Spartan Resurrection: The Memoirs of Nathanial Kenworthy, #2

Spartan Resurrection

Memoirs of Nathanial Kenworthy (Vol.2)

Earlier, we found my adventurous grandfather pitted against the many indigenous tribes who make the River Amazon their home. In this the second volume of the series, Granddad tells about the days in which he resurrected the courageous Laconian warriors, along with the mighty, Leonidas, who died at Thermopylae while defending Greek autonomy.

Table of Contents

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Chapter 1: Prelude to the Next Great Adventure

Chapter 2: Treachery at Thermopylae

Chapter 3: Archaeologist or Tomb Raider?

Chapter 4: Rumblings from the Earth

Chapter 5: An Elusive Disc

Chapter 6: Resurrection of the Noble Ones

Chapter 7: Sorrowful Lament for the Past

Chapter 8: The Long Journey Home

Chapter 9: The Finality of our Mission

Chapter 10: A Sad Farewell

Chapter 11: Home Again

Chapter 1

Prelude to the Next Great Adventure

"My grandson, there are just so many fascinating tales in my life, and you shall have to just pardon me if I forget to tell you about each and every one of them. Be kind to this almost centenarian, please. Nevertheless, all those years ago, I made a promise to myself to get back to South America, and I did - on a whaling ship. At first, I worked on a beauty of a four-master from our shores to Nantucket. That colonial city was a bustling beehive at the time because there were hundreds of whalers from the port sought out the mighty creatures of the sea.

Much later I read that well over seven hundred whaling ships were registered in that town of death, and it was the death of those noble creatures that lined the streets and the pockets of the men with gold. You see, whale oil was very costly, and although harvesting the docile creatures of the sea was fraught with numerous perils, the danger involved in seeking enormous riches on those long voyages was well worth it in the end. Furthermore, let us not forget humankind’s love of the challenge as well, it was intoxicating to pit a man’s wisdom against nature’s ferocity.

Why did the ships sail out of that particular city, Grandfather? I thought it a rather good question on my part.

"Well, the ships went out and harvested the beasts, but the oil was processed right there in Nantucket. I can still recall the smells of the settlement; the men were constantly melting down whale blubber to oil, so the air of the city was thick with the pungent smell of burning hardwood twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, three hundred and sixty-five days a year. Oh...I guess I never really answered your question, did I? Easy - it was a seaport with a wide array of natural resources, including cheap transportation, close at hand.

"So, I was saying that I ended up in America, and then I jumped ship and signed on with a merchant ship, The Essex, which frequented the seas off of the coast of South America. But, in utter disgust, I left her and signed on The Hattie Chester immediately when we hit land right after our first kill."

You killed a whale?

"No, proudly I can say that I personally did not kill a whale; I was just an oarsman on a ship that murdered that gracious beast at the time. Here is what occurred: we were sailing off the coast of South America when the lookout yelled down to the men on the lower decks of the ship that he saw our elusive quarry dead ahead. That was the crews signal to give chase to the beautiful mistress of the open seas. Seven members of the crew hastily manned the blunt, double-ended skiff that was roughly six meters long.

I shall tell you Son, that killing a whale is no easy matter - our Creator provided the beast with excellent vision, since their beautiful eyes are set on either side of their head, and they also have a well-developed system of hearing. With these natural advantages, our tiny boat had to maneuver close to the hump, and only then did our harpooner put his entire weight into his throw in order to pierce the skin of the beast. Once the harpoon found its mark, the sea turned blood red as the life slowly oozed out of the whale. So, with the harpoon lodged deep within the mighty leviathan, she was then ‘played’ until she hit the point of exhaustion. Then a lance was used to end the life of a mighty sea creature for the selfish desires of humankind.

How vile - to see that creature’s own blood turn the sea red. What a horrible picture to have in my young mind just before bedtime - Mother would be outraged by this pitiful scenario of blood and death that was handed over to me by so late at night.

