CHAPTER XXXVIII.

THE PREY OF THE GODS.

Far down the valley the altars are reared, The off’ring no power can delay; For gods never honored, yet gods ever feared, Claim their prey.

The fire that springs from the womb of the earth Will flame on these altars of fear; The songs of the living, the laughter and mirth, None will hear.

For weepings and wailings of hundreds afraid Roll up ’neath the sting of the rods; The worship is ended, the sacrifice made To the gods.

Things went along very smoothly for the next two days, as there was no sign of the pirates returning, nor did the volcano hint at any near outbreak of fire. Gradually the diminished population settled down to their old occupations, for Justinian, in spite of the terrible events which had lately taken up the attention of every one, judged it wisest to prevent any disorganization of his social system. The few men surviving returned to their work, and did their best by constant industry to make up for their lack of numbers, though, indeed, a dismal silence had settled down on this rural population, once so gay and mirthful. Later on, when all fear of an invasion had passed away, Justinian intended to make an excursion round the Archipelago in search of new colonists, and had but little fear that he would be able to obtain as many as he wished, for many islanders would be only too glad to place themselves under the protection of the wealthy, eccentric Englishman.

Thanks to the Demarch’s wisdom in placing his money with his London solicitors, he had plenty of capital on which to draw, and when things were once more quiet, and Melnos repopulated from the adjacent islands, he made up his mind at once to restore the tunnel to its former perfection. Certainly it would take some time to gather a number of pure-blooded Hellenes for his colony, but with plenty of capital at his back, and the productions of the island in a flourishing condition, he could afford to wait. Besides, he had Maurice now beside him, and the young fellow was a man after his own heart, for, in contrast to his former listlessness when in England, he flung himself into Justinian’s schemes with an ardor which delighted the old man. With himself to conceive, and his nephew to carry out, the Demarch was quite jubilant in spite of his late reverses, for he foresaw that in such capable hands Melnos would soon be restored to its pristine glory.

The only thing, therefore, which agitated his mind, was the dread he felt lest Caliphronas should again assault Melnos with another army of cut-throats. Calmly as Justinian had taken the treachery of the Greek, yet in his own soul he felt deeply hurt that his years of kindness had met with so base a return. He had found Caliphronas a poor shepherd lad on the island of Andros, he had educated, clothed, and fed him for many years, and now, when perilous times came, not only was the ungrateful scamp absent from his side, but actually arrayed against him, being in every way an active agent in bringing ruin on his benefactor. However, if the pirates, headed by this accomplished villain, did appear again, the Demarch knew well that he could not hope to hold out against them for any lengthy period, as, owing to the smallness of his garrison, incessant watching, fighting, and suspense would wear out even the bravest among them.

In this dilemma there was only one thing left to do, should the pirates reappear, and that was to close up the pass by means of the overhanging rocks at the cliff entrance. True, it would shut all within the island up in a crater which threatened to break out; still, from all appearances, such a volcanic outburst did not seem likely to take place, therefore, if the pass were firmly sealed, they would at least be free from their dangerous enemies without, until such time as Melnos could be repeopled, and thus defend itself. Notwithstanding the earthquake, the disappearance of the lake, the activity of the hot springs, the Demarch could not believe that this crater, extinct for so many thousands of years, would break out in eruption without giving, at least, some serious warning; therefore, with this idea, he determined, if the worst came to the worst, to shut himself and his people in, by closing up the gorge, rather than abandon his forty years of work to the mercy of a band of Levantine black-guards.

As to Helena and Maurice, they were perfectly happy in making love to each other; and, in the intervals of such a delightful occupation, the young Englishman looked after the palisade, at which two sentries were constantly posted, wandered about the village with his uncle, attending to local matters, and twice or thrice a day went to the vantage-point above the side staircase, in order to watch for the appearance of Crispin and his yacht. Daily both Maurice and his uncle swept the offing with their glasses, but no thin line of smoke or glancing white sail showed that The Eunice was on her way to aid these unfortunates.

