PART II

Transcriber's Notes: Variations in spelling and hyphenation have

been left as in the original. Words in italics in the original are

surrounded with _underscores_. Ellipses match the original. A row of

asterisks represents a thought break.

_THE LIBRARY OF ROMANCE_

A BOOK OF GIANTS

[Illustration]

_THE LIBRARY OF ROMANCE_

A BOOK OF GIANTS

TALES OF VERY TALL MEN OF MYTH,

LEGEND, HISTORY, AND SCIENCE

BY

HENRY WYSHAM LANIER

AUTHOR OF "A BOOK OF BRAVERY," "THE ROMANCE OF PISCATOR," ETC.

[Illustration]

"_And there we saw giants, the sons of Anak, which come of the

giants: and we were in our sight as grasshoppers, and so we

were in their sight._"--NUMBERS: xiii, 33.

NEW YORK

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY

681 FIFTH AVENUE

Copyright, 1922

By E. P. Dutton & Company

_All Rights Reserved_

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

ACKNOWLEDGMENT

Thanks are due to the Frederick A. Stokes Company for permission to

use, in Part III, three tales from volumes published by them: Chapter

XX, The Biter Bit, from "Hero Tales and Legends of the Serbians," by

Vojislav M. Petrovic; Chapter XXI, The Peach's Son, from "Myths and

Legends of Japan," by F. Hadland Davis; and Chapter XXIII, The Stone

Giantess, from "The Myths of the North American Indians," by Lewis

Spence.

In a number of cases the text of the original romance or "history" has

been followed as closely as possible, to retain the flavor of the old

tales.

CONTENTS

PART I. GIANTS OF THE MORNING OF THE WORLD

CHAPTER PAGE

I. HOW ZEUS FOUGHT WITH TITANS AND GIANTS 3

II. THE GIANT WHO SHINES IN THE SKY 18

III. THE OUTWITTING OF POLYPHEMUS 46

IV. WHEN THOR WENT TO JOTUNHEIM 68

V. THE GIANT PYRAMID-BUILDER 90

VI. THE FATAL PRIDE OF VUKUB 95

VII. OG, KING OF BASHAN 102

VIII. A SON OF ANAK 108

PART II. IN THE DAYS OF ROMANCE

IX. FERRAGUS, WHO OWNED THE BRAZEN HEAD 119

X. THE GIANT OF ST. MICHAEL'S MOUNT 128

XI. SIR LAUNCELOT AND TARQUIN 146

XII. THE ADVENTURES OF YVAIN 161

XIII. THE TURKE AND GAWAIN 191

XIV. AMADIS AMONG THE GIANTS 202

XV. GOGMAGOG 216

XVI. THE GIANT BEHIND THE WATERFALL 235

XVII. THE ONE GOOD GIANT: ST. CHRISTOPHER 244

PART III. NURSERY TALES OF MANY LANDS

XVIII. THE GIANT HAND (IRISH) 255

XIX. THE GIANT WHO HAD NO HEART IN HIS BODY (NORSE) 265

XX. THE BITER BIT (SERBIAN) 275

XXI. THE PEACH'S SON (JAPANESE) 290

XXII. THE MAN WHO LOST HIS LEGS (KOREAN) 295

XXIII. THE STONE GIANTESS (NORTH AMERICAN INDIAN) 299

PART IV. SOME REAL GIANTS

XXIV. SOME REAL GIANTS 305

XXV. WHAT SCIENCE HAS LEARNED ABOUT GIANTS 315

INTRODUCTION

_Man in his youth was so fond of giants that, not finding them large

or plentiful enough, he created a bounteous supply. He gave them

precedence of himself. In the frozen North they came even before the

gods: in the East, after the celestials but before the creation of the

world; in Greece they sprang into being just after the Olympians and

fiercely disputed the sovereignty of Zeus._

_Many ancient gods were vast in size: witness, for instance, the

colossal statues of Egypt, China or the South Seas. But the palm for

bigness must go to those giant beings whom we find amid Chaos in the

East: like that Tiamat from whom the Babylonian god Bel formed heavens

and earth; and Purushu of the Hindu Vedas, whose severed head was

sufficient for making the sky, his feet for the earth, his eye for the

sun, and his mind for the moon._

_Somehow, these are too large; nowadays one can hardly digest a giant

like that. Even those huge and terrible beings with bodies of stone

who once descended upon the Iroquois Indians seem more like Djinn or

Rakshasas: they do not fascinate as does that monstrous black warder of

the bridge at Mantrible, who was fifteen feet tall with "tuskes like a

bore" and head "like a liberde."_

_The scholars quarrel over the question whether or not the very word

originally meant "earth-born"; but be that as it may, the giants

exhibited in these pages (collected after wider search than even Mr.

Barnum ever prosecuted for such prodigies) are all creatures of earth,

at least in part. Their feet are on the earth, even if like Og, King

of Bashan, their heads tower high enough to drink straight from the

clouds._

_They all have a semblance of human beings, as they should. If this

seems doubtful remember Ea-Bani. His story is certainly the first to

be put on record, for it was baked in clay at least 2500 years ago,

the twelve tablets being found among King Assur-bani-pal's library at

Nineveh. Ea-bani was a huge giant, who lived with the wild animals, and

who defied every attempt to capture him--until King Gilgamesh abandoned

force and sent a very beautiful woman to stand quietly near one of the

hairy creature's lurking places. At first sight of her the colossal

wild man falls in love; accompanies her meekly back to civilization:

and, giving up his beloved forest, takes a humble second part in the

subsequent stirring adventures of the King. No doubt about the human

nature of that!_

_Considering that he made them, it does seem as if man had been

somewhat unfair to the giants. In the beginning, they won enduring

glory: Typhon conquered Zeus in hand-to-hand fight and drove the other

gods to wander over Egypt disguised as animals; even Atlas had at least

the dignity of holding up the heavens upon his head and hands forever.

The Frost-giants more than once outwitted Thor and the other dwellers

in Valhalla; and but the other day, historically speaking, Gargantua

could swallow five pilgrims as a salad._

_But what a humiliating portion has been allotted to the successors of

these awe-inspiring monsters. First they made gods tremble; then they

were slain by demigods and heroes; next they became a measure of the

prowess of every knight of chivalry; presently they were the sport of

the childish Jack the Giant-killer;--and now for a hundred years we

have relegated them to our circuses and museums. Worst of all, the wise

men insist that "giantism" is merely a disease._

_It really isn't quite fair. Besides the inconvenience of being a

giant--just think of the difficulty of getting enough to eat and

clothes to wear--what a disgrace to have one's head inevitably cut off

by some little whipper-snapper up to one's waist or knees. And then to

be such a by-word for stupidity. Amycus, who used to kill each newcomer

with a single blow, was at once dispatched by Polydeuces, the skilful

boxer: that sort of an awkward ineffectiveness was bad enough; but

what of Polyphemus, who had not sense enough to explain to his Cyclop

brethren the transparent trick of Ulysses in calling himself "Noman"?

One can't help feeling sorry for such helpless hulks._

_And perhaps the unkindest cut of all is the true tale related by

Patin, the famous French surgeon. "In the Seventeenth Century, in order

to gratify a whim of the Empress of Austria, all the giants and dwarfs

in the Germanic empire were assembled at Vienna. As circumstances

required that all should be housed in one building, it was feared that

the imposing proportions of the giants should terrify the dwarfs; and

means were taken to assure the latter that they were perfectly safe.

But the result was most unexpected. The dwarfs teased, insulted and

even robbed the giants to such an extent that the latter complained in

tears to the officials; and sentinels had to be stationed to protect

them from their tiny comrades."_

_However, the fascination of these Very Tall Men still continues. And

these tales relate to the adventures of some of the famous of all ages

and all lands._

_Those lovers of the colorful old days, who mourn the departure of

the giants before the sceptical eye of science and the camera, may be

comforted to learn that in the rugged country of Northern Scotland the

folk are better informed than we. There where Sutherland rocks meet

the sea, east from Cape Wrath, the wise ancients will tell you that

the giants are not really all dead, but only sleeping in the great

Hall of Albyn. In proof whereof, know that a man of these parts once

ventured into a great cave by the sea-shore. It opened to a vast and

lofty apartment, where there were many huge men lying fast asleep on

the stone floor. In the center of the room was a table, on which lay

an ancient horn. The man put the horn to his lips and blew one blast.

The enormous figures stirred. He blew a second time. One of the giants

rubbed his eyes and said in a voice that rumbled through the cave:_

"_If you blow once more, we shall wake._"

_The man fled in terror. Though by singular bad luck he could never

again find the mouth of that cave, it is something to know that our

tall friends are there, only waiting for three bold blasts to return to

us._

PART I

GIANTS OF THE MORNING OF THE WORLD

A BOOK OF GIANTS

CHAPTER I

HOW ZEUS FOUGHT WITH TITANS AND GIANTS

We think of Zeus as the mightiest god of Greece, accompanied by his

servants Force, Might and Victory,--the Cloud-gatherer, the Rain-giver,

the Thunderer, the Lightning-hurler, the Sender of Prodigies, the

Guider of Stars, the Ruler of other gods and men, whom even Poseidon

the Earth-shaker must obey. The very name reverberates with majesty,

power, dominion.

But the beginnings of this vast deity were in darkness and danger.

True, the reign of his father Kronos was that Golden Age when, in the

fresh morning of the world, "Heat and Cold were not yet at strife, the

Seasons had not begun their mystic dance, and one mild and equable

climate stretched from pole to pole; when the trees bore fruit and

the vine her purple clusters all the year, and honey-dew dripped from

the laurel and juniper which are now so bitter; when flowers of every

hue filled the air with perpetual fragrance, the lion gambolled with

the kid, and the unfanged serpent was as harmless as the dove"; when

over-curious Pandora not yet having released her boxful of ills, men

had neither care nor sickness nor old age, but, after centuries of

blissful calm, faded like flowers and became kindly spirit-guardians of

their successors.

Yet amid this charming serenity Kronos could never forget the curse

of his father Uranus whom he had overthrown, and the prophecy that he

himself should in his turn be cast down by his own children.

"Wherefore being resolved to defeat that prophecy, he swallowed each

child his wife Rhea brought forth, as soon as it was born. When

Rhea had thus lost five babes,--Hestia, Demeter, Hera, Hades and

Poseidon--and knew herself about to bear yet another, she made her

prayer to Uranus her ancient sire, imploring counsel and aid.

"But only a faint, vast murmur thrilled through the sky:

"'_My voice is but the voice of winds and tides, no more than winds

and tides can I avail. Pray thou to thy puissant Mother: in me,

dispossessed of godhead, is no succor more._'"

So the Titaness betook her to Earth, and the mighty Mother gave her

counsel how to outwit grim Kronos. And Rhea fled through the swift,

dark night to a secret thicket upon a hill of Arcadia. There was born a

mighty babe, whom she called Zeus. At her prayer Mother Earth smote the

mountain, and there gushed forth a bounding stream, in which she laved

the infant. Then she gave him to the nymph Neda who bore him swiftly

across the sea to Crete, hiding him in a cave upon a dense and wooded

mountain named Ida.

She entrusted the child to Adrastea and Ida, nymphs of the mountain,

to be reared in secret. But Rhea took a huge stone and wrapped it in

swathes, and brought it to Kronos, then sovereign of the gods, saying:

"Behold, I have borne my lord another son."

"Naught said he, but snatched the stone and greedily swallowed it,

nothing doubting that it was the new-born child. Thus his wife deceived

him, for all his cunning."

Rhea might not so much as see her babe, lest Kronos should spy her

from his throne on high; but the child throve, laid in a golden

winnowing-fan for a good omen, tended by the gentle nymphs, and

nourished on the wild honey they gathered for him and on the milk of

a mountain goat. Around him danced the fierce Curetes, Earth-born

warriors, who performed their war-dances, rattling and clashing their

weapons whenever the infant cried, lest Kronos should overhear him.

"So the child Zeus increased daily in beauty and stature, nor was it

long before he gave proof of his godhead in wondrous wise. Two years

his goat foster-mother suckled him: snow-white she was, with jet black

horns and hooves, the most beauteous of her kind, and her name was

Amalthea. Then, on a day, while the young god played with her after

his wont, he grasped one of her curved horns as she made pretence of

butting, and broke it clean off.

"Tears stood in the creature's eyes, and she looked reproachfully on

her fosterling. But the little god ran to her and threw his arms about

her shaggy neck, bidding her be comforted, for he would make amends;

with that he laid his right hand on the goat's head, and immediately a

new horn sprouted full-grown. And he took up the horn he had broken,

and gave it to the nymphs, saying, 'Kindly nurses, in recompense of

your care, Zeus gives you Amalthea's Horn which shall be to you a horn

of plenty. As for her, when I come into my kingdom, I will be mindful

of my foster-mother; she shall not die but be changed into one of the

bright signs of Heaven.' Thus Zeus promised, and fulfilled his word in

the aftertime, for faithful and true are the promises of the Immortals.

But when the nymphs had taken the Horn of Amalthea, behold they found

it brimful of all manner of luscious fruits, of the finest wheat flour,

and sweet butter, and golden honeycomb. They shook all out, laughing

in delight, and one cried: 'Here were a feast for the gods, had we but

wine thereto!' No sooner said she this than the Horn bubbled over with

ruby wine; for this was the magic in it, that it never grew empty, and

yielded its possessors whatsoever food or drink they desired.

"Now when Earth saw that Zeus was come to the prime of his mighty

youth, she sent to him one of the daughters of Oceanus named Metis,

which is, being interpreted, 'Counsel.' And Metis came and stood before

him in the Idaean Mount and said: 'I have an errand unto thee, O king

that shalt be hereafter.'

"And Zeus said: 'Is it a foe's errand, or a friend's? Who sent thee

hither, and who art thou?'

"And she said: 'Metis is my name, a daughter of Oceanus the old, and

my errand is from Earth, the All-Mother. She bids thee take this herb

I bring and go straight to Kronos in his golden house on high; tell

him not who or whence thou art, but cause him to swallow the herb

unweeting, and it shall work mischief to him and good to thee. Delay

not, for the hour is at hand when Kronos must pay full measure for the

outrage he did his sire, as it is ordained.'

"'Tell me,' said Zeus, 'how knows Earth that such an hour is at hand,

and by whom is the vengeance ordained?'

"Metis answered: 'There are Three Sisters, daughters of Primeval

Night, Grey Virgins, older than Time, who sit forever in the shades

of underground, spinning threads of divers colors from their golden

distaffs; and the threads are the lives of gods and men. As the sisters

twine them, sad-hued or bright, so is the lot of each living soul,

mortal or immortal; there is none among the gods, nor shall be, that

may escape the lot spun for him, nor avail to turn those spinners from

their task. Hasting not, resting not, without knowledge, without pity,

the Three Fates work on. But as they twirl the spindles, they sing the

Song of the Morrow; and Earth, she only, understands that song; hence

it is she knows what is coming upon Kronos.'

"Then Zeus arose and went up to the heavenly palace halls; there he

found Kronos feasting, and quaffing honey-colored nectar, wine of the

gods. Kronos asked him who he was, and Zeus answered: 'I am Prometheus,

son of Iapetus thy brother, who greets thee well by me.' Then Kronos

bade him welcome, and they drank and caroused together. But when they

had well drunk, Zeus put the herb of Earth into his father's cup,

unmarked of him.

"And Kronos no sooner swallowed it than a marvel past thought befell;

for he disgorged from his giant maw first the stone Rhea gave him

(which stone was ever afterwards preserved as a pious memorial at

Delphi) and then her two sons and daughters three, no longer babes but

full-grown.

"Forthwith Zeus made himself known to his brethren, and the young gods

seized their father and bound him in chains. But ancient Kronos cried

for aid to his Titan kindred, with a voice like the tempest's roar; and

they came swiftly in their might; and the young gods could not stand

before them, but fled out of heaven to the cloudy top of Mount Olympus,

that great peak robed in eternal snows."

There they abode as in a citadel, and thence it is that Zeus and the

family of Zeus are called "the Olympians" to this day.

The Titans occupied Mt. Othrys to the south, and the broad plains of

Thessaly in between show even yet the shattered rocks and rent surface

from the struggle which ensued.

"For now there was war in heaven; ten years the Elder Gods fought

against the Olympians and neither side could win the mastery. But one

amongst the Titans would not fight against Zeus; for being endued with

wisdom and foresight about all gods, he perceived that the day of

Kronos must shortly have an end and his sceptre pass to another. This

was Prometheus, whom Asia, daughter of Oceanus, bore to Iapetus, son of

Earth. Fain would he have dissuaded his father and brother from taking

arms in a lost cause, and for the sake of one who, himself a usurper,

must now reap as he had sown; but they would not heed, trusting in

their own giant strength.

"At last Zeus sought counsel of Mother Earth and she spake this oracle

unto him out of the cave that is in rocky Pytho--'_He that will conquer

in this strife, let him set free the captives in Tartarus_.' For Earth

had long borne Kronos a grudge, because he would not release the

Hundred-handed and the Cyclopes from that abyss of darkness; therefore

she willingly revealed to Zeus the secret of victory. But naught knew

he of those giants or their fate, nor so much as the name of Tartarus,

which none among the heaven-dwelling gods will utter for very loathing;

so the saying of Earth was dark to him, and he was much disheartened.

Then Prometheus, knowing what had befallen, came to Zeus on Olympus

and said: 'Son of Kronos, though fight I may not against my kin, fight

against thee I will not, for that were idle folly, seeing the Fates

will have thee Lord of all. Let there be peace between me and thee, and

I will interpret the oracle Earth has given thee.'

"And Zeus heard him gladly, and said: 'For this good turn, count me thy

debtor and fast friend evermore.'

"Then straightway they two fared through the Underworld to the gates

of unplumbed Tartarus, where by the Titan's aid Zeus slew the snake

Campé, their grisly warder, and delivered the captives."

And amazed was the leader of the younger gods at the sight of

these monstrous first children of Earth. For each of the three

Hundred-handed, Briareus, Cottus and Gyges, had moving ever from his

shoulders a hundred arms, not brooking approach, while above this

threatening display rose fifty heads. As for the Cyclopes, Brontes,

Steropes and Arges, they resembled the Titans, save that each had a

single round eye in the centre of his forehead. They had shown from

birth such overbearing spirit and terrific strength, tossing whole

hills with their forests about like balls, that even Uranus had feared

them and thrust them into Tartarus ere they were grown.

