this last being, of course, the name of a Roman lady.
The following list, however, comprises all the Latin names upon
the sherd:—
C. CAECILIVS VINDEX
M. AIMILIVS VINDEX
SEX. VARIVS. MARVLLVS
Q. SOSIVS PRISCVS SENECIO VINDEX
L. VALERIVS COMINIVS VINDEX
SEX. OTACILIVS. M. F.
L. ATTIVS. VINDEX
MVSSIVS VINDEX
C. FVFIDIVS. C. F. VINDEX
LICINIVS FAVSTVS
LABERIA POMPEIANA CONIVX MACRINI VINDICIS
MANILIA LVCILLA CONIVX MARVLLI VINDICIS
After the Roman names there is evidently a gap of very many
centuries. Nobody will ever know now what was the history of the
relic during those dark ages, or how it came to have been
preserved in the family. My poor friend Vincey had, it will be
remembered, told me that his Roman ancestors finally settled in
Lombardy, and when Charlemagne invaded it, returned with him
across the Alps, and made their home in Brittany, whence they
crossed to England in the reign of Edward the Confessor. How he
knew this I am not aware, for there is no reference to Lombardy
or Charlemagne upon the tile, though, as will presently be seen,
there is a reference to Brittany. To continue: the next entries
on the sherd, if I may except a long splash either of blood or
red colouring matter of some sort, consist of two crosses drawn
in red pigment, and probably representing Crusaders’ swords, and
a rather neat monogram (“D. V.”) in scarlet and blue, perhaps
executed by that same Dorothea Vincey who wrote, or rather
painted, the doggrel couplet. To the left of this, inscribed in
faint blue, were the initials A. V., and after them a date, 1800.
Then came what was perhaps as curious an entry as anything upon
this extraordinary relic of the past. It is executed in black
letter, written over the crosses or Crusaders’ swords, and dated
fourteen hundred and forty-five. As the best plan will be to
allow it to speak for itself, I here give the black-letter
fac-simile, together with the original Latin without the
contractions, from which it will be seen that the writer was a
fair mediæval Latinist. Also we discovered what is still more
curious, an English version of the black-letter Latin. This, also
written in black letter, we found inscribed on a second parchment
that was in the coffer, apparently somewhat older in date than
that on which was inscribed the mediæval Latin translation of the
uncial Greek of which I shall speak presently. This I also give
in full.
_Fac-simile of Black-Letter Inscription on the Sherd of Amenartas._
“Iſta reliq̅ia eſt valde miſticu̅ et myrificu̅ op̅s q̅d maiores
mei ex Armorica ſſ Brittania mi̅ore ſecu̅ co̅veheba̅t et q̅dm
ſc̅s cleric̅s ſe̅per p̅ri meo in manu ferebat q̅d pe̅itus illvd
deſtrueret, affirma̅s q̅d eſſet ab ipſo ſathana co̅flatu̅
preſtigioſa et dyabolica arte q̅re p̅ter mevs co̅fregit illvd i̅
dvas p̅tes q̅s q̅dm ego Johs̅ de Vi̅ceto ſalvas ſervavi et
adaptavi ſicut ap̅paret die lu̅e p̅r̅ poſt feſt beate Mrie vir{g}
anni gr̅e mccccxlv.”
_Expanded Version of the above Black-Letter Inscription._
“Ista reliquia est valde misticum et myrificum opus, quod majores
mei ex Armorica, scilicet Britannia Minore, secum convehebant; et
et quidam sanctus clericus semper patri meo in manu ferebat quod
penitus illud destrueret, affirmans quod esset ab ipso Sathana
conflatum prestigiosa et dyabolica arte, quare pater meus
confregit illud in duas partes, quas quidem ego Johannes de
Vinceto salvas servavi et adaptavi sicut apparet die lune proximo
post festum beate Marie Virginis anni gratie MCCCCXLV.”
_Fac-simile of the Old English Black-Letter Translation of the
above Latin Inscription from the Sherd of Amenartas found
inscribed upon a parchment._
“Thys rellike ys a ryghte mistycall worke & a marvaylous yᵉ
whyche myne aunceteres afore tyme dyd conveigh hider wᵗ yᵐ ffrom
Armoryke whᵉ ys to ſeien Britaine yᵉ leſſe & a certayne holye
clerke ſhoulde allweyes beare my ffadir on honde yᵗ he owghte
uttirly ffor to ffruſſhe yᵉ ſame affyrmynge yᵗ yt was ffourmyd &
confflatyd off ſathanas hym ſelffe by arte magike & dyvellyſſhe
wherefore my ffadir dyd take yᵉ ſame & to braſt yt yn tweyne but
I John de Vincey dyd ſave whool yᵉ tweye p̄tes therof & topeecyd
yᵐ togydder agayne ſoe as yee ſe on y{s} daye mondaye next
ffolowynge after yᵉ ffeeste of ſeynte Marye yᵉ bleſſed vyrgyne yn
yᵉ yeere of ſalvacioun ffowertene hundreth & ffyve & ffowrti.”
