A VOYAGE OVER THE POLE
The discovery of our love had brought a crisis in our fate for me and
Almah. The Kohen hailed it with joy, for now was the time when he
would be able to present us to the Kohen Gadol. Our doom was certain
and inevitable. We were to be taken to the amir; we were to be kept
until the end of the dark season, and then we were both to be publicly
sacrificed. After this our bodies were to be set apart for the hideous
rites of the Mista Kosek. Such was the fate that lay before us.
The Kohen was now anxious to take us to the amir. I might possibly
have persuaded him to postpone our departure, but I saw no use in
that. It seemed better to go, for it was possible that amid new scenes
and among new people there might be hope. This, too, seemed probable
to Almah, who was quite anxious to go. The Kohen pressed forward the
preparations, and at length a galley was ready for us.
This galley was about three hundred feet in length and fifty in width,
but not more than six feet in depth. It was like a long raft. The
rowers, two hundred in number, sat on a level with the water, one
hundred on each side. The oars were small, being not more than twelve
feet in length, but made of very light, tough material, with very
broad blades. The galley was steered with broad-bladed paddles at both
ends. There was no mast or sail. Astern was a light poop, surrounded
by a pavilion, and forward there was another. At the bow there was
a projecting platform, used chiefly in fighting the thannin, or
sea-monsters, and also in war. There were no masts or flags or gay
streamers; no brilliant colors; all was intensely black, and the
ornaments were of the same hue.
We were now treated with greater reverence than ever, for we were
looked upon as the recipients of the highest honor that could fall to
any of the Kosekin--namely, the envied dignity of a public death. As
we embarked the whole city lined the public ways, and watched us from
the quays, from boats, and from other galleys. Songs were sung by a
chosen choir of paupers, and to the sound of this plaintive strain we
moved out to sea.
"This will be a great journey for me," said the Kohen, as we left the
port. "I hope to be made a pauper at least, and perhaps gain the honor
of a public death. I have known people who have gained death for less.
There was an Athon last year who attacked a pehmet with forty men
and one hundred and twenty rowers. All were killed or drowned except
himself. In reward for this he gained the mudecheb, or death
recompense. In addition to this he was set apart for the Mista Kosek."
"Then, with you, when a man procures the death of others he is
honored?"
"Why, yes; how could it be otherwise?" said the Kohen. "Is it not the
same with you? Have you not told me incredible things about your
people, among which there were a few that seemed natural and
intelligible? Among these was your system of honoring above all men
those who procure the death of the largest number. You, with your
pretended fear of death, wish to meet it in battle as eagerly as we
do, and your most renowned men are those who have sent most to death."
To this strange remark I had no answer to make.
The air out at sea now grew chillier. The Kohen noticed it also, and
offered me his cloak, which I refused. He seemed surprised, and
smiled.
"You are growing like one of us," said he. "You will soon learn that
the greatest happiness in life is to do good to others and sacrifice
yourself. You already show this in part. When you are with Almah you
act like one of the Kosekin. You watch her to see and anticipate her
slightest wish; you are eager to give her everything. She, on the
other hand, is equally eager to give up all to you. Each one of you is
willing to lay down life for the other. You would gladly rush upon
death to save her from harm, much as you pretend to fear death; and so
I see that with Almah you will soon learn how sweet a thing death may
be."
"To live without her," said I, "would be so bitter that death with her
would indeed be sweet. If I could save her life by laying down my own,
death would be sweeter still; and not one of you Kosekin would meet it
so gladly."
The Kosekin smiled joyously.
"Oh, almighty and wondrous power of Love!" he exclaimed, "how thou
hast transformed this foreigner! Oh, Atam-or! you will soon be one of
us altogether. For see, how is it now? You pretend to love riches and
life, and yet you are ready to give up everything for Almah."
"Gladly, gladly!" I exclaimed.
"Yes," he said, "all that you have--you would gladly lavish on her,
and would rejoice to make yourself a pauper for her sweet sake. You
also would rejoice equally to give up life for her. Is it not so?"
"It is," said I.
"Then I see by this that Almah has awakened within you your true human
nature. Thus far it has lain dormant; it has been concealed under a
thousand false and unnatural habits, arising from your strange native
customs. You have been brought up under some frightful system, where
nature is violated. Here among us your true humanity is unfolded, and
with Almah you are like the Kosekin. Soon you will learn new lessons,
and will find out that there is a new and a final self-abnegation in
perfect love; and your love will never rest till you have separated
yourself from Almah, so that love can have its perfect work."
