 | The Voyage of Ithobal |  |
137
THE SIXTH DAY
139
Ithobal, reaching the world's end,
A spacious harbour doth befriend;
Southward no more, but Northward now
Turneth his storm-tossed vessels prow.
A spacious harbour doth befriend;
Southward no more, but Northward now
Turneth his storm-tossed vessels prow.
Glory and length of days, Great King, to thee!
The High Gods give thee victory and peace
And all Thy heart's desires! The ship I sent
Came to thy coasts—her precious freight unspilt—
After nine moons: so hadst Thou tidings, Lord,
Writ thee in gold from Ithobal, thy slave.
The High Gods give thee victory and peace
And all Thy heart's desires! The ship I sent
Came to thy coasts—her precious freight unspilt—
After nine moons: so hadst Thou tidings, Lord,
Writ thee in gold from Ithobal, thy slave.
I, with two galleys launched, my Ram and Dove,
Stood southward yet again. Hiram abode
To build, and Hamilcar to keep the guard;
While, for those thirty Tyrians sent ashore
And lost ones in my crews by land and sea
By water or in battle, by wild beasts,
Or slain by sun, or sickly marish airs;
As many from the native folk I took,
Freemen and slaves; well-moulded ones, enured
To toil and trial. Some with Hanno filled
The empty benches of the Ram; and some
Joined service in the Silver Dove. We quit
The friendly river, well caparisoned,
Stuffed to the wales with stores: sails renovate,
Cordage new-coiled; masts, rigging, all a-taunt:
And those brave spirits that did wend with me
At this by danger's salt so seasoned down;
So wont to take the terror and the sport
With equal mind that, if the end were death,
Then death should be good port. The weaker ones,
In such stout company, lacked time to fear:
Sufficient if they followed Ithobal
And Lady Nesta; if their daily mess
Came warm and comforting when oars were ranged;
And on the deck or beach, in noisy dance,
Their feet kept time to the drum.
Stood southward yet again. Hiram abode
To build, and Hamilcar to keep the guard;
While, for those thirty Tyrians sent ashore
And lost ones in my crews by land and sea
By water or in battle, by wild beasts,
Or slain by sun, or sickly marish airs;
140
Freemen and slaves; well-moulded ones, enured
To toil and trial. Some with Hanno filled
The empty benches of the Ram; and some
Joined service in the Silver Dove. We quit
The friendly river, well caparisoned,
Stuffed to the wales with stores: sails renovate,
Cordage new-coiled; masts, rigging, all a-taunt:
And those brave spirits that did wend with me
At this by danger's salt so seasoned down;
So wont to take the terror and the sport
With equal mind that, if the end were death,
Then death should be good port. The weaker ones,
In such stout company, lacked time to fear:
Sufficient if they followed Ithobal
And Lady Nesta; if their daily mess
Came warm and comforting when oars were ranged;
And on the deck or beach, in noisy dance,
Their feet kept time to the drum.
Yet we were come
So far, Lord Pharaoh, that it frighted me!
What had befell the Sun? Thy Spring on Nile
Is Autumn at that bound: thy Winter here
Shines Summer there: for this my thought was ripe.
Well wot our Tyrian mariners that Bel
Goes through his constellations, moon by moon,
From Ram and Crab to Fishes. But, dread King!
Already at Zimbabwê, in its sky
Of fiercest weather, overhead the Orb
So swung that either shadow was not cast,
Or cast to southward; and when week by week
My keels still ploughed those never-ending fields
Of the wine-coloured main; still clomb the slopes
Of glassy waves, to plunge forever down
Through the sea-lace and spume; still saw the shore
Glide, ghostlike, shadowy, grey, interminable,
Bound by its girdle of a beach, or walled
With dreadful crags; and while the last stars dipped—
Of those we knew—under the rim; and stars
Nameless, fresh to our eyes flashed into ken,
The heart of this thy servant Ithobal
Melted ofttimes to water. Twice and thrice,
Lone on the poop, I beat my breast and cried:—
“We come too far!”
So far, Lord Pharaoh, that it frighted me!
What had befell the Sun? Thy Spring on Nile
Is Autumn at that bound: thy Winter here
Shines Summer there: for this my thought was ripe.
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Goes through his constellations, moon by moon,
From Ram and Crab to Fishes. But, dread King!
Already at Zimbabwê, in its sky
Of fiercest weather, overhead the Orb
So swung that either shadow was not cast,
Or cast to southward; and when week by week
My keels still ploughed those never-ending fields
Of the wine-coloured main; still clomb the slopes
Of glassy waves, to plunge forever down
Through the sea-lace and spume; still saw the shore
Glide, ghostlike, shadowy, grey, interminable,
Bound by its girdle of a beach, or walled
With dreadful crags; and while the last stars dipped—
Of those we knew—under the rim; and stars
Nameless, fresh to our eyes flashed into ken,
The heart of this thy servant Ithobal
Melted ofttimes to water. Twice and thrice,
Lone on the poop, I beat my breast and cried:—
“We come too far!”
But, never once dismayed,
My Lady kept good courage. “Thou,” she laughed,
“Captain of all the Captains, sailest here
Farther than what was Nesta's farthest; yet
Sound are thy Ships: the sky hath still its Sun
The winds come fair: thy willing rowers go
Whithersoever thou dost steer. I saw
Our Silver Dove of Ishtar on the stem
Thrice stretch her bright wings in this morning's gold,
As hungering for what glory never bird
And never vessel found before. Sweet Lord!