_Modernised Version of the above Black-Letter Translation._
“Thys rellike ys a ryghte mistycall worke and a marvaylous, ye
whyche myne aunceteres aforetyme dyd conveigh hider with them
from Armoryke which ys to seien Britaine ye Lesse and a certayne
holye clerke should allweyes beare my fadir on honde that he
owghte uttirly for to frusshe ye same, affyrmynge that yt was
fourmed and conflatyed of Sathanas hym selfe by arte magike and
dyvellysshe wherefore my fadir dyd take ye same and tobrast yt yn
tweyne, but I, John de Vincey, dyd save whool ye tweye partes
therof and topeecyd them togydder agayne soe as yee se, on this
daye mondaye next followynge after ye feeste of Seynte Marye ye
Blessed Vyrgyne yn ye yeere of Salvacioun fowertene hundreth and
fyve and fowerti.”
The next and, save one, last entry was Elizabethan, and dated
1564. “A most strange historie, and one that did cost my father
his life; for in seekynge for the place upon the east coast of
Africa, his pinnance was sunk by a Portuguese galleon off Lorenzo
Marquez, and he himself perished.—John Vincey.”
Then came the last entry, apparently, to judge by the style of writing,
made by some representative of the family in the middle of the
eighteenth century. It was a misquotation of the well-known lines in
Hamlet, and ran thus: “There are more things in Heaven and earth than
are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio.”[3]
[3] Another thing that makes me fix the date of this entry at the
middle of the eighteenth century is that, curiously enough, I have an
acting copy of “Hamlet,” written about 1740, in which these two lines
are misquoted almost exactly in the same way, and I have little doubt
but that the Vincey who wrote them on the potsherd heard them so
misquoted at that date. Of course, the lines really run:—
There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.—L. H. H.
And now there remained but one more document to be examined—namely, the
ancient black-letter transcription into mediæval Latin of the uncial
inscription on the sherd. As will be seen, this translation was
executed and subscribed in the year 1495, by a certain “learned man,”
Edmundus de Prato (Edmund Pratt) by name, licentiate in Canon Law, of
Exeter College, Oxford, who had actually been a pupil of Grocyn, the
first scholar who taught Greek in England.[4] No doubt, on the fame of
this new learning reaching his ears, the Vincey of the day, perhaps
that same John de Vincey who years before had saved the relic from
destruction and made the black-letter entry on the sherd in 1445,
hurried off to Oxford to see if perchance it might avail to dissolve
the secret of the mysterious inscription. Nor was he disappointed, for
the learned Edmundus was equal to the task. Indeed his rendering is so
excellent an example of mediæval learning and latinity that, even at
the risk of sating the learned reader with too many antiquities, I have
made up my mind to give it in fac-simile, together with an expanded
version for the benefit of those who find the contractions troublesome.
The translation has several peculiarities on which this is not the
place to dwell, but I would in passing call the attention of scholars
to the passage “duxerunt autem nos ad reginam
_advenaslasaniscoronantium_,” which strikes me as a delightful
rendering of the original, “ἤγαγον δὲ ὡς βασίλειαν τὴν τῶν ξένους
χύτραις στεφανούντων.”
[4] Grocyn, the instructor of Erasmus, studied Greek under
Chalcondylas the Byzantine at Florence, and first lectured in the Hall
of Exeter College, Oxford, in 1491.—Editor.
_mediæval Black-Letter Latin Translation of the Uncial Inscription on
the Sherd of Amenartas_
Amenartas e gen. reg. Egyptii uxor Callicratis ſacerdot̅ Iſidis
qua̅ dei fove̅t demonia atte̅du̅t filiol’ ſuo Tiſiſtheni ia̅
moribu̅da ita ma̅dat: Effugi quo̅da̅ ex Egypto regna̅te Nectanebo
cu̅ patre tuo, p̃pter mei amore̅ pejerato. Fugie̅tes aute̅ v’ſus
Notu̅ trans mare et xxiiij me̅ſes p’r litora Libye v’ſus Orie̅te̅
errant̃ ubi eſt petra queda̅ m̃gna ſculpta inſtar Ethiop̃ capit̃,
deinde dies iiij ab oſt̃ flum̃ m̃gni eiecti p’tim ſubmerſi ſumus
p’tim morbo mortui ſum̃: in fine aute̅ a fer̃ ho̅i̅bs portabamur
p̃r palud̃ et vada. ubi aviu̅ m’titudo celu̅ obu̅brat dies x.
