By Susie Esplen.
In London, on the embankment of the Thames, standing majestic in its
great height and solidity, is that wonderful column of red granite known
to all as Cleopatra's Needle. What a history is attached to the obelisk,
a history which is as wonderful and strange as the Needle itself is
antique, for its age dates back as far as 1,500 years before the
Christian Era. We are told that "the child Moses may have played around
the foot of this pillar; the Israelites looking citywards from the
brickfields saw the sunlight glittering on its tapering point; the
plague of darkness clothed it as with a garment; the plague of frogs
croaked and squatted on its pediment; the plague of locusts dashed
themselves in flights against it, and unto its likeness the heart of
Pharaoh was hardened. The sight of it takes us back to a time when the
Pisgah--sight of Canaan--was but a promise with a desert and forty years
between." Connecting the history of the pillar with such ancient
Biblical facts as these, we realize how really aged the Needle is; but
we have still to remember that it had been witness to events which took
place many hundreds of years even before the days of Moses.
When Thothmes III., called Egypt's greatest King, was in power he gave
command for another pair of obelisks to be cut out of the quarries at
Syrene and erected by the side of those already standing, which Rameses
had set up before one of the many temples of the Sun which were in
Heliopolis.
Gazing thoughtlessly at the column one is prone to overlook the fact
that this tremendous pillar is unlike other equally high columns in our
land, as this one was not built up to its present height by stone being
laid upon stone or block being placed upon block, until the desired
height and form were attained, but from the first this was hewn out of
its place in the quarry in one enormous mass. We can, therefore,
understand the difficult undertaking it would be to remove such a weight
of granite from one place to the other in the days when steam was not in
use. The quarries of Syrene were seven hundred miles from Heliopolis. In
an interesting book on this subject written by the Rev. James King (and
to him I am indebted for much of this information), we have an account
of how in those early times the task of cutting out and removing this
column was effected.
He tells us that in an old quarry at Syrene there is to be seen an
obelisk upon which the workmen were busy, when for some reason they were
obliged to leave it only partially cut out. From this it appears that
when the quarrymen wished to abstract a huge mass, such as the Needle
would be, they marked out the form by cutting a deep groove, in which,
at intervals, they made oblong holes. Into these holes they firmly
wedged blocks of timber, and then, filling the grooves with water, the
wood in time swelled and thus the granite cracked along the outline from
wedge to wedge. Next came the difficulty of taking the Needle on its
first journey, seven hundred miles up the river to the City of
Heliopolis. When it lay ready for removal in the quarry, rollers made of
palm trees were laid so that the column could be placed on them, and by
this means it could be pushed down to the edge of the river, and there a
raft was built round it. When the Nile overflowed its banks, this raft
and its burden floated, and the stone was conveyed to the nearest and
most suitable point from which it could again be conveyed on rollers as
before to the pedestal which was prepared for it to stand upon, and by
the help of ropes and levers made from the date palm it was placed in
position. So faultless was the work done by those men of old that, when
the column was erected on the pedestal, both had been so accurately
levelled, where the one fitted on the other, that the Needle when
standing was perfectly true in the perpendicular.
Mr. King continues to inform us that in a grotto at El-Bershch is a
representation showing the removal of a gigantic figure. The statue is
placed on a sledge, and men are represented going before it pouring oil
in grooves, along which the sledge slides, and by means of ropes four
rows of men drag the figure along. And from this we learn the method of
the column's first removal. Once erected in Heliopolis before one of the
many temples of the Sun, the Needle was allowed to remain there with its
companion one for fourteen centuries.
Twenty-three years before Christ, Augustus Cæsar ordered the removal of
them from Heliopolis to Alexandria, and so the Needle came to be taken
on its second journey. In Alexandria was a gorgeous palace of the
Cæsars, and before the palace the columns were set up. They are called
Cleopatra's Needles, but in reality Cleopatra had no connection with
their history. She may have helped to design the magnificent building
the front of which these obelisks adorned, and her devoted subjects
wishing to give honour to the memory of their much-loved Queen gave the
pillars her name.
For fifteen centuries they were left to stand in this last-named
position, which was close to the Port of Alexandria; and many years
after the grand building of the Cæsars had fallen in ruins, these two
columns still stood. With years the sea had advanced to the base of the
one in which we are more especially interested, and with the
ever-advancing and receding waters the foundation of the Needle became
so worn that three hundred years ago it fell to the ground unbroken and
unharmed.
