MARK TWAIN
and the Pnyx. We cared little for Hymettus and Pen-
telicus.
At II o'clock at night Dr. Jackson, CoL Denny, Dr.
Birch and I left the ship in a boat and got set on shore
outside the quarantine lines—then straggled over the hills
serenaded by 100 dogs, skirted the town under a clouded
moon, and in half an hour were safe beyond any chance
of capture and fairly away for Athens. We could not find
a road that seemed to lead in the right direction, and so,
taking the tall steep mountain to the left of the Acropolis
for a mark, we steered at it industriously over hills
through valleys, over stony, desert places, plowed fields
and vineyards, and walked fast, too, for there was little
time to spare if we would get back to the ship before the
treacherous day should dawn.
We made the trip (stopped occasionally by savages
armed with guns who rose mysteriously up out of shadows
and darkness and said "Ha!" when we happened casually
to be stealing grapes, and stood under the towering mas-
sive walls of the ancient citadel of Athens—walls that had
loomed above the heads of better men than we 1000
years before the Son of God was born in Bethlehem.
It was between I and 2 o'clock—the place was silent—
the gates were shut—the devil to pay. Denny tried to
climb over a ruined wall—knocked down a stone—some-
body shouted from within and Denny dropped! We soon
roused that fellow out (the guard) and entered the ma-
jestic ruin.
The Propylsca, gateway to the temples of the Acropolis,
is of lovely fluted columns, of white marble.
All about us fragments, marble-armed chairs, bas-relief
and tablaturcs, statues, etc.
Grim marble faces, glancing up so suddenly out of the
grass at our feet.
Temple of Minerva small.
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