donec advenim̃ ad cavu̅ que̅da̅ monte̅, ubi olim m̃gna urbs erat,
caverne quoq̃ im̅e̅ſe: duxeru̅t aute̅ nos ad regina̅
Advenaſlaſaniſcorona̅tiu̅ que magic̃ utebat̃ et peritia omniu̅
rer̃ et ſalte̅ pulcrit̃ et vigore i̅ſe̅eſcibil’ erat. Hec m̃gno
patr̃ tui amore p̃culſa p’mu̅ q’de̅ ei con̅ubiu̅ michi morte̅
parabat. poſtea v’ro recuſa̅te Callicrate amore mei et timore
regine affecto nos p̃r magica̅ abduxit p’r vias horribil’ ubi eſt
puteus ille p̃fu̅dus, cuius iuxta aditu̅ iacebat ſenior̃
philoſophi cadaver, et adve̅ie̅tib̃ mo̅ſtravit flam̅a̅ Vite
erecta̅, i̅star columne voluta̅tis, voces emitte̅te̅ q̃ſi
tonitrus: tu̅c p̃r igne̅ i̅petu nociuo expers tra̅ſiit et ia̅
ipsa ſeſe formoſior viſa eſt.
Quib̃ fact̃ iuravit ſe patre̅ tuu̅ quoq̃ im̅ortale̅ oſte̅ſura̅
eſſe, ſi me prius occiſa regine co̅tuberniu̅ mallet; neq̃ eni̅
ipſa me occidere valuit, p̃pter noſtratu̅ m̃gica̅ cuius egomet
p̃tem habeo. Ille vero nichil huius geñ maluit, manib ante ocul̃
paſſis ne mulier̃ formoſitate̅ adſpiceret: poſtea eu̅ m̃gica
p̃cuſſit arte, at mortuu̅ efferebat i̅de cu̅ fletib̃ et vagitib̃,
me p̃r timore̅ expulit ad oſtiu̅ m̃gni flumiñ veliuoli porro in
nave in qua te peperi, uix poſt dies hvc Athenas invecta ſu̅. At
tu, O Tiſiſtheñ, ne q’d quoru̅ ma̅do nauci fac: neceſſe eni̅ eſt
muliere̅ exquirere ſi qva Vite myſteriu̅ i̅petres et vi̅dicare,
qua̅tu̅ in te eſt, patre̅ tuu̅ Callierat̃ in regine morte. Sin
timore ſue aliq̃ cavſa re̅ reli̅quis i̅fecta̅, hoc ipſu̅ oi̅b̃
poſter̃ ma̅do du̅ bonvs q̃s inveniatur qvi ignis lauacru̅ no̅
p̃rhorreſcet et p̃tentia digñ do̅i̅abit̃ ho̅i̅u̅.
Talia dico incredibilia q̃de̅ at min̅e ñcta de reb̃ michi
cognitis.
Hec Grece scripta Latine reddidit vir doctus Edm̅ds de Prato, in
Decretis Licenciatus e Coll. Exon: Oxon: doctiſſimi Grocyni
quondam e pupillis, Id. Apr. Aᵒ. Dn̅i. MCCCCLXXXXV°.
_Expanded Version of the above Mediæval Latin Translation_
Amenartas, e genere regio Egyptii, uxor Callicratis, sacerdotis
Isidis, quam dei fovent demonia attendunt, filiolo suo Tisistheni
jam moribunda ita mandat: Effugi quodam ex Egypto, regnante
Nectanebo, cum patre tuo, propter mei amorem pejerato. Fugientes
autem versus Notum trans mare, et viginti quatuor menses per
litora Libye versus Orientem errantes, ubi est petra quedam magna
sculpta instar Ethiopis capitis, deinde dies quatuor ab ostio
fluminis magni ejecti partim submersi sumus partim morbo mortui
sumus: in fine autem a feris hominibus portabamur per paludes et
vada, ubi avium multitudo celum obumbrat, dies decem, donec
advenimus ad cavum quendam montem, ubi olim magna urbs erat,
caverne quoque immense; duxerunt autem nos ad reginam
Advenaslasaniscoronantium, que magicâ utebatur et peritiá omnium
rerum, et saltem pulcritudine et vigore insenescibilis erat. Hec
magno patris tui amore perculsa, primum quidem ei connubium michi
mortem parabat; postea vero, recusante Callicrate, amore mei et
timore regine affecto, nos per magicam abduxit per vias
horribiles ubi est puteus ille profundus, cujus juxta aditum
jacebat senioris philosophi cadaver, et advenientibus monstravit
flammam Vite erectam, instar columne voluntantis, voces
emittentem quasi tonitrus: tunc per ignem impetu nocivo expers
transiit et jam ipsa sese formosior visa est.