Hold thy great heart! The coast doth know itself;
Its simple peoples pass, repass and talk:
Keep heart! I have a thing to comfort thee.
Less than five hundred leagues will bring us where
The long shore bends; and, trailing South no more,
Goes by a mightly horn, a Cape of Storms,
Laved with a wave that rolls from the World's End
Westward beneath a flat-topped mount, then turns
Northward and north and north, thy homeward way.”
My Lady kept good courage. “Thou,” she laughed,
142
Farther than what was Nesta's farthest; yet
Sound are thy Ships: the sky hath still its Sun
The winds come fair: thy willing rowers go
Whithersoever thou dost steer. I saw
Our Silver Dove of Ishtar on the stem
Thrice stretch her bright wings in this morning's gold,
As hungering for what glory never bird
And never vessel found before. Sweet Lord!
Hold thy great heart! The coast doth know itself;
Its simple peoples pass, repass and talk:
Keep heart! I have a thing to comfort thee.
Less than five hundred leagues will bring us where
The long shore bends; and, trailing South no more,
Goes by a mightly horn, a Cape of Storms,
Laved with a wave that rolls from the World's End
Westward beneath a flat-topped mount, then turns
Northward and north and north, thy homeward way.”
So sped we onward all those weary leagues;
Now fanned by airs which hardly broke the blue,
Now scourged by storms which rent the ocean floor,
And drove its hissing hills, all flake and foam
In headlong wrath. Anon, 'twas breath of Heaven,
As if the Gods had thereabouts trooped down,
By golden stairways of the clouds, to dwell
'Midst their own weather in such Paradise
Of dimpled sapphire wavelets, whose white lips
Kissed the smooth Shore and jewelled her with shells.
Then, whether it were life or fearful death
Waiting beyond for us in that dropped veil
Of the sea's distant purple none took heed,
None scanted meal nor did forego his song,
His dance and music: since if this were Fate
Sweet were it so to end. Anon, 'twould seem,
In tempest, or the terror of the surf
Bursting beneath our lee,—so close we saw
Our grave-place in the rocks—as if Hope died
In gloom behind us, and in face of us
Despair did point to Hell. Yet not for that
Was any oar-loom dropped: was any thigh
Thrust at the bench-board with less manlihood.
From chief to slave, ship-boy to timoneer,
These gave their souls with me to what so keeps
The souls of brave men safe. In pleasant times
The songs that Egypt hears, or Sidon sings
Kept our blades dancing. On the evil days
When we must run for shelter, not the winds,
Piping outside the reef where we would hide,
Could howl my children's cheering down.
Now fanned by airs which hardly broke the blue,
Now scourged by storms which rent the ocean floor,
And drove its hissing hills, all flake and foam
143
As if the Gods had thereabouts trooped down,
By golden stairways of the clouds, to dwell
'Midst their own weather in such Paradise
Of dimpled sapphire wavelets, whose white lips
Kissed the smooth Shore and jewelled her with shells.
Then, whether it were life or fearful death
Waiting beyond for us in that dropped veil
Of the sea's distant purple none took heed,
None scanted meal nor did forego his song,
His dance and music: since if this were Fate
Sweet were it so to end. Anon, 'twould seem,
In tempest, or the terror of the surf
Bursting beneath our lee,—so close we saw
Our grave-place in the rocks—as if Hope died
In gloom behind us, and in face of us
Despair did point to Hell. Yet not for that
Was any oar-loom dropped: was any thigh
Thrust at the bench-board with less manlihood.
From chief to slave, ship-boy to timoneer,
These gave their souls with me to what so keeps
The souls of brave men safe. In pleasant times
The songs that Egypt hears, or Sidon sings
144
When we must run for shelter, not the winds,
Piping outside the reef where we would hide,
Could howl my children's cheering down.
Thus, Lord,
All those five hundred leagues of unseen sea
In forty days thy galleys overpassed,
Till, sailing free, a light air from the North,
Daylight just dim, we see the unending coast
Break to the right, away, far, far away:
Ahead, no land at all. The wide sea rolls
Steadfastly westward, in long hills and dales
So that with steep ascent we climb, to glide
By slope as steep into the trough of blue:
So deep ship sees not ship until they ride
Once again balanced on the curling crest.
No land to South, nor East; Westward we spy
White beaches and grey cliffs with hills behind
And forests hanging in the clouds. All day
The strong swell helps the wind to waft us on
Till there was brought abreast a wall of cliff,
Dark-hued, three hundred cubits tall-a peak
Pointing each flank. O Pharaoh! now I know
That rocky ramp with its twin peaks on guard
Was of all Africa her utmost earth;
Was back-gate of the World; was where to turn,—
If the Gods willed—to find a homeward way
And come alive out of that nether death.
All those five hundred leagues of unseen sea
In forty days thy galleys overpassed,
Till, sailing free, a light air from the North,
Daylight just dim, we see the unending coast
Break to the right, away, far, far away:
Ahead, no land at all. The wide sea rolls
Steadfastly westward, in long hills and dales
So that with steep ascent we climb, to glide
By slope as steep into the trough of blue:
So deep ship sees not ship until they ride
Once again balanced on the curling crest.
