CHAP. IV. THE LAST OF THE ENGLISHMEN.
Reading edition
A large tent had been pitched in an open space among the ruins of the ancient city. Before it stood Oriel Porphyry leaning on a gun, with Zabra at his side, resting on his harp. At the distance of a few feet Fortyfolios and Tourniquet were seated on a fallen pillar, disputing about the character of a building, the remains of which lay before them. The captain and the midshipman were conversing together by the side of the tent, and grouped about were twenty or thirty sailors well armed—some reclining on the ground, others leaning against a column, and the rest congregated into little parties, engaged in talking over the adventures of the day, or in passing their opinions upon the neighbouring ruins.
On one side of the tent stood a great portion of a very elegant structure, of considerable dimensions, and of a classical style of architecture; on the other side stood the ruins of a building of about the same size, with a handsome portico supported by several beautiful pillars, upon which might be observed a female draperied figure much mutilated. A short distance from between them there arose a tall column with a bronze statue of a warrior, broken and disfigured, lying at its base. Beyond the column was a flight of broken steps that led to an open space overgrown with wild shrubs and weeds; and beyond these, and around in every direction, nothing met the eye but confused heaps of stone and brickwork, overgrown with rank herbage; and pillars, and walls, and glassless windows.
“I am tired of this continual ruin,” exclaimed Oriel Porphyry. “We have travelled all the day and met nothing but broken pedestals, and prostrate capitals; porches without pillars, and pillars without porches; trembling porticoes, tottering walls, and roofless dwellings. I never witnessed such a perfect desolation. The only living thing I have seen was a wolf, who stared at me as if quite unused to a human countenance, and never attempted to move till I sent the contents of my gun at his head. Then, immediately I had fired, there flew around me such flights of bats, ravens, vultures, and owls, and they created such a din of screaming and hooting, that I was absolutely startled.”
“See how the ivy clings to the wall, Oriel!” said Zabra to his patron, as he pointed to a ruin beside them; “how it twines round the fluted pillar, and hides the ornaments of the richly decorated capital. There is poetry astir in those leaves—there is a music breathing in the breeze that shakes them. There! see you the bird moving out its head from their friendly shelter to notice our movements? She has her nest there, Oriel: in that little circle are all her pleasures concentrated. She has made her happiness in the very desolation of which you complain. It is impossible to look around and say all is barren. There is not a weed that grows but what is full of enjoyment for myriads of creatures of which we take no note. Is there nothing in these stones which does not awaken in you associations that ought to people them with the countless multitudes that once found pleasure in this wilderness? I see not the ruin. I notice not the silence. Memory looks through the vista of departed time, and lo! all is splendour and beauty—and the deserted porticoes echo with the voice of gladness. Let me sing to you, Oriel; this is a glorious place for sweet sounds and antique memories, and I will see to what use I can apply them.”
The young musician, after a short, touching prelude, then sung, with the deep expression that characterised all his attempts at minstrelsy, the following words:—
“To the home of the brave ones, the true and the kind, With a heart filled with hope I have been; And I thought of the gladness and peace I should find, And the smiles of delight I had seen. “But the dwelling was homeless, and roofless, and bare, ’Twas a ruin that threatened to fall; And my sorrowing heart seemed to cling to despair, Like the ivy that clung to the wall. “Oh! where are the roses that clustered and spread Round the porch where my wishes were told? Alas! from the porch all the roses have fled, And the hands that once plucked them are cold. “Oh! where are the friends, the young, thoughtless, and gay, Who gave life to the garden and hall? All, all have departed—all, all passed away, Save the ivy that clings to the wall. “Be glad, my fond heart—there is hope for you yet, For these leaves have a comfort convey’d; There are moments and pleasures I ne’er can forget, Though both roses and friends have decayed. “Though this breast be a ruin where sorrow hath cast Desolations she cannot recal; Still mem’ry shall cling to the joys that are past, Like the ivy that clings to the wall.”
“I tell you, Dr. Tourniquet, you’re completely in error,” exclaimed Fortyfolios. “The meaning of the word United Service is evident, and admits of no dispute. In old authors we frequently read of people ‘going to service,’ and as often of a union of offices in the same person, such as butler and steward, valet and footman, gardener and groom; and there cannot be a doubt that this is what was called united service, and that this building was dedicated to the purpose of finding situations for such people.”
