George W. Caldwell - "The Legends of San Francisco"

Georges Duhamel - "The New Book Of Martyrs"

Geoffrey de Villehardouin - "Memoirs or Chronicle of The Fourth Crusade and The Conquest of Constantinople"

Charles Dickens - "The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices"

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Books: Ragnarok: The Age of Fire and Gravel

I >> Ignatius Donnelly >> Ragnarok: The Age of Fire and Gravel




{p. 159}

have banks distant remain secure. Tanais smokes in the midst of its
waters, and the aged Peneus and Teuthrantian Caïcus and rapid
Ismenus. . . . The Babylonian Euphrates, too, was on fire, Orontes
was in flames, and the swift Thermodon and Ganges and Phasis and
Ister. Alpheus _boils_; the banks of Spercheus burn; and the gold
which Tagus carries with its stream melts in the flames. The
river-birds, too, which made famous the Mæonian banks with song, grew
hot in the middle of Caÿster. The Nile, affrighted, fled to the
remotest parts of the earth and concealed his head, which still lies
hid; his seven last mouths are empty, seven channels without any
streams. The same fate dries up the Ismarian rivers, Hebeus together
with Strymon, and the Hesperian streams, the Rhine, the Rhone, and
the Po, and the Tiber, to which was promised the sovereignty of the
world."

In other words, according to these Roman traditions here poetized,
the heat dried up the rivers of Europe, Asia, and Africa; in short,
of all the known world.

Ovid continues:

"All the ground bursts asunder, and through the chinks the light
penetrates into Tartarus, and startles the infernal king with his
spouse."

We have seen that during the Drift age the great clefts in the earth,
the fiords of the north of Europe and America, occurred, and we shall
see hereafter that, according to a Central American legend, the red
rocks boiled up through the earth at this time.

"The _ocean, too, is contracted_," says Ovid, "and that which lately
was sea is a surface of parched sand, and the mountains which the
deep sea has covered, start up and increase the number of the
scattered Cyclades" (a cluster of islands in the Ægean Sea,
surrounding Delos as though with a circle, whence their name); "the
fishes sink to the bottom, and the crooked dolphins do not care to
raise themselves on the surface into the air as usual. The bodies of
sea-calves float lifeless on their backs on

{p. 160}

the top of the water. The story, too, is that even Nereus himself and
Doris and their daughters _lay hid in the heated caverns_."

All this could scarcely have been imagined, and yet it agrees
precisely with what we can not but believe to have been the facts.
Here we have an explanation of how that vast body of vapor which
afterward constituted great snow-banks and ice-sheets and
river-torrents rose into the air. Science tells us that to make a
world-wrapping ice-sheet two miles thick, all the waters of the ocean
must have been evaporated;[1] to make one a mile thick would take one
half the waters of the globe; and here we find this Roman poet, who
is repeating the legends of his race, and who knew nothing about a
Drift age or an Ice age, telling us that the water _boiled_ in the
streams; that the bottom of the Mediterranean lay exposed, a bed of
dry sand; that the fish floated dead on the surface, or fled away to
the great depths of the ocean; and that even the sea-gods "hid in the
heated caverns."

Ovid continues:

"Three times had Neptune ventured with stern countenance to thrust
his arms out of the water; three times he was unable to endure the
scorching heat of the air."

This is no doubt a reminiscence of those human beings who sought
safety in the water, retreating downward into the deep as the heat
reduced its level, occasionally lifting up their heads to breathe the
torrid and tainted air.

"However, the genial Earth, _as she was surrounded by the sea_, amid
the waters of the main" (the ocean); "the springs dried up on every
side which had hidden themselves in the bowels of their cavernous
parent, burnt up, lifted up her all-productive face as far as her
neck, and

[1. "Science and Genesis," p. 125.]

{p. 161}

placed her hand to her forehead, and, shaking all things with a _vast
trembling_, she _sank down a little and retired below the spot where
she is wont_ to be."

Here we are reminded of the bridge Bifrost, spoken of in the last
chapter, which, as I have shown, was probably a prolongation of land
reaching from Atlantis to Europe, and which the Norse legends tell us
sank down under the feet of the forces of Muspelheim, in the day of
Ragnarok:

"And thus she spoke with a parched voice: 'O sovereign of the gods,
if thou approvest of this, if I have deserved it, why do thy
lightnings linger? Let me, if doomed to perish by the force of fire,
perish by thy flames; and alleviate my misfortune by being the author
of it. With difficulty, indeed, do I open my mouth for these very
words. Behold my scorched hair, and _such a quantity of ashes over my
eyes_' (the Drift-deposits), '_so much, too, over my features_. And
dost thou give this as my recompense? This as the reward of my
_fertility_ and my duty, in that I _endure wounds from the crooked
plow and harrows_, and am harassed all the year through, in that I
supply green leaves for the cattle, and corn, a wholesome food, for
mankind, and frankincense for yourselves.