Zeus rejoiced at these mighty allies. But fell fighters as they were,

their greatest aid was not in their strength but their skill. For the

Cyclopes made themselves a smithy in the glowing heart of Mt. Ætna, and

there they wrought such gifts for their deliverers as only they could

fashion. To Poseidon they gave his trident with prongs of adamant; and

to Hades a cap of darkness whose wearer was invisible to gods and men;

while for Zeus himself they forged the kingliest weapons of all: the

thunderbolts and the blasting, zig-zagged lightning.

Then Zeus set before them all the nectar and ambrosia of the gods, and

addressed them:

"Hear me, illustrious children of Earth and Heaven, that I may speak

what my spirit within my breast prompts me to speak. For a very long

time have we been fighting for the mastery, the Titan gods and we who

are sprung from Kronos. Now show your invincible might against the

Titans, in gratitude for your deliverance to the light from bondage in

murky gloom."

The blameless Cottus answered: "Excellent Lord, we are aware that thy

wisdom is most high, and thy mind, and that thou hast been to the

immortals an averter of destruction. Wherefore we will now protect thy

dominion in fell conflict, fighting stoutly against the Titans."

And all the gods applauded, female as well as male, and they rushed to

combat. The Titans on their side were no less eager, and as the battle

joined, the boundless sea re-echoed terribly, and earth resounded,

and broad heavens groaned as it shook, and vast Olympus swayed on its

base, and even to murky Tartarus came the hollow sound of feet and

battle-strokes. And as the two sides came together, their great war-cry

reached to the starry heaven above.

Now Zeus loosed his fury, and the bolts with thunder and lightning

shot so fast and fiercely from his mighty hand that earth crashed in

conflagration, and the forests crackled with fire; ocean's streams

began to boil, while the vapor encircled the Titans, and the incessant,

dazzling flashes bereft their eyes of sight, gods as they were.

Fearful heat spread everywhere, and it seemed as if earth and heaven

were clashing together and falling into ruins. At the same time the

winds spread abroad smoke and battle-cry and crash of missiles, as the

Hundred-handed, insatiable in war, advanced, hurling three hundred vast

rocks at a time against the enemy.

Before this combination of terrors even the Titans could not stand.

They were dashed from their battlements and fell like shooting stars

nine days and nights to earth, then on down for nine days and nights

more to Tartarus. Here were they bound and cast into that dismal abyss,

behind a triple brazen wall built by Poseidon, around which Night is

poured in three rows. And the Hundred-handed were set to guard them.

Kronos and a few others escaped to the North, and there made head for

a time, sheltered against Zeus's thunderbolts in caverns of the hills.

But there came to the Olympians two mighty twin Shapes, Force and

Might, followed by their sister, beauteous-ankled Victory (from whose

shoulders waved great eagle's wings)--all children of Styx; and those

two illustrious ones announced to Zeus that henceforth they were his

servants, and that their sister, Victory, would ever follow them.

So with these ministers, Zeus went forth once more; and the remainder

of the Titans fled westward beyond the utmost limits of earth. But huge

Atlas, brother of Prometheus, was overtaken, and him Zeus stationed

on the very verge of the earth, before the clear-voiced Hesperides,

sentencing him to bear forever on his shoulders the weight of the vast

sky.

Having thus achieved the victory, Zeus gave to Hades dominion over the

Underworld, to Poseidon the Sea, and took himself the realm of the

Æther and the Earth, rewarding all those who had assisted him, and

especially honoring Styx, mother of Force, Might and Victory, so that

thenceforth the most sacred and inviolable oath for an immortal was to

swear by Styx.

Mother Earth was far from pleased at this outcome. Her imprisoned

first-born children had been released only to have her other beautiful

Titan sons and daughters take their places in Tartarus. In revenge

she brought forth a brood of Giants to war with the young gods. These

were huge and invincible creatures with ghastly faces and long, thick,

matted hair hanging from their heads and chins; instead of feet they

had scaly dragon's tails. Their birth-place was in Phlegra or Pallene.

The most redoubtable among them were Porphyrion and Alcyoneus. The

latter was immortal so long as he fought on the same part of the earth

on which he was born, and he soon distinguished himself by carrying off

the cattle of the Sun and Moon.

With these and their brethren--Enceladus, Pallas, Clytius, Polybotes,

Hippolytus and others--were joined Otus and Ephialtes, children of

Poseidon, who, says Homer, grew nine inches every month, and who when

they were only nine years old had captured war-god Mars himself and

held him prisoner more than a year.

Now the oracle revealed to the gods that the giants could be destroyed

only in combat with a mortal. Gæa (Earth) had learned this, and sought

by means of magic herbs to make her offspring invulnerable also to

mortals.

But Zeus anticipated her: he forbade the Dawn, the Moon and the Sun

to shine, cut off the medicinal herbs with which Earth had plastered

her offspring, and sent Athena to summon Heracles to take part in the

combat.

This savage group of Giants then attacked the Olympians, hurling great

masses of rock, tree-trunks lashed together, and blazing brands against

the sky. But the distance was too great for them to do much damage, so

they tried to scale Heaven itself. When their trees fastened together

proved too short, Otus and Ephialtes set about another attempt:

upsetting Mt. Ossa they began to roll it toward Mt. Olympus, intending

to pile the lofty peak of Pelion on that, and thus reach their enemies.

Then Zeus rose in his majesty. With a thunderbolt he hurled the

mountain back to its former place, the Olympians all dashed down,

riding on the winds, and a mighty battle followed which lasted a whole

day.

Heracles drew his great death-dealing bow and slew Alcyoneus with an

arrow. But as soon as he touched the earth he rose with renewed life

and strength. Whereupon wise Athena counseled the hero to grasp the

monster by the foot and drag him out of Pallene, his birthplace. He did

so, and Alcyoneus died.

At this Porphyrion in hot rage hurled the island of Delos at Zeus and

rushed upon Heracles and Hera. As the giant laid hold of the goddess's

swathing veils, she cried out for help, and the thunderbolt of Zeus and

Heracles' arrow smote Porphyrion simultaneously.

As for the rest, Apollo shot out the left eye of Ephialtes, and

Heracles the right. Dionysus killed Eurytus with his sacred wand,

while Clytius was thrust through by Hecate or Hephæstus with glowing

ironstone. Enceladus fled across the sea, but Athena seized a great

triangle of rock and cast it upon him--and when trees and soil formed

on this, it was called the island of Sicily.

As Virgil's wandering hero, Æneas, sings:

Here, while from Aetna's furnaces the flame

Bursts forth, Enceladus, 'tis said, doth lie,

Scorched by the lightning. As his wearied frame

He shifts, Trinacria, trembling at the cry

Moans through her shores, and smoke involves the sky.

Athena, terrible in her battle-wrath, next killed and flayed Pallas and

put his skin over her own body while the combat lasted,--whence comes

her name of Pallas Athene. Polybotes, chased by Poseidon over the sea,

came to Cos; here the sea-god tore off a piece of the island and buried

him under it, where now is Nisyron.

Hermes, concealed by the helmet of Hades, killed Hippolytus, while

Artemis slew Gration. So the Fates ended Agrius and Thoon with brazen

clubs. The rest Zeus crushed with thunderbolts, and Heracles finished

with his deadly arrows.

Then in hot wrath Earth brought forth the most terrific monster yet

seen. Typhon was he called, the greatest of Earth's children, half man

and half animal: he was human to the loins and was so huge that he

towered over the mountains while his head knocked against the stars.

His outstretched arms reached from sunrise to sunset, and a hundred

dragon heads shot from his shoulders. Instead of legs he moved on

vast, rustling snaky coils; his whole body was feathered; bristly hair

floated in the wind from his head and chin, and fire streamed from his

eyes.

Such a monster was Typhon.

Hurling clusters of rocks up at heaven, he ran with hisses and screams,

while a red mass of flame bubbled from his mouth.

When the gods saw him charge on heaven, they fled to Egypt, where they

wandered about in the shapes of animals, pursued by him.

Zeus hurled thunderbolts as long as he was afar off. When he came

nearer, the god's iron sickle made him flee, and Zeus pursued him to

the Caucasus that towers over Syria. There he came up with him, covered

with wounds, and joined in a hand-to-hand grapple.

But Typhon held him off, wrapping his snaky limbs around him, snatched

away the sickle, and cutting out the sinews of the god's hands and

feet, put him on his shoulders and carried him across the sea to

Cilicia.

Here in a cavern he threw him down, put away the sinews wrapped in a

bear-skin, and set as a guard over the helpless god, Delphyne, a young

she-dragon, half human, half animal.

But cunning Hermes stole away the sinews and secretly replaced them in

Zeus's wrists and ankles. Then Zeus gathered himself together, and his

former powers came upon him, and he rose to his seat in heaven in a

car drawn by winged horses.

Again he hurled his thunderbolts upon Typhon and pursued the monstrous

giant to Mt. Nysa, where the Fates outwitted the fugitive: for,

persuaded by them that he would thereby get greater powers, he ate of

the ephemeral poison fruits.

Then the chase became more furious. They came to Thrace where Typhon

fought with whole peaks of the Hamus Mountains; and when these were

hurled back on him by the Thunderer, his blood gushed out over them so

that these are called the "bloody mountains" to this day.

And at last, as Typhon was compelled to flee across the Sicilian sea,

Zeus threw the towering mountain of Ætna on top of him and buried him

there forever. Here he lies still, turning and groaning at times, while

fires blaze up from the hurled lightnings.

After that there was nobody in heaven, earth or the underworld who

dared dispute the supreme dominion of Zeus.

CHAPTER II

THE GIANT WHO SHINES IN THE SKY

In the days when the Olympians still walked at times among men, Zeus

and Poseidon and Hermes once found themselves benighted in a lonely

region of the rough Bœotian country.

As darkness fell, they passed a little hut by the roadside. The farmer

stood in the doorway, enjoying the cool of the evening after his day's

toil; and seeing the wayfarers plodding along, he invited them in to

pass the night.

"My house is poor enough," said he, "but such as it is, it is yours."

The three gods entered. The farmer, Hyrieus by name, set food and drink

before them, waited upon them, gave up his own pallet to make them

comfortable and entertained these nameless wanderers like distinguished

guests, all with the utmost simplicity and good feeling.

The Olympians were touched by this rough herdsman's fine hospitality.

They consulted together in whispers when they had finished their meal.

Then: "Is there anything you wish for, host?" enquired Hermes as

spokesman.

Hyrieus started. "Well," said he, "of course there is, but that's past

mending."

"What is it?" persisted Hermes.

"I had a wife," said the herdsman, "whom I loved so that when she died

I vowed never to marry again. So all these years I have lived alone,

and alone I shall live till the end. Yet a man cannot help wishing for

a son to drive away the loneliness of the winter evenings and to be a

prop to him in his old age. Probably you will laugh at me for a foolish

person: for I mean to keep my vow, and yet I wish for a son."

"Those who know do not laugh at honesty," replied Hermes. "And I say

to you that he who gives all freely never fails to receive. I noticed

that you killed your only ox to provide meat for our meal: bring me his

hide."

Hyrieus stared at him, doubtful. He feared he was being made the butt

of some jest. But the stranger's open smile promised something quite

different. Much wondering, he went out into the darkness and after

a while returned with the hide of the ox which he had sacrificed to

hospitality. He did not regret the act, but he could not help thinking

of the morrow as he handled the still warm skin of this faithful

companion and servant. What would he do without its aid? And what did

this mysterious person mean by his odd request? He spoke as a man

having authority, however, and there was nothing for it save to obey

and see what might befall.

Hermes took the hide, and bade him fetch a spade. The three mysterious

visitors went out into the night. Hyrieus, peering out after them, saw

them bury the ox skin in front of his house, with strange and secret

ceremonies. Without knowing why, he trembled. He trembled still more

when they returned, for the strangers seemed to have become suddenly

majestic, awe-inspiring.

The bearded one, who had not spoken hitherto, looked solemnly upon the

herdsman. Instinctively the Bœotian fell into an attitude of worship.

"You shall have your wish," announced this one, in tones that filled

the low-raftered room like a mighty wind. "Next spring you shall have a

son--and such a son as mortal never yet had."

The three retired for the night. When Hyrieus woke, as usual, with the

dawn, they had disappeared. He went about his labors, sorely increased

by the loss of his ox, pondering deeply on what had occurred. Many

a time he looked at the little patch of freshly-turned earth, but

something forbade him to investigate. And then the fall rains came and

obliterated the spot; and the winter snows covered all; and everything

was as it had been, save for the insistent recollection in the farmer's

heart. Many times he laughed at his folly; yet in the still evenings as

he sat before his fire, he knew that he expected--something.

Winter passed at length. Spring painted the hills with yellow and white

and pink blossoms. And its soft unfolding promises seemed to reinforce

that secret hope, which defied reason, and which persisted in the heart

of Hyrieus. As he sat outdoors in the long twilight evenings, instead

of crouching close to his scanty fire, every sound of the reawakening

earth had a new meaning. Even the still white calm of snow-capped

Parnassus, far to the west, seemed to presage some great happening. For

the first time since his youth he really heard the shrill voices of the

frogs in the neighboring marsh: it was as if even these tiny creatures

were repeating the promise made him by his mysterious visitors. And

then he would smile sadly at his senile credulity and, remembering the

reality of the morrow's hard work, would plod stiffly into his solitary

hut and seek on his pallet bed that dream land where all things are

possible.

One morning he rose with even more than his usual reluctance to

exchange for the hard grubbing reality the vague but delightful fancies

which had filled the night. Force of habit made him swallow a few

mouthfuls of his coarse breakfast. Mechanically he stepped outside

towards the day's work that awaited him.

The sun was just rising over the low ridge that thrust itself into the

bend of the Asopus River. Instinctively his gaze went towards the spot

where the strange trio had performed their mysterious rites, past which

gurgled a little stream.

He stopped short, startled out of his dreamy reverie. His eyes rounded

in astonishment.

That spot of earth had remained bare, though all around it the lush

grass and many-colored flowers had woven an intricate tapestry. It was

this strange fact which had continually reinforced his wonder and his

superstitious belief.

But overnight a sudden transformation had taken place. The whole space

was one mass of asphodels in full bloom. The sun's level rays fell upon

their white blossoms, amid which the meandering threads of crimson

looked like blazing hieroglyphics.

Hyrieus looked in bewilderment, mixed with a kind of awe. Slowly he

advanced towards this bed of blossoms which had appeared so suddenly.

Then he cried out.

For there, cradled in the asphodels, lay a babe--such a child as his

eyes had never yet beheld. Shapely and beautiful, and of such size as

made one think of the Heroes of legend, he slept peacefully.

Overcoming his timidity at last, Hyrieus gently picked up the sleeping

infant. When the big blue eyes opened and a sleepy smile came over the

child's face, the honest farmer's heart overflowed with joy at this

realization of his wildest dreams. Marveling again at the weight of his

burden, he took this earth-born son into his cottage, laid him on his

own bed, and sat watching his slumber in a sort of ecstacy. From that

time he was father and mother both to the child, carrying it with him

when he went about his necessary labor afield, and watching over it

with an anxious care into which his whole existence seemed concentrated.

The boy was well worth these pains and pride. He never cried; and he

seemed perfectly happy and contented when couched in a nest of soft

grass and dry leaves under the open sky, where his foster-father, as

he toiled, could keep an eye on him. Moreover, the youngster grew

like some sturdy young bull. He had no teething troubles; presently

he was eating the same food that served Hyrieus himself--with all

the choicest portions for his share; and he found his legs almost as

quickly as a young partridge.

In fact, by the time when ordinary children are beginning to toddle

uncertainly, this boy, whom Hyrieus had named Orion, was as tall as

his foster-father. Nor did he cease his prodigious growth when he

reached the ordinary limits of mankind: not even Otus and Ephialtes,

who rebelled against the gods and strove to set Mt. Ossa upon Pelion

that they might scale Olympus itself,--not even these gigantic youths

could compare with Orion. And we have the word of Odysseus who beheld

them among the shades in Hades that those portentous twins were at nine

years of age fifty-four feet in height and some thirteen across the

shoulders.

He was as handsome as one of the immortals, too, this Orion. Well

proportioned and graceful in spite of his size, he roamed the woods and

fields with the agility and tirelessness of one of the wild creatures

whose ways seemed to have an endless fascination for him.

Hyrieus began to fare better than ever before, for the boy would

return from these expeditions with rabbits and hares, with quail, wood

pigeons, partridges and ducks, which he had snared or caught with his

hands by some sudden pounce after a long stalk.

Presently his foster-father showed him how to make a bow and arrows;

and one day the youngster proudly appeared before the hut with a

roebuck upon his shoulders. It was not long before he had learned

to outwit the great red stags of the hills, to chase successfully

the long-horned wild goats, and even to bring back chamois from the

precipitous fastnesses of rocky, fir-clad Mt. Cithæron, or the crags of

two-peaked Helicon. By the time he had reached his early teens he was

already a mighty hunter, who had met and vanquished the lynx, the wolf

and the brown bear, who could stand up to the charge of an infuriated

wild boar, and whose chief desire was to take in fair fight the lion

skin he wished for a cloak.

Fierce as he was, however, in attacking some snarling wild beast

with his great club, he was always gentle and thoughtful to his

foster-father; and Hyrieus many a time blessed the day when his

hospitality had fallen upon such fruitful soil. To be sure, as the good

farmer grew old, his unbounded pride in the feats of this stripling

cast at times a reflected glory upon himself: there were moments when

he looked upon Orion's great muscles and the trophies of his strength

and fleetness almost as if these were to be credited to his very own

flesh and blood. Yet in the bottom of his heart there was ever a slight

feeling of awe at this prodigy who had come to comfort his old age; and

this was deepened when he learned of one strange power which the youth

possessed.

