A SOLEMN CEREMONIAL.
In excellent French the attendant instructed us as to our part in
the approaching ceremonial. Two robes of Chinese silk, reaching to
our feet, were handed us, and we were told to array ourselves. I was
very glad of this, as I had only partially adopted the garb of the
Sargassons, and my clothing was badly worn and shiny. Fidette, I
imagine, was much annoyed at this suggestion, not wishing to make the
change from the pretty costume of grass-cloth that she had fashioned
with her own fingers to the shroud-like garment, which did not set
off her pretty figure to advantage. The orders of the attendant,
however, were imperative, and we were soon ready for the solemn
ceremonial.
When we were ready to meet the Chief Kantoon, we were attended by
the same priest who had welcomed us to the ship, and we were also
accompanied by the choir of boys, who, during our slow and solemn
walk from the reception cabin to the large and imposing after-cabin,
chanted a processional hymn.
Fidette appeared to be in an ecstasy of delight, but for my part I
could not shake off the feeling that we were the central figures in a
requiem mass, instead of a glorious ceremonial of sanctification. I
was depressed, therefore, rather than exhilarated.
The after part of the ship, that had been prepared for the
initiation, was separated from the rest of the deck by a hedge of
orchids, growing in a series of rude boxes. A doorway in the centre
was covered by portieres of grass-cloth, which, as we approached,
were slowly drawn apart.
As we entered, I was impressed with the beauty and solemnity of the
scene.
The Chief Kantoon sat upon a raised dais, directly at the stern
of the vessel, and on his immediate right, equally elevated, sat
the High Priest of the Sacred Fire. He was vested in a chasuble of
black, much after the manner of the priests who celebrate mass in
our American churches. Near him and behind were ranged attending
acolytes, wearing long capes of lustreless, sea-green hue. To the
immediate left of the Chief Kantoon stood the six members of his
cabinet. They were all savage-visaged men, dressed in simple tunics,
woven of sea grass, and bare as to their arms and legs. Without any
of the sacred character that appertained to the priesthood near by,
they possessed a far more imposing aspect. Their complexions were all
sun-bronzed. Their figures recalled pictures that I had seen in books
of the Huns that overran the Roman Empire.
While I was making these observations, a double line of Seminarians
had ascended from the lower deck; separating at the mainmast, one
column had passed to the right and one to the left, completely
encircling us as we stood in the centre of the sky-roofed cabin.
Without any prelude or observable signal, the attending priests and
Seminarians broke forth in a Kyrie-like invocation, quite resembling
the first movement of the mass in the Roman churches immediately
preceding the communion service. This was of brief duration, and at
its conclusion the High Priest of the Sacred Fire, who had remained
standing throughout the Kyrie, took up the solemn ceremonial of the
Water Worshipers. Speaking chiefly in Portuguese, but following the
usage of the Sargassons and interpolating words of French, English,
Italian, German and Spanish wherever his vocabulary failed him,
the High Priest offered a rhapsody to the sea, which I venture to
translate in the following language:
“The Ocean. It covereth all. It telleth nothing. It is silent--secretive
as the dead ones. Death is our portion. It endeth all. It maketh us
glad. We are of the sea, for it encompasseth us about like a mantle,
shielding us from the miseries of the savage world.”
Here the choir broke forth into a Kyrie Eleison, in words that might
be interpreted:
“O most gracious Ruler of the Seaweed Sea, be merciful unto us. Amen.”
Following which the High Priest of the Sacred Fire continued:
“Hail, welcoming arms of the Sea! We are at peace upon thy heaving
bosom. Thy warm breath enchants us. We are as driftwood in thy grasp.
Do thou, O glorious Sea, continue to endure us. We love thee. No
other thoughts but of thee constrain us. Do suffer us to exist, that
we may know thou ever loveth us.”
As the High Priest paused, the choir again chanted:
“Adoration ever. O forgiving Sea, endure us.”
Resuming, the High Priest said: “Hail to the attendants of the Sea,
the Clouds--the homeless, wandering Clouds. Like unto us are they.
Nor home, nor friends; but, like us, are they of the elements of the
sea and not of the land. ’Tis ours to roll and roll till life doth
cease to be. O splendid, boundless Sea, the wealth of all the world
is thine; and with thee the burning sun, the cold, pale moon and
the twinkling stars make merry company. Thou art eternal. None may
measure thee or sound thy depths. Amen.”
