The Plague, Pestilence & Apocalypse MEGAPACK™

by Robert Reed

  only to its realities. He is a soldier, a general. He can influence the

  blood-thirsty war-dogs, while I resist their propensities vainly . The

  cause is simple . Burke has said that, ‘in all bodies those who would

  lead, must also, in a considerable degree, follow .’ —I cannot follow;

  for I do not sympathize in their dreams of massacre and glory—to

  follow and to lead in such a career, is the natural bent of Raymond’s

  mind . He is always successful, and bids fair, at the same time that he

  acquires high name and station for himself, to secure liberty, prob-

  ably extended empire, to the Greeks .”

  Perdita’s mind was not softened by this account . He, she thought,

  can be great and happy without me . Would that I also had a career!

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  Would that I could freight some untried bark with all my hopes,

  energies, and desires, and launch it forth into the ocean of life—

  bound for some attainable point, with ambition or pleasure at the

  helm! But adverse winds detain me on shore; like Ulysses, I sit at

  the water’s edge and weep . But my nerveless hands can neither fell

  the trees, nor smooth the planks. Under the influence of these melan-

  choly thoughts, she became more than ever in love with sorrow . Yet

  Adrian’s presence did some good; he at once broke through the law

  of silence observed concerning Raymond. At first she started from

  the unaccustomed sound; soon she got used to it and to love it, and

  she listened with avidity to the account of his achievements . Clara

  got rid also of her restraint; Adrian and she had been old playfel-

  lows; and now, as they walked or rode together, he yielded to her

  earnest entreaty, and repeated, for the hundredth time, some tale of

  her father’s bravery, munificence, or justice.

  Each vessel in the mean time brought exhilarating tidings from

  Greece . The presence of a friend in its armies and councils made us

  enter into the details with enthusiasm; and a short letter now and

  then from Raymond told us how he was engrossed by the inter-

  ests of his adopted country . The Greeks were strongly attached to

  their commercial pursuits, and would have been satisfied with their

  present acquisitions, had not the Turks roused them by invasion .

  The patriots were victorious; a spirit of conquest was instilled; and

  already they looked on Constantinople as their own . Raymond rose

  perpetually in their estimation; but one man held a superior com-

  mand to him in their armies . He was conspicuous for his conduct

  and choice of position in a battle fought in the plains of Thrace, on

  the banks of the Hebrus, which was to decide the fate of Islam . The

  Mahometans were defeated, and driven entirely from the country

  west of this river . The battle was sanguinary, the loss of the Turks

  apparently irreparable; the Greeks, in losing one man, forgot the

  nameless crowd strewed upon the bloody field, and they ceased to

  value themselves on a victory, which cost them— Raymond .

  At the battle of Makri he had led the charge of cavalry, and pur-

  sued the fugitives even to the banks of the Hebrus . His favourite

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  horse was found grazing by the margin of the tranquil river . It be-

  came a question whether he had fallen among the unrecognized;

  but no broken ornament or stained trapping betrayed his fate . It was

  suspected that the Turks, finding themselves possessed of so illus-

  trious a captive, resolved to satisfy their cruelty rather than their

  avarice, and fearful of the interference of England, had come to the

  determination of concealing for ever the cold-blooded murder of the

  soldier they most hated and feared in the squadrons of their enemy .

  Raymond was not forgotten in England . His abdication of the

  Protectorate had caused an unexampled sensation; and, when his

  magnificent and manly system was contrasted with the narrow views

  of succeeding politicians, the period of his elevation was referred to

  with sorrow . The perpetual recurrence of his name, joined to most

  honourable testimonials, in the Greek gazettes, kept up the interest

  he had excited . He seemed the favourite child of fortune, and his

  untimely loss eclipsed the world, and shewed forth the remnant of

  mankind with diminished lustre . They clung with eagerness to the

  hope held out that he might yet be alive . Their minister at Constanti-

  nople was urged to make the necessary perquisitions, and should his

  existence be ascertained, to demand his release . It was to be hoped

  that their efforts would succeed, and that though now a prisoner,

  the sport of cruelty and the mark of hate, he would be rescued from

  danger and restored to the happiness, power, and honour which he

  deserved .