Exulting in his own swiftness of foot, Orion was one day chasing a

roebuck, endeavoring to run down the bounding little creature on equal

terms. The deer made for the river, and finding itself hard pressed,

sprang in and swam the wide stream. Orion, close behind, excitedly

plunged in after his quarry; and though the water was far above his

head, he actually gained upon the deer in crossing, caught it on

the opposite shore, and bore the carcass home in triumph. It seemed

perfectly natural to him to be able to walk through the water, without

touching bottom, almost as easily as on dry land; but Hyrieus was

filled with astonishment at his story and could scarcely credit it

until he saw the youth a few days later perform the same miraculous

feat in the neighboring lake, advancing with great strides through

fifty feet of water, only his head showing above the surface. Unknown

to either of them, this was the natal gift of Poseidon, god of the

sea and waters. Orion troubled himself little enough about whence it

came or its singularity; but from that hour rivers and lakes were no

obstacle to him, and when he roamed further and reached the great

sea itself, he found himself master of even this, and able to travel

through the salt surge and the heaving waves of Poseidon's own domain.

Thereafter, the farthest confines of Greece, nay even Thrace, Macedon

and remote Illyria, could not satisfy this passion for wandering. He

learned to know the aspect of inaccessible Olympus from the north and

west as well as the familiar one from the south. The unknown, with its

new animals and fresh landscapes, ever called him on to wider and wider

swings from his Bœotian home.

When he reached young manhood, all who beheld him agreed that he was

handsomest among the sons of men--if indeed he were of human origin.

The maidens of Tanagra, Thebes and Platæa did not say so much, but

their eyes spoke for them when the swift-footed young hunter sped

past. As for him, he seemed to see none of them save Side, whose tall

beauty and dignity marked her out among all the graceful girls of that

land; and he only knew that when he looked upon her he was filled with

a vague unrest.

The time came for the festival of the Great Dædala, when, once in sixty

years, all the folk celebrated the reconciliation of Zeus and Hera.

From every corner of Bœotia the people gathered. In solemn

procession, headed by the priests, they fared forth into an ancient

forest, where giant oaks stood shoulder to shoulder so that their

mighty boles were in sunless gloom.

The priest set some boiled meat on the ground. Breathlessly the great

assemblage watched in silence as the birds dropped through the air to

their feast.

Presently a raven appeared. A long sigh of expectant excitement went

up from the crowd. The glossy black bird lit near the meat, and walked

awkwardly towards it, cocking an impudent eye towards the motionless

creatures who watched him so intently. Assured of their harmlessness,

he seized a piece of this heaven-sent dinner and flapped away with his

prize. Every gaze was focussed upon him.

As he lit on the lower branch of a huge oak some distance off, a

tremendous shout from hundreds of throats rang through the gloomy

forest. Everyone rushed to the tree thus selected. Amid songs and

clamor, men with axes cut down this giant growth. And when it crashed

to earth, another shout alarmed the birds and beasts for miles about.

Swiftly the skilled axemen hewed out an image from a section of the

trunk. With deft fingers the women dressed this image in snowy bridal

garments.

When all was ready, it was lifted into a clumsy wain, with solid

hewed-out wheels, drawn by a white bullock. Beside it was seated

the most beautiful virgin as bridesmaid; and Orion's heart throbbed

violently as he saw the stately Side take her place in this seat of

honor.

The wain started back out of the wood, followed by a piping and

dancing throng of worshippers. At the edge of the forest they were

met by another procession, escorting the thirteen other images which

commemorated all the Little Dædala festivals since the last great

celebration.

Chanting and dancing, the whole multitude moved down to the Asopus

River; after a ceremony of purification, they set out for Mt. Cithæron.

Here the fourteen wains were dragged to the very summit of the

mountain. The images were placed on the altar of square blocks of

wood, and brush-wood was heaped over all. After sacrifices had been

performed,--a he-goat to Zeus, and a cow to Hera--a torch was set to

this sacred pile, and in a moment the whole was a vast pillar of fire,

leaping a hundred feet into the air and visible for miles and miles in

every direction.

It was a prodigious and awe-inspiring spectacle. But Orion saw only

Side in her calm and lofty beauty. For the first time he realized that

there were other things necessary to his happiness besides chasing the

red deer and the snarling wolf.

He sought her parents and demanded her. And when they found that Side,

so sure of herself and so scornful of all suitors, had lost her heart

to this tall, impetuous youth, they gave their consent.

The wedding was the occasion of another celebration almost as joyous

as one of the lesser Dædala, for all the countryside was proud of the

unmatched beauty of Side, and Orion's renown had spread far and wide.

Each guest seemed to vie with all the others in complimenting Side,

who had never looked more lovely or more unapproachable than in her

bridal array. So loud and extravagant was this chorus of praise that it

aroused the jealousy of some of her comrades.

"After all," broke out a black-eyed maiden spitefully, "she is the

daughter of crooked-legged Alpheus. One might think, to hear them go

on, that it was Hera herself who was being married to this wild man."

Orion, beside his bride, heard the taunt, and turned upon the speaker.

"I have never seen Hera," said he. "But I have seen Side--and she is

beyond compare with any mortal I know. Until I behold the Goddess face

to face and find I am mistaken, I shall believe that even on Olympus

there is none that can challenge my bride."

The guests gasped and drew back a space at this audacious sacrilege.

Side, however, smiled, well pleased. For in her secret heart she

thought her ardent lover spoke but the truth, and that had she been in

Hera's place there would have been no need of the reconciliation with

Zeus, for which the Dædala was held.

The large-eyed Queen of Heaven heard the rash speech and saw the

presumption of this earth-born maiden. Her majestic brows knit in

anger--and it was as if a cloud passed across the face of the sun.

Sternly she refused the wedding sacrifice to herself, the Perfecter and

Fulfiller, and all the folk were aghast at this portent.

But Side still smiled, serene in her blind conceit.

"Am I not perfect enough for you to worship?" said she softly to Orion.

His ardent answer was interrupted by a crash of thunder from the

clear sky. Swiftly a great darkness fell upon the smiling plain.

The merrymakers were blanched with fear as this blackness engulfed

everything. They spoke in strained whispers. Darker and darker it

grew, till one could not see his terrified neighbor's face. Even the

murmurings ceased. All waited for some dread happening, they knew not

what.

The silence was pierced by a sudden scream.

"Side!" cried Orion. "Side! Where are you?" He rushed wildly about,

upsetting all in his path.

There was the sound of a rushing wind, nothing more. Then the gloom

lifted as mysteriously as it had come.

But the bride was nowhere to be found. The wedding party crept to their

homes. No earthly eye ever again beheld the presumptuous Side. The wise

ones whispered that the enraged Hera had cast her into Hades for her

sacrilege. Once more Orion roamed the forests, more fiercely than ever.

It chanced one day, as he crashed through the thick bushes beside a

river in hot chase of a noble stag, that he came suddenly upon a group

of seven nymphs who, garlanded with flowers, were dancing upon the

carpet of green moss.

They ceased their song at sight of him and huddled together behind the

tallest in affright. This one, however, looked at him in bold defiance.

She was Maia, eldest of these seven daughters of Atlas, and such was

her beauty that it had already touched the heart of the Father of

the Gods himself. Straight and slender she stood, gazing under level

brows at the intruder as if challenging him to approach one under the

protection of Zeus.

There was something about her proud carriage and the perfect oval

of her face that made Orion think of his lost Side. The stag was

forgotten. Impulsively he stepped forward to speak to her.

As this giant youth, with his torn and shaggy skin garment, and all

flushed with the excitement of his chase, came closer, even Maia's

bravery forsook her. She gave a cry of alarm, and all the seven turned

and fled through the forest. Orion pursued them, as instinctively as he

would have dashed after a startled roe. But to his surprise and chagrin

they proved almost as fleet-footed as himself. He would hear them

ahead, or catch a glimpse of them between the tree trunks, and plunge

toward the spot--only to be baffled time and again. At length, after

hours of pursuit, he was compelled to own himself beaten and give up

for the time.

The next day found him casting about like any deerhound for this

elusive quarry. Yet they were as wary as he, and while he sighted

them across a valley and renewed his efforts to the utmost, he never

succeeded in drawing even as close as the first time, since the

frightened nymphs had a trick of twisting and turning when hard pressed

that always succeeded in carrying them out of sight and hearing.

This went on day after day till it became his main occupation, and

while hunting game the thought of the fair Maia ever kept him on the

alert. More than once he almost outwitted her and her sisters, and his

determination became only hotter as time passed.

At last his opportunity came--five years after that first memorable

meeting. From a hilltop he spied the group in the lush meadow by the

river, pelting each other with anemones. Cautiously he crept along back

of the ridge till he reached a point where he felt sure he could cut

them off from the protecting forest. Then he leaped to his feet and

started down the steep hillside as he had never run before.

Watchful from many alarms, they saw him almost immediately. With

shrieks of terror they fled up the gentle slope. As he had foreseen,

it became a race to see which should first reach the nearest tongue of

forest that thrust towards the river.

Breathless but triumphant, Orion found himself at the edge of the

tangled thicket. The group of maidens halted fifty feet away, all

except Maia weeping and crouching to the ground. In the open they were

absolutely at his mercy.

Slowly he advanced towards them, wondering more than ever at the grace

and charm of the leader, who faced him this time with less defiance,

yet without any of the despair shown by her sisters. She called aloud

upon Zeus for aid.

Closer and closer Orion approached, with never a word. Then with the

same swift motion in which he was wont to pounce upon a trembling hare,

he caught at his prize--and remained in this position, staring stupidly

at seven white pigeons that fluttered away just out of his grasp and

soared upward till they disappeared into the blue of the sky.

Zeus had listened to the prayer of Maia, and in his sovereign power he

caught up all the seven into the firmament and translated them into

stars, the shining Pleiades.

For the second time in his life Orion realized with dull resentment

that there were unseen powers beyond his own. Like some wounded wolf

he sought a couch in a cave, beneath a great overhanging rock in the

nearby ravine, and lay there nursing his grievance.

When he finally came forth, the fair land of Hellas had become

distasteful to him. He set forth to find some country beyond the seas

where he might still be mightiest of all, and where naught could remind

him of these rebuffs.

Wide were his wanderings across the mighty sea. Even to Scylla and

Charybdis he came, and there left perpetual memorials of his might.

For on the Sicilian coast, where fell Charybdis threatened every

mariner, he built a sickle-shaped strip of protecting rock that formed

the safe harbor of Zancle, where, thanks to this shelter, the great

city of Messina was to rise. Also, across the strait from hideous,

six-headed Scylla he hurled into the open sea a rocky mass that juts

from the shore as the promontory of Pelorus--whereon he reared a temple

to his protector Poseidon, in which the inhabitants religiously adored

the sea-god for thousands of years thereafter. For a time he dwelt in

the mountains of Hera, whence fiery Ætna could be seen to the north,

rumbling and spouting forth flame as the colossal Enceladus still

struggled beneath its weight.

But, he could not long be content in any one place; so when he had

mastered all the difficulties of rugged Sicily, he set forth once more.

This time he fared eastward again till he came into the smiling waters

of the Ægean, and reached the craggy isle of Chios, where fig tree,

palm and vine grew under the soft Ionian sky.

King Œnopion ruled this land of ease and plenty, and his daughter

Merope was famed through all Ionia for her beauty.

Hardly had Orion beheld this princess when he found his heart burn

within him at the sight or thought of her. Boldly he demanded her in

marriage.

But King Œnopion, proud of his lineage as son of Dionysus and

Ariadne, thought it far from fitting that his daughter should wed this

wandering woodsman, superhuman as his strength might be. Not venturing

to express his feeling openly to his formidable, self-invited guest, he

still managed to delay giving a decisive answer.

After the fashion of lovers of all times, Orion made offering of his

special capacities. The wild creatures of Chios had a hard time, for

not only must skins and furs and venison be laid at the feet of the

beautiful Merope, but he caught at the suggestion of the King that he

should free the island from the lions and other dangerous beasts which

then ravaged it and held all the inhabitants in terror.

To Œnopion's disappointment he proved fiercer than the bears and

lions, even than the dreaded sharks of the sea. Instead of being

devoured as the King had hoped, he brought back one trophy after

another, always demanding, with outdoor directness, the thing he had

set his heart on.

His scanty patience was exhausted long before the wily monarch's stock

of pretexts. His nature and habit had ever been to seize what he

wanted: in his usual headlong fashion he attempted openly to carry off

Merope by force; and failing in his first effort, made no secret of his

intention to try again.

The wily Œnopion concealed his resentment and bade the headstrong

suitor to a banquet. In friendly fashion he plied him with heady wine

from the luscious grapes of Ariusia.

Then, when even his giant strength was relaxed, the royal slaves set

upon him, blinded him, and cast him out upon the seashore to perish.

As the salt spray dashing over his face brought him to full

consciousness, he roared aloud in pain and wrath. The people in the

city miles away trembled at that sound; and Œnopion regretted to the

bottom of his cowardly heart that he had not slain this giant when he

was in his power.

Orion bathed his face in the lapping waves and got slowly on his feet.

His first instinct was to grope his way back to the palace and take

swift revenge upon the King for his treachery. But a few faltering

steps convinced him of the folly of attempting this in his helpless

state.

He turned again toward the sea, in which he now felt almost as much at

home as on land. Keeping the fresh breeze full in his face, and calling

aloud upon Poseidon, he waded into the waves. With no clear idea of

where he was going, he set forth.

Northward he fared, finding relief in his mighty strides through the

cool waters, and in the wind that blew full upon his fevered eyes. Hour

after hour he sped on tirelessly, his thoughts still in such a ferment

of rage that he could make no calm or reasoned plan.

Without knowing it, he arrived off the western point of Lesbos.

Suddenly there broke upon his fantastic plans for revenge a mighty

pulsing beat, which came muffled, from far away, through water and air.

Instinctively he proceeded towards the sound; and as he advanced it

grew ever louder, till he fancied it seemed like the clangor of a vast

anvil under the strokes of some super-smith.

In fact he was approaching the isle of Lemnos, where dwelt and labored

the cunningest of all smiths, the lame god Hephæstos. Here, in a cavern

stretching down beneath the ocean floor, he had had his workshop ever

since Zeus had hurled him from Olympus, and here he wrought such

marvels as the arms of Achilles, the sceptre of Agamemnon, and the

fatal necklace of Harmonia.

Guided by the ringing hammer strokes, Orion at length reached this

subterranean forge and told his story. The immortal craftsman was moved

to see such bodily perfection marred and helpless through loss of sight.

He called one of his workmen. "Take Cedalion with you," he said. "He

will guide you to the spot where the Sun rises. I know Helios well: did

I not make the golden boat which carries him back each night, along

the border of the earth, to the East once more? Before his gleaming

eyes every darkness must retreat; for the All-seer pierces through any

blackness. It is from him alone that you may recover your eye-sight."

Overjoyed at any definite hope, Orion placed Cedalion on his shoulders,

hastened up from the cavern, and once more plunged into the rolling

breakers.

Directed by him he carried, he journeyed eastward, eastward ever. Past

many a strange land he sped, holding to the mark as a homing-pigeon

holds towards his distant remembered cote.

Long and weary was the way; but nothing mattered save to press on

towards the god of light. And at last he reached that lovely bay in

the ultimate East where Helios mounts the sky each morn behind his

snow-white steeds.

Here he placed Cedalion on his feet again. The latter prostrated

himself face to earth, lest he be smitten by the terrible brilliance of

the Sun-god. But Orion stood erect, awaiting the coming of the Day.

The brooding night trembled and drew back. Through the morning mist

appeared Eos, goddess of the dawn and herald of her brilliant brother.

New-risen from her ocean-couch, with ruddy hair streaming above her

saffron-colored mantle, she advanced in her golden chariot, while her

rosy fingers sprinkled dew upon the earth from the vase she carried.

The dawn breeze struck mysterious notes of music from her tresses like

those of an Æolian harp.

Orion could not see this gracious vision as he stood there stark and

expectant. Yet some influence of the colorful morning freshness which

faced him softened his countenance into a smile of pleasure.

And as Eos looked upon the perfectness of his strong, beautiful youth,

she loved him. Bending down, she pressed a kiss upon his forehead,

whispering: "Be of good heart. Helios comes."

She passed on. The heavens blazed with purple and crimson and gold

streamers, shooting up to the zenith from the coronal of the rising

Sun-god.

Out of the rippling blue waters of the bay lifted his majestic visage.

The intolerable gleam of his eyes fell full upon the sightless orbs of

Orion.

Instantly the blinded giant saw once more. But seeing, he was

constrained for the first time in his life to bow his head before that

fiery glance. When the god had whirled on upward, he picked up the

trembling Cedalion, set him on his shoulders again, and turned back

towards Lemnos, for his wrath still burned hotly against Œnopion.

Yet amid his grim thoughts of vengeance, ever and again there sounded

those faint music-breaths that had come to him when Eos passed by; and

ever and again he would feel her soft lips against his brow.

Like some dripping sea monster, he stepped upon the beach of Chios.

Overbearing all who would stay him, he drove on towards the palace.

Œnopion, however, had been warned of his coming and had hastily

hid himself in a labyrinthine cavern beneath the ground. Search as he

might, Orion could not discover his enemy, and was reluctantly forced

to forego the retribution he had planned.

He thought then to leave this ill-omened isle. But the next morning

Eos, who had not forgotten him, carried him off to Delos. Since her

Titan husband had been slain by the lightnings of Zeus, she claimed

the right to marry this handsome hunter. But the council of the gods

rejected her plea. She dared not resist this supreme decree, so

sorrowfully she left him.

Now this tiny isle of Delos had been the birthplace of Apollo and

Artemis. Formerly called Ortygia, it had floated hither and thither

before the winds; but when Leto came to give birth to these twin

children of Zeus, and found no refuge elsewhere in all the world, the

mighty ruler of Olympus fixed it firmly in its place by four chains

of adamant; and forever after it was sacred to the three divinities,

though more particularly to Apollo.

Little reverence or awe was there in Orion's mind, however, when he

found himself alone upon this rocky islet. He realized that for a third

time invisible powers had come between him and the woman he thought

his; worst of all, there was no one against whom he could direct the

hot resentment that flexed every mighty muscle of his body.