“Dedicated to a fiddle-stick. Don’t you see?” replied the doctor. “I tell you it was a club that met there to play at cards, and that was the reason that they had a king of clubs, and a queen of clubs, and a knave of clubs, and ever so many other clubs; and as a qualification, all the members were obliged to be club-footed, and they were governed by what they called club law.”
“’T was no such thing, Dr. Tourniquet, depend upon it,” said the professor. “I’m sure ’t was the united service, because I have a book in my library that mentions it as the United Service.”
“And I’m sure it was a club, because I’ve got a book in my library that mentions it as a club,” responded the other.
“Then the building opposite was devoted to very different purposes,” continued Fortyfolios. “It was called the Athenæum, the derivation of which word I have never been able to discover. Perhaps it had its origin in the Modern Athens, a place of some importance in the neighbourhood of Blackwood’s Magazine—once a famous depôt for combustibles, that blew up occasionally with great damage. However, it was erected for the purpose of bringing together all the intelligence of the country.
‘Together let us range the fields, Impearled with the morning dew,’
says an ancient poet, and there is no doubt that the lines were addressed by one member of the Athenæum to another.”
“And what good did they ever do by being brought together?” inquired Tourniquet.
“That has never been ascertained,” replied the other.
“For what purpose was this column erected?” asked the young merchant.
“It was erected to commemorate the victories of a certain Duke of York,” said the professor. “He distinguished himself greatly during the wars of the rival houses of York and Lancaster. Besides being a great general, his piety was so great that he became a bishop, and there are a series of moral discourses extant, that took place between the Bishop and the Bishop’s Clarke, a person who was also very celebrated. It may be said that this Duke of York enjoyed more credit in his day than any of his predecessors; indeed he was in such general requisition that the constant inquiries after him, gave rise to the saying, ‘York, you’re wanted;’ and it was to him that the people, after a disturbance which he had pacified, said,—
‘Now is the winter of our discontent Made glorious summer by the son of York.’”
“I certainly feel the charm of association as much as any one,” observed Oriel to his companion; “but the gratification I find in treading shores so celebrated by historic recollections is changed to a painful feeling at beholding the wreck to which has been reduced the greatness I have honoured. I should suppose, from what I have seen, that the whole land is in a similar state as that portion of it which has come under my observation. I can imagine nothing so deplorable. There appear to be no living things in the island but wild animals. I can only account for their being here, from my knowledge that, in former times, the natives kept several large collections of them for show, and that these having escaped, they spread themselves over the country.”
At this moment Oriel’s quick ear caught the sound of a low sharp growl at no great distance from him, and turning round, beheld a large lion crouching behind a heap of stones near the two philosophers, who were disputing so vehemently that they had not the slightest idea of their danger. The young merchant had just time to get his gun in readiness and give the alarm to the sailors, when, with a fierce roar that came like a peal of thunder upon the terrified disputants, the lion sprung upon them, and knocked them both down. He stood majestically with one paw upon the prostrate philosophers, looking defiance on Oriel and his companions, as they cautiously approached him from all sides with their muskets in their hands.
“Now, my friends,” exclaimed the young merchant, “don’t fire till you come within good aiming distance—don’t more than half fire at a time—let the others reserve their fire, in case he makes a spring—be steady, and aim at his head.”
“Ay, ay, sir,” was murmured by the captain; and every man held his breath, cocked his gun, picked his way carefully over the stones, and prepared himself for a struggle with his dangerous enemy. The lion saw them advancing—shook his mane, lashed his tail, and, bending his head to the ground, uttered a long and deafening roar.
“Now then, mind your aim,” said the young merchant. About a dozen discharged their pieces; and, with a piercing howl, the lion dashed among his foes, knocking down some half-a-dozen of them, and scattering the rest in all directions. Luckily, he had been too severely wounded to do any more serious mischief. His roar was terrible; but the men having again approached him, poured in a more deadly fire, and with a vain attempt to reach them, he gave a savage growl, and fell covered with wounds. Scarcely had this been done, before a distant roar was heard by the victors.
