
thee, dear Prince.”
When aboard, the prince with Æole, hastened beneath the awning where sat
the queen and Pyrrha. Then talked lovingly, consolingly, these two women
who had known so much of sorrow. Long, with Æole’s hand in his, sat the
prince—to watch the gruesome hills, the floating timbers. And finally he
said:
“Deucalion, on the morrow, will we go where my father and mother are
laid. Then for my duty to Pelasgia.”
* * * * *
After King Pelasgus had knelt beside the tomb of his parents, he
repaired with Deucalion to Thessaly, which had been undisturbed by the
flood. In his beloved Larissa, Deucalion was joyously welcomed; and the
king was hailed with loving fealty. Though, only for a little, could
King Pelasgus tarry with Æole, as for a brief season, he must return to
the port, which was already rebuilding.
Deucalion’s Thessalian compatriots would have accorded him godlike
honors upon learning of his adventures, his successes; and hard he found
it to convince them he was but mortal. As to Pyrrha, they had always
adored her. She was their goddess, indeed.
Here, in Thessaly, the ardent Hellen speedily married Electra. Here, in
Thessaly, King Pelasgus won his bride. Here continued Queen Atlana and
Pyrrha in sisterly devotion, death parting them but a brief spell when
advanced in years, Atlana going first. Here, the polished Atlanteans
introduced their language, arts, and ancient purity of religion—a few
generations later finding the two races merged in the cultured Hellenes,
and speaking a tongue, the Æolic, very different from either Atlantean
or Pelasgian. Indeed, this Æolic may be said to bear the same relation
to the Pelasgian that English does to the Anglo-Saxon; and it, in turn,
has colored the various dialects of Greece since existing.
Here, in Thessaly, Deucalion continued chief among his countrymen; and
finally became their king at behest of King Pelasgus. Here to himself
and Pyrrha was born another son, the hero Amphictyon and the originator
of the famous Amphictyonic Council that so long held the Greek tribes
together in a bond surviving even their independence. Here, Hellen
succeeded his father; and from him sprang that great race of the
Hellenes that gave Greece its ancient name of _Hellas_.
Here were born Hellen’s sons, Æolus, Doris, and Xuthus; and Xuthus’
sons, Ion and Achæus. Here, Æolus was king after Hellen; and from here
spread his descendants over Central Greece as far as the Isthmus of
Corinth, even occupying the western coast of the Peloponnesus. From this
central region branched the great divisions of the Hellenic race, the
Dorians, the Æolians, the Ionians, and the Achæans.
King Pelasgus missed not the portion of his kingdom given over to
Deucalion—for his also, was the mighty spiritual kingdom of love; and
Æole was its queen as well as queen of the natural kingdom. The mighty
kingdom was theirs for eternity. Over the natural, they reigned long and
well, ever furthering the progress of the Atlantean industries.
Thus, the arts flourished especially in Thessaly; and the Atlantean
industries in the New Pelasgia. Whilst commerce became supreme.
And, from the union of these primeval Pelasgians and the more cultivated
Hellenes, generations afterward, sprang a people that were the fathers
of the great intellectual Grecian race of antiquity.
NOTES.
“Atlantis, according to the tradition of the Greek geographers, a large
island in the Atlantic Ocean to the west of the northwest coast of
Africa and the Pillars of Hercules. It was fabled to possess a numerous
population begotten by Neptune of mortal women. The sea-kings of
Atlantis were said to have invaded the west of Europe and Africa, and to
have been defeated by the Athenians and their allies. The inhabitants
finally became desperately wicked, and the island was swept away by a
deluge. Plato mentions the island in his ‘Timæus.’ On the old Venetian
maps, Atlantis is put to the west of the Azores and Canaries.”—_The
American Cyclopedia._
_Atlantis._—“Now, in the island of Atlantis there was a great and
wonderful empire, which had rule over the whole island, and several
others, as well as over parts of the Continent; and besides these, they
subjected the parts of Libya within the Columns of Heracles as far as
Egypt, and of Europe as far as Tyrrhenia. The vast power thus gathered
into one, endeavored to subdue at one blow our country and yours, and
the whole of the land which was within the straits; and then, Solon,
your country shone forth, in the excellence of her virtue and strength,
among all mankind; for she was the first in courage and military
skill.... And when the rest fell off from her, she defeated and
triumphed over the invaders....
“But afterward there occurred violent earthquakes and floods, and in a
single day and night of rain all your warlike men in a body sank into
the earth; and the island of Atlantis in like manner disappeared, and
was sunk beneath the sea.”—Plato’s “Timæus”—_per_ “Atlantis.”
_Athens._—“For there was a time, Solon, before that great deluge of all,
when the city which now is Athens was first in war, and was preëminent
for the excellence of her laws, and is said to have performed the
noblest deeds, and to have had the fairest constitution of any of which
tradition tells, under the face of heaven.”—Plato’s “Timæus,” _per_
“Atlantis.”