No land to South, nor East; Westward we spy
White beaches and grey cliffs with hills behind
And forests hanging in the clouds. All day
The strong swell helps the wind to waft us on
Till there was brought abreast a wall of cliff,
Dark-hued, three hundred cubits tall-a peak
Pointing each flank. O Pharaoh! now I know
145
Was of all Africa her utmost earth;
Was back-gate of the World; was where to turn,—
If the Gods willed—to find a homeward way
And come alive out of that nether death.
Even as we drew inshore, the sun went down
Far on our right: no man had seen that thing
In Syria or in Egypt. Crouching low
My grey-haired steersman hid his face and prayed.
But Nesta, holding fast the golden charm
Which helped her with her Gods, laughed low and said:—
“Master! we have out-travelled even Bel!
The Sun-God is more weary than thy ships:
He sleepeth short of us. And see! where stalks
A tawny lion on yon grassy knoll
Hanging above the surf! Know ye that sign?
It is the Lord of Libya come to look
On men that have a heart within their breasts
Greater than lions.”
Far on our right: no man had seen that thing
In Syria or in Egypt. Crouching low
My grey-haired steersman hid his face and prayed.
But Nesta, holding fast the golden charm
Which helped her with her Gods, laughed low and said:—
“Master! we have out-travelled even Bel!
The Sun-God is more weary than thy ships:
He sleepeth short of us. And see! where stalks
A tawny lion on yon grassy knoll
Hanging above the surf! Know ye that sign?
It is the Lord of Libya come to look
On men that have a heart within their breasts
Greater than lions.”
As she spake, the clouds,
Gathering tumultuous o'er the distant ridge,
Stooped and let out a blast from forth the West
Full in our faces, driving down the swell,
Tearing its grey crests off in seething spray.
And with the wind the hail—great stones of ice—
That pelted decks and scourged the smarting sea,
And beat the billows flat, bringing amain
A new fierce turmoil of such waves as seemed
Each one a ruin. All our sails were furled;
Deck-hatches shut; fast-sealed the rowing-ports;
While our two banks of Thalamites in turn
Strained blades to keep us heading. If we broached,
The seas must come aboard, the o'er-whelmed craft
Must founder. Never saw thy servant yet
A deadlier run of breakers; by His name
Who dwells at Ascalon, I did not hope
To view another sun; but—more to cheer—
Myself I seized the steering oar and held
As best I might the Silver Dove to the wind.
Surely we had been lost, when Nesta plucked
My sleeve, and pointed where aboard his Ram
Good Hanno showed us safety. Not in vain
Summers and winters long on the Mid Sea
The salt had bleached his hair; the savage deep
Taught him its secrets. Axe in hand he cut
His mast and gear away; lashed round the wreck
His anchor rope, and, casting overboard,
Had veered the raffle forward through the waves,
And making fast on the stem-head, he rode
Secure by this sea anchor, whose defence
Broke the rough brine and kept the gallant ship
Steadfast to windward. We, too, likeways did,
Cutting away our mast and launching it
With sail and gear and rigging over side;
Till, like the Ram, at cable's-end the Dove
Hung, plunging to the angry wash, sore tossed,
But saved. Thus did we drift the wild night through,
And all a dismal day, and that next night,
Till morning brought us peace, with promise fair
Of easy shelter; since a spacious bay
Opened its green arms for us to the left;
Whereto, hacking away our wreck, we stood,
Much labouring, for the sea ran strong; and faint
Were hearts and arms, yet life is sweet to save,
And this my lady on the bench by me
Plied the same oar-loom with her dark small hands,
What time, with cries of joy, the two ships shot
Clear of the surge, under a shelving hill,
Which shut us into quiet.
Gathering tumultuous o'er the distant ridge,
Stooped and let out a blast from forth the West
Full in our faces, driving down the swell,
146
And with the wind the hail—great stones of ice—
That pelted decks and scourged the smarting sea,
And beat the billows flat, bringing amain
A new fierce turmoil of such waves as seemed
Each one a ruin. All our sails were furled;
Deck-hatches shut; fast-sealed the rowing-ports;
While our two banks of Thalamites in turn
Strained blades to keep us heading. If we broached,
The seas must come aboard, the o'er-whelmed craft
Must founder. Never saw thy servant yet
A deadlier run of breakers; by His name
Who dwells at Ascalon, I did not hope
To view another sun; but—more to cheer—
Myself I seized the steering oar and held
As best I might the Silver Dove to the wind.
Surely we had been lost, when Nesta plucked
My sleeve, and pointed where aboard his Ram
Good Hanno showed us safety. Not in vain
Summers and winters long on the Mid Sea
The salt had bleached his hair; the savage deep
Taught him its secrets. Axe in hand he cut
His mast and gear away; lashed round the wreck
His anchor rope, and, casting overboard,
Had veered the raffle forward through the waves,
147
Secure by this sea anchor, whose defence
Broke the rough brine and kept the gallant ship
Steadfast to windward. We, too, likeways did,
Cutting away our mast and launching it
With sail and gear and rigging over side;
Till, like the Ram, at cable's-end the Dove
Hung, plunging to the angry wash, sore tossed,
But saved. Thus did we drift the wild night through,
And all a dismal day, and that next night,
Till morning brought us peace, with promise fair
Of easy shelter; since a spacious bay
Opened its green arms for us to the left;
Whereto, hacking away our wreck, we stood,
Much labouring, for the sea ran strong; and faint
Were hearts and arms, yet life is sweet to save,
And this my lady on the bench by me
Plied the same oar-loom with her dark small hands,
What time, with cries of joy, the two ships shot
Clear of the surge, under a shelving hill,
Which shut us into quiet.