"'But still, suppose I am deserving of destruction, why have the
waves deserved this? Why has thy brother' (Neptune) 'deserved it? Why
do the seas delivered to him by lot _decrease_, and why do they
_recede still farther from the sky?_ But if regard neither for thy
brother nor myself influences thee, still have consideration for thy
own skies; look around on either side, see how each pole is
_smoking_; if the fire shall injure them, _thy palace will fall in
ruins_. See! Atlas himself is struggling, and hardly can he bear the
glowing heavens on his shoulders.

"'If the sea, if the earth, if the palace of heaven, perish, we are
then jumbled into the old chaos again. Save it from the flames, if
aught still survives, and provide for the preservation of the
universe.'

{p. 162}

"Thus spoke the Earth; nor, indeed, could she any longer endure the
vapor, nor say more, and she withdrew her face within herself, _and
the caverns neighboring to the shades below_.

"But the omnipotent father, having called the gods above to witness,
and him, too, who had given the chariot to Phaëton, that unless he
gives assistance all things will perish in direful ruin, mounts aloft
to the highest eminence, from which he is wont to spread the clouds
over the spacious earth; and from which he moves his thunders, and
burls the brandished lightnings. _But then he had neither clouds that
he could draw over the earth, nor showers that he could pour down
from the sky_."

That is to say, so long as the great meteor shone in the air, and for
some time after, the heat was too intense to permit the formation of
either clouds or rain; these could only come with coolness and
condensation.

He thundered aloud, and darted the poised lightning from his right
ear, against the charioteer, and at the same moment deprived him both
of life and his seat, and by his ruthless fires restrained the
flames. The horses are affrighted, and, making a bound in the
opposite direction, they shake the yoke from their necks, and
disengage themselves from the torn harness. In one place lie the
reins, in another the axle-tree wrenched from the pole, in another
part are the spokes of the broken wheels, and _the fragments of the
chariot torn in pieces are scattered far and wide_. But Phaëton, the
flames consuming his _yellow_ hair, _is hurled headlong_, and is
borne in _a long track through the air_, as sometimes _a star is seen
to fall from the serene sky_, although it really has not fallen. Him
the great Eridanus receives in a part of the world far distant from
his country, and bathes his foaming face. The _Hesperian Naiads_
commit his body, smoking from the _three-forked_ flames, to the tomb,
and inscribe these verses on the stone: 'Here is Phaëton buried, the
driver of his father's chariot, which, if he did not manage, still he
miscarried in a great attempt.'

"But his wretched father" (the Sun) "_had hidden his_

{p. 163}

_face overcast with bitter sorrow_, and, if only we can believe it,
they say that _one day passed without the sun_. The flames" (of the
fires on the earth) "afforded light, and there was some advantage in
that disaster."

As there was no daily return of the sun to mark the time, that one
day of darkness was probably of long duration; it may have endured
for years.

Then follows Ovid's description of the mourning of Clymene and the
daughters of the Sun and the Naiads for the dead Phaëton. Cycnus,
king of Liguria, grieves for Phaëton until he is transformed into a
swan; reminding one of the Central American legend, (which I shall
give hereafter,) which states that in that day all men were turned
into _goslings_ or _geese_, a reminiscence, perhaps, of those who
saved themselves from the fire by taking refuge in the waters of the
seas:

"Cycnus becomes a new bird; but he trusts himself not to the heavens
or the air, as being mindful of the _fire unjustly sent from thence_.
He _frequents the pools and the wide lakes_, and, abhorring fire, he
chooses the streams, the very contrary of flames.

"Meanwhile, the father of Phaëton" (the Sun), "in _squalid garb_ and
destitute of his comeliness, _just as he is wont to be when he
suffers an eclipse of his disk_, abhors both the light, himself, and
the day; and gives his mind up to grief, and adds resentment to his
sorrow."

In other words, the poet is now describing the age of darkness,
which, as we have seen, must have followed the conflagration, when
the condensing vapor wrapped the world in a vast cloak of cloud.

The Sun refuses to go again on his daily journey; just as we shall
see hereafter, in the American legends, he refuses to stir until
threatened or coaxed into action.