Nor during all this time was Dick idle, for, with a small body of men, he had posted himself above the overhanging rocks at the entrance of the pass, and there they drilled holes in the soft volcanic soil for the reception of dynamite cartridges. When these were placed sufficiently deep, Alexandros attached his wires to them, and then threw these thread-like conductors across the abyss to the opposite side of the pass. At the point where Crispin had gone over the cliff a few nights previously, he established a small battery and fixed the wires thereto, so, in the event of the pirates approaching the island, the man who was on the look-out at the vantage-point had simply to touch the button of the battery, when the enormous rocks on the other side of the gorge would crash down in Titanic fragments, closing up the narrow way irretrievably. Still, as before stated, the Demarch, on account of a lurking suspicion of the extinct volcano, was unwilling to avail himself of this aid until the last moment, but in any event, if that last moment did come, the rocks could be exploded from the vantage-point with the greatest ease. The ropes which had been used to let down Crispin and Gurt were still attached to the trunk of the pine tree, but had been carefully drawn up, lest by chance, if the pirates arrived, they could enter the island by ascending such a convenient ladder, notwithstanding the closing of the pass.

On the early morning of the fourth day after Crispin had departed, Justinian and his nephew, ascending the path at the back of the Acropolis, went down to the vantage-point through the altar glade, according to custom, in order to look for signs of the poet’s return. The east was yet rosy with the dawn, and the great expanse of ocean slept below them in serene calm. The long white waves broke gently on the sandy beach, there was not a breath of wind, and when the sun arose suddenly out of the sea, his long yellow rays shot like bridges of gold across the water, while his orb, invisible to the watchers, projected the shadow of the island on the liquid plain in front.

Temistocles had been on the watch for some considerable time, and as the electric light was kept all night constantly sweeping the surface of the sea in search of strange boats, Justinian asked the runner if there had been any indications of approaching danger. Receiving a reply in the negative, he put up his glass in hopes of discovering some signs of the long-expected and much-desired yacht, but not a speck could he behold, in spite of the power of his glasses and the keenness of his eyesight.

“It’s four days since he went away,” said the Demarch to Maurice, with a sigh, as he put down his glass; “yet he does not seem to be coming back.”

“You must allow him more time, uncle,” replied Maurice comfortingly; “you know everything may not have gone exactly as we thought. He may have cruised about some time before being picked up by the Cretan steamer, and even if he were fortunate in meeting a boat at once on his arrival at Syra, the yacht may not have been lying there.”

“The yacht has had plenty of time to get to Syra, Maurice; but either he has missed the steamer, or else he finds some difficulty in obtaining men from the Eparch of Syra.”

“But surely in an urgent case like this the Eparch will send you help at once. You say he is your friend.”

“Certainly he says he is, but my belief is that he is jealous of my independent sovereignty, and would not be sorry to see my little government come to an end.”

“What a nice old gentleman he must be! But tell me, uncle, what is the difference between a Demarch and an Eparch?”

“One rules over one island, the other over many. As a matter of fact, a Demarch is a kind of mayor, and really it is too small a title for me, seeing I have a whole island to myself. Still, I am quite satisfied with it, as King of Melnos is out of the question, and Prince of Melnos sounds like the hero of a penny novelette.”

“And what islands does the Eparch of Syra rule over?”

“Well, really, I quite forget; but the Eparch of Santorin rules over Amorgos, Anapli, Santorin, and Ios.”

“Of course all these Epachs—or what is it?—Eparchs—are subject to the government of King George?”

“Certainly.”

“Then I don’t wonder they envy you this island. I suppose you are the only independent prince in the Ægean?”

“I am now, but in former times there were many. An Italian family ruled as Dukes of Naxos, another line governed Seriphos, but those potentates were somewhere about the fifteenth century. I think the ruler likest to myself was one Capsi, a kind of ancient pirate, of the Alcibiades type, who became ruler of Melos.”

“Melnos?”

“No; the island of Melos, without the ‘n.’ It is a curious coincidence, is it not, the similarity of name and rule?”

“Very; but what became of King Capsi?”

“Oh, the Turks invited him to Stamboul, and then cut off his head for presuming to set himself up as a rival to the Sultan. But such a fate is not likely to happen to me, as I am very good friends with Abdul Hamid.”

“I think we had better establish a line of princes, uncle,” said Maurice in a joking tone. “You will take the title of Justinian I.; when I succeed to the throne, I will be Justinian II.; and if Helena and myself are fortunate enough to present you with a grandson, he will be Justinian III. So, you see, we have an excellent beginning for a royal family.”