[Illustration: _From a_] PRISING UP THE NEEDLE, IN ORDER TO BUILD THE
FRAMEWORK UNDER IT. [_Photo._]
In 1801 the French and English fought, and the latter, under Sir Ralph
Abercrombie, were victorious. The battle having taken place within
sight of the Needle, the English soldiers conceived the desire to
possess and take to England the fallen obelisk as a trophy of their
success. So anxious were they to have this idea carried out, that they
willingly gave up some of their payment, and collected £7,000 towards
the expense of its removal.
[Illustration: _From a_] BEGINNING THE FRAMEWORK. [_Photo._]
The plan they adopted for its conveyance to England on this occasion was
to build a pier seaward, and then, taking the Needle to the end of it,
proposed putting it through the stern of an old French frigate which had
been raised for the purpose. When the pier was partially built a great
storm washed it away, and very soon after that the soldiers were ordered
to leave Egypt, and the idea could not be carried out. However, the
Needle was removed a few feet, and a brass tablet was inserted bearing a
record of the British victory. From this time the mind of the people
appeared to be in a state of unrest concerning the Needle--an unrest
which was not quieted until the column was brought to England and
erected where it now stands.
When George IV. was reigning in England, Mehemet Ali was ruling in
Egypt, and he offered as a gift to the King this obelisk. George IV. for
some reason did not accept the gift. When William IV. came to the throne
it was again offered, with an additional favour, for he also promised to
pay the cost for its transportation. King William, like his predecessor,
King George, thought it best to excuse himself from accepting the
obelisk, so he also refused it.
[Illustration: _From a_] PUTTING ON THE CASING. [_Photo._]
In 1849 the question was brought before the House of Commons, that the
offer made by Mehemet Ali should be re-considered and the obelisk
brought to England, but an opposition party opposed the suggestion,
considering that the Needle would have become so defaced as to be not
worth the risk and expense of removing it.
[Illustration: _From a_] COMPLETING THE CASING. [_Photo._]
Many years after, when the great Hyde Park Demonstration was being held,
it was again suggested that the obelisk should be transported, in honour
of the Prince Consort, for his anxiety in trying to make the exhibition
a success, but the idea again fell through. When the Sydenham Palace
Company were planning their great pavilion they wished to have the
Needle to place in the Egyptian department of the building, of course
intending to pay for its transit. But it was against order to give a
private company any gift which really belonged to the nation.
[Illustration: _From a_] THE CASING FINISHED. [_Photo._]
The Needle all these years was still lying where the British Army left
it, on the shore of the Bay of Alexandria. The ground on which it lay
was sold, and a Greek merchant who had bought the land was anxious to
have the column taken away. The Khedive advised the English to remove it
if they really valued its possession, otherwise they ran the risk of
losing it altogether. In 1867 Sir James E. Alexander was attracted by
the beauty of the column which was also presented by Mehemet Ali to the
French, and stands now in La Place de la Concorde. Remembering that the
one belonging to the English was lying unheeded on the shores of
Alexandria, he desired to have it brought over to England, and
accordingly went to Egypt, gained an interview with the Khedive, and
with him discussed its possession and removal. For ten years he was
unwearying in his watch over the monument, arranging from time to time
with the owner of the land to allow it to remain where it was, hoping
meanwhile to be able to make some arrangements concerning it so that it
might be preserved for the English.
[Illustration: _From a_] PREPARING TO LAUNCH. [_Photo._]
He came to the opinion that if ever the obelisk was to be brought to
England it would not be at the expense of the nation's purse, but would
need to be paid for by private donations. With one or two friends,
anxious like himself for the protection of the Needle, he intended to
try and raise funds in the City. However, first meeting his friend,
Professor Erasmus Wilson, and explaining all to him, the Professor
generously offered to pay the sum of £10,000, which was deemed
sufficient for the purpose.
In July of 1877 workmen were once more busy in connection with this
column which already had experienced such a history. The sand was
removed from about it, and to the delight of those most interested it
was found to be in an excellent state of preservation. Next came the
anxious task of removing it, something more being necessary than the
raft, as of old, for the long sea voyage which lay before it.