Quibus factis juravit se patrem tuum quoque immortalem ostensuram
esse, si me prius occisa regine contubernium mallet; neque enim
ipsa me occidere valuit, propter nostratum magicam cujus egomet
partem habeo. Ille vero nichil hujus generis malebat, manibus
ante oculos passis, ne mulieris formositatem adspiceret: postea
illum magica percussit arte, at mortuum efferebat inde cum
fletibus et vagitibus, et me per timorem expulit ad ostium magni
fluminis, velivoli, porro in nave, in qua te peperi, vix post
dies huc Athenas vecta sum. At tu, O Tisisthenes, ne quid quorum
mando nauci fac: necesse enim est mulierem exquirere si qua Vite
mysterium impetres et vindicare, quautum in te est, patrem tuum
Callieratem in regine morte. Sin timore sue aliqua causa rem
reliquis infectam, hoc ipsum omnibus posteris mando, dum bonus
quis inveniatur qui ignis lavacrum non perhorrescet, et potentia
dignus dominabitur hominum.
Talia dico incredibilia quidem at minime ficta de rebus michi
cognitis.
Hec Grece scripta Latine reddidit vir doctus Edmundus de Prato,
in Descretis Licenciatus, e Collegio Exoniensi Oxoniensi
doctissimi Grocyni quondam e pupillis, Idibus Aprilis Anno Domini
MCCCCLXXXXV°.
“Well,” I said, when at length I had read out and carefully
examined these writings and paragraphs, at least those of them
that were still easily legible, “that is the conclusion of the
whole matter, Leo, and now you can form your own opinion on it. I
have already formed mine.”
“And what is it?” he asked, in his quick way.
“It is this. I believe that potsherd to be perfectly genuine, and
that, wonderful as it may seem, it has come down in your family
from since the fourth century before Christ. The entries
absolutely prove it, and therefore, however improbable it may
seem, it must be accepted. But there I stop. That your remote
ancestress, the Egyptian princess, or some scribe under her
direction, wrote that which we see on the sherd I have no doubt,
nor have I the slightest doubt but that her sufferings and the
loss of her husband had turned her head, and that she was not
right in her mind when she did write it.”
“How do you account for what my father saw and heard there?”
asked Leo.
“Coincidence. No doubt there are bluffs on the coast of Africa
that look something like a man’s head, and plenty of people who
speak bastard Arabic. Also, I believe that there are lots of
swamps. Another thing is, Leo, and I am sorry to say it, but I do
not believe that your poor father was quite right when he wrote
that letter. He had met with a great trouble, and also he had
allowed this story to prey on his imagination, and he was a very
imaginative man. Anyway, I believe that the whole thing is the
most unmitigated rubbish. I know that there are curious things
and forces in nature which we rarely meet with, and, when we do
meet them, cannot understand. But until I see it with my own
eyes, which I am not likely to, I never will believe that there
is any means of avoiding death, even for a time, or that there is
or was a white sorceress living in the heart of an African swamp.
It is bosh, my boy, all bosh!—What do you say, Job?”
“I say, sir, that it is a lie, and, if it is true, I hope Mr. Leo
won’t meddle with no such things, for no good can’t come of it.”
“Perhaps you are both right,” said Leo, very quietly. “I express
no opinion. But I say this. I am going to set the matter at rest
once and for all, and if you won’t come with me I will go by
myself.”
I looked at the young man, and saw that he meant what he said.
When Leo means what he says he always puts on a curious look
about the mouth. It has been a trick of his from a child. Now, as
a matter of fact, I had no intention of allowing Leo to go
anywhere by himself, for my own sake, if not for his. I was far
too attached to him for that. I am not a man of many ties or
affections. Circumstances have been against me in this respect,
and men and women shrink from me, or at least, I fancy that they
do, which comes to the same thing, thinking, perhaps, that my
somewhat forbidding exterior is a key to my character. Rather
than endure this, I have, to a great extent, secluded myself from
the world, and cut myself off from those opportunities which with
most men result in the formation of relations more or less
intimate. Therefore Leo was all the world to me—brother, child,
and friend—and until he wearied of me, where he went there I
should go too. But, of course, it would not do to let him see how
great a hold he had over me; so I cast about for some means
whereby I might let myself down easy.
“Yes, I shall go, Uncle; and if I don’t find the ‘rolling Pillar
of Life,’ at any rate I shall get some first-class shooting.”
Here was my opportunity, and I took it.
“Shooting?” I said. “Ah! yes; I never thought of that. It must be
a very wild stretch of country, and full of big game. I have
always wanted to kill a buffalo before I die. Do you know, my
boy, I don’t believe in the quest, but I do believe in big game,
and really on the whole, if, after thinking it over, you make up
your mind to go, I will take a holiday, and come with you.”
“Ah,” said Leo, “I thought that you would not lose such a chance.
But how about money? We shall want a good lot.”
“You need not trouble about that,” I answered. “There is all your
income that has been accumulating for years, and besides that I
have saved two-thirds of what your father left to me, as I
consider, in trust for you. There is plenty of cash.”
“Very well, then, we may as well stow these things away and go up
to town to see about our guns. By the way, Job, are you coming
too? It’s time you began to see the world.”