“I do not see why it should not be so,” replied the Demarch seriously; “look at the Brookes, who became Rajahs of Sarawak, and the Bernadottes, now Kings of Sweden, and then again the Bonaparte family. My dear Maurice, believe me, there are still kingdoms to be gained, if he who seeks has the nerve, judgment, and fortune of a born adventurer.”

“Such as yourself.”

“Exactly; and you are of the same type. Oh, that I were younger, Maurice, and with you by my side, we would go to South America and carve out a kingdom. You smile, but I tell you it can be done.”

“It has been done in Melnos.”

“Oh, that is nothing! an intellectual training school only; but I mean a real large kingdom on a continent.”

“I may be like you in some things, uncle, but I do not think I have your ambition, as I will be quite content with my island sovereignty of Melnos.”

“I daresay you are wise. But, Maurice, what a story all your and my adventures would make—the way you were brought here by Andros—the description of the crater—the attack on the island—why, it would make a capital romance!”

“Which nobody would believe. They would look upon it as an embroidered lie of the ‘Alroy’ species.”

“Ah, the author of that book—Disraeli—what a man!”

“‘The wondrous boy wot wrote “Alroy,”’” said Maurice. “Yes, he certainly was clever; a little too fond in his books of Oriental splendor perhaps, but a genius as a statesman.”

“If Disraeli had been an Eastern vizier, he would have become a king.”

“What a desultory conversation!” said his nephew, laughing; “we began with Eparchs and end with possible sovereigns. Well, as far as I am concerned, this island is big enough for me and the Princess Helena.”

“Who is talking of the Princess Helena?” cried a gay voice behind them, and, on turning, they saw the princess herself, with her arms as usual full of flowers, looking at them both with a smile in her eyes.

“I am the culprit, your highness,” said Maurice, bowing. “When did you arrive?”

“This very moment; so if you have been saying nice things about me, you may as well repeat them.”

“Vanity! vanity!”

“All is vanity! If that is the only thing you have to say to me, I will go.”

“I think we had better all go,” said Justinian, turning away from the cliff. “I am anxious for breakfast, but you young people, I suppose, are content to live on love.”

“Not in this keen morning air, father. But have you seen any sign of the yacht?”

“Not the slightest!”

“What a bad thing! and the pirates?”

“No appearance of those gentlemen either.”

“What a good thing! I wonder who will arrive first, Crispin or Caliphronas!”

“I trust the former,” answered her father hopefully; “but I dread the latter.”

“Oh dear me!” said Helena, with a sigh; “I do wish he would leave us alone. Why cannot he get an island of his own?”

“Ah, that’s just it, my child! He does not desire an island so much as you.”

“He will never get me,” she answered resolutely. “Sooner than become the wife of that traitor, I would throw myself over the cliff.”

“You can rest quite content, Helena,” said Maurice, with quiet determination; “if Caliphronas overwhelms Melnos with his forces, he shall not obtain the prize he desires. If he captures you, it will be over my dead body.”

“Then he’ll never capture me, for you can easily conquer such a coward,” retorted the girl, with great spirit; “and, after all, I don’t believe he’ll have the courage to come back.”

“Uncle,” exclaimed Roylands suddenly, as he saw Justinian stumble, “what is the matter? Do you feel ill?”

“Not exactly ill,” replied the Demarch, taking his nephew’s arm; “but, to tell you the truth, I awoke this morning feeling very sick and faint.”

“Why, papa, so did I!” exclaimed Helena in surprise; “that is why I came down to the cliffs to obtain a breath of fresh air.”

“I also had a headache when I awoke,” said Maurice, after a pause; “so, as we have all felt the same thing, there must be some malaria in the air.”

Justinian gave a cry of alarm, and his face blanched white under its bronze.

“Oh, Maurice! I dread to think what it may be!”

“Why, uncle, what do you mean?”

“The vapors of the volcano!”

Both Helena and her lover grew pale at these ominous words.

“Still,” said the latter anxiously, “if they do nothing but give headaches”—

“You forget,” replied Justinian in a sombre tone, as they entered the Acropolis; “we are half-way up the crater, but if the vapors are rising from the volcano, think of all my people in the valley.”