“Make haste and reload, for, if I mistake not, we shall have the lioness upon us in a few seconds,” said Oriel Porphyry earnestly; and all quickened their preparations, to be in readiness for another contest. “Take up a position behind that ruin, for the lioness will first make to the dead lion, and then she will attempt to turn her rage upon us. We shall have her within gun range as soon as she comes to the lion, and shall be in some sort of shelter when she begins her attack.”
Scarcely had the position been taken and the arrangements made, when the roar became more distinct; and, soon afterwards, the lioness was seen rapidly approaching, with a series of prodigious leaps that quickly brought her into the immediate neighbourhood of the party in ambush. She instantly proceeded to the lion. At first, she patted him with her paw. Finding he took no notice of that, she fawned upon him, and licked him with her tongue, playfully bit his ear, and played with his mane. Observing that he was still inattentive to her movements, she gently turned him over; and then, noticing the wounds in his head and body, and his incapability of replying to her caresses, she uttered a roar so loud and piercing, that it made the old walls about her echo again. This was replied to by a peal of musketry from the neighbouring ruin. In a moment, with another deafening howl, she rushed towards the place whence came the reports, and with one desperate bound, leaped to the window behind which Oriel and his companions lay concealed upon a heap of stones and rubbish. She had got her fore paws and head upon the ledge of the window, when another shower of balls sent her reeling back. Howling with rage she made the leap again; when a blow on the head from the butt end of a gun, held by a stout seaman, made her loosen her hold, and, with a savage growl, she fell to the ground. From there she next crawled to the body of the lion, licking the upper part of his body, and uttering the most wild and melancholy howls. She was evidently much wounded; but she managed to crawl round him several times, drawing her long tongue over his mane, and moving a paw, or his head, in hopes of noticing some sign of recognition. At last, finding all her efforts ineffectual, she emitted a roar that rivalled the loudest thunder, lashed her body furiously with her tail, began tearing up the stones and soil around her, and then, as if putting forth her strength for a last effort, she made two or three prodigious leaps towards the adjoining building. The bullets that met her in her way did not stop her progress, for with one enormous bound she cleared the window, and came down in the midst of the voyagers, dashing them about with a violence that gave several of the men very severe contusions, and grasping one by the neck so furiously that he would have inevitably been killed, had not Loop stabbed her to the heart with a short sword he carried, while Hearty gave her a desperate blow on the head with an immense fragment of stone. Letting go the man she had got so firmly in her grasp, she turned upon her assailants a look of the most savage ferocity, and then, with a short howl of agony, fell back dead at their feet.
They had dragged the lioness out of the building, and several of the men were busily engaged taking off the skins of the two animals, and the rest were talking over the dangers they had escaped, when Zabra pointed out to his patron the figures of an old man and a young female, who were advancing up the broken steps that led to the base of the column. The sight of human beings was so novel, that every one paid particular attention to the individuals they now beheld. The man appeared to have reached extreme old age, for his hair was white and long, and hung down upon his neck and shoulders. His complexion was ruddy, but although the face was covered with wrinkles and deeply marked furrows, there was an animation in his eyes that showed that the fire of life was still brilliantly burning. He was tall, and walked firmly, supporting himself by a long staff. The skin of a lion hung from his neck over his manly shoulders. The rest of his dress was composed of skins fastened by thongs round his body and legs. A long sword was suspended at his side, which, with a knife or dagger at his waist, seemed all the weapons he possessed.
He was accompanied by a young girl, whose complexion had evidently been browned by exposure to the sun, the effect of which gave a warmer character to the quiet beauty of her features. Her eyes were of a soft, deep, blue, beaming with tenderness and benevolence; and her hair, which was silken in its texture, and very light in colour, fell in clustering curls from her forehead to her neck. A sort of cape, made of feathers, covered her shoulders; beneath which was a long garment reaching below the knees, made of different skins neatly sewed together, and bound round the waist with a belt of the same. Her arms and legs were bare, and they were of the most exquisite symmetry, delicately and beautifully formed. In one hand she carried a light spear, and the other she rested upon the shoulder of her companion.