[Illustration: _From a_] THE FIRST ATTEMPT AT LAUNCHING. [_Photo._]
A paper might be written on the different methods and numerous plans
invented and suggested for the transportation of the Needle. Sir James
Alexander had made the acquaintance of Mr. John Dixon, a civil engineer,
and he, too, was interested in the monolith. Professor Erasmus Wilson
and Mr. Dixon were introduced and discussed the subject together, with
the result that Mr. Dixon undertook the responsibility of the conveyance
of the column to England, Professor Wilson arranging to pay the £10,000
on its erection in London. A construction was therefore carefully
designed in England for encasing the Needle, so that it would be a sea
craft of itself, and this was sent out to Egypt in pieces.
[Illustration: _From a_] THE TUGS IN ACTION. [_Photo._]
One of the principal considerations when making their designs was that
the Needle when encased required to be launched by being rolled into the
water, instead of being sent off in the usual way. Another of the chief
difficulties to contend with in the removal of the obelisk was that the
bay near which it was lying was unsafe for ships to anchor in, as it was
exposed to severe gales and the ground was covered with shoals. The
Needle was raised some feet above the ground, the smaller end swung
round to be parallel with the sea, and when in this position the work of
encasing it was done.
When in this act of turning it, the ground appeared to be giving way
under it, and, on examination being made, it was found to be resting on
a small vault, which was 6ft. long by 3ft. wide and 4ft. high. It was
evidently an ancient tomb, for two human skeletons and some small jars
were found in the cavity. The skulls were preserved and put on board the
pontoon, when ready for sea, but after the storm in the bay they were
never seen again, and the sailors, being foreign, are supposed to have
thrown them overboard, through superstition.
The Needle whilst raised and ready for encasing had the plates riveted
in place round it, the inside was packed with elastic timber cushions to
preserve the stone when being rolled into the water, or in case of any
deflection in the vessel's length, which might occur through the waves.
The casing was made water-tight, and the greatest care had to be taken
to have the column quite in the centre of the cylinder, where it was
fastened in position.
[Illustration: _From a_] AT THE BRINK. [_Photo._]
For the purpose of getting it into the water, large wooden wheels,
16-1/2ft. in diameter, were put on either end, and planks were laid for
it to roll down. From heavy lighters lying in the bay, wire ropes were
taken and wrapped many times round the cylinder. Also from the land side
ropes were secured to it, in case, when set in motion, it went off at
too great a speed, and thus the ropes could check that fault. On August
28th, 1877, all was ready for the launch. Unfortunately, the morning
commenced with a thick fog, which only cleared away as the day wore on.
[Illustration: _From a_] REPAIRING THE HOLE MADE BY THE ROCK. [_Photo._]
A great crowd of people gathered to witness the interesting event. All
being in readiness, the winches on board the lighters worked the ropes
connected with the encased Needle, and it commenced to gradually move
towards the water, but the movement was so slow that it could scarcely
be detected. After some hours it had only made one complete turn on its
wheels. It was then proved that the vessels from which the wire ropes
were worked were not able to hold their ground against the strain, but
were dragging their anchors. Two tugs which had been standing by in
readiness to give help if required were called into service, and being
connected with the cylinder towed it until she moved a little farther
into the water, but although the tugs steamed at full power they could
not move the heavy weight at any great speed. The planking ended by an
incline into the water, and divers had been previously employed in
removing shoals from the intended course to prevent any mishap. When the
cylinder was brought to the edge of the railway, so to call it, the idea
was that it would roll down the incline and slip off easily into the
water.
[Illustration: _From a_] LAUNCHED. [_Photo._]
[Illustration: _From a_] PUTTING ON THE TOP-FITTINGS IN DOCK. [_Photo._]
All the first day was employed in bringing it to the foot of the
incline, and at night it was left in no greater depth of water than 3ft.
Next morning the tugs again were at work trying to move it into deep
water, but after making one full revolution it stuck, and although the
tugs continued to tow all day it remained immovable.
