The Last American<br />A Fragment from The Journal of Khan-li, Prince of Dimph-Yoo-Chur and Admiral in the Persian Navy by John Ames Mitchell (best books to read in your 20s TXT) 📗
- Author: John Ames Mitchell
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THE LAST AMERICAN
Amos Judd
The Pines of Lory
The Last American
That First Affair
Gloria Victis
Life's Fairy Tales
"--In the soft earth was the imprint of human feet!"
1902, by Frederick A. Stokes Company. Printed in America.
The Last AmericanA Fragment from The Journal of
KHAN-LI, Prince of Dimph-Yoo-Chur
and Admiral in the Persian Navy
Presented by J. A. MITCHELL
EDITION DE LUXE
Illustrated in Color by F. W. Read
With Decorative Designs by
Albert D. Blashfield
and Illustrations by
the Author
NEW YORK
FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
1889 By Frederick A. Stokes and Brother
1902 By Frederick A. Stokes Company
TO
THOSE THOUGHTFUL PERSIANS
WHO CAN READ A WARNING IN THE
SUDDEN RISE
AND SWIFT EXTINCTION
OF
A FOOLISH PEOPLE
THIS VOLUME IS
DEDICATED
SURNAMED "THE AXIS OF WISDOM"
Curator of the Imperial Museum at Shiraz.
Author of "The Celestial Conquest of Kaly-phorn-ya,"
and of "Northern Mehrika under the Hy-Bernyan Rulers"
he astounding discoveries of Khan-li of Dimph-yoo-chur have thrown floods of light upon the domestic life of the Mehrikan people. He little realized when he landed upon that sleeping continent what a service he was about to render history, or what enthusiasm his discoveries would arouse among Persian archæologists.
Every student of antiquity is familiar with these facts.
But for the benefit of those who have yet to acquire a knowledge of this extraordinary people, I advise, first, a visit to the Museum at Teheran in order to excite their interest in the subject, and second, the reading of such books as Nōfūhl's "What we Found in the West," and Nōz-yt-ahl's "History of the Mehrikans." The last-named is a complete and reliable history of these people from the birth of the Republic under George-wash-yn-tun to the year 1990, when they ceased to exist as a nation. I must say, however, that Nōz-yt-ahl leaves the reader much confused concerning the period between the massacre of the Protestants in 1927, and the overflow of the Murfey dynasty in 1940.
He holds the opinion with many other historians that the Mehrikans were a mongrel race, with little or no patriotism, and were purely imitative; simply an enlarged copy of other nationalities extant at the time. He pronounces them a shallow, nervous, extravagant people, and accords them but few redeeming virtues. This, of course, is just; but nevertheless they will always be an interesting study by reason of their rapid growth, their vast numbers, their marvellous mechanical ingenuity and their sudden and almost unaccountable disappearance.
The wealth, luxury, and gradual decline of the native population; the frightful climatic changes which swept the country like a mower's scythe; the rapid conversion of a vast continent, alive with millions of pleasure-loving people, into a silent wilderness, where the sun and moon look down in turn upon hundreds of weed-grown cities,—all this is told by Nōz-yt-ahl with force and accuracy.
ABOARD THE ZLŌTUHB IN THE YEAR 2951
10th May
here is land ahead!
Grip-til-lah was first to see it, and when he shouted the tidings my heart beat fast with joy. The famished crew have forgotten their disconsolate stomachs and are dancing about the deck. 'T is not I, forsooth, who shall restrain them! A month of emptiness upon a heavy sea is preparation for any folly. Nōfūhl alone is without enthusiasm. The old man's heart seems dead.
We can see the land plainly, a dim strip along the western horizon. A fair wind blows from the northeast, but we get on with cruel hindrance, for the Zlōtuhb is a heavy ship, her bluff bow and voluminous bottom ill fitting her for speed.
The land, as we near it, seems covered with trees, and the white breakers along the yellow beach are a welcome sight.
11th May
ighted a fine harbor this afternoon, and are now at anchor in it.
Grip-til-lah thinks we have reached one of the western islands mentioned by Ben-a-Bout. Nōfūhl, however, is sure we are further North.