"It was a deplorable sight, but there was an even more repulsive moment at hand. After the harpooner landed blow after blow with his razor-sharp lance, we lashed the benevolent creature with ropes and pulled her alongside the hull of the ship - still alive. Back on board, I looked over the side, and a pitiful black eye stared up at me as the life slowly drained out of her body. I saw immense pain registered in the leviathan’s eye.

"Now, listen to the brutality of your fellow humans, lad - she was not even dead, and the men were on her side, hacking away thick sections of flesh with dozens of broad axes. The frenzied killers added further insult by wearing spiked boots on their feet, which tore into the flesh of the gentle giant. However much pain ripped through her enormous body, there was a quiet dignity in her death.

I learned much from this cetacean’s passing, and they were not nice lessons to learn. Can you imagine all that suffering and inhumanity for the essential ingredient to make candles? It is not ironic that humankind slaughtered these majestic beasts to produce candles in order to read our books to increase our knowledge. What is wrong with us as a species?

That’s really sad; we are the beasts from the primordial slime, Grandpa, certainly not those docile, intelligent sea creatures. Even my young mind understood this horrible crime against nature.

I agree Son, and that is the sole reason why I left that deplorable situation as quickly as possible. Thankfully, by the mid-1860s the Yanks found oil in the nearby state of Pennsylvania and the whaling industry died a quick death, unlike what the industry had done to the millions of gentle leviathans that it cruelly and unmercifully exterminated over those few short decades of humankind’s want and greed.

Grapes, do you think men will ever hunt down and butcher those intelligent creatures again? I can still remember being a small child, unable to pronounce ‘gramps’ correctly, and this one stuck throughout our lives together.

"Lad, it is sad to say, but there shall always be a nation of men who care less for these peaceful giants and put greed, selfishness, and avarice ahead of sanity, compassion, and respect. However, it shall also be those nations of cruel, callous men that receive back what they handout. It is their karma. Do good...receive good, do bad...receive bad. There is simply no way to get around the natural law of cause and effect. Mark my words they shall pay dearly for their acts of cruelty and disrespect for nature.

"The sad thing about this is they shall cry and moan about what has been done to them and not even realize what they have done to others...man or beast. Now, while we may easily condemn others, let us not forget the inhumanities that we inflict upon the beasts that roam freely throughout our island home.

What do you mean, Gramps?

"Well, what does the Earl, down the lane, do every weekend with his band of cronies? He, the Master of Foxhounds, leads his friends and a pack of blood-hungry English foxhounds on a search-destroy mission of the small and outnumbered Vulpes vulpes. They call it sport when a pack of hounds finally corners the beast and rips it to pieces. They contend it is not cruelty to the fox since death is mostly quick or instantaneous at best. But, lad, it is more than that. It is a huge industry in and of itself that is also a means to differentiate and to perpetuate social classes in our lands. They have their expensive horses, dogs, and clothes with which to hang their social status over the poorer ones’ heads."

I never thought of a fox as a creature that had any feelings - it’s just an animal and a pesky animal at that.

That, my boy, is where you are drastically mistaken since animals have feelings and bleed when they are cut and feel pain when they are injured however, they accept their pain silently and with dignity that is rare to human animals. Nevertheless, the idea behind killing animals is much more than that; let me tell you my thoughts about this, and you decide for yourself if there is a ring of truth to my words.

I can’t wait, Grandfather.

At times my granddad had some ideas that were incomprehensible to my youthful mind; still, after a lifetime of reflection, I’ve come to believe that he was the most enlightened man who had walked the earth in centuries, and I was fortunate enough to hear his philosophical beliefs firsthand.