The sea now opened wide before us, rising up high as if half-way to
the zenith, giving the impression of a vast ascent to endless
distances. Around the shores spread themselves, with the shadowy
outlines of the mountains; above was the sky, all clear, with faint
aurora-flashes and gleaming stars. Hand-in-hand with Almah I stood and
pointed out the constellations as we marked them while she told me of
the different divisions known among the Kosekin as well as her own
people. There, high in the zenith, was the southern polar-star, not
exactly at the pole, nor yet of very great brightness, but still
sufficiently noticeable.
Looking back, we saw, low down, parts of the Phoenix and the Crane;
higher up, the Toucan, Hydrus, and Pavo. On our right, low down, was
the beautiful Altar; higher up, the Triangle; while on the left were
the Sword-fish and the Flying-fish. Turning to look forward, we beheld
a more splendid display. Then, over the bow of the vessel, between
the Centaur, which lay low, and Musca Indica, which rose high, there
blazed the bright stars of the Southern Cross--a constellation, if not
the brightest, at least the most conspicuous and attractive in all the
heavens. All around there burned other stars, separated widely. Then,
over the stern, gleamed the splendid lustre of Achernar, on the left
the brilliant glow of Alpha Robur and Canopus, and low down before
us the bright light of Argo. It was a scene full of splendor
and fascination. After a time a change came over the sky: the
aurora-flashes, at first faint, gradually increased in brilliancy till
the stars grew dim, and all the sky, wherever the eye might turn from
the horizon to the zenith, seemed filled with lustrous flames of every
conceivable hue. Colossal beams radiated from the pole toward the
horizon till the central light was dissipated, and there remained
encircling us an infinite colonnade of flaming pillars that towered
to the stars. These were all in motion, running upon one another,
incessantly shifting and changing; new scenes forever succeeded to
old; pillars were transformed to pyramids, pyramids to fiery bars;
these in their turn were transformed to other shapes, and all the
while one tint of innumerable hues overspread the entire circle of
the sky.
Our voyage occupied several joms; but our progress was continuous,
for different sets of rowers relieved one another at regular
intervals. On the second jom a storm broke out. The sky had been
gathering clouds during sleeping-time, and when we awoke we found the
sea all lashed to fury, while all around the darkness was intense. The
storm grew steadily worse; the lightning flashed, the thunder pealed,
and at length the sea was so heavy that rowing was impossible. Upon
this the oars were all taken in, and the galley lay tossing upon the
furious sea, amid waves that continually beat upon her.
And now a scene ensued that filled me with amazement, and took
away all my thoughts from the storm. It seemed impossible that so
frail a bark could stand the fury of the waves. Destruction was
inevitable, and I was expecting to see the usual signs of grief
and despair--wondering, too, how these rowers would preserve their
subordination. But I had forgotten in my excitement the strange
nature of the Kosekin. Instead of terror there was joy, instead of
wild despair there was peace and serene delight.
The lightning-flashes revealed a wonderful scene. There were all the
rowers, each one upon his seat, and from them all there came forth
a chant which was full of triumph, like a song of public welcome to
some great national hero, or a song of joy over victory. The officers
embraced one another and exchanged words of delight. The Kohen, after
embracing all the others, turned to me, and, forgetting my foreign
ways, exclaimed, in a tone of enthusiastic delight,
"We are destroyed! Death is near! Rejoice!"
Accustomed as I was to the perils of the sea, I had learned to face
death without flinching. Almah, too, was calm, for to her this death
seemed preferable to that darker fate which awaited us; but the words
of the Kohen jarred upon my feelings.
"Do you not intend to do anything to save the ship?" I asked.
He laughed joyously.
"There's no occasion," said he. "When the oars are taken in we always
begin to rejoice. And why not? Death is near--it is almost certain.
Why should we do anything to distract our minds and mar our joy? For
oh, dear friend, the glorious time has come when we can give up
life--life, with all its toils, its burdens, its endless bitternesses,
its perpetual evils. Now we shall have no more suffering from
vexatious and oppressive riches, from troublesome honors, from a
surplus of food, from luxuries and delicacies, and all the ills of
life."