His consuming wrath made some action a necessity. He started up the

craggy slope of Mt. Cynthos, bursting through the tangled thicket,

leaping from one boulder to another, striding across deep clefts in the

rock,--with a vague idea that from the commanding summit of the hill he

might spy one of these hidden enemies who thus thwarted him.

As he squeezed through a narrow pass at the foot of a riven face of

rock, his hunter's eye caught the black spot marking a cave entrance;

and the grizzly hairs at the opening told him it was a wolf's den. He

paused instinctively and peered into the gloom of the cavern. A chorus

of high yapping barks proclaimed the presence of a family of cubs.

He hesitated a moment, wondering if he could force his broad shoulders

through the opening. Then he sprang to his feet and faced about, as he

heard behind him a snarl that threatened instant danger.

A few feet away, the head of a huge she-wolf protruded from the glossy

green leaves of the dense laurel. The creature had just dropped a fawn

it had been bringing home, and the bleeding carcass lay unheeded at

the edge of the thicket. Its green eyes blazed with deadly intention;

the long hair on its neck bristled up straight around the blood-spotted

jaws into a Medusa's head of terror.

Orion had barely time to throw up one guarding arm, when the fierce

brute sprang at his throat. Even the wild boar at bay has no fury

comparable with that of the hunting wolf-mother, protecting her young.

But for the giant's instinctive defensive movement, it might have gone

badly even with him. As it was, the dripping teeth caught hold of a

fold of his skin garment, and he staggered against the rock wall at the

impact of the animal landing on his shoulder.

This death-grapple quite suited the hunter's own savage mood. His eyes

blazed as balefully as those of the wolf. With a motion as swift as

that of a panther he gripped the animal's upper jaw with his right

hand. Heaving it free from his shoulder, his left hand caught the lower

jaw before those wicked fangs had time to close upon his fingers.

Then, putting forth his full might, he fairly tore the struggling

beast's jaws asunder, and dashed it lifeless against a boulder.

He was a superb figure as he stood there in the full vigor of his

aroused powers. It might have been one of the Titan brood defying any

force of earth or heavens. Yet instead of being monstrous, he was

beautiful--manhood in its perfection though enlarged far beyond common

humanity.

"Well done!" said a clear voice behind him. "A fitting end for the

fawn-killer."

Orion turned--and to his surprise, his limbs trembled as they had not

done at sight of the attacking brute.

A tall maidenly figure stood beside a cypress tree whose twisted roots

disappeared into a rock crevice. She held a bow, and her right hand

still gripped the long arrow which she had clearly been holding sighted

against the wolf, ready to discharge the instant the man seemed to be

getting the worst of the struggle.

Her embroidered chiton was girt to the knees; her long hair,

intricately woven about her head was bound by a fillet on which shone

a silver crescent; upon her feet were Cretan sandals, whose crossing

thongs were held by embossed silver clasps. Slender, youthful, alive

with vitality, with sparkling great eyes and smiling lips, she seemed,

as she replaced the arrow in her quiver, to breathe forth that very

spirit of the forest which had ever drawn Orion into the most intimate

depths of nature's wildnesses. Indeed, as he gazed stupidly at this

radiant creature, she appeared like the very embodiment of all his

deepest longings, unexpressed and even unrealized by himself.

"Ai!" she exclaimed. "Never have I seen such a one among the sons of

men. I am Artemis. Henceforth we shall hunt together, you and I."

For the first time in his life Orion felt humble. It was not that she

named herself daughter of Zeus: but to have the companionship of this

Shining One in the life he loved was a boon which no strength of his

could win; and his heart beat with lowly gratitude.

Then the self-sufficient man reasserted himself. "Let us go," said he.

"There is no creature of the woods that can escape or defy me."

The goddess smiled, as if pleased with his boastfulness. "This isle

will hardly contain such hunters as we. Let us go to Crete. There are

mountains that dwarf Ossa and Pelion. There we may range from the

perpetual snow of Ida to the olive-filled vales of Iardanos."

Joyfully Orion strode beside her down the rugged side of Cynthos. He

hoped they might encounter some monster, that he might at once protect

his companion and show his power. And Artemis, perceiving his thought,

smiled again in pleasure.

Southward, across the sea they journeyed to the land of Minos. And here

they spent long golden days in roaming over the length and breadth

of this isle of mountains and caves and upland pasture plateaus and

fertile sea-level valleys. They waged relentless war against the

killers that preyed upon the wild herds whom Artemis held under her

protection: till to this day it is recorded that not a wolf can be

found in Crete, plentiful as they still are in neighboring lands.

Orion was well content. Life had become an infinitely richer thing than

he had ever imagined, even when he had thought it at the full. For once

he was willing to wait patiently for that which he most desired.

For this Comrade was the true woman he had ever sought. Daughter of

Zeus though she was, terrible as was her wrath, proud as she might

be of her title of Parthenos, he felt sure she belonged to him, and

that each new day's varied experience bound them together the more

indissolubly.

And it is written that the Goddess herself felt the bond. She

recognized her mate according to the decrees of nature. And she made no

secret of her intention to wed this earth-born one.

Then bright Apollo, twin brother of the huntress, waxed wroth and

determined to avert this disgrace. And because even he hesitated to

thwart her openly, he had recourse to guile.

It chanced towards dusk one summer's eve that Artemis stood by the

seashore. Contrary to his wont, Orion had gone off alone on an

expedition to a neighboring island.

He was now returning, progressing through the water with mighty

strides, but so distant that his head seemed but a tiny speck upon the

horizon.

Suddenly Apollo descended to his sister's side. Playfully he began to

rally her upon her vaunted skill with the bow, at which he himself was

unexcelled.

When her pride was aroused, he declared that she could not hit that

black spot which seemed to move toward them--probably a porpoise.

Quickly the piqued Goddess seized an arrow from the quiver on her

shoulder. Steadily she drew her bow till the arrow-head touched her

finger. Firmly she loosed it. The string gave a mighty twang. The shaft

sped seaward, true to the mark.

Artemis turned in triumph, but Apollo had vanished. A vague uneasiness

filled her breast. The surf seemed to beat against the sands in

lamentation, growing louder and yet louder.

Then urged on by Poseidon, the waves passed from one to another, and

presently laid at her feet--the dead body of her Comrade, whom she had

thus unwittingly slain.

At that the Huntress knew what it was to weep, even as the daughters of

men. Bitterly she reproached Apollo, wildly she reproached herself.

Hope sprang up again within her as she thought of Asclepius. Well

she knew the skill of this child of Apollo, who had added to his

inheritance all the wisdom of Chiron the centaur. His feats of healing

had approached miracles, and it was whispered that he had even essayed

with success the final miracle of restoring the dead to life. He could

not refuse his aid to her.

Swiftly she bore away the body across the sea to Argolis, where the

temple of Asclepius stood near Epidaurus.

Unwillingly the sage of healing hearkened to her plea, for he feared to

exercise his art upon one who had presumed to alliance with divinity.

Yet to his father's twin he could refuse nothing.

He set about his work. Skilfully he compounded elixirs; solemnly he

performed the mystic rites of his craft.

But at the moment of consummation, his forebodings proved but too well

founded. All-seeing Zeus perceived the confusion that must result on

earth if such resurrection were permitted; so he hearkened to the

protests of Hades, and suddenly slew the too-wise physician with one of

his thunderbolts.

So far the Thunderer did listen to the prayers of Artemis: he placed

the beautiful giant on high as a constellation in the sky.

There you may see him still if you are of the hunting craft and

sally forth after wildfowl before Eos flushes the eastern sky. The

three stars in a straight line in his jeweled belt gleam as the most

conspicuous ornament of the spangled sky; below an even larger white

star, Rigel, marks the giant's left foot; while topaz Betelgeuse blazes

on his shoulder at an equal distance above. At his heels follows his

faithful dog, where Sirius now gleams white, but looked redly down some

thousands of years ago. Before him, with fair Maia chief among them,

still fly the Pleiades, though he heeds them not.

Thus, "gliding through the silent sphere . . . and girt with gold," the

giant hunter seeks his lost Artemis still.

CHAPTER III

THE OUTWITTING OF POLYPHEMUS

Troy had fallen. After ten years' siege by a hundred thousand of

Greece's mightiest warriors, the ramparts built by Poseidon had still

proved impregnable to assault; the fell arrows of Heracles added to

this host had failed to accomplish what Heracles himself had done

single-handed. But finally, at the appointed time, stratagem had

succeeded where force had proved of no avail: the monstrous wooden

horse, within which crouched wily Odysseus and his chosen band, had

wrought Ilium's downfall,--leaving the world even till this day a

pregnant proverb: to beware the enemy bearing gifts.

Among the Greeks summoned by King Menelaus to recapture Helen the

incomparable, there was none to equal Odysseus as a combined warrior,

leader and counsellor. To him had been awarded the celestial arms of

Achilles; it was he who secretly stole away the Palladium, the guardian

image whose presence made Troy invulnerable; through his counsel and

under his leadership, the fateful wooden horse had brought the final

victory.

He had done his utmost to evade the call to Troy in the first place,

for the oracle had foretold that if he went, it would be twenty years

before he should again see his beloved isle of Ithaca.

It had already taken half of this daunting term to complete the object

of the expedition. But now the Trojan stronghold was a fiery memory.

Helen was restored to her rightful husband. There remained merely the

voyage of a few hundred miles back, through the island-studded Ægean

and around the Peloponnesus, to bring him once more to his own kingdom,

to that patient Penelope who awaited his return, and the baby son, (now

a baby no longer but the "discreet" Telemachus), to whom his sire was

but a name. Surely the soothsayer must have erred: it could not take

years for his galleys to cover the distance over which his heart and

thoughts sped so swiftly.

Yet it was with a solemn countenance that the hero made offerings to

the Gods, and bade his followers loose the sails of his twelve stout

ships before the southwest breeze. For none knew better than he how

little might the utmost human skill and wisdom avail against the

decrees of Olympus.

No such forebodings clouded the minds of his islanders. The thought

of home, after these years of toil and peril, ran through their veins

like an elixir. With shouts of joy, as dawn broke fresh and clear, each

crew raced its long-keeled, high-prowed galley down the sloping beach.

Dripping, they scrambled aboard, every man to his thwart. In unison the

oars hit the water with powerful strokes, to the measure of an exultant

chant. The yards were hoisted, sails unclewed, lowered and made fast.

Under the following wind and the rowers' vigor, the vermillion-cheeked

galleys leaped like live things across the quiet waters that curled

about their prows.

It was not so quiet as they passed out of the protected harbor, for

the stiff breeze was beginning to make the leaping waves blossom into

white; but with yards braced and oars bending, they stood away stoutly

into the northwest. Between Lemnos and Imbros they passed, forced ever

more to northward by the growing wind, till they could see the wooded

heights of Samothrace to leeward; and while most of the unthinking

rejoiced to feel the plunging vessels speed so fast through the waves,

Odysseus was far from satisfied, realizing that they were now headed

almost directly away from their proper course.

He was glad enough as darkness began to fall, to see ahead the

mountainous shore of Thrace, and to beach his vessels beneath the stars

on the sandy strip, near the mouth of a cove, which his careful eye had

noted.

Morning showed them hard by the chief town of the Ciconians, who

inhabited those shores. They were barbarians, these Thracians, and

proper spoil for warlike Greeks. Launching his galleys and leaving

guards aboard, Odysseus led his Ithacans against this city of Ismaurus,

sure of an easy victory as had been theirs so often before.

In one swift assault they overwhelmed the place, sacked it, and divided

the booty. Then the prudent leader ordered an instant retreat to the

waiting vessels.

But his inflamed soldiers, who had drunk deep of Thracian wine, could

no longer be controlled. They began to slaughter the crook-horned oxen

and the sheep, preparing by the shore for a triumphant carouse. All

night the wild feast lasted.

Then, when discipline was relaxed, what had been foreseen by their

leader came to pass. The Ciconians who had escaped had called upon

their neighbors for aid. At dawn these began to gather, on horseback,

in war chariots, on foot, thick as leaves and flowers in spring.

The Greeks now listened to their leader. It was too late to take to

the swift ships, but they set themselves in battle array as the enemy

burst upon them. Stoutly they fought, while the brass-tipped spears

carried death to both sides. For nearly the whole day they managed to

hold their ground against the pressing multitude; but towards sunset

the numbers of the foe began to tell. The Grecian line was turned; man

after man went down; and when they finally fled aboard the galleys in

rout, seventy-two of their company were missing.

Glad to have escaped alive, the survivors did not leave till they had

performed the last sacred rites, calling aloud three times to each of

their slain comrades by name that their spirits might be guided back to

Hellas. Then, with aching hearts, they sped from that ill-omened shore,

while Odysseus prayed to Zeus for a favoring north wind.

The Cloud-gatherer heard, but answered in anger. The sky to northward

grew black and lowering. So suddenly did the storm-clouds overspread

the heavens that it seemed as if night had tumbled headlong upon

the quaking fleet. Suddenly the wind leaped upon them, hurling the

galleys apart as by a giant hand. The sails were torn to tatters by

the tempest; the fury of the gale and the overwhelming rain forced the

crews below, while the ships pitched and wallowed as they drove before

the wind. Seeing that their only chance for life was to get under the

lee of some protecting shore, the crews came up once more, each rower

staggered to his seat, and they set to work to force their laboring

craft towards land.

Two days and nights they toiled, till even their tough hands were

blistered and raw, and their exhausted muscles could scarcely grip the

oars. They reached the shelter of a promontory at length and rested

there, amazed to find themselves still afloat.

By the next morning the gale seemed to have blown itself out, so they

hoisted their yards, set sail, and stood south before a following wind

and sea.

Again the hopes of all ran high, as they coasted along the mountainous

shores of Eubœa, and turned southwest towards the long point of the

Peloponnesus.

Still the favoring breeze swept them on. They doubled the dreaded cape

of Maleia, and held west, now doubting not at all that in two days at

the most their straining eyes would behold the rock cliffs of Ithaca.

Only the face of Odysseus was stern and set, as he pondered in his mind

the doleful prediction which had clouded his thoughts so many years.

Indeed, he was hardly surprised when, as they swept around the next

jutting point, they were suddenly thrown aback by a squall from the

north, accompanied by such a head sea that they were forced to put

about and run before it, as far back as Cythera.

Even here they could make no harbor but drifted on helplessly before

the furious gale. Nine days and nights they were tossed about, not

knowing where they were or whither they were being carried.

On the tenth the fury of the wind abated, and they sighted an unknown

shore. Odysseus stood in close to land, anchored, and sent a party

ashore for fresh water. They prepared food on the beach, and ate and

drank greedily after their exhausting vigil.

The leader then despatched two sailors inland, with a third as a

herald, to see what manner of folk inhabited these shores.

They did not return, so he set out after them himself. He soon came

upon them amid a company of the natives, and perceived that the trouble

arose from the friendliness of these, not from any desire to harm

the visitors. For this was the famed land of the Lotus-eaters, and

after their custom they had given the sailors their own flowery food:

straightway the wanderers had lost all remembrance of their errand, of

ships, comrades, leader and home; they desired naught save to eat of

the lotus forever in this place of pleasant dreams.

Finding that they hearkened neither to his commands nor entreaties,

Odysseus dragged them weeping back to the ships by very force, bound

them fast, and stowed them under the rowers' benches. In haste he bade

his crews embark, lest they too eat of this insidious food; and the

moment they were safely aboard, the oars beat the water into foam, as

they swept ahead to whatever might next await them.

On they cruised, across strange seas, with no knowledge of how to

steer, but impelled ever forward on a chance course. It did not seem to

matter particularly when they ran into a fog so thick that they could

scarcely see far enough about to keep together.

Murky night settled down upon them. The blore of wind and sea seemed

to increase and fill all space; yet there was no sign of rocks or

breakers ahead, nor could straining eyes make out anything to steer by.

They could but hold on their course, in dread of what any moment might

bring, while the all-pervading roar grew ever more threatening.

Then, as if by magic, the tossing galleys suddenly rode peacefully on

calm water. The thunderous roar was stilled, so that one might hear

the ripple of the curling wavelets about the bows. And presently the

staunch galleys slid gently up on a sloping beach.

Still they could see naught about them. But it was enough for those

hardened wanderers that they were once more safe for the moment.

Lowering all the sails, they stumbled ashore, lay down on the sand, and

fell into the heavy sleep of passed fatigue and danger.

Rosy-fingered dawn opened their eyes upon a scene of beauty. They lay

at the head of a landlocked basin, through whose narrow entrance,

between tall cliffs, they had unwittingly steered safely in the

blackness of the night. Close beside them a silvery stream rippled its

way to the bay, from a cleft in the rock set about with dark poplars.

Lush meadows, suitable for plough land and vineyards, stretched from

the shore back to the wooded hills that hemmed in their refuge.

Everything that nature unaided could provide was there, awaiting only

the labor of men to turn it all into fruitfulness and homes; and the

hearts of these storm-tossed mariners relaxed in pleasure as they gazed

upon the charming prospect.

On making a circuit of the island, they found its forest-covered rocks

even more immediately interesting than the meadows about the harbor.

For innumerable wild goats made it their home, and the sight of these

bounding figures turned their thoughts to hunting and food.

Bows and hunting spears were quickly brought from the ships; and

separating into three bands, they entered ardently upon the chase.

Nor was it long before they returned to the beach heavily laden with

toothsome game. Nine goats there were for each of the twelve galleys,

and to the leader were allotted ten more. Then, until the setting of

the sun, they sat and feasted on this welcome meat, with ruddy wine

from the ample store which they had brought away in jars as part of the

spoil from the citadel of the Ciconians.

There was no sign of human beings on their island. But from the ridge

they had marked a much larger one just behind it, with a wide harbor,

across the mouth of which their resting-place lay. These rugged shores

rose cliff-like from the water, carrying the eye back to higher and

higher mountains, till it rested in wonder upon a gigantic peak that

seemed to pierce the very sky. From the snows about its crest rose a

threatening column of smoke--for this was that veritable Ætna with

which all-powerful Zeus had at last overwhelmed the fleeing Typhon who

had once driven the gods from Olympus.[54:1]

[54:1] See Chapter I.

In the calm of the evening the Greeks could hear across the narrow

channel the bleat of sheep and goats, and sounds like those from the

dwellings of men, but tremendous and awe-inspiring. Wondering what

manner of folk these might be, they laid them down upon the beach and

slept.