'Twas a spot
Stamped on the tablet of my soul by stress
Of utmost peril finding end in peace.
From head to head the gateway of the bay
Spreads a large league. An island to the east
Sentinels that approach; inside a plain
Where one might build a stately city, King!
To keep the keys of all that Nether World.
Beyond it soars aloft a mountain mass,
Flat at the top like some prodigious roof,
This side and that side ending suddenly
With precipices sheer, which plunge adown,
Till from their feet another rounded slope
Rises this way and that. The northward spur
Takes form as if a lion's head did lift
From shaggy shoulders; to the south the hill
Hath such a shape as shows, in chine and haunch,
A couchant lion. Far away are peaks
With wooded uplands and deep valleys, decked
By blossoming heaths, flame-coloured aloe-spears,
And garlands of wild grape. The country folk,
Simple and friendly, clad in skins or bark
Gave us fair welcome. 'Twas their winter time;
But the air mild and still, save when a cloud
Gathered upon the Table Mount, whereat
A savage west wind howled, and there would hap
Tempest and hail. Well pleased, we did abide
In port of that good hope; and, from a wood
Plucked straight-grown spars to make us masts again,
And trimmed and fashioned these, and set them up
Firm as before, using for stays and shrouds
The twisted strips of hide cut in the green;
Made good our broken oars; recaulked our seams;
The weary crews refreshed; filled full anew
The water-pots and meal-jars. Store was, too,
Of dried meat and of honey. When Gods give
They give with both hands filled.
Stamped on the tablet of my soul by stress
148
From head to head the gateway of the bay
Spreads a large league. An island to the east
Sentinels that approach; inside a plain
Where one might build a stately city, King!
To keep the keys of all that Nether World.
Beyond it soars aloft a mountain mass,
Flat at the top like some prodigious roof,
This side and that side ending suddenly
With precipices sheer, which plunge adown,
Till from their feet another rounded slope
Rises this way and that. The northward spur
Takes form as if a lion's head did lift
From shaggy shoulders; to the south the hill
Hath such a shape as shows, in chine and haunch,
A couchant lion. Far away are peaks
With wooded uplands and deep valleys, decked
By blossoming heaths, flame-coloured aloe-spears,
And garlands of wild grape. The country folk,
Simple and friendly, clad in skins or bark
Gave us fair welcome. 'Twas their winter time;
But the air mild and still, save when a cloud
Gathered upon the Table Mount, whereat
A savage west wind howled, and there would hap
149
In port of that good hope; and, from a wood
Plucked straight-grown spars to make us masts again,
And trimmed and fashioned these, and set them up
Firm as before, using for stays and shrouds
The twisted strips of hide cut in the green;
Made good our broken oars; recaulked our seams;
The weary crews refreshed; filled full anew
The water-pots and meal-jars. Store was, too,
Of dried meat and of honey. When Gods give
They give with both hands filled.
A year had fled
And half a year, in sunshine and in storm,
Great Pharaoh! since we left thy sea of Suph.
Here was the end of earth! would the sea-road
Lead homeward all the way to North and thee?
Was there a westward path of unbarred main
Like to that eastern path, which we might cleave
And come to happy finish, and thy feet?
Or must we perish in the trackless deep
And thou not know, and no man living hear
Where in the dark Ithobal lost thy ships?
The shore-folk could not teach. Only they said
Traders and tribesmen, wandering from the West
Spake of blue sea, blue sea, always blue sea,
And coasts that stretched and stretched to northward. None
In their frail shallops ever dared to round
That neighbourhood cantle, where the rolling South
The roaring West encountered, and the tides
Breasted so high they seemed to mock the hills.
If we would die, 'twere best to wait a breeze
Blows from the east when the great mountain doffs
Its cap of clouds, and so steal out from clutch
Of the sea-demons. Peradventure peace
Might be upon us till the land was turned,
And then that would befall which must befall.
And half a year, in sunshine and in storm,
Great Pharaoh! since we left thy sea of Suph.
Here was the end of earth! would the sea-road
Lead homeward all the way to North and thee?
Was there a westward path of unbarred main
Like to that eastern path, which we might cleave
And come to happy finish, and thy feet?
Or must we perish in the trackless deep
And thou not know, and no man living hear
Where in the dark Ithobal lost thy ships?
The shore-folk could not teach. Only they said
Traders and tribesmen, wandering from the West
150
And coasts that stretched and stretched to northward. None
In their frail shallops ever dared to round
That neighbourhood cantle, where the rolling South
The roaring West encountered, and the tides
Breasted so high they seemed to mock the hills.