Right, although science has yet to prove this for the skeptical minds, we still have the words of the ancients that can guide our actions, words, and deeds even to this very day, and they are more credible than any scientific experiment or thesis. I want to share a very important secret with you, and I know that my words shall be mocked if heard by the general public in this day and age. Most are not ready for what I am about to say about the relationship between all that is large and small, man and beast, and animate and inanimate things within the universe. Yet, I feel confident that you shall hear me out and, when you are older, shall search the world for what I am about to pass along to you.

Grandfather, you’re a pioneer of enlightened observations of this life that we now live. I’d never mock you or share with others what is sacred between us. What is said here will stay here, promise. You have my word that when my boot heels have widened, my search shall not end until I have found what you are about to freely give to me.

"Thank you for your support, and although you are but a young man, I feel that you shall, indeed, do what you have said to me today. I have been reading a text that was written six thousand years ago in Sanskrit, a language from India. This text says that there was nothing at one moment and then everything the next. What has remained from that miraculous moment in time is a net or web that connects everybody and everything in the universe. What that means is nothing less than spectacular, and it is the key to living a proper life.

"Let me explain if we are all connected, then we are all as one, and if we are all as one, then why do we fight and kill others because of our beliefs? It makes sense then to act as brothers and love each other as brothers. And when we do harm to others, we are doing even more harm to ourselves. This idea must include animals of all shapes and sizes as well, and while humanity believes it is the superior animal of the entire lot placed here by our Creator, it is no more or no less than each and every animal, small or large, that inhabits Earth.

The sacred text also states that cooperation, and not competition, is the only path to live. This idea contradicts the works of many, including those of Charles Darwin. Still, do we believe and live our lives by the words from a man of our time, or do we believe and live by the words from an earlier time? Personally, although I am not a betting man, I would stake my entire fortune upon the wisdom of those who have gone before us and were connected spiritually to our Creator.

I just sat there with a blank look on my face, with a hundred questions bouncing around in my mind. Granddad was absolutely spot-on this time. I envisioned this ultrathin thread connecting each beast, human, and every object of nature to each other. It was an incredible thought to have, and it sounded like I could devote an entire lifetime to finding out about the net of creation the ancients wrote about so many millennia ago. Even with proof, would others believe in such a thing?

Now, returning to the dilemma at hand; we are just as much at fault as others so, what is the most inhumane in your mind, killing a gentle giant of the sea or the cunning robber who invades our hen houses at midnight? Concerning the fox hunt, I wonder when this particular barbaric practice, which the elite enjoy under the moniker of ‘sport,’ shall be condemned and then outlawed by the masses and, ultimately, the laws of our land. Then and only then can we rest knowing that the noble politicians and others shall act humanly and compassionately toward our furry, little friends. They must think to attain a clear conscious that demands we outlaw this cruel means to enjoy a Saturday afternoon.

Grapes was sincerely apologetic this time around. Sorry to lead you down another path for the past fifteen minutes; however, this had to be said. I had to get this off of my chest, and if this archaic practice never changes, someday you must be the crusader at the helm of the ship of justice that ends such torture of our animal friends. Even though I may no longer be at your side in this physical body, nevertheless, I shall be there in my spirit form.

I made a promise to my elderly grandfather. I’ll do my best to follow the laws of nature and be fair and kind to all animals, whether they have four legs or two. Promise!

"Those are the words I longed to hear the most, Son you make me very proud. Now, back to my story...gosh, it shall be a long night if I keep going off on tangents like that every few minutes. So, even though I thoroughly despised working on that ship in the early part of the summer in 1819, all was not without merit, since I met many interesting souls. Especially one bloke who worked on The Essex, Owen Chase, he was a great storyteller who even rivaled my long-windedness when it came to weaving a tale of intrigue and mystery. He had an arsenal of experiences to draw on, since he had been all over the world on a number of barks and merchant ships."

"Umm, The Essex, we learned about that ship in our history courses."

