End of the world -- Fiction; Epidemics -- Fiction; Science fiction; Twenty-first century -- Fiction
The ground on which the battle was fought, was a level plain—so level,
that from the tumuli you saw the waving line of mountains on the
wide-stretched horizon; yet the intervening space was unvaried by the
least irregularity, save such undulations as resembled the waves of the
sea. The whole of this part of Thrace had been so long a scene of
contest, that it had remained uncultivated, and presented a dreary,
barren appearance. The order I had received, was to make an observation
of the direction which a detachment of the enemy might have taken, from
a northern tumulus; the whole Turkish army, followed by the Greek, had
poured eastward; none but the dead remained in the direction of my
side. From the top of the mound, I looked far round—all was silent and
deserted.
The last beams of the nearly sunken sun shot up from behind the far
summit of Mount Athos; the sea of Marmora still glittered beneath its
rays, while the Asiatic coast beyond was half hid in a haze of low
cloud. Many a casque, and bayonet, and sword, fallen from unnerved
arms, reflected the departing ray; they lay scattered far and near.
From the east, a band of ravens, old inhabitants of the Turkish
cemeteries, came sailing along towards their harvest; the sun
disappeared. This hour, melancholy yet sweet, has always seemed to me
the time when we are most naturally led to commune with higher powers;
our mortal sternness departs, and gentle complacency invests the soul.
But now, in the midst of the dying and the dead, how could a thought of
heaven or a sensation of tranquillity possess one of the murderers?
During the busy day, my mind had yielded itself a willing slave to the
state of things presented to it by its fellow-beings; historical
association, hatred of the foe, and military enthusiasm had held
dominion over me. Now, I looked on the evening star, as softly and
calmly it hung pendulous in the orange hues of sunset. I turned to the
corse-strewn earth; and felt ashamed of my species. So perhaps were the
placid skies; for they quickly veiled themselves in mist, and in this
change assisted the swift disappearance of twilight usual in the south;
heavy masses of cloud floated up from the south east, and red and
turbid lightning shot from their dark edges; the rushing wind disturbed
the garments of the dead, and was chilled as it passed over their icy
forms. Darkness gathered round; the objects about me became indistinct,
I descended from my station, and with difficulty guided my horse, so as
to avoid the slain.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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