At dawn Odysseus held a council.

"You, my friends," said he, "stay here, while I with my own crew

explore this neighboring isle. I must first discover whether its

people be churlish and savage, or if they observe the sacred rites of

hospitality to strangers."

Quickly the cables were loosed, the rowers took their places at the

pins, and the galley leaped forward out of the bay and around the point

of the island. In a short time they were entering the harbor on the

opposite shore.

Hardly had they passed the outer point when they stopped rowing

in wonder. High up above them was a great cave in the face of the

mountain. Dense masses of laurel grew all about its entrance. In front

was an enclosure, walled in by huge boulders and by massive trunks of

tall pine and oak trees. Clearly this was the abode of some creature

who kept flocks and herds: but what sort of being must it be who could

build such a colossal wall or need such quarters?

Odysseus bade his crew stay on the galley and guard it with their

lives. Twelve men, upon whom he could rely, he picked to accompany him.

In a goatskin bottle he carried his choicest offering--some of the dark

sweet wine given him by the priest of Apollo at Ismaurus, in gratitude

for his protection when they had despoiled the Ciconians; it had been

reserved for the priest himself and two others only of his household,

and so potent was it that, when a cupful was mixed with twenty times as

much water, its aroma still filled the nostrils.

Cautiously the adventurer climbed up the ascent, followed by his twelve

companions. No human being was in sight as they passed through the

enclosure; but when they entered the cave, there were plentiful signs

of recent habitation. On one side were pens filled with lambs and kids,

the new-born in one, each older group to itself. Milking pails, huge

bowls of milk set for cream, others of curd and of whey, and crates

filled with cheeses stood all about, in vast size and profusion like

everything else.

All they saw was so suggestive of an owner far outside the limits of

ordinary men, that his followers at once besought him to make off

with as many cheeses, lambs and kids as they could carry aboard, and

to hasten quickly from that terrifying abode. But Odysseus refused.

Confident in the powers of his tongue and sword, he resolved to await

the return of this mighty cave-dweller, both to satisfy his own

curiosity and in the hope of receiving the customary gifts. Bitterly

was he to regret his decision before many hours had passed.

Meanwhile, under his bidding, the Greeks kindled a fire, made burnt

offering to the gods, and satisfied their hunger with some of the

cheese. Then they sat about in the gloomy cave, awaiting its master's

home-coming.

Everything combined to make them apprehensive, and the nerves of all

save Odysseus soon became taut enough. Hardened as they had become to

danger and the unknown, they started in spite of themselves at every

sound from the forest and thicket outside. And each time they would

cast sidelong glances at one another and at their unmoved leader,

striving to appear as unconcerned as he.

The sun in the west had begun to throw a long slanting tongue of light

through the rock portal when unmistakable evidence came to their ears.

Amid the bleating of returning flocks, there sounded the regular beat

of what could only be mighty footsteps--footsteps which made even the

solid rock quiver, and for which only the sights about them could have

prepared their minds. Nearer and nearer they came, and even those

bronzed faces grew pale.

Suddenly the sunlight streaming into the cave was darkened by a vast

shape. It did not enter, but tossed in the whole bole of a blasted

pine, whose dry limbs crashed and splintered as it fell. The tumbling

Greeks sprang back to a dark corner: even their awed imaginations had

not conceived of such gigantic strength.

Presently a mass of ewes began to jostle in through the doorway;

clearly the rams and he-goats were to be left outside, and these were

the milkers of the herd.

Behind them came the monstrous creature, and to the crouching watchers

it appeared as if some mountain peak from the range they had seen

were walking in upon them. Yet this prodigy, which seemed to fill the

whole cave, was built like a man in all respects save one: one great

eye only he bore, in the centre of his forehead. Savage and uncouth he

was, with matted hair, and yellow tusks at the corner of his mouth like

some ancient wild boar. And wise Odysseus knew that this was one of the

famed Cyclopes who acknowledged not even the sovereignty of Olympus.

That baleful eye apparently did not perceive the terrified group

huddled into the shadow. The monster turned as he entered, and laid

hold of a huge stone which stood beside the portal. Such was its size

that a score of ox-teams could not have started it from its place; but

the intruders saw him wrap his great arms about the mass: the muscles

stood out like cables as, lifting the boulder clear from the floor,

he placed it in front of the entrance for a door stone, completely

blocking the exit.

Dark as it now was within, he at once set to work at milking, placing

half the milk in vessels for curdling, and filling with the rest a bowl

in which two ordinary men could have stood upright and which would have

held ten amphoræ of wine of ten gallons each. This done, he put the

lambs and kids beneath their mothers.

Breaking off great limbs of the tree he had brought in as if they were

twigs, he kindled a roaring fire. The leaping flames lit up the gloomy

cavern. As the giant turned, the baleful glance of his single eye fell

upon the cowering Ithacans.

"Ha!" he roared, in a voice that beat upon them like a gale of wind.

"Who are you? Where have you come from across the seas? You look to me

like some of those sea-rovers who bring no good to those they visit."

Though his companions, stout men all, seemed utterly overwhelmed by the

savage's voice and aspect, Odysseus made answer boldly:

"We are Achæans, homeward bound from Troy, but driven by adverse winds

across the sea. Through many wanderings Zeus has brought us hither.

Subjects of Agamemnon are we, most famous of men, so great a city he

took. Here by chance, we ask of you food and shelter, and the gift

which is the stranger's due. Even you, O mighty one, must respect the

gods. And Zeus is the protector of the stranger and suppliant."

Rough was the monster's reply:

"Stupid or ignorant you must be to threaten me with the gods. The

Cyclopes care not for Zeus or his ægis: we are mightier than he, and in

this world the strong is the master. Not for the wrath of Zeus would

I spare you. But where is your ship? On this shore or the far one?

Answer."

Odysseus was not to be beguiled so simply. "Poseidon, the Earth-shaker,

wrecked my ship," he declared, "and cast her on the rocky point at the

island's end. Only I, with these men, escaped."

Without a word, the Cyclops leaped forward. His hairy arms shot

forth. In each huge hand he seized one of the startled seamen. Before

the luckless ones had time so much as to call aloud, he had dashed

out their brains upon the rocky floor. Then, like some lion of the

mountains, he tore them limb from limb and devoured them, washing down

his horrible meal with draughts of milk.

Paying no heed to the sighs and tears and calls upon Zeus of the

survivors, he stretched his gorged bulk at full length among his flock

and slept, filling the cave with the sound of his noisome breathing.

Shaken with wrath at the outrage and the contempt, Odysseus was about

to creep upon the sleeping horror and thrust his sharp sword into his

vitals. He had marked the very spot, resolving to make sure first by

feeling for the heart beat with his hand. But he reflected that this

meant certain destruction for all, since they could by no possibility

move the enormous door-stone. As best they might then, he and his

crushed followers waited for the dawn.

They were not long left in doubt as to the monster's intentions toward

the rest of them. At daybreak he stretched himself, rose yawning, and

kindled the fire. Again he milked his herd and cared for them. Again he

seized two struggling victims and slaughtered and devoured them for his

morning meal.

Moving aside the boulder, he drove out goats and sheep, and replaced

the door-stone as one might put the lid on a quiver. They heard his

vast footfalls dying away, and his hoarse calls to his flock, as he

drove them over the hills to pasturage. Penned up inexorably, they must

await his return and its fresh horrors.

Sick at heart as he was, Odysseus thought only of revenge. Earnestly he

besought Athene for wisdom. Studying every object in the place, his eye

returned again and again to the bole of a green olive tree which lay

beside the pen. In size it was fit for the mast of a merchant ship of

twenty oars, breasting the open sea; yet clearly the Cyclops was drying

it out to use for a club-like staff.

Long did the hero ponder. And at last his jaw set and a grim smile

played upon his face. His plan was made.

While his followers bemoaned their fate, he stepped across the cavern,

drew his short sword and hacked off a six-foot section of this

tree-trunk. Rolling it across to his men, he bade them shape it down.

When it was smooth, he pointed the tip and charred it in the blazing

fire till the point was hard. This weapon he hid carefully beneath the

dry dung with which the cave was littered.

He explained to his wondering comrades that his idea was to thrust this

great stake into the giant's eye while he slept; and he suggested that

they choose by lot four of their number who should help him in this

daring attack. They did so, and Odysseus noted with satisfaction that

chance had given him the very resolute helpers he would have selected.

Heartening them as best he could, through the long trying hours of

inaction, the leader awaited their jailer's return.

Towards evening they heard those same portentous sounds of the

monster's coming. The door-stone was lifted aside. In poured the

jostling flocks. To the delight of Odysseus not a sheep was left

outside: that fitted in exactly with his crafty scheme. He contained

himself while the giant performed his evening tasks; even when two more

of the Greeks were slain and devoured, he made no sign.

When this ghastly meal was despatched, however, he stepped forward,

holding in his hands a bowl filled with the dark Ciconian wine.

"Here, Cyclops," said he. "Drink after your meal and see what we had

aboard our ship. I brought it as an offering, thinking it might move

you to send me home. But you defy the laws. How shall a stranger ever

come to you again from any people after such a wicked deed?"

The giant drained the bowl at one draught, and a look of pleasure

spread over the horrible features.

"Give me more, friend," he said. "And tell me your name that I may

please you with a stranger's gift. The Cyclops' fruitful fields bear

grapes with delicious wine in their heavy clusters; but this is truly

nectar and ambrosia."

Odysseus refilled the bowl with the sparkling wine, and again the giant

gulped it down. A third time it was replenished, and quickly emptied.

Noticing that the potent drink was beginning to affect even that huge

body, Ulysses answered his question:

"You ask my name: I will tell it, and do you fulfil your promise of a

stranger's gift. My name is Noman. Noman am I called by mother, father

and all my comrades."

With a drunken chuckle the Cyclops answered:

"Noman I will eat last, after all his comrades: that is the stranger's

gift."

With that, he sank back, overcome by the wine. In a few moments he was

sleeping, gorged and intoxicated, horrible to see and hear.

The moment had come. Odysseus seized the clumsy stake, and thrust the

point into the embers of the fire, urging his men to be of stout heart

and take their one chance.

When the point of the green olive trunk was aglow and ready to burst

into flame, he snatched it from the fire. His four helpers took it like

a battering-ram. Odysseus himself, standing on a projecting point of

rock, grasped the butt firmly.

At the word of command, as if they were boring a ship-beam with a

drill, the four plunged the smouldering point into the giant's eye with

all their strength, while their leader twisted the weapon violently.

The effect was startling. Blood bubbled around the point. The great

eye-ball hissed like water into which a smith has plunged hot iron to

temper it. With a roar that almost deafened them, the giant came to

life, and his mighty upheaval hurled the men hither and thither. He

wrenched the stake from his eye and hurled it from him in a frenzy.

But the breathless and terrified sailors perceived with relief that the

work had been well done: the monster was blind.

Beside himself with pain and anger he shouted at the top of his voice

to his fellow Cyclopes who lived in the other caves along the windy

heights. The hearts of the Greeks stood still with fear as they felt

the earth quiver beneath running feet, and heard the cries of the

gathering giants.

Presently a mighty voice from without demanded:

"What has happened to you, Polyphemus, that you rend the night with

your screams and keep us all from sleep? Is someone carrying off your

flocks? Are you being murdered by craft or force?"

"Friends," fairly blubbered the giant. "Noman is murdering me by craft.

Force there is none."

"If no man harms you," came the reply, "the ill must come from Zeus and

that you cannot fly. Pray to your father Poseidon."

Despite the calls and curses of the wounded one, the terrific company

strode off, never suspecting the truth; and Odysseus laughed in his

heart at the success of his simple stratagem.

Groaning in agony, Polyphemus groped about with his hands till he

found the door-stone, moved it aside and seated himself with hands

outstretched, to lay hold of his enemies in case they tried to escape

with the sheep.

But Odysseus had foreseen this contingency, and now set quickly about

the final move of his careful plan. He had observed that some of

the rams were of a specially fine breed, very large, and covered

with a long, heavy blue fleece. Separating these from the rest, he

quietly bound them together in groups of three with willow withes

from the Cyclops' bed. The middle one of each of these three carried

a man beneath him, guarded on each side by an unridden animal. The

largest of the flock he selected to carry himself, hanging beneath

his shaggy belly and gripping his back from each side with arms and

hands completely buried in the enormous fleece. Having made their

preparations in absolute silence, they anxiously awaited the coming of

the day.

As the first ruddy streaks of dawn became visible through the cave

mouth, the rams hastened out, eager for pasture, while the unmilked

ewes bleated in distress about the enclosure.

Polyphemus, moaning and muttering threats, ran his hands over the back

of every sheep before he would permit it to go out. Stupidly, he never

thought of feeling beneath, where the trembling seamen hung in dread of

being detected.

One after another passed safely out of that gloomy cavern into the

fresh freedom of the morning. Last of all came the great leader ram

with its human freight.

"What, my pet!" exclaimed the Cyclops as he felt the creature's back.

"Why are you the hindmost of the flock? You were never a laggard, but

always first to crop the tender grass, first to drink at the stream,

first to turn homeward at night. Ah, you miss your master's eye,

which that villain and his vile crew have put out. Noman it was--but

I will have him yet. If only you could speak and tell me where he is

skulking, how quickly would I dash out his brains. That would help some

in the misery that scoundrel has brought upon me."

He freed the ram and it trotted quickly out. The moment they were

safely away from the enclosure, Odysseus dropped to earth and helped

his comrades to free themselves. Then they hastily drove off the fat

rams towards the shore, casting many an anxious glance behind them, for

they feared that at any moment the Cyclops might discover the trick and

come down upon them.

They reached the ship where their staunch comrades welcomed them as

men returned from the dead. Checking their laments for the luckless

ones who had perished, Odysseus ordered them to toss the rams aboard as

quickly as they might. The rowers leaped to their places; the oars hit

the water in unison; the galley sped away from that accursed shore.

When they had reached the limit of hailing distance, Odysseus stood up

on the poop and shouted to the cave above:

"Cyclops, those were not a weakling's comrades upon whom you wrought

your brutality. It was destined that your crime should find you out,

wretch who dared to devour a guest within your house. For this has Zeus

chastised you, Zeus and all the gods of Olympus."

The giant heard, and knew himself outwitted. Frantic with rage, he

sprang forth from the cabin, tore up a boulder that looked like a whole

hilltop, and hurled it towards the sound of the taunting voice.

The mass of rock fell in front of the galley; and it sent such a wave

surging backward that the vessel was washed clean back to shore.

It would have fared badly then with the adventurers had the giant been

able to see their plight, for they were easily within his grasp. But

Odysseus seized a setting pole and shoved off again, making signs with

his head to the rowers to pull their hardest.

They put twice as wide a space as before between them and the enemy.

Then Odysseus rose again to speak to him. Beneath their breath his men

implored him to desist:

"O foolhardy one, why rouse this savage who even now drove us back to

shore with his missile? We thought all was over then. Had he heard but

a whisper he would have crushed us beneath some jagged mass of granite."

Their leader was not to be moved.

"Cyclops," he cried proudly, "if ever man asks you of your blinded eye,

say it was the deed of Odysseus, spoiler of cities, Laertes' son, whose

home is Ithaca."

At that Polyphemus groaned dolefully.

"Surely the ancient oracles are come upon me! A soothsayer once dwelt

here, Telemus the renowned. He told me I should lose my sight through

one Odysseus; but I watched for some mighty one--and now this miserable

pigmy has blinded me after overcoming me with wine. Nevertheless, come

hither, Odysseus, that I may bestow on you the stranger's gift and beg

the Land-shaker to speed you on your journey. His son am I; he can heal

me if he will."

Odysseus laughed in scorn. "Would I might as surely strip you of life

and send you to Hades as it is sure the Earth-shaker will never heal

your eye."

Then for the first time in his life the monster prayed, stretching

forth his hands to the sky:

"Hear me, thou girder of the land, dark-haired Poseidon. If I am truly

thine, and thou art called my father, vouchsafe no coming home to this

Odysseus, spoiler of cities, Laertes' son, whose home is Ithaca. Yet

if it be his lot to see his friends once more, and reach his stately

home and native land, late let him come, in evil plight, with loss of

all his crew, on the vessel of a stranger, and may he at his home find

trouble."

He finished. His anger burst forth fiercely once more. Heaving up

another rock far larger than the first, he swung it back and forth,

put forth his utmost strength and hurled the mountainous mass out to

sea. It struck behind the galley, which shot up as if lifted by a tidal

wave. Odysseus called his order; the oars struck the water; the tough

shafts bent with the strain; but in a few moments the galley was riding

safe beyond the whirlpool and speeding toward the outer island.

But through all the rejoicings with which they met their comrades

in the other ships, through the feast, and through the propitiatory

sacrifice, the heart of Odysseus was heavy within him.

It was with a solemn brow that he loosed sail at dawn next day and set

forth to accomplish what remained of his amazing destiny.

CHAPTER IV

WHEN THOR WENT TO JOTUNHEIM

Odin, he of the nine-and-forty names, dwelt in bright Asgard with his

fellow Æsir and Asynjar. Father of gods and men though he was, born

though he was of a giant mother, there was bitter strife between him

and the vast Frost and Mountain Giants, the seed of Ymir's feet. They

alone ventured openly to dispute his sovereignty.

Mightiest of the other twelve Æsir was the All-father's eldest

Earth-born son, Thor. Two goats of magical powers drew his chariot;

iron gauntlets he had with which to grasp Miolnir, the hammer that none

might withstand; when he girded about his loins the belt of strength,

even his god-like might was doubled. He alone of all the gods must

wade the mist-rivers and ascend into Asgard on foot, lest his flaming,

thundering chariot destroy Bifrost, the trembling rainbow bridge over

which all the rest of the celestial company rode daily to and from the

judgment-seat below.

Many a Frost-giant had been dashed down into the gloom of Nifelhel by

this Miolnir-hammer, which the dwarf artist Sindre had forged for the

Asa god; but this monster race held the secrets of black sorcery, and

in this way they were at times a match for the powers of Asgard.

So Thor discovered on a certain expedition.