If we would die, 'twere best to wait a breeze
Blows from the east when the great mountain doffs
Its cap of clouds, and so steal out from clutch
Of the sea-demons. Peradventure peace
Might be upon us till the land was turned,
And then that would befall which must befall.
So we made sacrifice, and on a dawn,
All gold and saffron, let our painted sails
Fill to a favouring wind, and driving safe
Over smooth billows, ran the coast adown
And made the headland well, and shifted course
Straight for the North. Seven days the good breeze held;
Seven nights the moon of Ishtar gleamed for us.
Then, lacking water and our rowers spent,
Under an island green, and white, and red,
Found we fair shelter. Sea-birds nested there:
Strange breeds
with paddle wings and silken necks,
Whose speckled eggs made the men pleasant feasts.
And next came mists blotting out sea and land;
And next, I most remember one low point,
Tree-fringed, which swarmed with apes; the furry folk
Pelted us from the tree-tops with ripe nuts,
Chattering vain war. A river, after that,
So thronged with elephants browsing its banks,
That 'twas as though the sandhills swayed and paced.
Were we but hunters there was ivory
To build a throne for Egypt. Then a stream
The folk named “Golden Waters”; here a bar
Shut its wide reaches from the thundering main:
So spread they to a vast lagoon where, sooth!
All feathered folk of Earth did seem to dwell.
For clouds the sky had fowls. They soared or swam,
Or waded in the shallows, spearing fish,—
Myriads and myriads: while upon the plain
Those cattle of the Gods,—the dappled deer,—
Were all the citizens. And, like the land
Where man's foot cometh not, the seas hereat
Swarmed with bright life: in the air the albatross
Stretched wings to wind like two pale galley sails:
Or skimmed with yellow webs from crest to crest,
Or poised asleep in the scud. And, at a gut,
Where breeze and current laid a course for us,
Under a monstrous cliff, steep to the surf,
We held all day a merry company
Of racing dolphins, like black swine of the wave,
At gambol in the green: such glee of life!
Such joyous pigs of Dagon, that I stayed
The hand of one who aimed a shaft at them.
And farther on, whole islands white as snow
With droppings of the sea-fowl. Then a ledge
So thick with forms, half fish, half woman-wise,
Sleek-headed, melon-breasted, with dark eyes
Lustrous and soft, thou wouldst have thought them maids
Gendered by Sea-Gods upon river-nymphs,
Till the broad tails waved and they plunged,—the seals!
And nigh a bay—was called the Whale-Fish Bay—
We passed an islet, one huge marble rock
Hollow as is a temple-court, with halls
And shrines and corridors and cloisters high,
Filled with dim greenish light; its walls and roofs
Carved by a thousand tempests into dome,
Pinnacle, plinth, and ponderous architrave,
Whereof the entrance was a gateway beamed
By split slabs and a lintel ragged, vast;
The door-posts' weathered columns cut by waves
Grand as Thy Memphis. Into this the main,
Pouring its billows, lashed the floor to foam;
Spurted in milky fountains through the clefts;
Streamed in wan cataracts from shelf and coign;
All with such monstrous roar as if the Deep
Came there to speak, and bid us stay our quest,
With terrible commanding.
All gold and saffron, let our painted sails
Fill to a favouring wind, and driving safe
Over smooth billows, ran the coast adown
And made the headland well, and shifted course
Straight for the North. Seven days the good breeze held;
Seven nights the moon of Ishtar gleamed for us.
Then, lacking water and our rowers spent,
Under an island green, and white, and red,
Found we fair shelter. Sea-birds nested there:
151
Whose speckled eggs made the men pleasant feasts.
And next came mists blotting out sea and land;
And next, I most remember one low point,
Tree-fringed, which swarmed with apes; the furry folk
Pelted us from the tree-tops with ripe nuts,
Chattering vain war. A river, after that,
So thronged with elephants browsing its banks,
That 'twas as though the sandhills swayed and paced.
Were we but hunters there was ivory
To build a throne for Egypt. Then a stream
The folk named “Golden Waters”; here a bar
Shut its wide reaches from the thundering main:
So spread they to a vast lagoon where, sooth!
All feathered folk of Earth did seem to dwell.
For clouds the sky had fowls. They soared or swam,
Or waded in the shallows, spearing fish,—
Myriads and myriads: while upon the plain
Those cattle of the Gods,—the dappled deer,—
Were all the citizens. And, like the land
Where man's foot cometh not, the seas hereat
152
Stretched wings to wind like two pale galley sails:
Or skimmed with yellow webs from crest to crest,
Or poised asleep in the scud. And, at a gut,
Where breeze and current laid a course for us,
Under a monstrous cliff, steep to the surf,
We held all day a merry company
Of racing dolphins, like black swine of the wave,
At gambol in the green: such glee of life!
Such joyous pigs of Dagon, that I stayed
The hand of one who aimed a shaft at them.
And farther on, whole islands white as snow
With droppings of the sea-fowl. Then a ledge
So thick with forms, half fish, half woman-wise,
Sleek-headed, melon-breasted, with dark eyes
Lustrous and soft, thou wouldst have thought them maids
Gendered by Sea-Gods upon river-nymphs,
Till the broad tails waved and they plunged,—the seals!
