The last trial was now at hand, and if they could stand this final
test a happy home-coming was promised to them all. By next day's dawn
they ran down to the fair isle of Helios, and as they drew near they
heard the lowing of oxen and the bleating of sheep. Then Odysseus
remembered the warnings of Circe and Teiresias, and sought to persuade
his men to sail past the island and fly from the reach of temptation.
But they murmured against him, and Eurylochus, his lieutenant, gave
voice to their feelings thus: "Thou man of iron, thou hast no pity on
us, but thinkest that we are all as hardy and as strong as thou art.
Hungry and weary as we are, wouldst thou have us turn away from this
fair isle, where we could prepare a comfortable meal, and take
refreshing sleep? Shall we add the horrors of night to the horrors of
the sea, and confront the demons of storm that haunt the caverns of
darkness? Nay, suffer us to abide here to-night, and to-morrow we will
hoist sail again."
Odysseus saw by the looks of his men that it would be useless to
strain his authority, and so he gave way, though with sore reluctance,
only exacting a solemn oath from the whole company that they would
keep their hands off the cattle of Helios. When each in turn had taken
the oath they landed on the shore of a sheltered bay, and encamped by
a fair spring of fresh water.
During the night it began to blow hard, and early next morning, as the
weather was still stormy and the wind contrary, they hauled up their
galley and bestowed her in a roomy cave, beyond the reach of wind and
water. Odysseus repeated his warnings, and the crew then dispersed, to
while away the time until the weather should mend.
For a whole month they had nothing but contrary gales from the south
and east, and long before that time had run out they had come to the
end of their store of provisions. For some time they contrived to live
on the fish which they caught by angling from the rocks, though this
was but poor fare for the robust appetites of those heroic days.
All this time Odysseus kept a careful watch over the movements of his
men, fearing that they might be driven by hunger to break the oath
which they had taken. But one morning he wandered away to a distant
part of the island, that he might spend an hour in solitary prayer and
meditation. Having found a secluded spot, he washed his hands, and
prayed earnestly to the gods for succour: and when he had prayed,
heaven so ordered it that he fell into a deep sleep.
Then the demon of mischief entered into the heart of Eurylochus, a
factious knave, who had more than once thwarted the counsels of
Odysseus. "Comrades," he said, "let us make an end of this misery.
Death in any shape is loathly to us poor mortals, but death by hunger
is the most hideous of all. Come, let us take the choicest of the
herds of Helios, and feast upon them, after sacrifice to the gods.
When we return to Ithaca we will build a temple to Helios, and appease
him with rich offerings. And even though he choose to wreck our ship
and drown us all, I would rather swallow the brine, and so make an
end, than waste away by inches on a desert island."
The famishing sailors lent a ready ear to his words, and having picked
out the fattest of the oxen they slaughtered them and offered
sacrifice, plucking the leaves of an oak as a substitute for the
barley-meal for sprinkling between the horns of the victims, and
pouring libations of water instead of wine. When the vain rite was
finished, they spitted slices of the meat, and roasted them over the
glowing embers.
Meanwhile Odysseus had awakened from his sleep, and made his way, not
without forebodings of ill, back to the camp. As he approached, the
steam of roasting meat was borne to his nostrils. "Woe is me!" he
cried, "the deed is done! What a price must we now pay for one hour of
sleep."
Vengeance, indeed, was already prepared. Helios received prompt news
of the sacrilege from one of the nymphs who had charge of his flocks
and herds, and hastened to Olympus to demand speedy punishment for the
transgressors, vowing that if they escaped he would leave the earth in
darkness and carry the lamp of day to the nether world. Zeus promised
that the retribution should be swift and complete, and Helios
thereupon returned immediately to his daily round, knowing full well
that the father of gods would keep his word.
When Odysseus entered the camp he rebuked his men bitterly for their
impiety. But no words, and no repentance, could now repair the
mischief; the cattle were slain, and in that very hour dire portents
occurred, to show them the enormity of their crime. A strange moaning
sound, like the lowing of kine, came from the meat on the spits, and
the hides of the slaughtered beasts crawled and writhed.
In spite of these dreadful omens they continued for six days to feast
upon the herds of Helios. On the seventh day the wind blew fair, and
they launched their vessel and continued their voyage. The last
vestige of the island had hardly been lost to view when the sky became
black with clouds, and a violent squall struck the ship, snapping her
mast, which fell upon the helmsman, and dashed out his brains. A
moment after, a deafening peal of thunder broke overhead, and the
avenging bolt of Zeus fell upon the ship, scattering her timbers, and
strewing the charred carcasses of the crew upon the waves.
Odysseus alone escaped with his life from that tremendous stroke, and
clinging to a spar floated all day, until he came in sight of the
strait between Scylla and Charybdis. By the favour of heaven he was
once more preserved from this great peril, and on the tenth day after
the loss of his vessel he was thrown ashore by the waves on the island
of Calypso.