{p. 164}

"All the deities," says Ovid, "stand around the Sun as he says such
things, and they entreat him, with suppliant voice, _not to determine
to bring darkness over the world_." At length they induce the enraged
and bereaved father to resume his task.

"But the omnipotent father" (Jupiter) "surveys the vast walls of
heaven, and carefully searches that no part, impaired by the violence
of the fire, may fall into ruin. After he has seen them to be secure
and in their own strength, he examines the earth, and the _works of
man_; yet a care for his own Arcadia is more particularly his object.
He _restores, too, the springs and the rivers_, that had not yet
dared to flow, _he gives grass to the earth, green leaves to the
trees_; and orders the injured forests again to be green."

The work of renovation has begun; the condensing moisture renews the
springs and rivers, the green mantle of verdure once more covers the
earth, and from the waste places the beaten and burned trees put
forth new sprouts.

The legend ends, like Ragnarok, in a beautiful picture of a
regenerated world.

Divest this poem of the myth of Phaëton, and we have a very faithful
tradition of the conflagration of the world caused by the comet.

The cause of the trouble is a something which takes place high in the
heavens; it rushes through space; it threatens the stars; it
traverses particular constellations; it is disastrous; it has yellow
hair; it is associated with great heat; it sets the world on fire it
dries up the seas; its remains are scattered over the earth; it
covers the earth with ashes; the sun ceases to appear; there is a
time when he is, as it were, in eclipse, darkened; after a while he
returns; verdure comes again upon the earth, the springs and rivers
reappear, the world is renewed. During this catastrophe man has
hidden himself, swanlike,

{p. 165}

in the waters; or the intelligent children of the earth betake
themselves to deep caverns for protection from the conflagration.

How completely does all this accord, in chronological order and in
its details, with the Scandinavian legend; and with what reason
teaches us must have been the consequences to the earth if a comet
had fallen upon it!

And the most ancient of the ancient world, the nation that stood
farthest back in historical time, the Egyptians, believed that this
legend of Phaëton really represented the contact of the earth with a
comet.

When Solon, the Greek lawgiver, visited Egypt, six hundred years
before the Christian era, he talked with the priests of Sais about
the Deluge of Deucalion. I quote the following from Plato
("Dialogues," xi, 517, _Timæus_):

"Thereupon, one of the priests, who was of very great age, said, 'O
Solon, Solon, you Hellenes are but children, and there is never an
old man who is an Hellene.' Solon, hearing this, said, 'What do you
mean?' 'I mean to say,' he replied, 'that in mind you are all young;
there is no old opinion handed down among you by ancient tradition,
nor any science which is hoary with age. And I will tell you the
reason of this: there have been, and there will be again, many
destructions of mankind arising out of many causes. There is a story
which even you have preserved, that once upon a time Phaëthon, the
son of Helios, having yoked the steeds in his father's chariot,
because he was not able to drive them in the path of his father,
burnt up all that was upon the earth, and was himself destroyed by a
thunder-bolt. Now, this has the form of a myth, but _really signifies
a declination of the bodies moving around the earth and in the
heavens, and a great conflagration of things upon the earth_
recurring at long intervals of time: when this happens, those who
live upon the mountains and in dry and lofty places are more liable
to destruction than those who dwell by rivers or on the sea-shore."'

{p. 166}

CHAPTER VI.

OTHER LEGENDS OF THE CONFLAGRATION.

THE first of these, and the most remarkable of all, is the legend of
one of the Central American nations, preserved not by tradition
alone, but committed to writing at some time in the remote past.

In the "Codex Chimalpopoca," one of the sacred books of the Toltecs,
the author, speaking of the destruction which took place by fire,
says:

"The third sun" (or era) "is called _Quia-Tonatiuh_, sun of rain,
because there fell a _rain of fire; all which existed burned; and
there fell a rain of gravel_."

"They also narrate that while the sandstone, which we now see
_scattered about_, and the _tetzontli_ (_amygdaloide poreuse_--trap
or basaltic rocks), '_boiled with great tumult_, there also rose the
rocks of vermilion color.'"

That is to say, the basaltic and red trap-rocks burst through the
great cracks made, at that time, in the surface of the disturbed
earth.

"Now, this was in the year _Ce Tecpatl_, One _Flint_, it was the day
_Nahui-Quiahuit_l, Fourth Rain. Now, in this day, in which men were
lost and destroyed _in a rain of fire_, they _were transformed into
goslings_; the _sun itself was on fire_, and everything, together
with the houses, was consumed."[1]

[1. "The North Americans of Antiquity," p. 499.]