Without waiting a moment, the three, in a state of great alarm, hurried to the platform in front of the temple, and looked anxiously down to the village. Although it was now seven o’clock, and the Melnosians were early risers, there was no appearance of life in the valley below, no sound of labor or voices ascended, no smoke curled upward from the chimneys; but in the still morning the cup of the crater lay spread out before them, a scene of exquisite beauty, yet terribly, ominously calm.

“Great God!” cried Justinian, with a strangled sob; “can it be as I feared?”

A man came staggering along the mulberry avenue, waving his arms wildly, and when he came sufficiently near, they saw it was the bos’n Dick, pale and haggard, reeling in his gait like a drunken man.

Maurice ran forward to help him as he advanced, and ultimately had to carry him to the steps of the Acropolis, while Helena, by her father’s direction, ran inside for brandy and smelling-salts. With these they revived the almost insensible sailor, who opened his eyes with a shudder, only to find three faces scarcely less haggard than his own bending over him. None of them asked what had happened, for the intense quiet of that valley told its own terrible story, and Justinian knew that in one night he had lost the whole of his subjects through the deadly vapors breathed by the awakening volcano.

“Oh, Mr. Justinian! Mr. Roylands! it is horrible—horrible!” said Dick, sitting up with difficulty. “They are all dead!—not one left alive; and my poor messmates are gone also. Let us leave this cursed place, sir, or we will die also.”

Dick had fought bravely all through the campaign, and was a man but little given to emotion, yet so unnerved was he by the fearful catastrophe that had happened, that he buried his face in his hands and almost wept in the intensity of his agony. Maurice and Helena also were paralyzed with dread, for, however daring human beings may be, the most resolute quail before the gigantic powers of nature, and, high-spirited as they all were, their hearts thrilled with fear as they recognized in what a death-trap they were snared.

Only Justinian preserved a certain amount of calmness,—Justinian, who suffered more than the others, for this was the crowning blow, and his whole untiring labor of forty years had been swept away as naught in a single hour.

“It is not a valley,” he cried, looking downward in despair; “it is a tomb enclosing many dead. Oh, my poor Melnosians!”

“How did you discover it, Dick?” asked Maurice in an awed tone.

“After you went away this morning, sir. I walked down to the valley, in order to get my messmates to go on with that mining work in the pass; but I felt a bit headachy and queer. However, I did not think about it, and went down the stair. Just as I got down half-way, I felt a poisonous breath of air wafted up from below, which seized me by the throat, and made me fall down insensible by that statue of Apollo. I don’t know how long I lay; but it was lucky I was not farther down, or else I would have been stifled; as it was, little breaths of the gases floated up, but the cool air above revived me somewhat, and I managed to crawl up higher. Then I came along, sir; and you helped me here.”

“And are they all dead?”

“They must be,” said Justinian in a tone of despair. “I see how it is we escaped. You know the Grotto del Cane at Naples, Maurice, where a man can enter freely, but a dog dies? that is because the vapors only rise a certain height. Down below there, when all were sleeping, the gases must have been breathed slowly from the mouth of the volcano, and stifled every soul. They could not rise higher on account of their weight, so we managed to escape death. Look at that valley!” cried the Demarch, with a passionate gesture; “it is a smiling death-trap. We can see nothing; but half-way up the cup it is filled with deadly poison, which would kill us were we to descend. Oh, my poor people! dead! dead! all dead!”

He hid his face in his hands, overcome with horror at the sight; and Dick, somewhat cured of the poisonous vapors he had inhaled, arose to his feet with an effort.

“We must get away from here, Mr. Maurice. We dare not stay another night, for even if that volcano does not burst out, the gases will rise and rise until the Acropolis will be below their level. We must fly.”

“And how can we fly?” asked Justinian abruptly. “We have no boats—those scoundrels of Caliphronas’ have destroyed them all. The only thing we can do is to abandon the Acropolis, and go to the sea-shore, in order to wait the arrival of Crispin to save us.”

“But if the volcano breaks out, uncle?”

“In that case we must die. The island is so small, that, with this crater in full fury, we would be crushed under the weight of the stones thrown out, or burned to death by the streams of lava. Our only hope is Crispin; and as to this death-trap we must leave it at once. Helena!”

Helena did not answer. She was crouching down with her head on the lap of Zoe, who had joined the group; and the two girls were too terrified to speak, but lay silent with horror, a mere huddled mass of humanity.