12th May
hat a change has come over Nōfūhl! He is the youngest man aboard. We all share his delight, as our discoveries are truly marvellous. This morning while I was yet in my bunk he ran into the cabin and, forgetting our difference in rank, seized me by the arm and tried to drag me out. His excitement so had the better of him that I captured little meaning from his words. Hastening after him, however, I was amazed to see such ancient limbs transport a man so rapidly. He skipped up the narrow stairs like a heifer and, young though I am, it was faster than I could follow.
But what a sight when I reached the deck! We saw nothing of it yesterday, for the dusk of evening was already closing about us when we anchored.
Right ahead, in the middle of the bay, towered a gigantic statue, many times higher than the masts of our ship. Beyond, from behind this statue, came the broad river upon whose waters we were floating, its surface all a-glitter with the rising sun. To the East, where Nōfūhl was pointing, his fingers trembling with excitement, lay the ruins of an endless city. It stretched far away into the land beyond, further even than our eyes could see. And in the smaller river on the right stood two colossal structures, rising high in the air, and standing like twin brothers, as if to guard the deserted streets beneath. Not a sound reached us—not a floating thing disturbed the surface of the water. Verily, it seemed the sleep of Death.
I was lost in wonder.
As we looked, a strange bird, like a heron, arose with a hoarse cry from the foot of the great image and flew toward the city.
"What does it all mean?" I cried. "Where are we?"
"Where indeed!" said Nōfūhl. "If I knew but that, O Prince, I could tell the rest! No traveller has mentioned these ruins. Persian history contains no record of such a people. Allah has decreed that we discover a forgotten world."
The City of Ruins
Within an hour we landed, and found ourselves in an ancient street, the pavements covered with weeds, grass, and flowers, all crowding together in wild neglect. Huge trees of great antiquity thrust their limbs through windows and roofs and produced a mournful sight. They gave a welcome shade, however, as we find the heat ashore of a roasting quality most hard to bear. The curious buildings on either side are wonderfully preserved, even sheets of glass still standing in many of the iron window-frames.
We wandered along through the thick grass, Nōfūhl and I, much excited over our discoveries and delighted with the strange scene. The sunshine is of dazzling brightness, birds are singing everywhere, and the ruins are gay with gorgeous wild flowers. We soon found ourselves in what was once a public square, now for the most part a shady grove.[1] [1] Afterward ascertained to be the square of the City Hall.
"We soon found ourselves in what was once a public square."
1902, by Frederick A. Stokes Company. Printed in America.
As we sat on a fallen cornice and gazed on the lofty buildings about us I asked Nōfūhl if he was still in ignorance as to where we were, and he said:
"As yet I know not. The architecture is much like that of ancient Europe, but it tells us nothing."
Then I said to him in jest, "Let this teach us, O Nōfūhl! the folly of excessive wisdom. Who among thy pupils of the Imperial College at Ispahan would believe their venerable instructor in history and languages could visit the largest city in the world and know so little about it!"
"Thy words are wise, my Prince," he answered; "few babes could know less."
As we were leaving this grove my eyes fell upon an upturned slab that seemed to have a meaning. It was lying at our feet, partly hidden by the tall grass, having fallen from the columns that supported it. Upon its surface were strange characters in bold relief, as sharp and clear as when chiselled ten centuries ago. I pointed it out to Nōfūhl, and we bent over it with eager eyes.
It was this:
ASTOR HOUSE
"The inscription is Old English," he said. "'House' signified a dwelling, but the word 'Astor' I know not. It was probably the name of a deity, and here was his temple."
This was encouraging, and we looked about eagerly for other signs.
Our steps soon brought us into another street, and as we walked I expressed my surprise at the wonderful preservation of the stone work, which looked as though cut but yesterday.
"In such an atmosphere decay is slow," said Nōfūhl. "A thousand years at least have passed since these houses were occupied. Take yonder oak, for instance; the tree itself has been growing for at least a hundred years, and we know from the fallen mass beneath it that centuries had gone by before its birth was possible."
He
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