As soon as the young girl observed the voyagers, she started back with an exclamation of fear, and clung to the arm of her elder companion, who, noticing the cause of her alarm, immediately let fall his staff and drew his sword. There was something remarkably imposing in the attitude of the old man. He drew up his stately form to its full height; and as he stood upon the defensive with his weapon firmly grasped in his right hand, while with his left arm he clasped the young girl by the waist and drew her behind him, there seemed a vigour in his silvery hairs, and a fire in his sunken eyes, that neither youth or manhood could have rivalled.
Oriel Porphyry, who looked upon them with peculiar interest, laid down his arms and advanced towards them, accompanied only by Zabra, who was also unarmed. Their approaches were closely regarded by the man, and watched with curiosity by the female.
“Fear us not, old man, we will do you no harm,” said the young merchant.
“Fear!” exclaimed the old man proudly, “I know it not.”
“We are voyagers from a distant land, who have been induced to visit your shores, from a desire to do honour to a country once so famous.”
The old man, without making any reply, hastily returned his sword to its scabbard, and then, with a countenance in which fearlessness and kindness were blended, held out his right hand. The hand of Oriel Porphyry was soon in its cordial and friendly grasp, and a compact of sociality seemed immediately agreed to between both parties. “And you, fair maid, need not be alarmed,” said Zabra, approaching the maiden with a look that might have inspired a savage with confidence. “You will meet amongst us none but friends anxious to do you honour and service.” She shrunk back from his advances with a strong feeling of timidity expressed in her features; yet continued to gaze on the handsome face and graceful person of the speaker, as if they had for her an attraction impossible to be resisted.
“The child is unused to strangers,” observed her companion, as he noticed the shy and wondering manner with which she regarded Zabra. “It is long since she has seen a human being except myself. Be not afraid, Lilya,” he exclaimed, as he drew her towards him. “These are not enemies. They are wanderers, like ourselves; but they have a home and kindred—we have neither.”
The cheerful countenance of the old man now became clouded with melancholy, and he sighed as if there was a heaviness upon his heart that could not be removed; but the timid Lilya still gazed upon the features of the young musician, as if she found it impossible to remove her eyes from their beauty. There was an extraordinary contrast between her and her companion. She seemed just in the dawn of womanhood, with delicate limbs, and looks all bashfulness and pleased surprise; while he appeared on the extreme verge of old age—all bone and sinews, hard and rough with exposure to the severities of time and climate. She was evidently too young to be his daughter; but that there was some relationship between them was evident, for even in the gentle loveliness that distinguished her youthful face might be discerned faint traces of resemblance to the ancient but noble example of manhood that stood by her side.
“Your appearance has much interested me,” said the young merchant, gazing on the stranger’s venerable appearance with affectionate respect; “and I hope it will not be deemed intrusive or impertinent if I inquire who it is I behold.”
“You see before you the last of the Englishmen,” said the old man, looking proudly upon the inquirer.
“Is it possible?” exclaimed Oriel, regarding him with increased admiration and a voluntary feeling of homage.
“The last of that powerful and illustrious race is now before you,” he added, “and this is the child of my child’s child. We are all that remain of the great people who filled this island with their multitudes and the world with their fame. Kindred and countrymen—all are gone; their homes are the habitations of the wild cat and the vulture, and even their very graves have been made desolate by the jackal and the hyena.”
“You appear to have attained a great age,” remarked Zabra.
“Alas! I have outlived my country,” replied the Englishman. “A hundred and twenty years have passed since my existence commenced. Time has forgotten me. I have been where the sword was ploughing deep furrows around me far and near.—I have seen Death busy at his work amid the youthful, the old, the innocent and the guilty.—I have noticed the young trees grow up, put forth their bravery, and die.—I have beheld mighty buildings crumble into dust.—I have known all things perish before my eyes: yet I have remained untouched in the midst of the desolation.—Three generations have passed away, and have left me to gather consolation from their tombs.”
“If the relation of what you have known and endured be not too painful, I should much like to hear it,” said the young merchant.
“If you have the patience to listen, all shall be told to you,” replied the old man. Then taking up his staff, he walked on to some fragments of building that lay at a short distance, on which he sat with Lilya at his feet. Oriel Porphyry, Zabra, Loop, the captain, Fortyfolios, and the doctor sat or reclined in a circle round him, and beyond the circle, the sailors stood leaning on their guns.