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- 6452
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- 2026-01-30T20:48:05.591Z
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- 6373
- text
- CHAPTER XXI.
SAMSON AMONG THE PHILISTINES.
At length, as the ship, gliding on past three or four vessels at anchor
in the roadstead—one, a man-of-war just furling her sails—came nigh
Falmouth town, Israel, from his perch, saw crowds in violent commotion
on the shore, while the adjacent roofs were covered with sightseers. A
large man-of-war cutter was just landing its occupants, among whom were
a corporal’s guard and three officers, besides the naval lieutenant and
boat’s crew. Some of this company having landed, and formed a sort of
lane among the mob, two trim soldiers, armed to the teeth, rose in the
stern-sheets; and between them, a martial man of Patagonian stature,
their ragged and handcuffed captive, whose defiant head overshadowed
theirs, as St. Paul’s dome its inferior steeples. Immediately the mob
raised a shout, pressing in curiosity towards the colossal stranger; so
that, drawing their swords, four of the soldiers had to force a passage
for their comrades, who followed on, conducting the giant.
As the letter of marque drew still nigher, Israel heard the officer in
command of the party ashore shouting, “To the castle! to the castle!”
and so, surrounded by shouting throngs, the company moved on, preceded
by the three drawn swords, ever and anon flourished at the rioters,
towards a large grim pile on a cliff about a mile from the landing.
Long as they were in sight, the bulky form of the captive was seen at
times swayingly towering over the flashing bayonets and cutlasses, like
a great whale breaching amid a hostile retinue of sword-fish. Now and
then, too, with barbaric scorn, he taunted them with cramped gestures
of his manacled hands.
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.
- title
- Chunk 1