[Illustration: _From a_] FAREWELL TO ALEXANDRIA. [_Photo._]
On the third day divers discovered that a hidden stone weighing half a
ton had pierced the plates, and making a hole had allowed the water to
rush in and fill the cylinder. It took some days to repair the damage
made by the rock, but after that was done it was successfully floated
and towed round to the harbour, where final arrangements were made for
the sea voyage. A cabin house and rail were fixed on top, two bilge
keels 40ft. long were riveted one on either side, a mast and rudder
placed, and twenty tons of iron ballast were put in her. It was manned
by a crew of five Maltese and an English captain. The time occupied
from beginning to encase it until the completion was about three and a
half months.
A suitable steamer of sufficient size and power was found in the ss.
_Olga_, belonging to Messrs. Wm. Johnson and Co., of Liverpool. The
craft, which was named the _Cleopatra_, was now ready for sea. It was
designed not to travel faster than five or six knots an hour, as greater
speed might be disastrous. The _Olga_, towing the _Cleopatra_, set sail
from Alexandria on the 21st September, 1877.
For the first twenty days all was prosperous and uneventful, but on the
morning of Sunday, the 14th October, when in the Bay of Biscay, a squall
arose, which towards noon developed into a gale. The _Cleopatra_,
however, stood the gale well, not shipping enough water to do any
serious harm until about six o'clock on the evening of the same day,
when a big sea caught her, turning her completely on her beam ends and
carrying away her mast.
[Illustration: ON THE THAMES EMBANKMENT.
_From a Photo. kindly lent by C. H. Mabey, Esq., Sculptor of Sphinxes
and Pedestal._]
A desperate effort was made to right her, but without success; a small
boat was lowered, but to no purpose, and the captain of the _Olga_ at
this point, seeing the danger all were in, thought it wisest to
disconnect the two vessels, and so the cylinder was cut adrift. A little
later, the wind having fallen, the _Cleopatra_ signalled for assistance,
and the crew of the _Olga_, pitying the distress of their
fellow-sailors, volunteered to put off in a boat and go to their rescue.
The captain, thinking it would be a fruitless effort, advised them
against it, saying: "A boat could not live in such a sea." The second
officer, who had all along taken a keen interest in the welfare of the
_Cleopatra_, replied: "We can't leave the poor fellows to drown; and
now, lads, who will go with me?" He found five fine able-bodied men, in
the prime of life, were willing to share the risk, and a boat was
launched and put off; but before they could render any assistance a
great wave washed them away, and they were thus drowned in endeavouring
to save others.
After a time a line was thrown from the _Olga_ over the _Cleopatra_, and
by means of it a boat was hauled from the one vessel to the other, and
the sailors on the Needle were saved. After spending some hours in
searching for signs of the lost boat and the _Cleopatra_, the captain of
the _Olga_ set sail for Falmouth, with the sad news of the enforced
abandonment in the Bay and the supposed loss of the Needle and men.
When the news was heard in England, Mr. Dixon was of opinion that the
Needle would not sink when cast off, but would float, the only danger
being that she might be destroyed on rocks. His surmising was correct in
reference to it floating, for a telegram was received sixty days after
the news of its loss saying that the ss. _Fitzmaurice_, bound for
Valencia from Middlesbrough, had found and captured it ninety miles
north of Ferrol, and had towed it into Vigo in Spain, and it remained in
that harbour about three months.
Sir James Ashbury, M.P., kindly offered the loan of his yacht, the
_Eothen_, to tow it home, but arrangements were finally made for the
_Anglia_ to do the work, and she arrived in England with the obelisk in
tow on the 20th January, 1878.
_Ivanka the Wolf-Slayer._
By Mark Eastwood.
The Prince threw the reins to his servant and sprang from the sledge.
"Where is he?" demanded he.
The Muzhik in the doorway of the hut stood bowing to the ground. He did
not presume to lift his eyes to the High Noble, but they had flashed up
like signal-fires at the words. Yet he affected not to understand.
[Illustration: "IVANKA, MY LITTLE ONE, SLEW THE WOLF."]
"Is it the old man, Ivan Ivanovitch, the High Noble would honour with
his commands?" he began. "His servant is full of regret----"
"Bother Ivan Ivanovitch!" interrupted the Prince, impatiently. "What do
I want with your father? It is Ivanka, your son, I come to see--the
little one who slew the wolf. At least," he added quickly, with a shrug,
"so they say, but I do not believe it. Why, it is impossible! A child--a
mere puppy!"