"But what is the use of being born at all?" I asked, in a wonder that
never ceased to rise at every fresh display of Kosekin feeling.
"The use?" said the Kohen. "Why, if we were not born, how could we
know the bliss of dying, or enjoy the sweetness of death? Death is the
end of being--the one sweet hope and crown and glory of life, the one
desire and hope of every living man. The blessing is denied to none.
Rejoice with me, oh Atam-or! you will soon know its blessedness as
well as I."
He turned away. I held Almah in my arms, and we watched the storm by
the lightning-flashes and waited for the end. But the end came not.
The galley was light, broad, and buoyant as a life-boat; at the same
time it was so strongly constructed that there was scarcely any twist
or contortion in the sinewy fabric. So we floated buoyantly and safely
upon the summit of vast waves, and a storm that would have destroyed
a ship of the European fashion scarcely injured this in the slightest
degree. It was an indestructible as a raft and as buoyant as a bubble;
so we rode out the gale, and the death which the Kosekin invoked did
not come at all.
The storm was but short-lived; the clouds dispersed, and soon went
scudding over the sky; the sea went down. The rowers had to take their
oars once more, and the reaction that followed upon their recent
rejoicing was visible in universal gloom and dejection. As the clouds
dispersed the aurora lights came out more splendid than ever, and
showed nothing but melancholy faces. The rowers pulled with no life or
animation; the officers stood about sighing and lamenting; Almah and I
were the only ones that rejoiced over this escape from death.
Joms passed. We saw other sights; we met with galleys and saw many
ships about the sea. Some were moved by sails only; these were
merchant ships, but they had only square sails, and could not sail in
any other way than before the wind. Once or twice I caught glimpses
of vast shadowy objects in the air. I was startled and terrified;
for, great as were the wonders of this strange region, I had not yet
suspected that the air itself might have denizens as tremendous as the
land or the sea. Yet so it was, and afterward during the voyage I saw
them often. One in particular was so near that I observed it with
ease. It came flying along in the same course with us, at a height of
about fifty feet from the water. It was a frightful monster, with a
long body and vast wings like those a bat. Its progress was swift, and
it soon passed out of sight. To Almah the monster created no surprise;
she was familiar with them, and told me that they were very abundant
here, but that they never were known to attack ships. She informed me
that they were capable of being tamed if caught when young, though in
her country they were never made use of. The name given by the Kosekin
to these monsters is athaleb.
At length we drew near to our destination. We reached a large harbor
at the end of a vast bay: here the mountains extended around, and
before us there arose terrace after terrace of twinkling lights
running away to immense distances. It looked like a city of a million
inhabitants, though it may have contained far less than that. By the
brilliant aurora light I could see that it was in general shape and
form precisely like the city that we had left, though far larger and
more populous. The harbor was full of ships and boats of all sorts,
some lying at the stone quays, others leaving port, others entering.
Galleys passed and repassed, and merchant ships with their clumsy
sails, and small fishing-boats. From afar arose the deep hum of a vast
multitude and the low roar that always ascends from a popular city.
The galley hauled alongside her wharf, and we found ourselves at
length in the mighty amir of the Kosekin. The Kohen alone landed;
the rest remained on board, and Almah and I with them.
Other galleys were here. On the wharf workmen were moving about. Just
beyond were caverns that looked like warehouses. Above these was a
terraced street, where a vast multitude moved to and fro--a living
tide as crowded and as busy as that in Cheapside.
After what seemed a long time the Kohen returned. This time he came
with a number of people, all of whom were in cars drawn by opkuks.
Half were men and half women. These came aboard, and it seemed as
though we were to be separated; for the women took Almah, while the
men took me. Upon this I entreated the Kohen not to separate us. I
informed him that we were both of a different race from his, that we
did not understand their ways; we should be miserable if separated.
I spoke long and with all the entreaty possible to one with my limited
acquaintance with the language. My words evidently impressed them:
some of them even wept.
"You make us sad," said the Kohen. "Willingly would we do everything
that you bid, for we are your slaves; but the state law prevents.
Still, in your case, the law will be modified; for you are in such
honor here that you may be considered as beyond the laws. For the
present, at least, we cannot separate you."
These words brought much consolation. After this we landed, and Almah
and I were still together.