_Pelasgians._—“Amidst all the obscurity that hangs about the name of the
Pelasgians, it is admitted that they were the earliest known inhabitants
both of Greece and Southern Italy—at least of the Indo-Germanic stock;
for throughout Europe, as well as Asia, there appears to have been a
still earlier population. Now we are distinctly told that the whole
seaboard of Ionia and the neighboring islands was formerly peopled by
Pelasgians. They are enumerated by Homer among the allies of the
Trojans; Herodotus found traces of them on the Propontis, and Agathias
in Caria; and the name Magnesia, which occurs twice in Lydia, as well as
in Thessaly, seems to be certainly as Pelasgic. They were found in the
islands of the Ægean from Samothrace, Imbros and Lemnos, in the north,
to Crete, in the south, as well as in the Cyclades, which form the
natural stepping-stones from Asia Minor to the Peloponnesus. Hence, they
seem to have passed from one continent to the other both round the head
of the Ægean and across its islands; and, accordingly, the chief
remnants of the race after they were overpowered by the Hellenes, are
found in Thessaly, in Epirus, in Attica, and in the heart of Acadia.
From Greece they passed over to Southern Italy; where, perhaps, the
‘golden age of Saturn’ is a tradition of the peaceful agricultural
character which is everywhere attributed to the Pelasgians, in contrast
to the piratical habits of the Carians and Leleges. It remains, however,
a question whether the Pelasgi were a branch of the Phrygian migration,
or a still earlier movement of the Indo-European race from their
primeval seats. The latter seems highly probable; but, at all events the
two races were very nearly akin, and it is hardly practicable to
distinguish their migrations.”—“_The Ancient History of the East_,” by
_Philip Smith, B. A._
“The _Hellenes_ and the _Pelasgi_ are the two races identified with
Greece’s earliest traditions; but when we appeal to history for their
origin, or seek for the part that each has played in the majestic drama
of antiquity, there is little more than conjecture to guide us.”—Nott
and Gliddon’s “Types of Mankind,” page 103.
_Deucalion and Pyrrha._—“Deucalion married Pyrrha, daughter of
Epimetheus and Pandora. Zeus determined to destroy the degenerate race
of man, but Deucalion and Pyrrha, on account of their piety, were
preserved. Deucalion built a ship, in which he and Pyrrha floated in
safety, while a nine days’ flood devastated Hellas.”
_Hellen._—“The sons of the above were Hellen and Amphictyon. Hellen was
king of Phthia in Thessaly. Amphictyon was said to have founded the
Amphictyonic of Thermopylae.”—Scull’s “Greek Mythology Systematized.”
_Deucalion and Pyrrha._—“Deucalion, king of Phthia, in Thessaly, son of
Prometheus and Clymene. According to tradition, being forewarned by his
father of an approaching deluge, he built a ship in which he and his
wife Pyrrha were saved from an inundation which destroyed all the rest
of mankind,” etc.—The American Cyclopedia.
_Hellen._—“The Greeks were fond of tracing their origin back to a common
ancestor, Hellen, the son of Deucalion and Pyrrha who were the survivors
of a deluge,” etc.—Page 107, Vol. VIII, American Cyclopedia.
_Orichalcum._—“That which is now only a name, and was then something
more than a name—orichalcum—was dug out of the earth in many parts of
the island, and, with the exception of gold, was esteemed the most
precious of metals among the men of those days.”—Plato.
_Spiral._—“A favorite design of the men of the Bronze Age in Europe is
the spiral or double spiral form.”... “We find the same figure in an
ancient fragment of pottery from the Little Colorado.”... “The same
design is also found in ancient rock etchings of the Zunis of New
Mexico.”—Ignatius Donnelly.
_Handmaid._—“And Laban gave unto his daughter Leah, Zilpah his maid, for
an handmaid.”—Genesis xxix: 24.
_Feather Robes._—The Maya nobles of ancient Yucatan wore fine robes of
feather work on all occasions.—Author.
_Magnet._—“The Phœnicians were familiar with the use of the magnet. At
the prow of their vessels stood the figure of a woman (Astarte) holding
a cross in one hand and pointing the way with the other; the cross
represented the compass, which was a magnetized needle, floating in
water crosswise upon a piece of reed or wood.”—Ignatius Donnelly.
-----
Footnote 1:
Dog-headed apes.
Footnote 2:
Chimu—in Peru.
Footnote 3:
Ireland.
Footnote 4:
Mediterranean.
Footnote 5:
Bank of Mississippi (east).
Footnote 6:
Eskaldi—Iberians, in Gaul—Basques.
Footnote 7:
Egypt.
Footnote 8:
Spain.
Footnote 9:
Plato.
Footnote 10:
These less ancient names will be used for convenience.
Footnote 11:
Port of Athens.
Footnote 12:
The Berbers of North Africa.
Footnote 13:
Iberians (in Gaul) same as Basques.
Footnote 14:
Spain.
Footnote 15:
Africa.
Footnote 16:
Faith—fidelity.
Footnote 17:
Plato’s “Timæus.”
Footnote 18:
Plato.
Footnote 19:
Common jugglery is said to have originated in Egypt; and been thence
introduced into Greece.
Footnote 20:
Sharpe’s History of Egypt.
Footnote 21:
Plato.
Footnote 22:
Ignatius Donnelly, in “Atlantis.”
Footnote 23:
Donnelly’s “Atlantis.”
Footnote 24:
Gases.
Footnote 25:
The Azores—according to Donnelly.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
1. Silently corrected obvious typographical errors and variations in
spelling.
2. Retained archaic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings as printed.
3. Re-indexed footnotes using numbers and collected together at the end
of the last chapter.
4. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_.