If he had had time to
recall to memory some historical examples, he might have summoned up
his sinking courage, and have done a deed worthy of record. There
was David, the youthful shepherd of Israel, who slew a lion and a
bear, and killed Goliath, the gigantic champion of the Philistines.
There were the Shepherd Kings, who ruled the land of Egypt. there
was one-eyed Polyphemus, moving among his flocks on the mountain tops
of Sicily; a monster, dreadful, vast, and hideous; able to roast and
eat these three blackfellows at one meal. And nearer our own time
was the youth whose immortal speech begins, "My name is Norval; on
the Grampian Hills my father fed his flocks." Our shepherd had a
stick in his hand and a collie dog at his command. Now was the time
for him to display "London Assurance" to some purpose; and now was
the time for the example of the ever-victorious Duke to work a
miracle of valour. But the crisis had come on too quickly, and there
was no time to pump up bravery from the deep well of history. The
unearthly ugliness of the savages, their thick lips, prominent cheek
bones, scowling and overhanging brows, broad snub noses, matted black
hair, and above all the keen, steady, and ferocious scrutiny of their
deep-set eyes, extinguished the last spark of courage in the heart of
Hyde. He did not look fierce and defiant any more.
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