One day he left his vast mansion Bilskirnir, with its five hundred

and forty halls, and accompanied by Loki, set out towards Jotunheim.

Northward they journeyed a whole day, in the goat-drawn car, till they

came to Alfheim, where the sons of Ivalde guarded the southern shores

of the great sea against the giants who dwelt beyond it, lest these

attempt to attack Asgard from his side.

As was his custom, Thor stopped for the night at the house of Egil, the

master archer, able to travel on his skiis over both snow and water:

brother, too, he was to Volund, craftiest of smiths, who was later

to forge the sword of victory, fatal even to the gods. There dwelt

with Egil his foster-son Thialfi, who had been found as an infant on

a tide-washed sandbar of the sea: he was swiftest of foot of all who

lived in Midgard, the home of men; for in truth he was that same Frey

who afterwards sat in Asgard. He and his sister Roska were very dear to

Egil.

Right welcome was Thor to Egil. Yet when meal time came there was a

scarcity of food for the company.

"Little shall that trouble us," cried Thor, with his rumbling laugh

that shook the hall. "The meat I like best is that which carries me

when I do not carry it."

Followed by Loki and the wondering Thialfi, he strode out into the

darkness to where his strong-horned goats were stalled.

Smiling at the boy's amazement, he killed the beautiful creatures,

skinned them, cut up the carcasses with great care, and put the flesh

into the kettles to stew. When the meal was ready, he invited all to

join, and while Thialfi found it hard to forget the trim and graceful

animals, so full of life and spirit, he had to admit that he had never

before tasted such delicious fare.

"Eat your fill, everybody," said Thor. "None need go hungry when

Tanngniast and Tanngrisnir are on the board. But one caution I must

give: not a bone must be broken. When we are through, let the boy

gather every bone, sort out the two sets, and put one pile in each of

the skins by the hearth yonder."

When all were satisfied, Thor and Egil fell to talk, recounting their

expeditions against the foes of the gods in Jotunheim, while Thialfi

obediently gathered together the bones, and arranged them in the hides.

An evil smile flitted over the thin face of crafty Loki as he perceived

that the two warriors had become completely absorbed in their tales of

past exploits. Thor was now reminding Egil of that famous adventure

when he himself, wounded in the forehead, had borne his companion with

a frozen foot across the foggy Elivagar water and its magic terrors.

He was lost to everything that went on around him, laughing aloud

and smiting his great thigh as he lived over those moments of tense

excitement.

As Thialfi knelt at the other end of the wide hearth, painstakingly

striving to complete his task, he started at a low whisper from the

shadow beyond.

"Did you like the meat?"

"Yes," answered the boy in surprise, looking up. He could hardly see

the features of his questioner, but the eyes gleamed, almost like the

blaze from the burning logs in the fire-place.

"You have not tasted the best yet," said the smooth voice. "The real

strength and sweetness is in the marrow."

Thialfi stared at him.

"Yes, that is like honey, and he who eats of it can go for days without

any other nourishment. Nor can I imagine why he was so stingy as to

withhold the best."

Still the youth did not know what to say.

"Better try it," continued Loki. "That long leg-bone there is just full

of sweetness."

"Oh no," said Thialfi, involuntarily lowering his voice to the same

pitch. "He forbade us to break any of them."

"What nonsense. Why should you be so careful of that rubbish? You saw

yourself what he did to the living animals: how could he really mind

after that if just one picked bone were a little chipped? You'll never

have another chance to taste such fare as only those in Asgard know."

"I don't like to," whispered the boy. "He might be angry."

"Angry! He'll never know. Why should he poke about and find a piece at

the bottom of the pile? And if he should notice it, it would simply be

an accident that might have happened a dozen times already."

Thialfi hesitated.

"It makes no difference to me, of course," went on the tempter. "But

I don't see why you should be deprived of the best part when it can't

possibly hurt anybody to take it. Besides, I've heard you were a

wonderful runner, and I have an idea that the one who tastes of that

marrow will find his powers marvellously increased."

The youth's eyes shone: he was proud of his ability to outstrip all

with whom he had raced, and he could not resist this idea.

Glancing over his shoulder, he saw the pair still deep in their

reminiscences. With a sudden impulse he thrust the leg bone beneath his

skin coat, and went quietly out into the darkness. Gently he chipped

off a piece of the bone and sucked out the marrow. It was delicious,

as Loki had said, and his excited imagination made him fancy he could

already feel a waxing of vigor in his muscles. Yet it was with a guilty

feeling that he stole back and hid the fractured piece at the bottom of

one of the piles. Well pleased was Loki, for he believed he had without

danger to himself sown enmity between these two defenders of Asgard.

Presently all went to bed. Silence fell upon the great hall and the

sleeping-rooms; but Thialfi trembled and started and tossed, a prey to

terrifying dreams.

It was still dark within the hall when Thor rose, though outside the

dawn light began to show in the east. He kindled the fire on the

spreading hearth, and the leaping flames soon brightened the place.

Thialfi awoke. From his couch he could see past the drawn skin curtain

into the large apartment. A feeling of panic crept over him as he saw

the huge distorted shadow which the fire threw against the wall, now

shrinking, now shooting up to monstrousness. For the shadow was busy

with something that lay beside the hearth--and the youth remembered

only too well that all was not right with the contents of those skins.

Thor placed the two goats' pelts before him. He took out his great

hammer, Miolnir, and waved it solemnly over the piles, muttering potent

words. Thialfi stretched forward breathlessly to see.

What was his amazement when the bundles of dead bones began to stir.

The hides moved and stretched and rounded. Before his unbelieving eyes

the two trim goats stood up alive, vigorous and handsome as ever.

But no! One was not as he had been. The poor creature was lame; it

limped, dragging one hind leg, as it moved.

Thialfi crouched down again, trembling, as he saw the big man bend

swiftly to examine the injured leg.

Then there was a roar of anger which shook the beams. Everybody was

running in. Miolnir was out once more, not to restore life this

time--far from it: Thor was vowing vengeance and threatening to destroy

his friend Egil and the whole household for the injury done to this

cherished possession; his red hair stood out like flames about his

massive head; he gripped the terrible hammer so hard that the joints of

his fingers showed white in the firelight.

At that Thialfi dragged himself forward. Half dead with fear, he

confessed what he had done, saying not a word of Loki's tempting.

Egil, as much disturbed as his guest, protested his desire to make

amends.

"Payment is due," said he. "It is for you to state the price."

The sight of the frightened youth had somewhat calmed Thor's anger.

This graceful, slender body was no fit object for Miolnir's weight.

Slowly his vast muscles relaxed.

"It is the law," said he. "Let him pay who committed the fault: he and

his sister shall be my bond-servants from this day forth."

This punishment seemed mild enough to Thialfi; for he was secretly

drawn to this open-faced mighty one whose blue eyes harbored no

meanness, and who was clearly good-natured despite his sudden bursts of

fierceness. Moreover, the prospect of roaming abroad with him was far

from displeasing. As for the beautiful Roska--she had nothing to say

about it. Anyhow, where Thialfi went was the place she would choose to

be.

So peace was restored, and all sat down to the morning meal content,

save crafty Loki.

Leaving the goats with Egil, Thor and his companions set forth on

foot. The chill mists and unfathomed depths of the Elivagar sea had

no terrors for him; but when they had passed over its expanse, they

came to a strange and gloomy country surrounding the stronghold of the

giants.

Endlessly the forest stretched away; and all day they wandered through

its pathless mazes without sight of any human being. There was no sign

of even beast or bird, and while swift-footed Thialfi, who carried

Thor's wallet, scoured the thickets on either side, all his wood-craft

failed to discover anything in the way of food.

Darkness settled down upon them almost as soon as the sun disappeared.

The question of a place to spend the night became urgent. Searching

on all sides in the gathering dusk, they finally came upon a large

structure with an entrance that took up the whole width of one end.

No one appeared or answered to their shouts; so they entered and lay

down in the main hall, glad of any place to lay their heads after their

exhausting day.

Towards midnight, when they were all slumbering soundly, they were

rudely awakened by an earthquake which shook the whole building.

Leaping to their feet, they staggered to and fro over the heaving

floor, expecting each moment to feel the roof fall upon their heads.

But the swaying stopped presently and Thor bade them seek some place of

safety.

To the right they found a smaller chamber, without any door or curtain;

and the three crept into the farthest corner of this and dropped down,

trembling with fear. Thor, however, remained at the entrance. Holding

Miolnir ready, he stayed on guard the rest of the night, listening to

an extraordinary noise like a rushing wind which he could hear outside

from time to time.

As soon as it was light, he stepped out of the building to investigate

this roaring sound.

There, stretched out on the ground, was a monstrous creature, so huge

that he looked like the fallen trunk of some primeval fir tree. He was

fast asleep, and it was his snoring which had sounded like a howling

winter gale.

Many a giant as Thor had seen and encountered, the bulk of this

man-mountain made him pause in astonishment. Then he quietly girded

about him the belt of strength, for if ever he needed to double his

powers it was now.

Just then the giant opened his eyes, which looked like muddy lakes. He

yawned, stretched himself and stood up--and his head was almost lost in

the tops of the trees.

For the only time in his history Thor hesitated to join in open battle.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"My name is Skrymir," said the other. His voice was like the bellow of

the thunder, and Loki, Thialfi and Roska ran to the entrance and looked

out at the reverberating sound.

"As for you," continued the giant, "I know you well: you are Asa-Thor.

But what have you done with my glove?"

With that he stretched down his big hand towards the awed group of

three, which scattered before him; and they realized that the building

in which they had lodged was the creature's glove, the smaller room to

which they had fled being the thumb.

"Shall we travel together?" asked Skrymir, smiling in a way that made

Thor's cheeks burn.

"As you will," replied the latter.

Thereupon the giant sat down, opened a prodigious wallet, and fell to

his breakfast; but Thor and his comrades drew apart by themselves and

shared their scanty stock of provisions.

When they had finished--

"Here," said Skrymir, "let me carry your food. It will not weigh me

down."

So saying, he thrust Thor's wallet into his own and started off through

the forest with such tremendous strides that they could hardly keep in

sight of him.

All day long he led them at this pace amid the endless woods; and

Roska for one was more than glad, despite her brother's aid, when dusk

brought him to a halt beside an ancient oak.

"We have loitered along slowly enough," he said, "yet I suppose it is

time to sleep. I am not hungry; you can take the wallet and get your

own meal. If you need a roof over your heads, my glove is there."

He stretched himself out and presently was snoring so that one could

have heard him a mile away.

Dark and silent, Thor finally took the leather bag, to get out their

food. His feelings were not smoothed when he found he could not untie

the knots. In growing anger he worked away at the stubborn thongs,

but he could make no impression on the hard knots. Then, his patience

exhausted, he tried to break the fastenings. Still they defied his

efforts.

Enraged at being thus trifled with, he grasped Miolnir, stepped

forward, and dashed it at the giant's head.

Skrymir stirred himself slightly.

"What was that--a leaf?" he asked sleepily. "Have you little ones

supped yet? Have you gone to sleep?"

"We are just lying down," muttered Thor. Puzzled and upset, he strode

off and lay down under another oak.

But he could not sleep. The stertorous snores of the giant seemed to

mock him.

Finally he sprang up again and walked cautiously back. The moonlight

shone full on the giant's bulky form. Heaving his hammer aloft, he

launched it with such violence that the head buried itself in Skrymir's

skull.

"What's happening?" called out the giant, rolling over. "An acorn

dropped right on my head. How do you fare, Thor?"

"All right," called back the other, stealing away behind the tree

trunks. "I woke when you called out. There is plenty of time to sleep

yet."

Again all was quiet, except in Thor's breast, where rage and

humiliation contended in a turmoil. He forced himself to lie still,

calming his burning wrath with the assurance that when the moment came

for a third blow, he would take ample revenge for this disgrace. The

creature did not exist who could treat Asa-Thor in this manner.

A long time he waited both to recover his poise and to be sure the

other was really asleep again. At length, a little before daybreak, he

rose softly, and again approached the slumbering giant.

His hands ran over the magic belt as if to draw from it the last bit

of aid. Gripping Miolnir with both hands, he summoned up every power

of his heaving muscles. The remembrance of his failures burned in his

veins and seemed to double his strength and determination.

He whirled the irresistible Miolnir about his head, and brought it down

with his utmost force upon the sleeper. To his grim satisfaction, he

saw it smash into the giant's cheek up to the very handle.

To his consternation, Skrymir sat up and appeared to brush something

from his face.

"There must be birds roosting in this tree," said he disgustedly. "How

can one sleep when they are scratching moss and bark loose so that it

falls over one's head?"

He looked about.

"What! Are you awake, too, Thor? I suppose it is time to get up anyhow;

for you say you want to get to Utgard. The city is not far now. I must

warn you, though, of one thing. I have heard you whispering together

as if you thought my size was something remarkable; but if you go to

Utgard, you will see many far taller than I. So I counsel you against

making much of yourselves, for Utgard-Loki's men will have little

patience with the boasting of such mannikins. Indeed, if you are wise,

you will turn back at once. However, if you persist in your folly,

your road lies east. I go northward, to those cliffs in the distance

yonder."

He threw his wallet over his shoulder and went off, unheeding Thor's

resentful glare.

Following his directions, the party presently passed out of the forest,

and travelled over a wide plain.

Towards noon they came upon the city of Utgard. So lofty were its walls

and buildings that their heads bent back on their necks as they gazed

up to the pinnacles of the towers.

When they came close, they saw nobody; but a vast gate of ponderous

bars closed the way. It was locked and bolted. After trying for some

time to call a keeper, and then to unfasten the gate, Thor and his

comrades squeezed between the bars and entered the silent city.

They went through one deserted street after another, till they saw

before them a magnificent palace, whose door stood wide. Walking boldly

in, they found themselves in a hall that dwarfed anything they had ever

beheld. Sitting on benches were ranged two lines of men, the first

glance at whom convinced the travellers that Skrymir had spoken truly.

Advancing to the raised seat, they saluted the ruler, Utgard-Loki. But

the king gazed at them with a smile. Thor was by no means accustomed

to such scornful treatment, and his companions could perceive his heat

growing as this contemptuous silence continued.

At length the king spoke:

"It is tedious to ask for tidings of a long journey; yet if I mistake

not, that little one there must be Asa-Thor."

"Possibly," he went on, addressing Thor directly, "you may be more

than you appear. What can you do, you and these with you? No one stays

in Utgard unless he can in some feat of skill or strength excel all

others."

"I have a feat," spoke up Loki. "I can eat quicker than any here. I am

ready to prove it against all."

"That will be worth seeing, if you can make your boast good," said the

giant king. "It shall be put to the test."

He called to one named Logi, sitting on a further bench. A trough

filled with fresh meat was brought in, and placed between the two. At

the signal, both began to eat, one from each end.

Loki strove his utmost, and yet when he reached the middle of the

trough he met his antagonist there. Moreover, it was seen that while he

had devoured all the flesh on his side, Logi had consumed flesh, bone

and the trough to boot. There could be no gainsaying that the visitor

was vanquished.

"And what can you do?" asked Utgard-Loki, looking at Thialfi.

"I can run," said the youth.

"We shall soon see about that. Let us go outside to the course."

The whole company went forth to a level stretch of plain. A slim youth

whom they called Hugi took his place beside Thialfi. The latter, who

had never been beaten in swiftness, smiled confidently.

The word was given. The two runners were off like arrows from the bow.

But Thialfi could hardly credit his eyes when, before he had covered

half the distance to the turning-point, he met Hugi coming back already.

"You will have to ply your legs better than that," said Utgard-Loki,

"if you expect to win in this company."

A second course was run. Thialfi strained every nerve and muscle to the

utmost. His heart beat as if it would burst through his ribs. Yet Hugi

reached the goal when he was still a bowshot off.

"You run bravely," remarked the king. "Still, it seems to me this match

will not be yours. The third trial must decide."

Once more they toed the mark and sped away. Thialfi did his best, but

he was wearied with his last effort; his swift adversary crossed the

finish line ere he had quite gone halfway.

The whole assemblage declared there was no need of further trial.

Utgard-Loki turned to Thor.

"We have heard much of your prowess, Asa. What is your choice to prove

to us that rumor's tales are true?"

"I will drink a draught with any of you," growled Thor between his

teeth.

"Excellent," returned the king. He led the way back into the hall, and

bade his cup-bearer bring the drinking-horn. It was borne forth.

"A good drinker," remarked Utgard-Loki, "empties this at a single

draught. Some men make two of it. The puniest of all can take it off in

three."

Thor looked at the horn critically. It did not appear of extra size,

though the end stretched away behind the bearer. Moreover, he was very

thirsty. So little doubt had he of emptying it at a draught, that he

did not pause to take breath, but set it to his lips and pulled long

and deeply.

He set it down with a clatter, thinking to ask for more. To his

chagrin, he could hardly perceive any lowering of the liquor.

"Well!" exclaimed the king. "Surely that is not much for Asa-Thor to

boast of. I would not have believed it if it had been told me. Perhaps,

though, you were saving yourself for a second draught."

Without answering, Thor seized the horn once more and quaffed a mighty

draught. Yet on looking in, it seemed as if he had made less impression

than before. Still the vessel could now be carried without spilling.

The king shook his head. "A man must use his own sort of skill.

Certainly, though, you have left most of the task for your last

attempt. I fear your reputation here will hardly match what you have in

Asgard if this is a sample of your prowess."

Too angry to speak now, Thor grasped the horn again. Tilting it back,

he drank and drank till he thought he would burst with the effort. But

when he could do nothing more, he found he had emptied only the top

inch or two.

He handed the horn back to the cup-bearer.

"I see plainly," said Utgard-Loki, "that what we have heard of you was

a traveller's tale. Still, do you wish to try something else? I confess

it does not seem likely that you will bear away many prizes here."

"I know," Thor replied doggedly, "that such draughts would not be

accounted small among the Æsir--but I will attempt another feat. What

have you to propose?"

"We have a game here, a sort of childish exercise. Before witnessing

this last performance, I would scarce have dared mention it to

Asa-Thor. It is merely lifting my cat from the floor."

A large gray cat walked out, its tail held high.

Thor looked at it, uncertain.

"He is large--for a cat," said the king.