"You have a great memory for historical facts, lad. Perhaps you should pursue the noble profession of teaching history; they need a soul with passion for this important subject. Well, Owen’s ship, The Essex, was in every newspaper in the country about two years after I worked on board her. The story goes that the ship was in pursuit of a rogue sperm whale off the coast of South America. However, the pursuer became the pursued, as the mighty leviathan rammed the ship and sent her to Davy Jones’s locker with all hands, except for Owen and seven other blessed seamen. After his fortunate rescue, he penned an account of this tragedy, which was published in 1821, Narrative of the Most Extraordinary and Distressing Shipwreck of the Whale-Ship Essex. I was astonished when I read about Owen’s adventures aboard our ship but not that displeased, seeing that the mighty whale saved itself from sure death by becoming the aggressor and not the victim. In this case, you see that nature triumphed over man and was not made to kneel for man’s desires."

Do you have a copy of the manuscript? I really wished to learn more about the ship and the whalers that were part of my grandfather’s life.

Sorry, but that account is a very rare one. I have no idea where you could have the opportunity to read that fascinating story of my friend’s adventure. Sadly, Owen died a good many years ago, and traveling a lot as I did, I lost touch with his family.

That’s too bad losing both your friend and contact with his family. Grandfather, it sounds like a great one to read. Someday you’ll have to tell me everything you remember about Owen’s book.

Yes, it is a great story, with an important message to remind those who wish to challenge nature and her compassionate beasts of the sea. Oh, I almost forgot; there is yet a last item about whaling that I never told you about, and that is...ambergris.

Ambergris, whatever part of the whale is that? We’ve studied the anatomy of the great beast in science class, and I’ve never heard this word before. What is it?

Ambergris is the soft, waxy, perfume-smelling substance that a whale passes. Yes, one pound of this naturally occurring by-product from the leviathans of the sea is worth more than nine of your mother’s most cherished four-legged beasts that walk the pastures at your uncle Ronald’s farm. It is very rare, and can you imagine rummaging through the seaweed or other debris along the seashore and finding such a thing? Or searching through the still-warm viscera of a noble creature for this material to make goods for the whims of the wealthy?

Granddad, be serious here why do grown men search for whale poop anyway? Stop making fun of me.

"This is why we carry out such a foul deed it is used for perfume, very expensive candles, and hair powders as well. If you read Chapter 92 in Herman Melville’s Moby Dick; or, The Whale, you will have a better idea about this miracle by-product of the mighty leviathan."

We both laughed, thinking of men up to their elbows in this noble creature’s sweet-smelling excrement in exchange for...money.

Grandfather, two things, first, I won’t be rolling up my sleeves, checking along the seashore for this fragrant by-product of a whale, and second, I was going to read that book, but my teacher, Mr. Robert Marsh-Fulton, said that it’s a very poor one indeed and not to bother wasting my precious youth on such drivel.

"It is a shame that many feel this way about such a gem; it is difficult to believe, but it is out of print at the moment. Mark my words our future generations shall begin to comprehend the genius that is Herman Melville. I believe that the ones who are denunciatory speak such nonsense because they are missing his social and political messages. Those who only look on the surface of this novel do not see the real world that he portrays, which is the reason why this book shall one day be lauded as a true classic in American literature. However, this is just my humble opinion.

"Now, back to my story, or you shall never feel the comfort of your warm, goose-down duvet on this evening. I certainly do not want your mother to know that I am keeping you up for the entire night, talking about my silly adventures. Right, it was an incredible time in my life, and I am glad to share all the details with you. Look...be very quiet, and I shall tell you even more."

Grandpa, please tell me about your favorite adventure; you know, the one about the Spartan warriors. My poor grandfather, I had asked him so many times to share this great adventure with me. Still, he just never seemed to get around to talking about this incredible story. I reasoned that like soldiers who went to war and experienced terrible atrocities and great hardships, some things were best left untold. Still, I wasn’t going to rest until he told me every word and detail about this spine-tingling adventure.

"I shall indeed. First though, let me tell you another literary feature that most great writers use, but, of course,