“Well, sir,” answered Job, stolidly, “I don’t hold much with
foreign parts, but if both you gentlemen are going you will want
somebody to look after you, and I am not the man to stop behind
after serving you for twenty years.”
“That’s right, Job,” said I. “You won’t find out anything
wonderful, but you will get some good shooting. And now look
here, both of you. I won’t have a word said to a living soul
about this nonsense,” and I pointed to the potsherd. “If it got
out, and anything happened to me, my next of kin would dispute my
will on the ground of insanity, and I should become the laughing
stock of Cambridge.”
That day three months we were on the ocean, bound for Zanzibar.
IV.
THE SQUALL
How different is the scene that I have now to tell from that
which has just been told! Gone are the quiet college rooms, gone
the wind-swayed English elms, the cawing rooks, and the familiar
volumes on the shelves, and in their place there rises a vision
of the great calm ocean gleaming in shaded silver lights beneath
the beams of the full African moon. A gentle breeze fills the
huge sail of our dhow, and draws us through the water that
ripples musically against her sides. Most of the men are sleeping
forward, for it is near midnight, but a stout swarthy Arab,
Mahomed by name, stands at the tiller, lazily steering by the
stars. Three miles or more to our starboard is a low dim line. It
is the Eastern shore of Central Africa. We are running to the
southward, before the North East Monsoon, between the mainland
and the reef that for hundreds of miles fringes this perilous
coast. The night is quiet, so quiet that a whisper can be heard
fore and aft the dhow; so quiet that a faint booming sound rolls
across the water to us from the distant land.
The Arab at the tiller holds up his hand, and says one
word:—“_Simba_ (lion)!”
We all sit up and listen. Then it comes again, a slow, majestic
sound, that thrills us to the marrow.
“To-morrow by ten o’clock,” I say, “we ought, if the Captain is
not out in his reckoning, which I think very probable, to make
this mysterious rock with a man’s head, and begin our shooting.”
“And begin our search for the ruined city and the Fire of Life,”
corrected Leo, taking his pipe from his mouth, and laughing a
little.
“Nonsense!” I answered. “You were airing your Arabic with that
man at the tiller this afternoon. What did he tell you? He has
been trading (slave-trading, probably) up and down these
latitudes for half of his iniquitous life, and once landed on
this very ‘man’ rock. Did he ever hear anything of the ruined
city or the caves?”
“No,” answered Leo. “He says that the country is all swamp
behind, and full of snakes, especially pythons, and game, and
that no man lives there. But then there is a belt of swamp all
along the East African coast, so that does not go for much.”
“Yes,” I said, “it does—it goes for malaria. You see what sort of
an opinion these gentry have of the country. Not one of them will
go with us. They think that we are mad, and upon my word I
believe that they are right. If ever we see old England again I
shall be astonished. However, it does not greatly matter to me at
my age, but I am anxious for you, Leo, and for Job. It’s a Tom
Fool’s business, my boy.”
“All right, Uncle Horace. So far as I am concerned, I am willing
to take my chance. Look! What is that cloud?” and he pointed to a
dark blotch upon the starry sky, some miles astern of us.
“Go and ask the man at the tiller,” I said.
He rose, stretched his arms, and went. Presently he returned.
“He says it is a squall, but it will pass far on one side of us.”
Just then Job came up, looking very stout and English in his
shooting-suit of brown flannel, and with a sort of perplexed
appearance upon his honest round face that had been very common
with him since he got into these strange waters.
“Please, sir,” he said, touching his sun hat, which was stuck on
to the back of his head in a somewhat ludicrous fashion, “as we
have got all those guns and things in the whale-boat astern, to
say nothing of the provisions in the lockers, I think it would be
best if I got down and slept in her. I don’t like the looks”
(here he dropped his voice to a portentous whisper) “of these
black gentry; they have such a wonderful thievish way about them.
Supposing now that some of them were to slip into the boat at
night and cut the cable, and make off with her? That would be a
pretty go, that would.”
The whale-boat, I may explain, was one specially built for us at
Dundee, in Scotland. We had brought it with us, as we knew that
this coast was a network of creeks, and that we might require
something to navigate them with. She was a beautiful boat,
thirty-feet in length, with a centre-board for sailing,
copper-bottomed to keep the worm out of her, and full of
water-tight compartments. The Captain of the dhow had told us
that when we reached the rock, which he knew, and which appeared
to be identical with the one described upon the sherd and by
Leo’s father, he would probably not be able to run up to it on
account of the shallows and breakers. Therefore we had employed
three hours that very morning, whilst we were totally becalmed,
the wind having dropped at sunrise, in transferring most of our
goods and chattels to the whale-boat, and placing the guns,
ammunition, and preserved provisions in the water-tight lockers
specially prepared for them, so that when we did sight the fabled
rock we should have nothing to do but step into the boat, and run
her ashore. Another reason that induced us to take this
precautionary step was that Arab captains are apt to run past the
point that they are making, either from carelessness or owing to
a mistake in its identity. Now, as sailors know, it is quite
impossible for a dhow which is only rigged to run before the
monsoon to beat back against it. Therefore we got our boat ready
to row for the rock at any moment.