And nigh a bay—was called the Whale-Fish Bay—
We passed an islet, one huge marble rock
Hollow as is a temple-court, with halls
And shrines and corridors and cloisters high,
Filled with dim greenish light; its walls and roofs
153
Pinnacle, plinth, and ponderous architrave,
Whereof the entrance was a gateway beamed
By split slabs and a lintel ragged, vast;
The door-posts' weathered columns cut by waves
Grand as Thy Memphis. Into this the main,
Pouring its billows, lashed the floor to foam;
Spurted in milky fountains through the clefts;
Streamed in wan cataracts from shelf and coign;
All with such monstrous roar as if the Deep
Came there to speak, and bid us stay our quest,
With terrible commanding.
Farther north
We beached on the white horn of a wide bay,
Where sand-banks spread, and coral rocks awash
Broke the long swells on matted weed. Shewhales
Flocked there to calve. By Him of Gaza, Lord!
Rare sight it was to see those monstrous dams
Shoulder the shallow water, sailing in
To bring to birth. No fish are these, O King!
No more than bat is bird because it flies;
No more than scaly crocodiles have fins
Because they swim. We had a mariner
Well seen in whales: a sailor oft on Suph
And in the Midland Sea. He showed us how
The Gods have framed Leviathan a beast,
Albeit of the deep. These giant-shes
Brought forth like women; suckled young at teats
Down by the vent; had nipples like a nurse;
And, so Bilhadad showed, because the calves
Sucked ill in water, could at will force milk
Into the youngling's throat. He taught us how
The thick white fat was wrapped over the frame
To keep the creature's blood at heating point;
And how the creature's blood at heating point;
Athwart, not lengthwise, for the better speed
In rising and descending. Also, King!
These monsters, placable, find bloodless food
In what the deep hath smallest and least seen;
Since every wave is filled with forms minute—
Shining by night—as is the air with gnats.
These and the other unregarded orts
Of Ocean's face the whale eats; to that end—
So crafty go the Gods,—Bilhadad showed,
He hath no teeth, but in the cavernous mouth
Ridges of bending bone, finished by shreds,
By strings, and fringes, flexed inside the lips
To make the mouth all sieve. So will he gulp
A billow in his jaws, and, closing them,
Sift the brine forth by nostril and by lip,
To gain a pouchful. Were their appetites
Vast as their bulk, woe would it be, meseems,
For weaker tribes. One great whale misconceived
My Silver Dove to be her cub, and rolled
Motherly sides against us, breaking short
A score of oar-blades.
We beached on the white horn of a wide bay,
Where sand-banks spread, and coral rocks awash
Broke the long swells on matted weed. Shewhales
Flocked there to calve. By Him of Gaza, Lord!
Rare sight it was to see those monstrous dams
Shoulder the shallow water, sailing in
To bring to birth. No fish are these, O King!
No more than bat is bird because it flies;
No more than scaly crocodiles have fins
Because they swim. We had a mariner
154
And in the Midland Sea. He showed us how
The Gods have framed Leviathan a beast,
Albeit of the deep. These giant-shes
Brought forth like women; suckled young at teats
Down by the vent; had nipples like a nurse;
And, so Bilhadad showed, because the calves
Sucked ill in water, could at will force milk
Into the youngling's throat. He taught us how
The thick white fat was wrapped over the frame
To keep the creature's blood at heating point;
And how the creature's blood at heating point;
Athwart, not lengthwise, for the better speed
In rising and descending. Also, King!
These monsters, placable, find bloodless food
In what the deep hath smallest and least seen;
Since every wave is filled with forms minute—
Shining by night—as is the air with gnats.
These and the other unregarded orts
Of Ocean's face the whale eats; to that end—
So crafty go the Gods,—Bilhadad showed,
He hath no teeth, but in the cavernous mouth
Ridges of bending bone, finished by shreds,
By strings, and fringes, flexed inside the lips
155
A billow in his jaws, and, closing them,
Sift the brine forth by nostril and by lip,
To gain a pouchful. Were their appetites
Vast as their bulk, woe would it be, meseems,
For weaker tribes. One great whale misconceived
My Silver Dove to be her cub, and rolled
Motherly sides against us, breaking short
A score of oar-blades.
North,—still north we sped
With many a stay, till the “Black Cape” was made,
A dark rock jutting from a sandy neck,
With friendly frith behind. Thence, past low woods
And shores by long swells lashed, into a port
Lobito named, where it was good to be.
We go ashore for meat; some ambuscade
Brown reed-buck in the canes; some, lance in hand,
Follow the moist and perilous paths whereby
The river-horses wend. Some haul the net
Along the yellow sands, or bait great hooks
To take the shark. Yet none for forest lore
Or sylvan skill matched our bright Lady here.
We, with a band, went inland,—three days' march—
To spy the country or if trade might be.
But naked was it all, barren, and burned:
No life except the lizard's on the stone,
The vulture's in the sky. At that third eve,—
The path being lost, the water-bags all dry,
Food failing and the sun at act to set,—
My temper bent. “By Thammuz's blood!”—I swore,
“Ithobal is of stuff Gods use for fools
Since, Nesta, he hath led thee and these friends
To die a-thirst and hungry in the waste.”
On this she smiled. If one had lightly laughed
At Ithobal in wrath,—one lip but hers,—
Blood would have washed it out; but not a whit
Her dark eyes quailed as mine flung round to her.