{p. 167}

Here we have the whole story told in little: "Fire fell from heaven,"
the comet; "the sun itself was on fire"; the comet reached to, or
appeared to reach to, the sun; or its head had fallen into the sun;
or the terrible object may have been mistaken for the sun on fire.
"_There was a rain of gravel_"--the Drift fell from the comet. There
is also some allusion to the sandstones scattered about; and we have
another reference to the great breaks in the earth's crust, caused
either by the shock of contact with the comet, or the electrical
disturbances of the time; and we are told that the trap-rocks, and
rocks of vermilion color, boiled up to the surface with great tumult.
Mankind was destroyed, except such as fled into the seas and lakes,
and there plunged into the water, and lived like "goslings."

Can any one suppose that this primitive people invented all this? And
if they did, how comes it that their invention agreed so exactly with
the traditions of all the rest of mankind; and with the revelations
of science as to the relations between the trap rocks and the gravel,
as to time at least?

We turn now to the legends of a different race, in a different stage
of cultivation--the barbarian Indians of California and Nevada. It is
a curious and wonderful story:

"The natives in the vicinity of Lake Tahoe ascribe its origin to a
great natural convulsion. There was a time, they say, when their
tribe possessed the whole earth, and were strong numerous, and rich;
but a day came in which a people rose up stronger than they, and
defeated and enslaved them. Afterward the Great Spirit sent an
immense wave across the continent from the sea, and this wave
ingulfed both the oppressors and the oppressed, all but a very small
remnant. Then the task-masters made the remaining people raise up a
great temple, so that

{p. 168}

they, of the ruling caste, should have a refuge in case of another
flood, and on the top of this temple the masters worshiped a column
of perpetual fire."

It would be natural to suppose that this was the great deluge to
which all the legends of mankind refer, and which I have supposed,
elsewhere, to refer to the destruction of "Atlantis"; but it must be
remembered that both east and west of the Atlantic the traditions of
mankind refer to several deluges--to a series of
catastrophes--occurring at times far apart. It may be that the legend
of the Tower of Babel refers to an event far anterior in time even to
the deluge of Noah or Deucalion; or it may be, as often happens, that
the chronology of this legend has been inverted.

The Tahoe legend continues:

"Half a moon had not elapsed, however, before the earth was again
troubled, this time with strong convulsions and thunderings, upon
which the masters took refuge in their great tower, closing the
people out. The poor slaves fled to the Humboldt River, and, getting
into canoes, paddled for life _from the awful sight behind them_; for
the land was tossing like a troubled sea, and casting up fire, smoke,
and ashes. _The flames went up to the very heavens, and melted many
stars_, SO THAT THEY RAINED DOWN IN MOLTEN METAL UPON THE EARTH,
forming the ore" [gold?] "that white men seek. The Sierra was mounded
up from the bosom of the earth; while the place where the great fort
stood sank, leaving only the dome on the top exposed above the waters
of Lake Tahoe. The inmates of the temple-tower clung to this dome to
save themselves from drowning; but the Great Spirit walked upon the
waters in his wrath, and took the oppressors one by one, _like
pebbles_, and threw them far into the recesses of a great cavern on
the east side of the lake, called to this day the Spirit Lodge, where
the waters shut them in. There must they remain till the last great
volcanic burning, which is to overturn the

{p. 169}

whole earth, is to again set them free. In the depths of
cavern-prison they may still be heard, wailing and their cave,
moaning, when the snows melt and the waters swell in the lake."[1]

Here we have the usual mingling of fact and myth. The legend
describes accurately, no doubt, the awful appearance of the tossing
earth and the falling fire and _débris_; the people flying to rivers
and taking shelter in the caves) and some of them closed up in the
caves for ever.

The legend, as is usual, accommodates itself to the geography and
topography of the country in which the narrators live.

In the Aztec creation-myths, as preserved by the Fray Andres de
Olmos, and taken down by him from the lips of those who narrated the
Aztec traditions to him, we have an account of the destruction of
mankind by the sun, which reads as follows:

The sun had risen indeed, and _with the glory of the cruel fire about
him_, that not even the eyes of the gods could endure; but he moved
not. There he lay on the horizon; and when the deities sent Tlotli,
their messenger, to him, with orders that he should go on upon his
way, his ominous answer was that he would never leave that place
_till he had destroyed and put an end to them all_. Then a great fear
fell upon some, while others were moved only to anger; and among the
others was one Citli, who immediately strung his bow and advanced
against the glittering enemy. By quickly lowering his head the sun
avoided the first arrow shot at him; but the second and third had
attained his body in quick succession, when, filled with fury, he
seized the last and launched it back upon his assailant. And the
brave Citli laid shaft to string never more, for the arrow of the sun
pierced his forehead. Then all was dismay in the assembly of the
gods, and _despair filled their hearts_, for they saw that

[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 89.]