“Well, Job,” I said, “perhaps it would be as well. There are lots
of blankets there, only be careful to keep out of the moon, or it
may turn your head or blind you.”
“Lord, sir! I don’t think it would much matter if it did; it is
that turned already with the sight of these blackamoors and their
filthy, thieving ways. They are only fit for muck, they are; and
they smell bad enough for it already.”
Job, it will be perceived, was no admirer of the manners and
customs of our dark-skinned brothers.
Accordingly we hauled up the boat by the tow-rope till it was
right under the stern of the dhow, and Job bundled into her with
all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes. Then we returned and
sat down on the deck again, and smoked and talked in little gusts
and jerks. The night was so lovely, and our brains were so full
of suppressed excitement of one sort and another, that we did not
feel inclined to turn in. For nearly an hour we sat thus, and
then, I think, we both dozed off. At least I have a faint
recollection of Leo sleepily explaining that the head was not a
bad place to hit a buffalo, if you could catch him exactly
between the horns, or send your bullet down his throat, or some
nonsense of the sort.
Then I remember no more; till suddenly—a frightful roar of wind,
a shriek of terror from the awakening crew, and a whip-like sting
of water in our faces. Some of the men ran to let go the
haulyards and lower the sail, but the parrel jammed and the yard
would not come down. I sprang to my feet and hung on to a rope.
The sky aft was dark as pitch, but the moon still shone brightly
ahead of us and lit up the blackness. Beneath its sheen a huge
white-topped breaker, twenty feet high or more, was rushing on to
us. It was on the break—the moon shone on its crest and tipped
its foam with light. On it rushed beneath the inky sky, driven by
the awful squall behind it. Suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye,
I saw the black shape of the whale-boat cast high into the air on
the crest of the breaking wave. Then—a shock of water, a wild
rush of boiling foam, and I was clinging for my life to the
shroud, ay, swept straight out from it like a flag in a gale.
We were pooped.
The wave passed. It seemed to me that I was under water for
minutes—really it was seconds. I looked forward. The blast had
torn out the great sail, and high in the air it was fluttering
away to leeward like a huge wounded bird. Then for a moment there
was comparative calm, and in it I heard Job’s voice yelling
wildly, “Come here to the boat.”
Bewildered and half-drowned as I was, I had the sense to rush
aft. I felt the dhow sinking under me—she was full of water.
Under her counter the whale-boat was tossing furiously, and I saw
the Arab Mahomed, who had been steering, leap into her. I gave
one desperate pull at the tow-rope to bring the boat alongside.
Wildly I sprang also, Job caught me by the arm and I rolled into
the bottom of the boat. Down went the dhow bodily, and as she did
so Mahomed drew his curved knife and severed the fibre-rope by
which we were fast to her, and in another second we were driving
before the storm over the place where the dhow had been.
“Great God!” I shrieked, “where is Leo? _Leo! Leo!_”
“He’s gone, sir, God help him!” roared Job into my ear; and such
was the fury of the squall that his voice sounded like a whisper.
I wrung my hands in agony. Leo was drowned, and I was left alive
to mourn him.
“Look out,” yelled Job; “here comes another.”
I turned; a second huge wave was overtaking us. I half hoped that
it would drown me. With a curious fascination I watched its awful
advent. The moon was nearly hidden now by the wreaths of the
rushing storm, but a little light still caught the crest of the
devouring breaker. There was something dark on it—a piece of
wreckage. It was on us now, and the boat was nearly full of
water. But she was built in air-tight compartments—Heaven bless
the man who invented them!—and lifted up through it like a swan.
Through the foam and turmoil I saw the black thing on the wave
hurrying right at me. I put out my right arm to ward it from me,
and my hand closed on another arm, the wrist of which my fingers
gripped like a vice. I am a very strong man, and had something to
hold to, but my arm was nearly torn from its socket by the strain
and weight of the floating body. Had the rush lasted another two
seconds I might either have let go or gone with it. But it
passed, leaving us up to our knees in water.
“Bail out! bail out!” shouted Job, suiting the action to the
word.
But I could not bail just then, for as the moon went out and left
us in total darkness, one faint, flying ray of light lit upon the
face of the man I had gripped, who was now half lying, half
floating in the bottom of the boat.
It was Leo. Leo brought back by the wave—back, dead or alive,
from the very jaws of Death.
“Bail out! bail out!” yelled Job, “or we shall founder.”
