DERELICT
On the becalmed ocean lies the forsaken ship, without sails, without
helm, drawn to one side by its own weight, not a single black point of
land, not a single white sail anywhere visible along the vast horizon.
And in the midst of this desolation stands Bar Noemi and his doomed
crew. But Bar Noemi has said that even in this desolation dwells the
Lord God, who rules over the heavens and the waters.
And behold! as he prays there with outstretched arms, a dove comes
flying from the west on rapid wing, and alights upon the topmast. Never
had man seen such a dove before. Her feathers were of green, merging
here and there into pearly grey, the wide-extended tail was
gold-coloured, and sewn with stars like the tail of a peacock, and her
neck was striped with glowing purple.
Bar Noemi took some rice in the palm of his hand and held it in the air,
and behold! to every one's astonishment, the wonderful bird flew from
the masthead on to the mariner's hand, and began to peck up the grains
of rice one by one, uttering each time the soft cooing note of the wild
dove, whereupon she flew back to the masthead, and remained there till
evening.
"A miracle!" cried the ship's company; but Bar Noemi said: "Ye now see
that Jehovah has heard me, for He has sent His messenger from heaven as
a sign that He will deliver us from this present distress. Let us,
then, take our mantles, and whatever else can be spared from the ship,
the garments of the women, the precious gold stuffs, the Phrygian
velvets, and let us sew them together and make us a sail. A west wind is
arising which will drive us upon some coast; there will we refit our
ship and return to Tyre."
The ship's company obeyed and set to work. They made them a large sail
of bright shreds and patches; they hoisted it up, not without sore
labour; and scarcely had the sun sunk down and melted away in his own
reflection at the extreme margin of the sky, when a light breeze arose
in the east which at first but lightly curled the waves, but gradually
made the whole sea heave and toss. The patched sail bulged out, the ship
righted herself, stood firm amidst the waves, and began to glide along
the watery mirror, and the ship's company, sinking on their knees,
stammered: "Jehovah is our God."
All night long the wind blew in the same direction, and all night long
Bar Noemi scrutinized the stars. The constellations with which he was so
familiar, for he had diligently studied them during his long voyages,
remained constant at the same height, in an unaltered arch, right above
his head, a sign, he knew, that the ship was following a northerly
course.
Three days and three nights the rudderless ship flew with a single sail
over the surface of the ocean. On the fourth day there appeared very
faintly on the distant horizon, like the forehead of some brown marine
monster, the ridge of the world-supporting Atlas mountains, the rock of
the unconquerable Gebel-al-Tarik, which we degenerate moderns call
Gibraltar. This point was familiar to the mariners. They knew that the
fortunate inhabitants of the golden apple-gardens of the Hesperides
would certainly welcome them with joy, though it would have been more
dangerous for the seafarers to have gazed into the eyes of the maidens
of the Atlas mountains than to have listened to the songs of the Sirens
or to have sailed between the coral-reefs of Scylla the accursed. The
joys of this outermost African haven had torn more sailors from the
rowing-benches than even famine or pestilence, the twin destroying
angels of antiquity.
Shouting for joy, Bar Noemi's crew clambered up to the masthead, so as
to better survey from thence the promised land, which drew nearer to
them every moment. Already they began to make out the shadowy coastline;
already they could distinguish the fresh green of the woods against the
dark-blue mountain-side, the narrow strips of cornland, and the scarlet
bloom of the almond woods on the shore below. Already they perceived the
sky-blue enamel of the luxuriant sesame flowers in the meadows, and the
inviting smoke-wreaths arising from the hospitable huts on the
shore--when, suddenly, a small black cloud arose in the south-east,
which, in a moment, darkened the sun and changed the complexion of the
ocean. The waves took a murky, dark-green tinge, Atlas veiled himself in
dusky grey, the shores became dark blue, and seemed to draw further and
further away; and, all at once, as if fallen from the skies, the whole
surface of the water was covered by those white birds with black wings
whose vital element is the tempest, who live by the storm, and only come
forth from their nooks and crannies as harbingers of evil to the
mariner, circling round the ship with terrifying screams, as if only
sent forth to bewail the crew.