“Good Lord!” spake she, “thy ships have girdled now
Two parts, out of the three, of Africa,
And thou wilt knot the silver cincture tight
At Pharaoh's foot-stool. Yet for all thy skill
The treasures of my home thou readest not.
See! where we stand is meat and drink enough
To have and spare, if well ye wot the signs,
As little children do, finding the breast
For all that lawns and sindons may conceal.”
Thereat she stepped three paces, touched with foot
A glossy dark green creeper, flat of leaf,
Tendrilled along a hollow in the sand,
With knotty nuts upon it, half a score.
“This is the nara,” quoth she, “dig and dig,
And ye shall find sweet water at its roots,
Half a bow's length beneath. Also its fruit
Is comforting and good. But for more need,
Look yonder, Master, where a thin line juts
Against the golden sun. A branch ye thought?
A spray of goat-grass? Nay, dear brave dull eyes,
Yon is an estridge neck. I clap my hands,
The loutish housewife rises and makes off,
Who hath prepared the evening meal for us.”
She laughed and shouted loud; the great bird starts,
With fluttered plumes and cackling beak, and flies;
And while some dig the water, King! we find
A score of great new ivory eggs, the clutch
Of many a hen; so sup on lavish fare.
With many a stay, till the “Black Cape” was made,
A dark rock jutting from a sandy neck,
With friendly frith behind. Thence, past low woods
And shores by long swells lashed, into a port
Lobito named, where it was good to be.
We go ashore for meat; some ambuscade
Brown reed-buck in the canes; some, lance in hand,
Follow the moist and perilous paths whereby
The river-horses wend. Some haul the net
Along the yellow sands, or bait great hooks
To take the shark. Yet none for forest lore
156
We, with a band, went inland,—three days' march—
To spy the country or if trade might be.
But naked was it all, barren, and burned:
No life except the lizard's on the stone,
The vulture's in the sky. At that third eve,—
The path being lost, the water-bags all dry,
Food failing and the sun at act to set,—
My temper bent. “By Thammuz's blood!”—I swore,
“Ithobal is of stuff Gods use for fools
Since, Nesta, he hath led thee and these friends
To die a-thirst and hungry in the waste.”
On this she smiled. If one had lightly laughed
At Ithobal in wrath,—one lip but hers,—
Blood would have washed it out; but not a whit
Her dark eyes quailed as mine flung round to her.
“Good Lord!” spake she, “thy ships have girdled now
Two parts, out of the three, of Africa,
And thou wilt knot the silver cincture tight
At Pharaoh's foot-stool. Yet for all thy skill
The treasures of my home thou readest not.
See! where we stand is meat and drink enough
To have and spare, if well ye wot the signs,
As little children do, finding the breast
157
Thereat she stepped three paces, touched with foot
A glossy dark green creeper, flat of leaf,
Tendrilled along a hollow in the sand,
With knotty nuts upon it, half a score.
“This is the nara,” quoth she, “dig and dig,
And ye shall find sweet water at its roots,
Half a bow's length beneath. Also its fruit
Is comforting and good. But for more need,
Look yonder, Master, where a thin line juts
Against the golden sun. A branch ye thought?
A spray of goat-grass? Nay, dear brave dull eyes,
Yon is an estridge neck. I clap my hands,
The loutish housewife rises and makes off,
Who hath prepared the evening meal for us.”
She laughed and shouted loud; the great bird starts,
With fluttered plumes and cackling beak, and flies;
And while some dig the water, King! we find
A score of great new ivory eggs, the clutch
Of many a hen; so sup on lavish fare.
North again, north we row. The new stars sink;
Old stars begin to rise; past long white cliffs
Athwart quick Bengo's mouth; under a rock
Yellow as sulphur, with black hanging woods,
And then by shores, striped red and white, we win
Into discoloured seas. A mighty flood
Pours from the land, staining the blue waves brown,
And bearing broken trunks and whirling round
Patches of rooted grass and reeds. High up
We see, inshore, long-reaching stretch of stream
That shows no farther bank. It is the mouth
Of a right mighty river; not thy Nile
Hath nobler gateway, Pharaoh! to the deep.
At the point's hither side opens a cove
Where turtles breed. We beach our ships i' the smooth
And pitch a camp. Presently flock the folk
Naked, shock-headed, speaking words uncouth,
Friendly but curious. Gondah trades with them,
Cloth, and brass wire, and beads for kids, and meal.
'Midst these a grey-haired wanderer from the waste—
Beareth the Eastern face,—hath journeyed far,
Knoweth the mighty stream and nameth it
Enzaddi—“Mother of all Waters,”—saith
It riseth out of great lakes far away,
Bemba and Bangweolo—runneth vast,
Full-volumed, fertilizing, rich with woods,
Seven hundred leagues, and twice doth fling its bulk
Down monstrous rock-walls. When this ancient spies
The tribe-mark tinctured blue on nesta's arm,
Prone falleth he to earth, kisseth her foot,
Saith in strange tongue words that well pleased the ear
Of the listening Lady. “Truly he hath come,”
She whispers, “from the East Sea to the West,
His eyes have seen the breadth of Africa;
A Makalanga too! 'tis wonderful!”