I seized a large tin bowl with a handle to it, which was fixed
under one of the seats, and the three of us bailed away for dear
life. The furious tempest drove over and round us, flinging the
boat this way and that, the wind and the storm wreaths and the
sheets of stinging spray blinded and bewildered us, but through
it all we worked like demons with the wild exhilaration of
despair, for even despair can exhilarate. One minute! three
minutes! six minutes! The boat began to lighten, and no fresh
wave swamped us. Five minutes more, and she was fairly clear.
Then, suddenly, above the awful shriekings of the hurricane came
a duller, deeper roar. Great Heavens! It was the voice of
breakers!
At that moment the moon began to shine forth again—this time
behind the path of the squall. Out far across the torn bosom of
the ocean shot the ragged arrows of her light, and there, half a
mile ahead of us, was a white line of foam, then a little space
of open-mouthed blackness, and then another line of white. It was
the breakers, and their roar grew clearer and yet more clear as
we sped down upon them like a swallow. There they were, boiling
up in snowy spouts of spray, smiting and gnashing together like
the gleaming teeth of hell.
“Take the tiller, Mahomed!” I roared in Arabic. “We must try and
shoot them.” At the same moment I seized an oar, and got it out,
motioning to Job to do likewise.
Mahomed clambered aft, and got hold of the tiller, and with some
difficulty Job, who had sometimes pulled a tub upon the homely
Cam, got out his oar. In another minute the boat’s head was
straight on to the ever-nearing foam, towards which she plunged
and tore with the speed of a racehorse. Just in front of us the
first line of breakers seemed a little thinner than to the right
or left—there was a cap of rather deeper water. I turned and
pointed to it.
“Steer for your life, Mahomed!” I yelled. He was a skilful
steersman, and well acquainted with the dangers of this most
perilous coast, and I saw him grip the tiller, bend his heavy
frame forward, and stare at the foaming terror till his big round
eyes looked as though they would start out of his head. The send
of the sea was driving the boat’s head round to starboard. If we
struck the line of breakers fifty yards to starboard of the gap
we must sink. It was a great field of twisting, spouting waves.
Mahomed planted his foot against the seat before him, and,
glancing at him, I saw his brown toes spread out like a hand with
the weight he put upon them as he took the strain of the tiller.
She came round a bit, but not enough. I roared to Job to back
water, whilst I dragged and laboured at my oar. She answered now,
and none too soon.
Heavens, we were in them! And then followed a couple of minutes
of heart-breaking excitement such as I cannot hope to describe.
All that I remember is a shrieking sea of foam, out of which the
billows rose here, there, and everywhere like avenging ghosts
from their ocean grave. Once we were turned right round, but
either by chance, or through Mahomed’s skilful steering, the
boat’s head came straight again before a breaker filled us. One
more—a monster. We were through it or over it—more through than
over—and then, with a wild yell of exultation from the Arab, we
shot out into the comparative smooth water of the mouth of sea
between the teeth-like lines of gnashing waves.
But we were nearly full of water again, and not more than half a
mile ahead was the second line of breakers. Again we set to and
bailed furiously. Fortunately the storm had now quite gone by,
and the moon shone brightly, revealing a rocky headland running
half a mile or more out into the sea, of which this second line
of breakers appeared to be a continuation. At any rate, they
boiled around its foot. Probably the ridge that formed the
headland ran out into the ocean, only at a lower level, and made
the reef also. This headland was terminated by a curious peak
that seemed not to be more than a mile away from us. Just as we
got the boat pretty clear for the second time, Leo, to my immense
relief, opened his eyes and remarked that the clothes had tumbled
off the bed, and that he supposed it was time to get up for
chapel. I told him to shut his eyes and keep quiet, which he did
without in the slightest degree realizing the position. As for
myself, his reference to chapel made me reflect, with a sort of
sick longing, on my comfortable rooms at Cambridge. Why had I
been such a fool as to leave them? This is a reflection that has
several times recurred to me since, and with an ever-increasing
force.
But now again we were drifting down on the breakers, though with
lessened speed, for the wind had fallen, and only the current or
the tide (it afterwards turned out to be the tide) was driving
us.
Another minute, and with a sort of howl to Allah from the Arab, a
pious ejaculation from myself, and something that was not pious
from Job, we were in them. And then the whole scene, down to our
final escape, repeated itself, only not quite so violently.
Mahomed’s skilful steering and the air-tight compartments saved
our lives. In five minutes we were through, and drifting—for we
were too exhausted to do anything to help ourselves except keep
her head straight—with the most startling rapidity round the
headland which I have described.
Round we went with the tide, until we got well under the lee of
the point, and then suddenly the speed slackened, we ceased to
make way, and finally appeared to be in dead water. The storm had
entirely passed, leaving a clean-washed sky behind it; the
headland intercepted the heavy sea that had been occasioned by
the squall, and the tide, which had been running so fiercely up
the river (for we were now in the mouth of a river), was sluggish
before it turned, so we floated quietly, and before the moon went
down managed to bail out the boat thoroughly and get her a little
ship-shape. Leo was sleeping profoundly, and on the whole I
thought it wise not to wake him. It was true he was sleeping in
wet clothes, but the night was now so warm that I thought (and so
did Job) that they were not likely to injure a man of his
unusually vigorous constitution. Besides, we had no dry ones at
hand.