  The effect of this intelligence upon my sister was striking . She

  never for a moment credited the story of his death; she resolved

  instantly to go to Greece . Reasoning and persuasion were thrown

  away upon her; she would endure no hindrance, no delay . It may

  be advanced for a truth, that, if argument or entreaty can turn any

  one from a desperate purpose, whose motive and end depends on

  the strength of the affections only, then it is right so to turn them,

  since their docility shews, that neither the motive nor the end were

  of sufficient force to bear them through the obstacles attendant on

  their undertaking . If, on the contrary, they are proof against expos-

  tulation, this very steadiness is an omen of success; and it becomes

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  the duty of those who love them, to assist in smoothing the obstruc-

  tions in their path . Such sentiments actuated our little circle . Finding

  Perdita immoveable, we consulted as to the best means of furthering

  her purpose . She could not go alone to a country where she had

  no friends, where she might arrive only to hear the dreadful news,

  which must overwhelm her with grief and remorse . Adrian, whose

  health had always been weak, now suffered considerable aggrava-

  tion of suffering from the effects of his wound . Idris could not en-

  dure to leave him in this state; nor was it right either to quit or take

  with us a young family for a journey of this description . I resolved

  at length to accompany Perdita . The separation from my Idris was

  painful—but necessity reconciled us to it in some degree: necessity

  and the hope of saving Raymond, and restoring him again to hap-

  piness and Perdita . No delay was to ensue . Two days after we came

  to our determination, we set out for Portsmouth, and embarked . The

  season was May, the weather stormless; we were promised a pros-

  perous voyage . Cherishing the most fervent hopes, embarked on

  the waste ocean, we saw with delight the receding shore of Britain,

  and on the wings of desire outspeeded our well filled sails towards

  the South . The light curling waves bore us onward, and old ocean

  smiled at the freight of love and hope committed to his charge; it

  stroked gently its tempestuous plains, and the path was smoothed

  for us . D
ay and night the wind right aft, gave steady impulse to our

  keel—nor did rough gale, or treacherous sand, or destructive rock

  interpose an obstacle between my sister and the land which was to

  restore her to her first beloved,

  Her dear heart’s confessor—a heart within that heart .

  VOL. II.

  CHAPTER I.

  DURING this voyage, when on calm evenings we conversed on

  deck, watching the glancing of the waves and the changeful appear-

  ances of the sky, I discovered the total revolution that the disasters

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  of Raymond had wrought in the mind of my sister . Were they the

  same waters of love, which, lately cold and cutting as ice, repelling

  as that, now loosened from their frozen chains, flowed through the

  regions of her soul in gushing and grateful exuberance? She did not

  believe that he was dead, but she knew that he was in danger, and the

  hope of assisting in his liberation, and the idea of soothing by tender-

  ness the ills that he might have undergone, elevated and harmonized

  the late jarring element of her being . I was not so sanguine as she as

  to the result of our voyage . She was not sanguine, but secure; and

  the expectation of seeing the lover she had banished, the husband,

  friend, heart’s companion from whom she had long been alienated,

  wrapt her senses in delight, her mind in placidity . It was beginning

  life again; it was leaving barren sands for an abode of fertile beauty;

  it was a harbour after a tempest, an opiate after sleepless nights, a

  happy waking from a terrible dream .

  Little Clara accompanied us; the poor child did not well under-

  stand what was going forward . She heard that we were bound for

  Greece, that she would see her father, and now, for the first time, she

  prattled of him to her mother .

  On landing at Athens we found difficulties encrease upon us: nor

  could the storied earth or balmy atmosphere inspire us with enthusi-

  asm or pleasure, while the fate of Raymond was in jeopardy . No man

  had ever excited so strong an interest in the public mind; this was

  apparent even among the phlegmatic English, from whom he had

  long been absent . The Athenians had expected their hero to return in

  triumph; the women had taught their children to lisp his name joined

  to thanksgiving; his manly beauty, his courage, his devotion to their

  cause, made him appear in their eyes almost as one of the ancient

  deities of the soil descended from their native Olympus to defend

  them . When they spoke of his probable death and certain captivity,

  tears streamed from their eyes; even as the women of Syria sor-

  rowed for Adonis, did the wives and mothers of Greece lament our

  English Raymond—Athens was a city of mourning .

  All these shews of despair struck Perdita with affright . With that

  sanguine but confused expectation, which desire engendered while

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  she was at a distance from reality, she had formed an image in her

  mind of instantaneous change, when she should set her foot on Gre-

  cian shores . She fancied that Raymond would already be free, and

  that her tender attentions would come to entirely obliterate even the

  memory of his mischance . But his fate was still uncertain; she be-

  gan to fear the worst, and to feel that her soul’s hope was cast on a

  chance that might prove a blank . The wife and lovely child of Lord

  Raymond became objects of intense interest in Athens . The gates

  of their abode were besieged, audible prayers were breathed for his

  restoration; all these circumstances added to the dismay and fears

  of Perdita .

  My exertions were unremitted: after a time I left Athens, and

  joined the army stationed at Kishan in Thrace . Bribery, threats, and

  intrigue, soon discovered the secret that Raymond was alive, a pris-

  oner, suffering the most rigorous confinement and wanton cruelties.

  We put in movement every impulse of policy and money to redeem

  him from their hands .