Stung to the quick, Thor stepped forward, put a hand under the beast's

belly and lifted hard.

The cat arched his back, not resisting at all. Heave and strain as he

might, Thor could only get one paw off the floor.

"I imagined as much," said Utgard-Loki. "Even my cat is too large for

such a little one."

"Little I may be," cried Thor. "Yet let me see the man here who will

wrestle with me at this moment."

Utgard-Loki looked at the massive figures ranged along the benches.

"I see no one small enough for that. If you must wrestle, however--call

old Elli, the nurse. She has thrown many a better man than you have yet

proved yourself."

In came a bent, withered, toothless old crone. At the king's bidding,

she grappled with the aroused Thor.

Violently he strove, till the muscles on his arms and legs stood out

like ropes. Locking his mighty arms, he strained this way and that. The

more he put forth his power, the firmer did the frail old woman seem to

stand.

Then Thor began to feel an inexorable grip tightening upon himself. He

struggled as if his very life hung on the issue. Yet his legs began to

bend. Presently he was forced down upon one knee.

Old Elli released him and hobbled off. With heaving breast, dripping

sweat, and vastly ashamed, Thor stood up before them.

"We need hardly further trial," said Utgard-Loki. "Besides, it grows

late. Show them to the guest seats."

They were made welcome, and feasted that night with good cheer.

Next morning they prepared to depart. Utgard-Loki saw that they were

bountifully provided with food and drink. He himself conducted them to

the gate of the city.

"Well, Asa-Thor," said he, as they were about to separate, "are you

satisfied with your visit to Utgard? Have you seen more powerful rulers

elsewhere on your journeys?"

"Truly," replied honest Thor, "I have brought great shame upon the

Æsir. Justly will ye say that I am one of little worth."

"Hardly that," said the giant king. "Now that you are outside of my

city--which with my consent you will never enter again--I must tell

you the truth. Had I imagined your powers and how near they would have

brought me to disaster, you would by no means have seen the inside of

it this time.

"Know, then, that I have deceived you all along with illusions.

"The wallet you could not open in the forest was bound with invisible

iron wire. The least of the three strokes of your hammer would have

ended my days: I brought before me a rocky mountain which you could not

see; in this you will find three deep ravines, made by those blows.

"The contests here were illusions likewise.

"Though Loki ate like hunger, Logi who outmatched him was ardent fire

itself.

"Hugi was thought: how could even swift Thialfi keep pace with him?

"The horn you tried to empty reached to the sea; when you come to the

shore you will see your draughts have caused the ocean itself to ebb.

When we saw you lift one of the cat's paws from the floor, we were all

terror-stricken: for the cat was in reality the great Midgard serpent

which encompasses the whole earth. Nurse Elli was in fact old age--and

never yet has man wrestled with her as have you.

"Therefore, let us never meet again. For in spite of all the marvels

of your strength, you can never prevail against me because of my

illusions."

Wild with anger, Thor laid hold of Miolnir. But Utgard-Loki had

vanished. He would have destroyed the city, but even that had

disappeared, leaving only a smooth and verdant plain.

There was no help for it save to return to their own land; and in truth

as the Asa reflected upon what had happened, he was not so ill pleased

as before.

Especially did he recall his feat of lifting the Midgard serpent; and

the remembrance of his incredible exploit fired him with a resolution

to match himself once more against this monstrous world-encircling

progeny of Loki.

It was not long thereafter when he determined to wait no more for this.

So hastily did he set out that he took neither car, nor goats, nor

followers.

In the semblance of a young man he travelled forth, and at dusk came to

the dwelling of a giant named Hymir, who lived by the Elivagar water.

Here he passed the night. At the evening meal he alone ate two of the

oxen Hymir had prepared.

"I shall have to go fishing tomorrow to feed you," grumbled the host.

In the morning Hymir made his boat ready to go fishing. Thor offered to

accompany him.

"Much use a midget like you would be," returned the giant. "You

can eat, of a certainty; but rowing is quite another matter. Worse

than that, you would get cold and terrified if I go out to my

fishing-grounds and stay as I am accustomed to."

Sorely tempted to try Miolnir on the giant's skull, Thor dissembled:

"I will row as far as you say. We shall see which wishes to turn back

first. What bait do we use?"

"Get a bait for yourself," returned the surly fellow.

Thor walked off to where the herd of oxen grazed. The leader was a huge

coal-black bull. Seizing the beast by its horns, the Asa wrung off its

head, carried it back to the boat and threw it in.

"Better if you had sat still," grumbled Hymir.

They pushed the boat through the breakers and put out to sea, each

rowing with a pair of oars. Thor was aft, and Hymir was amazed to see

how the boat shot through the waves, even against the strong wind.

Before long the giant pulled in his oars.

"Here is where I catch flat fish," said he.

"No, no; further out," said Thor, pulling harder than ever.

"Stop!" cried Hymir after a while. "We are getting near the dwelling of

the Midgard serpent."

"Further out is better fishing," declared Thor; and he rowed on in

spite of his companion's protests.

He stopped at last. Muttering, Hymir threw out his line. Presently he

drew up a whale. Then another took hold.

Meanwhile Thor had taken out a line and hook, the size of which caused

the giant to stare. Fastening the gory bull's head on the hook, he

dropped it far down into the depths, till it actually reached the

bottom.

He did not have to wait long. Something far down there seized the bait.

The line tautened. Thor jerked violently. When the monster felt the

hook, it pulled so hard that Thor was forced to hold on to the rowing

pins to avoid being dragged overboard.

Then the Asa's spirit waxed high. He hauled at the line so that his

feet went through the bottom of the boat and down to the ocean floor.

Yet ever he pulled, so stoutly that presently the hideous head of the

Midgard snake appeared above the surface.

Nothing daunted by the floods of venom which the beast spouted out at

him, Thor darted fiery glances at his enemy, still striving to lift the

head into the boat.

Hymir, however, terrified beyond measure and feeling the craft sink

beneath him, took his knife out of the sheath and cut the line just as

Thor launched his hammer.

The monster fell back and sank again to his immemorial abode.

We know not whether those speak truly who declare that Miolnir struck

off its head at the bottom of the sea, or whether it still lies

encircling the earth. But it is related among the exploits of Alexander

the Great that being lowered in a glass cage to the depths of the

ocean he beheld a prodigious monster going past, and sat for two days,

watching its body ooze along all the time, before its "tail and hinder

parts" appeared. Which sounds as if Thor had not made a thorough job of

it.

Certain it is, however, that Hymir said no word till they were again at

the shore. Then he muttered:

"Do your share: carry the whales in or make the boat fast."

Whereupon Thor picked up boat, oars, whales and all, and bore the whole

thing up the wooded hillside to the Jotun's dwelling.

CHAPTER V

THE GIANT PYRAMID-BUILDER

If you travel through that beautiful land of lakes and mountains north

of the City of Mexico, you will hardly fail to visit the ancient sacred

city of Cholula. Nor can you fail to marvel at the remains of that

incredible Pyramid, four times as large as the famous Pyramid of Cheops

in Egypt.

Cortes and his followers wondered at the fifty-acre structure nearly

four centuries back. Humboldt measured it, studied it and speculated

about it a hundred years ago. The general belief was that it had always

been devoted to the worship of Quetzal, that Fair God of old Mexico.

But there were once wise ancients among the Acolhuan Indians who

remembered the truth passed down by tradition from times immemorial.

This is the tale of the Pyramid-builder.

As everyone knows, for 4800 years after the creation of the world the

land of Anahuac was inhabited by a race of vast giants. (Have not their

mighty bones, dwarfing those of modern men, been dug up time and again

through the centuries?)

These monsters were enemies both of gods and men. Fierce were the wars

waged against them by the people of Tlascala, and many a giant was

overcome by their multitudes, or driven forth into the wilderness to

perish of starvation.

Always, however, there were enough of the dreadful race left to keep

the land in an uproar; and particularly one Xelhua and his six brothers

defied all attempts against them, holding themselves above laws, and

doing only that which pleased their own ruthless cruelty. Very crafty

as well as very strong they were, and the land of Anahuac groaned

beneath their devastating tread. Finding there was none alive who might

resist them, they waxed arrogant past belief, and scorned the very gods

above, confident that there was no power in earth or heaven which could

resist their will.

But at last the heavenly rulers grew wearied of this senseless

tumult below. They determined to put an end to it all, and poured

forth an overwhelming deluge on the earth. The clouds burst wide and

precipitated their inexhaustible reservoirs; the irresistible ocean

itself was loosed from its bounds; the underground rivers shot up from

beneath the earth upon men and giants alike, and those who were not

drowned were transformed into fishes.

All except crafty Xelhua and his six brothers: as the flood from above

met the rising sea, they fled northward, climbed the lofty slopes

of Mt. Tlaloc and hid themselves in seven caverns within its sides,

rolling huge boulders in front of the openings to shut out the waters

should they rise so high. Here they lay secure while the deluge raged

unchecked throughout the universe.

When the appointed time came, the destroying waters withdrew to their

stations above the clouds, beneath the earth, and in the ocean. Xelhua

and his brothers came forth from their caves of refuge, the only living

creatures, and by their arts peopled the earth with a new race, who

were to be their servants.

They were now more arrogant than before,--for had they not succeeded

in evading the utmost wrath of the gods? So Xelhua, who was skilled in

building, determined to erect a structure such as the world had not yet

seen--to serve not only as a perpetual memorial of his triumph, but

also as an easier means of escape from any future attempt made against

him by the lords of the winds and waters.

On the plain of Cholula this edifice was staked out, four sided, in

girth like some great hill, in height planned to pierce the very clouds

aloft.

In far-away Tlamanalco, at the foot of the Sierra, a multitude of men

were set to work at digging clay, shaping it in moulds, and burning

it into bricks. Instead of having these heavy loads carried across

the hills, Xelhua stationed a line of workmen all the way from the

brickyard to Cholula: these passed the bricks from hand to hand

continually, so that the builders never lacked a supply. Bitumen too

was similarly brought from a great distance to plaster the bricks

firmly in place.

Under the hands of these myriads of workers the foundation of the

incredible Pyramid grew as if it were a living thing. Day by day it

mounted upwards, and the heart of Xelhua waxed high with pride when

even he had to climb laboriously to reach the dizzy level where the

swarming ant-like laborers still built themselves aloft bodily. Looking

upwards, he regretted that he had not planned an even larger base:

for surely that was the only thing which in any way limited this

monument to his power and guarantee of future security. There was one

consolation: when this reached the apex of its sloping sides, he could

build another, infinitely larger and loftier. Meanwhile, a future

deluge must be worse than the former one to reach him upon the summit

of this almost completed structure.

But the gods do not sleep, though they be long silent.

With rising wrath they beheld the growth of this presumptuous edifice

and the increasing audacity of its builder. Still they bided their

time, and the pyramid of Xelhua crept upwards till the low-hanging

clouds often lay far beneath its upper courses.

The day came when a man might easily count the space of time still

needed to complete the structure. Xelhua urged on his host of workers.

Then suddenly the heavens opened. A huge mass of flaming rock fell with

irresistible force upon the proud pyramid and those that built it. The

upper portion crashed down in ruins, carrying to destruction thousands

of the laborers and the master-builder Xelhua himself.

Wherefore men doubted no longer that there were eternal powers on

high. The fragment of the building which remained was dedicated

thenceforth to the Fair God, Quetzal. And down to the time of that

worthy Dominican, Pedro de los Rios, the priests showed to unbelievers

a portion of the very thunderbolt, a stone shaped like a toad, which

had confounded the mad presumption of Xelhua; while the dancing

celebrants sang in their festival hymn the tale of these happenings,

that reverence might no more perish among men.

Moreover, since that day the tribes have no longer spoken the same

tongue, but each has a language of its own, unintelligible to the

others.

CHAPTER VI

THE FATAL PRIDE OF VUKUB

The Maya race, now living mostly in Guatemala and Yucatan, seem to be

the descendants of a people whose civilization was old long before the

appearance of those Aztecs whom Cortes found ruling in Mexico.

Their wise men, like those of Cholula, knew from their fathers that

there was a time when the earth had not yet recovered from the effects

of the flood, and when mighty giants walked abroad. Nay, more, they

took the pains to set down the facts in the only native American book

we have which dates back to the times before Columbus--the Popol Vuh,

or Collection of Written Leaves.

* * * * *

The submerging waters had returned to their appointed places on, above,

and below the earth; but the face of both sun and moon were still

veiled, and shone not with their wonted splendor.

In this twilight period there lived a gigantic being named Vukub-Cakix,

for his countenance shone with seven times the brilliance of flame.

His eye-balls gleamed like silver set with precious stones; the enamel

of his teeth was so brilliant that to look at them was like gazing at

some gleaming emerald, or the light-filled face of the sky. There was

nothing in all the world that gave forth light like the eyes and teeth

of Vukub.

Great as was his radiant beauty, his pride was greater still. Orgulous

was he and puffed-up. And he said:

"Of a truth, only those have been saved from the flood who were above

their fellow men. And of all those left alive there is not one like

unto me. I am their sun, their dawn, and their moon. It is my splendor

by which men come and go. I can see to the limits of creation, and it

is so."

Thus he spoke in his arrogance. Nor was his pride lessened when he

looked upon his two giant sons: Zipacna, who ruled the cloud-piercing

peaks, and Cabrakan, at whose word the mountains belched forth fire,

and the earth trembled in sudden convulsions. Moreover, there was none

who dared deny that only when he advanced from his throne did the world

come to life.

But the gods on high were not deaf to this boasting. They heard and

smiled when Vukub said: "I am the Sun"; they smiled when Zipacna said:

"I heaped-up and rule the mountains"; and again they smiled when

Cabrakan said: "I shake the sky and earth."

Nevertheless, when they perceived that all on earth bowed in assent

before these vain boasters, they stirred up against them the hearts

of the marvellous twin brothers Hun-Apu and Xbalanque. Miraculously

born of an earthly princess, these brethren had become heroes of many

surprising adventures; none might compete with them at tlachtli, that

universal form of hockey by which a man's prowess was measured; deadly

were the long blow-pipes they carried over their shoulders; and withal

they were very crafty.

"It is not good that this should be," said the brethren, when they

heard the vaunts of Vukub. "Let us put an end to the jewels by reason

of which he is so puffed-up."

Now, next to his light-giving features, the thing dearest to Vukub was

a huge nanze tree, a tapal, loaded with its round, yellow, aromatic

fruit; and each morning he was wont to breakfast on this delicious fare.

Coming one day as usual, he climbed up to the summit of the lofty tree

that he might take his choice of the most luscious fruit. Very wrathful

was he this morning, when he perceived that the spreading branches were

almost completely stripped of the bountiful supply which had hung there

the day before.

He glared about to see who had dared to do this thing, and his anger

grew ten times greater when he perceived the twins, almost hidden in

the thick foliage.

Before he could attack them, Hun-Apu raised the blow-pipe to his mouth

and sped a dart which buried itself in the giant's cheek. With a

frightful screech he fell from the tree-top to the ground.

Quickly the brothers descended, and ran to seize the groaning giant;

but he grasped the arm of Hun-Apu with so fell a grip that he tore it

completely away from the shoulder; whereupon they fled from him in

haste.

Still holding his enemy's arm, and pressing his hand against the

wounded jaw, Vukub made his way home, groaning aloud.

"What has happened to my lord?" asked his wife.

"Those wicked ones have shot a dart into my cheek which tortures me

beyond endurance. But I have torn off the arm of one of them; and I

shall revenge myself by roasting it over the fire till the pain drives

that demon to come for it."

So he suspended the arm before the fire, bidding his wife never cease

turning it over the blazes, and lay down groaning more than ever: for

the teeth of which he was so proud now caused him an anguish he could

not bear. Moreover, the pain had extended even to his shining eye-balls.

Meanwhile the brothers, in order to combat this magic torture, had

consulted a pair of mighty sorcerers. Man and wife were this ancient

couple; their hair was white as the snows upon the mountain peaks, and

the woman was bent double when she sat or stood or walked. Between them

they fashioned a subtle plan.

Vukub lay before his golden throne, moaning and howling with the pain

that affected him, so that his cries could be heard afar off without

the palace.

There came one who told him that two doctors were at the door,

enquiring who it might be that suffered so greatly. He ordered that

they should be admitted.

In hobbled a very ancient white-haired man and woman. Even in his agony

the heart of Vukub was pleased to notice that the woman bowed almost

double as she came before him.

"Who are you, and what do you wish?" said the giant king.

"We are doctors, mighty Lord. Hearing one cry out we stopped to enquire

the trouble: for we make our living by curing ailments."

"Who are those behind you--your sons?" demanded Vukub suspiciously,

noticing two slim figures, dressed in skins, in the rear.

"Not so, lord. These are our grandchildren. Their father and mother are

both dead, and they follow us everywhere as we go about to heal, since

only thus can we get food for us all."

"What can you heal? Can you ease this pain which devours me?"

"Doubtless we can, for we are wise in all arts--though our special

knowledge is that of removing aching teeth."

"Teeth!" exclaimed the king, groaning afresh, and scarcely able to

speak. "That is what is killing me--they and my eyes."

"Let me see," said the old man. He bent forward and examined the

wounded cheek. "Ah, you have a bad wound there. No wonder you suffer."

"It was those demons who shot me with a blow-pipe," said Vukub thickly.

"Cure me if you can, and you shall not complain of your reward."

"It will be necessary to remove those teeth," said the sorcerer. "Also

I think the eye-ball is diseased already."

"What! Remove my teeth which give light to all the world! Impossible."

"Are they not loose in the jaw anyhow?"

"Yes, yes, they move in their sockets--and when they do so, deadly

pains run throughout my body."

"You see they must come out. But have no fear: such is our skill that

we will replace them with others more beautiful by far. More, we will

remove them all, so that the new set will be alike. Even the eye-balls

we will match as before."

"If you are sure--," began Vukub. Then, as the pain gripped

him,--"Quick! Do as you say. I cannot eat; not once have I slept

since those evil ones shot me; surely I shall die if I be not healed

speedily. But use all your arts: for it is because of the beauty of my

teeth and my eyes that I am king."

"Rest assured. Pure and strong and polished will be the new teeth that

we shall put in their place."