Bar Noemi ordered the single sail to be furled, kissed first his lovely
wife, and then his faithful comrades, one after the other, for whom
there was no longer any hope of salvation save only in the mighty hand
of the Lord, and, falling upon his knees, he began to sing the psalm:
"In Thee, O Lord, do we put our trust," they all following his example.
The raging of the waves, the howling of the wind, grew ever louder, the
song of the suppliants ever fainter; the awful crash of the thunder
mingled with the concert of Death; the black clouds veiled the sun with
an impenetrable veil, and only the lightning flashed out at intervals
like a spectral torch. At every flash the black outlines of Atlas were
visible like the terrible shape of a ghostly nightmare, and on the
foaming crests of the lurid wave-mountains swept a tiny nutshell, a
frail wooden pellet, the plaything of the storm, wherein some two
hundred or so of that species of worm which calls itself Lord of the
Universe were huddled together into a trembling, whining mass.
The fury of the storm kept steadily increasing, the sullen day became a
yet more sullen night. Bar Noemi's crew saw the rocks of the Atlas range
drawing nearer every moment, and they cursed Bar Noemi and the God to
whom he prayed, without ceasing. Another instant and they will all be
dashed to pieces.
Then the lightning flashes ceased, and long hours of gloom succeeded.
The storm tossed the ship about in its mad frolic; the minutes passed in
mortal anguish, and when, after many hours, a fresh lightning flash
lights up the whole horizon, the astonished mariners no longer see the
Atlas mountains. They have been driven far out into the Atlantic ocean.
"Jehovah is our God alone."
The Lord has saved His faithful ones from a terrible death, yet He has
cast them upon the immeasurable deep, and abandoned them to fresh
dangers.
The night passed away, but the sky was still covered with wild, hurrying
clouds which seemed to be fighting among themselves so that their blood
flowed down in streams. And nowhere was the sun to be seen, and the
horizon had vanished in drifting clouds and floating vapours--and so
they fared for four days. The tempest is never weary.
The ship was already a wreck, the masts were broken to pieces, the
glistening dragons on the prow, which had made such a brave show a few
days before, had been swept away by the waves; everything superfluous
had already been cast overboard, and yet it was as much as they could do
to keep the ship from sinking.
As now the fourth day was already closing in storm and stress, the
eldest of the mariners stepped up to Bar Noemi, took him aside, and
said--
"Dost thou not pray to Jehovah every day, Bar Noemi?"
"Every hour and with all my might!"
"In the stern of thy ship stands the Ark of thy Covenant before which
thou dost kneel constantly. What does it contain? Jehovah dwells
therein, does He not?"
"It contains the Commandments of the Lord engraved on stone, after the
pattern of the tables of Jerusalem."
"Then thou prayest to Jehovah? It is well! But dost thou not know that
at the self-same time thy crew in the hold of the ship bewail Thammus,
kneeling beside the golden serpent which they have concealed there.
Thus, either two Divinities, one of whom would save, the other destroy
us, are striving above our heads for the mastery while we perish; or,
there is but one God, even Jehovah, as thou sayest, who prolongs our
days indeed out of compassion for thee--but who, in His wrath at the
wickedness of these men, will not deliver us from the storm. Look now,
this do! When, at night, the sound of wailing reaches thee through the
deck, know that they are worshipping their idol, and either throw the
Ark of the Covenant or the golden serpent into the sea, that at least
one God may befriend us."
At these words Bar Noemi was very wrath, and did as the old mariner had
counselled. For when at night time he heard the mysterious wailing below
the deck, he went quickly down into the hold and there found his sailors
on their knees, smiting their breasts and cutting their naked limbs with
sharp knives, and in the midst stood a golden serpent, wound round a
column, whose large eyes, made of carbuncle stones, gleamed brightly
through the gloom.
Bar Noemi approached the idol and dashed his sword against its head,
whereupon it broke into a thousand splinters which scattered in all
directions.
"Behold now!" cried Bar Noemi, "how that magian lied who told you that
this was a god, and how that goldsmith lied who said it was of gold! It
was only so much gilded glass. He who wrought the thing was right in
supposing that if you could take it for a god, it might also pass for
gold!"
The astonished mariners felt deeply ashamed at these words. The material
fraud was the strongest proof in their eyes of their spiritual
aberration also. They kissed the hem of Bar Noemi's mantle, and
collecting the splinters of the shattered idol, flung them into the sea.