  The impatience of my sister’s disposition now returned on her,

  awakened by repentance, sharpened by remorse . The very beauty of

  the Grecian climate, during the season of spring, added torture to her

  sensations. The unexampled loveliness of the flower-clad earth—the

  genial sunshine and grateful shade—the melody of the birds—the

  majesty of the woods— the splendour of the marble ruins—the clear

  effulgence of the stars by night—the combination of all that was

  exciting and voluptuous in this transcending land, by inspiring a

  quicker spirit of life and an added sensitiveness to every articulation

  of her frame, only gave edge to the poignancy of her grief . Each

  long hour was counted, and “He suffers” was the burthen of all her

  thoughts . She abstained from food; she lay on the bare earth, and, by

  such mimickry of his enforced torments, endeavoured to hold com-

  munion with his distant pain . I remembered in one of her harshest

  moments a quotation of mine had roused her to anger and disdain .

  “Perdita,” I had said, “some day you will discover that you have

  done wrong in again casting Raymond on the thorns of life . When

  disappointment has sullied his beauty, when a soldier’s hardships

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  have bent his manly form, and loneliness made even triumph bitter

  to him, then you will repent; and regret for the irreparable change

  “will move In hearts all rocky now, the late remorse of

  love.”1

  The stinging “remorse of love” now pierced her heart . She accused

  herself of his journey to Greece—his dangers—his imprisonment .

  She pictured to herself the anguish of his solitude; she remembered

  with what eager delight he had in former days made her the partner

  of his joyful hopes— with what grateful affection he received her

  sympathy in his cares . She called to mind how often he had declared

  that solitude was to him the greatest of all evils, and how death itself

  was to him more full of fear and pain when he pictured to himself

  a lonely grave . “My best girl,” he had said, “relieves me from these

  phantasies . United to her, cherished in her dear heart, never again

  shall I know the misery of finding myself alone. Even if I die before

  you, my Perdita, treasure up my ashes till yours may mingle with

  mine . It is a foolish sentiment for one who is not a materialist, yet,

  methinks, even in that dark cell, I may feel that my inanimate dust

  mingles with yours, and thus have a companion in decay .” In her

  resentful mood, these expressions had been remembered with acri-

  mony and disdain; they visited her in her softened hour, taking sleep

  from her eyes, all hope of rest from her uneasy mind .

  Two months passed thus, when at last we obtained a promise

  of Raymond’s release. Confinement and hardship had undermined

  his health; the Turks feared an accomplishment of the threats of the

  English government, if he died under their hands; they looked upon

  his recovery as impossible; they delivered him up as a dying man,
/>   willingly making over to us the rites of burial .

  He came by sea from Constantinople to Athens . The wind, fa-

  vourable to him, blew so strongly in shore, that we were unable,

  as we had at first intended, to meet him on his watery road. The

  watchtower of Athens was besieged by inquirers, each sail eagerly

  1

  Lord Byron’s Fourth Canto of Childe Harolde .

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  looked out for; till on the first of May the gallant frigate bore in

  sight, freighted with treasure more invaluable than the wealth

  which, piloted from Mexico, the vexed Pacific swallowed, or that

  was conveyed over its tranquil bosom to enrich the crown of Spain .

  At early dawn the vessel was discovered bearing in shore; it was

  conjectured that it would cast anchor about five miles from land.

  The news spread through Athens, and the whole city poured out at

  the gate of the Piraeus, down the roads, through the vineyards, the

  olive woods and plantations of fig-trees, towards the harbour. The

  noisy joy of the populace, the gaudy colours of their dress, the tu-

  mult of carriages and horses, the march of soldiers intermixed, the

  waving of banners and sound of martial music added to the high

  excitement of the scene; while round us reposed in solemn majesty

  the relics of antient time . To our right the Acropolis rose high, spec-

  tatress of a thousand changes, of ancient glory, Turkish slavery, and

  the restoration of dear-bought liberty; tombs and cenotaphs were

  strewed thick around, adorned by ever renewing vegetation; the

  mighty dead hovered over their monuments, and beheld in our en-

  thusiasm and congregated numbers a renewal of the scenes in which

  they had been the actors . Perdita and Clara rode in a close carriage;

  I attended them on horseback . At length we arrived at the harbour; it

  was agitated by the outward swell of the sea; the beach, as far could

  be discerned, was covered by a moving multitude, which, urged by

  those behind toward the sea, again rushed back as the heavy waves

  with sullen roar burst close to them . I applied my glass, and could

  discern that the frigate had already cast anchor, fearful of the danger

  of approaching nearer to a lee shore: a boat was lowered; with a

  pang I saw that Raymond was unable to descend the vessel’s side;

  he was let down in a chair, and lay wrapt in cloaks at the bottom of