Once more they were afloat, and the brave little vessel bounded gaily
over the waves, her canvas bellying in the wind. For some hours they
sailed on thus, and Odysseus recited to his men all that he had heard
from Circe. Then suddenly the wind dropped, and the sail hung idly to
the mast. Having furled and stowed the sail, they took to their oars,
while the sea went down, and at last sunk to a level calm. In the
distance a low-lying coast appeared, which Odysseus knew to be the
island of the Sirens, Forthwith he began to make his preparations to
meet the danger which lay before them. Taking a ball of wax he cut it
into small pieces, and having worked each piece in his hand until it
was soft and plastic he carefully stopped the ears of all his men with
the wax. Then two of the crew, to whom he had already given his
orders, bound him hand and foot to the mast of the vessel. All being
ready, they rowed forward until they came within full view of the
island. And there, in a low-lying meadow hard by the sea, sat the
Sirens; lovely they were of aspect, and gracious of mien; but all
around them were piled the bones of men who had fallen victims to
their wicked wit,[1] fleshless ribs, from which the skin still hung in
yellow shreds, and grinning skulls, gazing with eyeless sockets at the
sea.
[Footnote 1: Shakespeare, "Hamlet."]
As the ship drew near, the whole choir lifted up their voices and
began to sing a sweet and piercing strain, which thrilled the very
marrow of Odysseus as he listened. The winds hovered near on flagging
wing, the sea lay locked in deep repose, and all nature paused with
attentive ear, to catch the SONG OF THE SIRENS.
"Mighty warrior, sage renowned,
Turn, O turn thy bark this way!
Rest upon this holy ground,
Listen to the Sirens' lay.
Never yet was seaman found
Passing our enchanted bay,
But he paused, and left our bound
Filled with wisdom from his stay.
All we know, whatever befell
On the tented fields of Troy,
All the lore that Time can tell,
All the mystic fount of joy."
It was a strain cunningly calculated to flatter a deep, subtle spirit
like that of Odysseus. To know all! to read all secrets, and unravel
the tangled skein of human destiny! What a bribe was this to this
restless and eager mind! Then the voices of the witch-women were so
liquid, and the music so lovely, that they took the very air with
ravishment, and melted the hearer's soul within him. Odysseus
struggled to break his bonds, and nodded to his men to come and loose
him. But they, who had been warned of this very thing, rose up and
bound him with fresh cords. Then they grasped their oars again, the
water roared under their sturdy strokes, and soon they were out of
hearing of that seductive melody.
They had not long lost sight of the Sirens' Rocks when they heard the
booming of breakers, which warned them that the fearful strait between
Scylla and Charybdis was close at hand. A strong current caught the
galley and whirled her with appalling swiftness towards the point of
danger. The water boiled and eddied around them, and the blinding
spray was dashed into their faces. Then a sudden panic came upon the
crew, so that they dropped their oars, and sat helpless and unnerved,
expecting instant death. In this emergency, Odysseus summoned up all
his courage, and strode up and down between the benches, exhorting,
entreating, and calling each man by name. "Why sit ye thus," he cried,
"huddled together like sheep? Row, men, row for your lives! And thou,
helmsman, steer straight for the passage, lest we fall into a direr
strait, and be crushed between the Wandering Rocks. We have faced a
worse peril than this, when we were penned together in the Cyclops'
cave; and we shall escape this time also, if only ye will keep a stout
heart."
Circe had cautioned Odysseus on no account to attempt resistance when
he approached the cave of Scylla; nevertheless, he put on his armour,
and took his stand on the prow of the vessel, holding in each hand a
lance.
So on they sped, steering close to the tall cliff under which Scylla
lay hid, and gazing fearfully at the boiling whirlpool on the other
side. Just as they passed, a huge column of water shot into the air,
belched up from the vast maw of Charybdis, and the galley was half
swamped under a fountain of falling water. When that ended, a black
yawning chasm appeared, the very throat, as it seemed, of Charybdis,
into which the water rushed in a roaring torrent.
Odysseus was gazing intently at this wondrous sight when he heard a
sharp cry, and, looking back he saw six of his men, the stoutest of
the crew, dangling high in the air, firmly clutched in the six
sharklike jaws of Scylla. There they hung for a moment, like fishes
just caught by the angler's hook; the next instant they were dragged
into the black mouth of the cavern, calling with their last breath on
their leader's name. This was the most pitiful thing that Odysseus had
ever beheld, in all his long years of travel on the sea.