Old stars begin to rise; past long white cliffs
Athwart quick Bengo's mouth; under a rock
Yellow as sulphur, with black hanging woods,
158
Into discoloured seas. A mighty flood
Pours from the land, staining the blue waves brown,
And bearing broken trunks and whirling round
Patches of rooted grass and reeds. High up
We see, inshore, long-reaching stretch of stream
That shows no farther bank. It is the mouth
Of a right mighty river; not thy Nile
Hath nobler gateway, Pharaoh! to the deep.
At the point's hither side opens a cove
Where turtles breed. We beach our ships i' the smooth
And pitch a camp. Presently flock the folk
Naked, shock-headed, speaking words uncouth,
Friendly but curious. Gondah trades with them,
Cloth, and brass wire, and beads for kids, and meal.
'Midst these a grey-haired wanderer from the waste—
Beareth the Eastern face,—hath journeyed far,
Knoweth the mighty stream and nameth it
Enzaddi—“Mother of all Waters,”—saith
It riseth out of great lakes far away,
Bemba and Bangweolo—runneth vast,
Full-volumed, fertilizing, rich with woods,
Seven hundred leagues, and twice doth fling its bulk
159
The tribe-mark tinctured blue on nesta's arm,
Prone falleth he to earth, kisseth her foot,
Saith in strange tongue words that well pleased the ear
Of the listening Lady. “Truly he hath come,”
She whispers, “from the East Sea to the West,
His eyes have seen the breadth of Africa;
A Makalanga too! 'tis wonderful!”
That night, as many nights before, we sate
Girt by a fence of thorns, in light robes wrapt,
The camp-fires brightly burning, flinging sparks
Into the murk, and lighting trees and tents,
While the wide river and the meeting sea
Made us a sleep-song. Other voices too
The lonely Libyan night hath; creatures wild,
That hate the sun, make by the moon and stars
Their hunting time. You heard the river-horse
Splash in the reeds; the owl hoot from his branch;
The grey fox bark; the earth-bear whine and sniff;
The apes,—four-handed people of the wood—
Fretfully chatter; then the spotted dog
Utter his devilish laugh, and the lynx scream,
Till near at hand the lion, lord of beasts,
Lays muzzle on the ground, and roars a peal
Of angry thunder, rolling round the hills,
Hushing the frighted wilderness. Far off,
His neighbour lions catch the thunder up,
And with fierce answers shake the shuddering ground.
As so we lay with those rough voices ringed,
The watch-fires gleaming back from the green eyes
That showed and shone and vanished, Nesta raised
Her eyelids from what seemed a dream, and asked:—
“Know'st thou, my Master! what the lions say?
They have been kings: they are the kings to-night;
All this is theirs; the river and its reeds,
The hills, the thickets, and the roaming game,
The village people and their lives—all's theirs,
And this dark world must listen when they speak,
Will listen many an age. Yet it is spite
Makes them to roar so bitter; centuries pass
Like moons at last, and after centuries
The lions know that down this stream will come
A white man bringing to the darkness dawn
As doth the morning star; opening the gates
Which shut my people in, till good times hap,
When cattle-bells, and drums, and festal songs
Of peaceful people, dwelling happily,
Shall be the desert's voice both day and night:
The lions know and roar their hate of it.
Hark! Ist-a-la-ni! Ist-a-la-ni! cries
The Marsh Hen: knowing who will come at last;
And wolves snarl—dreaming of ‘the Stone-Breaker.’”
Girt by a fence of thorns, in light robes wrapt,
The camp-fires brightly burning, flinging sparks
Into the murk, and lighting trees and tents,
While the wide river and the meeting sea
Made us a sleep-song. Other voices too
The lonely Libyan night hath; creatures wild,
That hate the sun, make by the moon and stars
Their hunting time. You heard the river-horse
Splash in the reeds; the owl hoot from his branch;
The grey fox bark; the earth-bear whine and sniff;
The apes,—four-handed people of the wood—
Fretfully chatter; then the spotted dog
Utter his devilish laugh, and the lynx scream,
160
Lays muzzle on the ground, and roars a peal
Of angry thunder, rolling round the hills,
Hushing the frighted wilderness. Far off,
His neighbour lions catch the thunder up,
And with fierce answers shake the shuddering ground.
As so we lay with those rough voices ringed,
The watch-fires gleaming back from the green eyes
That showed and shone and vanished, Nesta raised
Her eyelids from what seemed a dream, and asked:—
“Know'st thou, my Master! what the lions say?
They have been kings: they are the kings to-night;
All this is theirs; the river and its reeds,
The hills, the thickets, and the roaming game,
The village people and their lives—all's theirs,
And this dark world must listen when they speak,
Will listen many an age. Yet it is spite
Makes them to roar so bitter; centuries pass
Like moons at last, and after centuries
The lions know that down this stream will come
A white man bringing to the darkness dawn
As doth the morning star; opening the gates
161
When cattle-bells, and drums, and festal songs
Of peaceful people, dwelling happily,
Shall be the desert's voice both day and night:
The lions know and roar their hate of it.
Hark! Ist-a-la-ni! Ist-a-la-ni! cries
The Marsh Hen: knowing who will come at last;
And wolves snarl—dreaming of ‘the Stone-Breaker.’”
END OF THE SIXTH DAY
| The Voyage of Ithobal | |