Idonia: A Romance of Old LondonWallis, Arthur Frederick
History
Idonia: A Romance of Old London
Wallis, Arthur Frederick
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction; London (England) -- Fiction
Nothing deterred him when he had once resolved upon any course, and I
am assured that had we lost half our complement of men and all our
ammunition, he would have gone into it with his fists. The Thursday
then, having doubled the Cape of Marsala, which is the westward point
of Sicily, we came amongst the AEolian Islands to the very hour Tuchet
had named; and towards evening we clearly descried the little rocky
islet of the Three Towers; whereat every man grasped his weapon, and
the gunner ran out his long brass piece. 'Twas no time for the conning
over of moral sentences but rather of rapid silent preparation; yet I
could not but feel the solemnity of this our slowly sailing onward
through the still autumn evening, whose outgoing seemed so sweetly
attuned to that praise for which the Scripture saith it was created,
but which for us meant no more than an unlucky light to shoot by. For,
as more than one stout fellow whispered, our ship having the sun behind
it was a mark for any fool to hit, while we upon our part could
distinguish nought upon that barren rock but the crumbled watch-towers
that crowned it.
Without a word, we stole on. It was dangerous navigation, for there
were said to be sunken reefs to the westward (that is the nearest to us
as we came from the west), where the rock divided into two horns or
spurs, that, jutting out into the sea, enclosed the little parcel of
flat land where the vineyards used to be and the ruined temple. The
harbourage lay a little to the southward behind the right-hand spur I
have noted, and was therefore not yet to be seen; though we,
approaching so closely, must have been perfectly visible to any one
that lay concealed amidst the innumerable lurking-places and caves of
the rock.
The mate, who knew the island but too well, had gone forward, but now
returned to us, that is to Tuchet and me, upon the high deck. His face
was very white.
"The shore hath sunk," he said.
"What do you mean?" cried Tuchet, turning about sharply.
"Vineyard and all gone; our cottage and the garden where my boys
played.... The eagre hath whelmed them."
"But the wave hath long since receded, man; it cannot be! You have
mistaken the place belike."
"Mistaken!" repeated the mate with a hard laugh. "I tell you the whole
island hath been disturbed; its foundations shaken--Lo, there!" he
cried out. "A whole cliff hath gone down in the earthquake; and there
is driftwood under the headland, of wrecked ships."
And even as he had said, so it was.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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