At a signal from an attending acolyte, Fidette and I knelt, slightly
turning our bodies so that we directly faced the Chief Kantoon, who,
raising high a glowing marlinspike heated to whiteness in the Sacred
Fire, administered the following oath:
“By the hope of enduring mercy from the Grand Kantoon who suffereth
us not to sink, by the potency of the Sacred Fire that burneth for
ages and is not consumed, we take this oath of homage to the Ocean
and fidelity to the Sea, and here accept the people of Sargasso.
Thou, O Sea, shalt we honor and serve all the days of our life; thou
shalt we uphold and defend--live for and die for. And in evidence of
the sacred character of this oath, here, in the presence of the High
Priest of the Sacred Fire that burneth forever and is not consumed,
do we declare our lives forfeit if in thought or act we shall be
wanting in fidelity to the People of the Sea. And we appoint as our
executioners any living, breathing creature of the Sea or Air if
treason be fastened upon us. We devoutly appeal to the Grand Kantoon
of the Sea and Land, Keeper of the Homeless Clouds, to strengthen us
in this faith.”
We having made satisfactory responses, the Chief Kantoon stepped
forward and touched each of us on the bared right shoulder with the
glowing marlinspike.
As we rose to our feet, the attending choir again broke out into the
joyous anthem of the Water Worshipers.
“Blessed be the name of the Sea.
“Majestic is the Ocean by day; solemn by night.
“Ours is the Sea and Sky. They are boundless. None shall intrude upon
us.”
The High Priest then raised his hands and pronounced the benediction.
Immediately the Chief Kantoon stepped down from the throne, and,
holding out a hand to each of us, graciously suffered it to be
kissed. Then, drawing from his girdle a sheaf of inscribed tarpon
scales, he selected two, of which he handed me the first, saying:
“I herewith confer upon you the title of Kantoon in token of your
union with our people.” Then, tendering me the second scale, with
its pale blue inscription, he concluded: “You are restored to your
ship, and from this moment are the commander of the Caribas. He who
is at present in charge will, upon the presentation of this token,
destroy himself after an old and accepted belief among the Sargassons
that when a Kantoon is superseded he must disappear forever.
Retrogression is disgrace! This commander whom you supplant has been
treacherous to others, and it is our fear that he will be treacherous
to us. Therefore give I you this ship. It is yours. Possess it, if
necessary, at the point of the knife.”
The announcement that we were not to return to the Happy Shark filled
poor Fidette with anguish. She burst into a flood of tears that no
words from me could check. I could not blame her. Her entire life
was identified with her old home, but she was too familiar with the
laws of her people not to know that no wish of hers would have any
influence upon the Chief Kantoon.
To me the change from the Happy Shark to the Caribas was welcome.
I felt that I would be more contented. I knew that the stanch iron
vessel would remain afloat at least thirty years, and I was satisfied
to accept that span of life. By that time, thought I, our love may
have grown cold, and both Fidette and I may welcome the end.
I was now a Sargasson by all the sacred laws, and, had I had the
entire fleet of vessels to choose from, I certainly would have
selected my own ship, to which I had been so graciously assigned.
I was bewildered by the incidents that followed. We were surrounded
by all the dignitaries of the Sargasson people. We were conducted to
the table and invited to partake of the fruits and shellfish there
bestowed. We were exhilarated and refreshed with copious libations of
the orange-hued wine before mentioned.
Then succeeded merrymaking and a dance combining the most hilarious
features of the Bamboola, Cachucha, Tarantella, Money Musk and
Virginia Reel. It was, if anything, more violent than the famous
“Dance of the Derelicts,” which always closed the “Week of Silence.”
This I have previously described. In the sports, Fidette won great
praise.
The daughters of the other Kantoons in the community, to the number
of forty, were present, but none of them looked so pretty or behaved
so charmingly as my own Fidette.
I accepted my fate.
One can be miserable in other places than Sargasso. I know something
of the “civilized” world. In it are toil and sorrow--yes, worry
and want. All the misery in New York is not found in the slums. It
exists elsewhere. With my own eyes have I seen men stalking about the
streets and exchanges suffering the mental tortures of the damned.
We call that civilization.