170 THE LEGENDS.

they could not prevail against the shining one; and they agreed to
die, and to cut themselves open through the breast. . Xololt was
appointed minister, and he killed his companions one by one, and last
of all he slew himself also. . . . Immediately after the death of the
gods, the sun began his motion in the heavens; and a man called
Tecuzistecatl, or Tezcociztecatl, who, when Nanahuatzin leaped into
the fire, had retired into a cave, now emerged from his concealment
as the moon. Others say that instead of going into a cave, this
Tecuzistecatl had leaped into the fire after Nanahuatzin, but that
the heat of the fire being somewhat abated he had come out less
brilliant than the sun. Still another variation is that the sun and
moon came out equally bright, but this not seeming good to the gods,
one of them took a rabbit by the heels and slung it into the face of
the moon, dimming its luster with a blotch whose mark may be seen to
this day."[1]

Here we have the same Titanic battle between the gods, the godlike
men of old--"the old ones"--and the Comet, which appears in the Norse
legends, when Odin, Thor, Prey, Tyr, and Heimdal boldly march out to
encounter the Comet and fall dead, like Citli, before the weapons or
the poisonous breath of the monster. In the same way we see in Hesiod
the great Jove, rising high on Olympus and smiting Typhaon with his
lightnings. And we shall see this idea of a conflict between the gods
and the great demon occurring all through the legends. And it may be
that the three arrows of this American story represent the three
comets spoken of in Hesiod, and the Fenris-wolf, Midgard-serpent, and
Surt or Garm of the Goths: the first arrow did not strike the sun;
the second and the third "attained its body," and then the enraged
sun launched the last arrow back at Citli, at the earth; and
thereupon despair filled the people, and they prepared to die.

[1. Bancroft's "Native Races," vol. iii, p. 62.]

{p. 171}

The Avesta, the sacred book of the ancient Persians, written in the
Zend dialect, tells the same story. I have already given one version
of it:

Ahura Mazda is the good god, the kind creator of life and growth; he
sent the sun, the fertilizing rain. He created for the ancestors of
the Persians a beautiful land, a paradise, a warm and fertile
country. But Ahriman, the genius of evil, created Azhidahaka, "_the
biting snake of winter_." "He had triple jaws, three heads, six eyes,
the strength of a thousand beings." He brings ruin and winter on the
fair land. Then comes a mighty hero, Thraetaona, who kills the snake
and rescues the land.[1]

In the Persian legends we have Feridun, the hero of the Shah-Nameh.
There is a serpent-king called Zohak, who has committed dreadful
crimes, assisted by a demon called Iblis. As his reward, Iblis asked
permission to kiss the king's shoulder, which was granted. Then from
the shoulder sprang two dreadful serpents. Iblis told him that these
must be fed every day with the brains of two children. So the human
race was gradually being exterminated. Then Feridun, beautiful and
strong, rose up and killed the serpent-king Zohak, and delivered his
country. Zohak is the same as Azhidahaka in the Avesta--"the biting
snake of winter."[2] He is Python; he is Typhaon; he is the
Fenris-wolf; he is the Midgard-serpent.

The Persian fire-worship is based on the primeval recognition of the
value of light and fire, growing out of this Age of Darkness and
winter.

In the legends of the Hindoos we read of the fight between Rama, the
sun-god (_Ra_ was the Egyptian god of the sun), and Ravana, a giant
who, accompanied by the

[1. Poor, "Sanskrit Literature," p. 144.

2. Ibid., p. 158.]

{p. 172}

Rakshasas, or demons, made terrible times in the ancient land where
the ancestors of the Hindoos dwelt at that period. He carries away
the wife of Rama, Sita; her name signifies "a furrow," and seems to
refer to agriculture, and an agricultural race inhabiting the
furrowed earth. He bears her struggling through the air. Rama and his
allies pursue him. The monkey-god, Hanuman, helps Rama; a bridge of
stone, sixty miles long, is built across the deep ocean to the Island
of Lanka, where the great battle is fought: "_The stones which crop
out through Southern India are said to have been dropped by the
monkey builders!_" The army crosses on the bridge, as the forces of
Muspelheim, in the Norse legends, marched over the bridge "Bifrost."

The battle is a terrible one. Ravana has ten heads, and as fast as
Rama cuts off one another grows in its place. Finally, Rama, like
Apollo, fires the terrible arrow of Brahma, the creator, and the
monster falls dead.