“How many of us are left alive?” asked Maurice, raising the girl to her feet.

“About ten, sir,” replied Dick, making a rapid calculation. “Those two who are on the sentry-go at the palisade, Alexandros, who is down there attending to the mine, Temistocles, who is on the look-out, the man here who drives the engine, myself, Zoe, Miss Helena, yourself, and Mr. Justinian.”

The Demarch flung up his hands with a cry of horror.

“Ten survivors out of nearly two hundred people! Oh, there is a curse on me and mine! It is useless to fight against fate, Maurice. We must fly this very minute, and trust to Providence to be spared until the arrival of the yacht. Hark! what is that?”

There was a low moan, which seemed to come from the lips of the crater, and a moment afterwards the earth trembled slightly. It was the dreaded voice of the earthquake, as they knew only too well; and, with a sudden impulse, all turned to fly. The valley smiled peaceful and serene in the brilliant sunshine, the white peaks glittered like Pentelican marble against the sky, the delicate green of the foliage, the myriad hues of the flowers met their eyes on all sides; yet under this mask of smiling loveliness raged fierce subterranean fires, which were already pressing furiously upward to shatter the whole beautiful scene into Titantic fragments of stone.

“Let us take provisions, water, wine—what we can,” said Justinian rapidly, as he led the way into the Acropolis. “There is not a moment to be lost. We must fly without delay.”

The unfortunates made as much speed as they could, and collected all the food they could find, assisted by Argyropoulos, who had been called by the Demarch from his engine. Fortunately there were but few valuables to take away, as Justinian had always lived with great simplicity, and all his money was safe in London. The Demarch hastily gathered up a few of his papers, some money, and a little jewelry which belonged to Helena; while the others loaded themselves only with necessaries, such as provisions, wine, water, and cloaks to protect them should they have to pass the night on the beach. Helena, weeping bitterly, took leave of all her beloved flowers; and never had the court, with its snowy pillars, sporting fountain, and mass of blossoms, looked so beautiful as it did on this fatal morning. Argos, poor bird, was strutting proudly about, quite unaware of his danger; and Helena, touched by a feeling of compassion, impulsively spoke to Maurice.

“Shall we take Argos with us?”

“I am afraid we cannot, my dear girl. See, we are all heavily laden. Where is my uncle?”

“He has gone to take a last look at the valley,” said Helena, bursting into tears.

“Poor uncle!”

At that moment Justinian reappeared in the court, with a haggard face, his shoulders bent with the weight of his grief. In a few hours he had aged years, and now this terrible blow had broken him down completely. He had taken one last farewell of the valley he loved so much, of his dead people who were there sleeping in their terrible tomb, of all his schemes for reviving the old Hellas of the past; and now took up his burden, in common with the rest, to abandon the Acropolis forever.

The little band sadly left the beautiful home in which they could no longer hope to dwell, and took their melancholy way up the winding path which led up to the altar glade. Argyropoulos went first, then Dick came, supporting the weeping Zoe, and finally Justinian, with his nephew on one side and his daughter on the other, came slowly walking along, overcome with grief. All his schemes, all his expenditure, all his works were now at an end; and, as far as results went, the last forty years of his busy life had been absolutely wasted.

Just as they reached the altar inscribed Θεόν, which had witnessed of late the birth of young love, Temistocles, in a state of great excitement, came running up the path which led from the cliffs.

“Kyrion! Kyrion! the pirates! pirates!” he cried in Greek.

“Another blow!” said Justinian, with a harsh cry. “Are we not to escape with our lives? How many boats?”

“Eight, Kyrion, crowded with men.”

“What misfortune!” muttered the Demarch, letting his chin sink on his breast. “Pirates without—fire within. We are lost!”

“On the contrary, we are saved,” cried Maurice, with a sudden inspiration. “Don’t give way, uncle. Caliphronas has arrived at a most opportune moment, for we will use their boats in order to escape.”

“Impossible!”

“Not at all. I will explain my scheme when we get down to the verge of the cliff. Come, Temistocles, Dick, Argyropoulos. Forward all. We will hoist those scoundrels on their own petard.”

“If I can,” cried Justinian in a rage, raising his hands to heaven, “I will make a holocaust of them to the infernal gods!”