Presently the moon went down, and left us floating on the waters,
now only heaving like some troubled woman’s breast, with leisure
to reflect upon all that we had gone through and all that we had
escaped. Job stationed himself at the bow, Mahomed kept his post
at the tiller, and I sat on a seat in the middle of the boat
close to where Leo was lying.
The moon went slowly down in chastened loveliness; she departed
like some sweet bride into her chamber, and long veil-like
shadows crept up the sky through which the stars peeped shyly
out. Soon, however, they too began to pale before a splendour in
the east, and then the quivering footsteps of the dawn came
rushing across the new-born blue, and shook the high stars from
their places. Quieter and yet more quiet grew the sea, quiet as
the soft mist that brooded on her bosom, and covered up her
troubling, as the illusive wreaths of sleep brood upon a
pain-racked mind, causing it to forget its sorrow. From the east
to the west sped the angels of the Dawn, from sea to sea, from
mountain-top to mountain-top, scattering light with both their
hands. On they sped out of the darkness, perfect, glorious, like
spirits of the just breaking from the tomb; on, over the quiet
sea, over the low coastline, and the swamps beyond, and the
mountains above them; over those who slept in peace and those who
woke in sorrow; over the evil and the good; over the living and
the dead; over the wide world and all that breathes or has
breathed thereon.
It was a wonderfully beautiful sight, and yet sad, perhaps, from
the very excess of its beauty. The arising sun; the setting sun!
There we have the symbol and the type of humanity, and all things
with which humanity has to do. The symbol and the type, yes, and
the earthly beginning, and the end also. And on that morning this
came home to me with a peculiar force. The sun that rose to-day
for us had set last night for eighteen of our
fellow-voyagers!—had set everlastingly for eighteen whom we knew!
The dhow had gone down with them, they were tossing about among
the rocks and seaweed, so much human drift on the great ocean of
Death! And we four were saved. But one day a sunrise will come
when we shall be among those who are lost, and then others will
watch those glorious rays, and grow sad in the midst of beauty,
and dream of Death in the full glow of arising Life!
For this is the lot of man.
V.
THE HEAD OF THE ETHIOPIAN
At length the heralds and forerunners of the royal sun had done
their work, and, searching out the shadows, had caused them to
flee away. Then up he came in glory from his ocean-bed, and
flooded the earth with warmth and light. I sat there in the boat
listening to the gentle lapping of the water and watched him
rise, till presently the slight drift of the boat brought the
odd-shaped rock, or peak, at the end of the promontory which we
had weathered with so much peril, between me and the majestic
sight, and blotted it from my view. I still continued, however,
to stare at the rock, absently enough, till presently it became
edged with the fire of the growing light behind it, and then I
started, as well I might, for I perceived that the top of the
peak, which was about eighty feet high by one hundred and fifty
feet thick at its base, was shaped like a negro’s head and face,
whereon was stamped a most fiendish and terrifying expression.
There was no doubt about it; there were the thick lips, the fat
cheeks, and the squat nose standing out with startling clearness
against the flaming background. There, too, was the round skull,
washed into shape perhaps by thousands of years of wind and
weather, and, to complete the resemblance, there was a scrubby
growth of weeds or lichen upon it, which against the sun looked
for all the world like the wool on a colossal negro’s head. It
certainly was very odd; so odd that now I believe it is not a
mere freak of nature but a gigantic monument fashioned, like the
well-known Egyptian Sphinx, by a forgotten people out of a pile
of rock that lent itself to their design, perhaps as an emblem of
warning and defiance to any enemies who approached the harbour.
Unfortunately we were never able to ascertain whether or not this
was the case, inasmuch as the rock was difficult of access both
from the land and the waterside, and we had other things to
attend to. Myself, considering the matter by the light of what we
afterwards saw, I believe that it was fashioned by man, but
whether or not this is so, there it stands, and sullenly stares
from age to age out across the changing sea—there it stood two
thousand years and more ago, when Amenartas, the Egyptian
princess, and the wife of Leo’s remote ancestor Kallikrates,
gazed upon its devilish face—and there I have no doubt it will
still stand when as many centuries as are numbered between her
day and our own are added to the year that bore us to oblivion.
“What do you think of that, Job?” I asked of our retainer, who
was sitting on the edge of the boat, trying to get as much
sunshine as possible, and generally looking uncommonly wretched,
and I pointed to the fiery and demoniacal head.
“Oh Lord, sir,” answered Job, who now perceived the object for
the first time, “I think that the old gentleman must have been
sitting for his portrait on them rocks.”