Israel Potter: His Fifty Years of ExileMelville, Herman
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Israel Potter: His Fifty Years of Exile
Melville, Herman
Potter, Israel, 1744-1826? -- Fiction
When at last the vessel had gained her anchorage, opposite a distant
detached warehouse, all was still; and the work of breaking out in the
hold immediately commencing, and continuing till nightfall, absorbed
all further attention for the present.
Next day was Sunday; and about noon Israel, with others, was allowed to
go ashore for a stroll. The town was quiet. Seeing nothing very
interesting there, he passed out, alone, into the fields alongshore,
and presently found himself climbing the cliff whereon stood the grim
pile before spoken of.
“What place is yon?” he asked of a rustic passing.
“Pendennis Castle.”
As he stepped upon the short crisp sward under its walls, he started at
a violent sound from within, as of the roar of some tormented lion.
Soon the sound became articulate, and he heard the following words
bayed out with an amazing vigor:
“Brag no more, Old England; consider you are but an island! Order back
your broken battalions! home, and repent in ashes! Long enough have
your hired tories across the sea forgotten the Lord their God, and
bowed down to Howe and Kniphausen—the Hessian!—Hands off, red-skinned
jackal! Wearing the king’s plate,[1] as I do, I have treasures of wrath
against you British.”
[1] Meaning, probably, certain manacles.
Then came a clanking, as of a chain; many vengeful sounds, all
confusedly together; with strugglings. Then again the voice:
“Ye brought me out here, from my dungeon to this green—affronting yon
Sabbath sun—to see how a rebel looks. But I show ye how a true
gentleman and Christian can conduct in adversity. Back, dogs! Respect a
gentleman and a Christian, though he _be_ in rags and smell of
bilge-water.”
Filled with astonishment at these words, which came from over a massive
wall, enclosing what seemed an open parade-space, Israel pressed
forward, and soon came to a black archway, leading far within,
underneath, to a grassy tract, through a tower. Like two boar’s tusks,
two sentries stood on guard at either side of the open jaws of the
arch. Scrutinizing our adventurer a moment, they signed him permission
to enter.
Arrived at the end of the arched-way, where the sun shone, Israel stood
transfixed, at the scene.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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