"Hurry," said Vukub.

Then the two cunning sorcerers, aided by the disguised twins, removed

the shining teeth, while the giant howled and wept. And in place of

them they inserted only grains of white maize.

Immediately his splendor fell. He knew within himself that he was no

longer the dawn and the moon. Nor was he able to resist when they

proceeded to remove the gleaming eye-balls which still gave lustre to

his countenance.

But when these also were gone, Vukub-Cakix ceased to be. For without

his colossal pride he was not.

All this time his wife had been busily turning the severed arm over

the fire, to increase the torments of its absent owner. Hun-Apu now

snatched the arm, and with the aid of powerful incantations by the

sorcerers, replaced it firmly in its socket. Whereupon the brothers

went away, well content in that they had humbled the pride of Vukub.

* * * * *

And it is set down in the Written Leaves how later on they overcame

through craft both of those gigantic sons of the Proud One, so that the

seed of the earth-giants perished utterly from among the Mayas.

CHAPTER VII

OG, KING OF BASHAN

The Hebrew chroniclers tell us that the giants of their land were the

children of the fallen angels who took to themselves wives from the

beautiful daughters of men. When these huge beings had consumed the

possessions of their neighbors, they began to devour even the human

beings themselves; and from this horrible example men came to kill and

eat birds, animals and fishes.

Of these terrific and wicked ones, merely to glance at whom made one's

heart grow weak, the most celebrated was Og. His mother Enac was a

daughter of Adam. Like all of his race he was by nature half mortal:

for being part angel, part human, these monsters, after a very long

life, found themselves with but half a body, the rest having withered

away; and with the prospect of remaining forever in this uncomfortable

state, they were wont either to plunge into the sea or to end this

miserable half existence by means of a magic herb, the secret of which

had been transmitted by their celestial ancestors. Og, however, was

destined, in this as in other matters, for a different fate from that

of his brethren.

When the wickedness and arrogance of the Cainites brought the Flood

upon the earth, Noah, as commanded, gathered his family and the animals

into the ark he had built. All the rest of the miserable folk perished

in the waters--with the single exception of the giant Og. The latter

had persuaded Noah to save him by promising that he and his descendants

would in return serve the family of Noah forever. But when they came

to embark, it was discovered that the vessel was not large enough to

accommodate this huge creature; so he was permitted to sit on top of

the ark; and during those weary months when the waters covered the face

of the earth, those within passed food to the giant through a hole in

the roof.

There are, indeed, writers who declare that Og escaped because his

stature was such that the deluge at its deepest reached only to his

knees, he being accustomed to drink water direct from the clouds.

In fact, Abba Saul avers: "I once hunted a stag which fled into the

thigh-bone of a dead man. I pursued it and ran along three parasangs"

(about eight miles!) "of the thigh-bone, yet had not yet reached its

end"--and this bone proved to be a portion of Og's skeleton. In Moses'

time, however, the giant's great iron-bedstead--"is it not in Rabbath

of the children of Ammon?"--was a mere thirteen or fourteen feet long.

Whatever his height, his breadth was half as great, instead of only

one-third as in the normal man.

There was also one animal too large to enter the ark, the reëm or

unicorn. It was therefore tied to the stern and "ran on behind."

Undoubtedly this difficult mode of travelling proved fatal, since we

have no authentic record of that beast since then.

Og had better fortune. Whether wading or bestriding the vessel, he

won through; for we find him again some hundreds of years later as the

slave of Abraham, to whom he had been presented by Nimrod. (He was, say

the rabbins, that very steward called Eliezer in the Bible account.)

Finally, after these centuries of servitude, his master freed him as a

reward for bringing back Rebekah as a bride for his son Isaac.

"God also rewarded him in this world, that this wicked wight might not

lay claim to a reward in the world to come. He therefore made a king

of him." He had also received another doubtful reward for a difficult

service. Hearing that Abraham's nephew Lot had been carried away into

captivity, he sped with the news, and stood by when all others were

fearful, thinking in his heart that his master would hasten to his

kinsman's help, and would be killed by the marauding kings--which would

leave the beautiful Sarah as his own prize. Consequently he was granted

another five hundred years of life, but on the conclusion of that term

he was to be completely mortal.

Long did this gigantic monarch of gigantic adventures reign in Bashan,

east of the Jordan River. Sixty walled cities did he found, and great

was his power and fame in all that land. Of his own race to the south

was Sihon, King of the Amorites; and across the Dead Sea was another

family of his blood, Anak and his sons and daughters. All the kings

of Canaan paid tribute to Og of Bashan in return for the defence of

their borders by his might. Even had he known of it, he would have

been little troubled to hear that the Israelitish slaves of Pharaoh

had escaped from bondage in Egypt, and were slowly moving northward

through the desert towards Canaan.

Great indeed would have been his amusement had he seen the slinking

spies sent out by Moses, when they reached the "City of Four"

(Kiriath-Arba, or Hebron), where dwelt Anak and his mighty brood. At

the mere shout of one of the sons the spies fell down as dead men; and

one day the Israelites heard the Anakim roar to each other as they

looked toward the trembling strangers: "There are grasshoppers by the

trees that have the semblance of men."

But in spite of the timorous report of most of these scouts--"we be not

able to go up against these people; for they are stronger than we"--the

day arrived when word came to Og that this band of wanderers had

smitten the Amorites, and killed Sihon and his son, and captured the

impregnable city of Heshbon, and taken possession of all that region.

This brought the invaders to the very edge of Og's dominions, and when

they had rested, they pressed on against the stronghold of Edrei.

Toward night they reached the outskirts, and Moses prepared to attack

the following day. At dawn he rose and went forward to reconnoitre; but

as he looked ahead through the grayness he cried out:

"Behold, in the night they have built up a new wall about the city!"

Then the light grew gradually stronger, and he perceived that what he

had taken for a new fortification was the giant king himself, who sat

upon the wall with his feet touching the earth.

Sore dismayed was the Israelitish host at sight of this incredible

being, who gazed upon them with scornful confidence. Even Moses himself

hesitated and began to feel doubtful. Not only did ordinary weapons

seem unavailing against such a prodigy, but he reflected that this

giant was reputed to have lived for hundreds of years: "Surely he could

never have attained so great an age had he not performed meritorious

deeds." He reflected too that Og was the only one of the original giant

brood who had escaped the sword of the angel Amraphel, and it seemed

therefore as if he must be under some sort of divine protection.

While he thus communed with himself and sought for guidance in prayer,

he seemed to hear from on high a direct answer to his questionings:

"What matters to thee Og's gigantic stature? He is as a green leaf in

thy hand."

At this he took courage. Yet he could not understand in what manner he

might come at the monster, since apparently no weapon he could handle

would come anywhere near reaching to his knees.

So he waited, considering this matter. And presently the giant

bestirred himself and set about bringing the issue to a close in

characteristic fashion. For, noting closely the size of the encampment

of the Israelites, he heaved up a huge rock, like a veritable mountain,

vast enough to cover the entire camp. Bearing this upon his head, he

strode forward, clearly intending to crush the entire force of his

enemies at one blow.

Ill would it have fared with the band under Moses that day had they

been dependent upon their own might alone. But as the giant advanced,

and all waited in terror for the catastrophe, the colossal mass of rock

was seen to settle down over his head. He stood still, blinded and

bewildered, endeavoring to throw off this imprisoning bulk; but all his

efforts were unavailing.

Then Moses, perceiving that the enemy was delivered into his hands,

seized a mighty axe, and ran forward, and leaped into the air higher

than an ordinary man's head, and dealt such a blow upon Og's leg that

he crashed to earth with the rock on top of him.

Thus died Og, King of Bashan, last of the giants who were before the

Flood.

And the warriors of Israel fell upon the army which had accompanied

him, and conquered it utterly, and took possession of all that land.

CHAPTER VIII

A SON OF ANAK

There was war many years between the children of Israel and the

Philistines.

And it came to pass while Saul was King that the Philistines gathered

together a great army, and marched into the land of Judah against the

Israelites, and encamped in a plain near Shochoh. So Saul also drew

out his army and hurried forward, and occupied a hill overlooking this

plain; whereupon the Philistines were forced to leave their position

and to establish themselves on another hill across the valley of Elah

from Saul's camp.

While the armies thus faced each other, there came one day out of the

ranks of the Philistines a champion named Goliath. Very terrible he

was to behold, for he was of the race of those sons of Anak for fear

of whom the Israelites under Moses had murmured and had been therefore

condemned to wander forty years in the wilderness. And while Joshua had

finally led them across the Jordan after the death of Moses, and had

smitten the Anakim and overcome them, there had remained three cities

where their seed still dwelt,--Gaza, and Gath and Ashdod; and it was

from Gath that this Goliath had come with the invading army.

He was half as tall again as an ordinary man, something over nine feet.

His brazen breastplate alone weighed as much as a man; on his head was

a helmet of brass; and he carried over his shoulder a mighty spear

which looked like a weaver's beam and the head of which alone weighed

twenty-five pounds. Brazen greaves were upon his legs, and he bore a

shield of gleaming brass.

This daunting figure advanced boldly into the plain, between the two

armies drawn up in battle array, and in a great voice cried out:

"Why are ye come out to set your battle in array? Am not I a Philistine

and ye servants of Saul? Choose you a man for you and let him come down

to me.

"If he be able to fight with me, and to kill me, then will we be your

servants: but if I prevail against him and kill him, then shall ye be

our servants, and serve us.

"I defy the armies of Israel this day; give me a man, that we may fight

together."

Now this was quite customary in the olden times: many a great issue had

been decided by the combat of two champions. Moreover, there were brave

men enough in the army of the Israelites, for Saul had had war all his

days, against the children of Moab and the Amalekites, against Ammon,

Edom and Zoab; and when he had seen any strong or valiant fighter among

his people, he had straightway taken him unto him. But at the sight

of this huge, brazen warrior, his hardiest veterans turned pale and

trembled--for was it not a saying passed on from father to son for

many generations: "Who shall stand before the sons of Anak?"

So, among all those thousands there was not found one so much as to

answer to the giant's challenge. Which, when he perceived, he reviled

them and returned to his own people.

The next day he came forth again, morning and evening, and the day

after that, and each day following, always repeating his challenge

in the face of all the force, and taunting them bitterly. Wherefore

Saul was greatly troubled, for he knew well that this open fear of the

giant would fight more overwhelmingly against his soldiers, when battle

was joined, than the mighty Philistine himself and all his host. He

offered, therefore, great riches to any man who would go forth against

the challenger; whosoever should slay him should have the king's

daughter to wife, and his father's house should be free in Israel. Yet

even this could not prevail upon any to stand before the Philistine,

so that for forty days he braved and insulted the whole army without

response.

Now there were three brothers among those who followed Saul, Eliab,

Abinadab and Shammah. They were sons of Jesse, who dwelt but ten or

twelve miles from the battlefield in the hills near Bethlehem. This

Jesse had a fourth son, David, who was but a stripling and tended his

father's sheep.

He was a ruddy youth, of fair gaze, and beautiful to look upon. So

cunning a musician was he that when an evil spirit of melancholy had

descended upon the king, one of his servants had brought the boy to

harp to his master; and the youth's skill in charming away this evil

spirit had given him favor in Saul's sight, so that he had kept him

before him and made him his armor-bearer. But when the three older sons

of Jesse had joined the army gathered against the Philistines, David

had returned to his duties with his father's flocks.

It chanced at this time that Jesse called David to him:

"Take now," said he, "this bushel of parched corn and these ten loaves

and carry them swiftly to the camp to thy brethren.

"And carry these ten cheeses to the captain of their thousand, and see

how thy brethren fare and bring me word again."

So David arose very early in the morning and left the sheep with a

keeper and went as his father had commanded to the camp by the valley

of Elah.

It was an easy journey for one who spent his days abroad with the

sheep, and the sun was but lately up when he reached the encampment.

All was noise and confusion as he arrived, for both hosts were setting

themselves in battle array, army against army. So the youth left his

burdens with the keeper of the supplies, and ran in among the ranks

until he found his brethren and said unto them: "Peace be with you."

As he talked with them, the Philistine champion appeared on the

opposite slope. According to his wont, he challenged the whole army and

reviled them, while the men of Israel drew back, sore afraid as before.

David heard his insults, and heard also the talk of those who stood by:

what great things King Saul had promised to any who might overthrow

him, and how long his boast and defiance had gone unquestioned.

"What shall be done," he inquired of his neighbors, "to the man that

killeth this Philistine and taketh away the reproach from Israel? For

who is this uncircumcised Philistine that he should defy the armies of

the living God?"

They answered and told him what the king had promised: "So shall it be

done to the man that killeth him."

His eldest brother Eliab heard these questionings, and his anger was

kindled against David. He turned upon him, saying:

"Why comest thou down hither? And with whom hast thou left those few

sheep in the wilderness? I know thy pride and forwardness: thou art

come down that thou mightest see the battle."

"What have I now done?" replied the youth. "Was there not a cause for

my coming?"

He turned away and again asked the nearest soldier of the affair,

receiving the same answer. And some one came to Saul, relating the

words the stripling had spoken. Saul sent for him.

As soon as he stood in the king's presence, David broke out, pointing

to the distant figure of the giant:

"Let no man's heart fail because of him; thy servant will go and fight

with this Philistine."

"Thou art not able to go against this Philistine to fight with him,"

answered Saul; "for thou art but a youth, and he is a man of war from

his childhood up."

"Thy servant kept his father's sheep," urged the young man, "and there

came a lion and a bear and took a lamb out of the flock.

"And I went out after the lion and smote him and delivered the lamb out

of his mouth: and when he arose against me, I caught him by the hair

and smote him, and slew him.

"Thy servant slew both the lion and the bear: and this uncircumcised

Philistine shall be as one of them, seeing he hath defied the armies of

the living God."

When Saul saw the eagerness and confidence of this handsome young

shepherd, he was reminded of the deed of his son Jonathan when,

accompanied only by his armor-bearer, he had climbed up into the

enemy's garrison at Michmash, and slain twenty men within the space of

half an acre, and started the rout of the whole army of the Philistines

which had been about to overrun the land.

"Go," said he, "and the Lord be with thee."

So he armed David with his own armor and put a helmet on his head.

And David girded on the king's sword and tried to walk; but he found

himself so unaccustomed to the armor that he said to the king:

"I cannot go with these; for I have not proved them."

So he removed the armor, and set out in his shepherd's clothes, with

his staff in his hand and his sling hanging from his girdle. This

latter was the weapon he knew, and it was by no means to be despised.

The plain piece of leather with thongs attached to each end, by means

of which a stone could be hurled, was perhaps the very earliest means

of fighting at a distance; and it was the traditional arm of more than

one nation of the Syrian region. Among the Benjaminites, when they

fought with Israel, there were 700 chosen men, left-handed, every one

of whom could sling stones at a hair's-breadth and not miss; and an

expert slinger had the advantage, against a warrior armed with sword

and spear, of being able to deliver an attack long before he himself

was threatened.

The youth walked to the brook and carefully selected five rounded

stones of the right size, which he put into the wallet slung over his

shoulder. Then, in the full sight of both armies, he advanced against

the giant warrior in his gleaming harness, who stood brandishing his

great spear and shouting his scorn.

Seeing David approach, he came forward, preceded by his shield-bearer.

But perceiving only this fresh-faced stripling in his skin garment, he

was filled with contempt at such an antagonist.

"Am I a dog," he cried, "that thou comest to me with staves?"

Cursing the youth by his heathen gods, he shouted: "Come to me, and I

will give thy flesh to the fowls of the air, and to the beasts of the

field."

Calmly David answered:

"Thou comest to me with a sword and with a spear, and with a shield:

but I come to thee in the name of the Lord of hosts, the God of the

armies of Israel, whom thou hast defied.

"This day will the Lord deliver thee into my hand; and I will smite

thee, and take thy head from thee; and I will give the carcasses of the

host of the Philistines this day unto the fowls of the air, and to the

wild beasts of the earth; that all the assembly may know there is a god

in Israel."

Enraged at this insolence, the Philistine champion hastened forward to

smite down this boaster with one blow.

But David ran towards him. And as he ran he took one of the stones and

placed it in his sling. Whirling it about, he hurled it so shrewdly

that the stone struck Goliath full in the forehead, burying itself in

the skull.

Down crashed that giant bulk to earth. The shield-bearer fled aghast

back to his own lines. Running up to his prostrate adversary, the youth

drew the giant's sword from his sheath, and, while the multitude looked

on in awed silence, he hewed the Philistine's head from his body.

At that the Israelites set up a shout which echoed from hill to hill.

The Philistine host turned and fled in utter panic, while Saul's men

slaughtered them all the way to the gates of Gath, making great spoil

of their belongings.

But David took the giant's sword and placed it in the sanctuary of Nob,

where it was to serve him in dire need, at a later day.

And Saul set him over all his men of war.

PART II

IN THE DAYS OF ROMANCE

_Though it be hard at times to see of what usefulness were those

troublesome monsters of the world's younger days,--there is no such

difficulty with the thronging giants of the age of chivalry. For

some seven centuries (that is from the institution of this order by

Charlemagne till it was shot to death by firearms and gunpowder), the

giant's reason for existence was to furnish a large enough measure of

the knight's prowess._

_"The bigger they are, the harder they fall," says the modern

"bruiser"; the old romancers would have added--"and the more resounding

los to him who fells them."_

_Little did their vast size and muscles avail them against these

hot thirsters after fame. The magic net of Caligorant, Ferragus's

prophetic brazen head, Galafer's magic armor rendering the sinless

wearer invulnerable, Mugillo's prodigious mace with its whirling

balls--weapons, strength, craft and magic were alike impotent before

a Roland, an Arthur, an Amadis, or a Guy of Warwick. Of a list of two

hundred giants collected by a curious biographer, well-nigh half came

to an untimely end through the sword of some knight-errant. Small

wonder that after several hundred years of such eager reaping, these

heroes should have left not one live specimen for us of later times to

gape at._

_Read but the following few tales of such adventures as comprised

almost the regular "day's work" of knighthood; and, however much you

may bewail the loss, you must speedily comprehend why these Tall Ones,

once so plentiful, are today extinct._