The Muzhik had thrown out his hands. He could contain himself no longer.
"The High Noble does not believe?" he cried, wildly. Then he rushed into
the house to return in a moment brandishing in one hand a knife, and in
the other holding aloft a shaggy hide.
"The Noble Prince does not believe?" he repeated, and his eyes seemed to
emit sparks. "Let him behold the proofs. Ivanka, my little one, slew the
wolf, in very truth! Alone--alone he slew it!"
As though a flash of electric fire had flown from the man's lips direct
to the hearts of his listeners, the faces of both flamed up. The man in
the sledge lifted his cap and crossed himself with fervent mutterings.
He passed the cuff of his coat across his wet, shining eyes.
The Prince took the knife in his hand. Such a thing it was! You can buy
the like for twenty copeks (about sixpence) at any Russian fair. One of
the sort used by the Russian peasant to cut forage, having a crooked
blade and horn handle. It was stained, both blade and hilt, with blood.
"I have bought another for use," observed the peasant.
"It is wonderful," murmured the Prince, as he turned the knife about in
his hands.
At this juncture a pair of excited black eyes, surmounted by a huge
_baranka_, peered round the corner of the hut, and as quickly vanished.
Presently the Prince looked up. "But the boy!" he cried. "Let us see
this wonderful child and hear the story from his own lips."
The peasant looked sharply round.
"He was here even when the High Noble drew up. There is the hatchet and
the wood he was chopping. Ivanka! Ivanka! He has hidden himself, the
rascal."
The Prince laughed.
"Ivanka Ivanka!" almost shrieked the peasant. "I will teach you to run
and hide when the High Nobility come from far and near to see you! By
all the saints, if you do not instantly come forth from your hiding-hole
and relate the whole occurrence to the Noble Prince, I will break every
bone in your body!"
Then it was that a coat of sheep's skin that just cleared the ground
emerged from behind the hut and moved slowly over the trodden snow to
within a few paces of the Prince. You could only tell by the shining
eyes and the tip of a small red nose that peeped between the high
stand-up collar that inside of it was a small boy.
Where he stood the blood-red sun bathed him in heroic glory. Yet, in
spite of all, Ivanka the Wolf-Slayer had the mien of a fruit-stealing
culprit before the _Chinovnik_. The Prince regarded him with mock
severity.
"What is this I hear of you, Ivanka?" he began. "They say that you have
slain a wolf!"
Ivanka would have hung his head but that his collar prevented it. So he
dropped his eyes in guilty silence. The peasant, behind the Prince's
back, rubbed his hands and chuckled.
"Come here," commanded the Prince, his moustached lip twitching with a
whimsical smile.
The coat moved to the Prince's feet. Then the small boy inside it felt
himself caught up in strong arms and borne into the hut.
Now, though it was a ruddy winter sunset outside, in the hut it was
quite gloomy. The window was very small. A dull yellow glow, like a big
bull's-eye, came from the open door of the stove, and a glimmer like a
glow-worm from the tiny lamp that burned before the Holy Image. The dim
outline of a woman with a child in her arms could be discerned by the
stove. She came forward as the Prince entered, and bending low raised
the hem of his fur mantle to her lips and silently returned to her seat.
The Prince sat by the window, and Ivanka stood between his knees where
he had been placed. He trembled inside his sheep's skin. Yet it was a
gentle hand that lifted the _baranka_ from his curly head and raised his
chin.
"How old are you, Ivanka?" inquired the Prince.
"Ten years, Noble Prince," faltered the boy. But his eyes meeting those
of the Prince at that moment he ceased to tremble. And the longer he
looked the more comfortable he felt.
"And you have slain a wolf?" continued the Prince.
"Yes, Noble Prince."
"And what had the wolf done to you, Ivanka, that you should have taken
his life?"
"He had seized our little Minka and would have eaten her up." Ivanka
drew a sharp breath.
"How terrible!" exclaimed the Prince. "But you--midge! How did you dare
to tackle such a foe? It is incredible! Come, tell me all about it.
Begin at the beginning, Ivanka."
Ivanka gazed at the ground in silence. He twisted one leg round the
other, cracked all his knuckles in succession, but the words would not
come.
"Speak, Ivanka, do," came a woman's coaxing voice from the gloom. "Tell
his High Nobility how it happened."