But when they were come near Malea, the southernmost point of land,
where two seas meet, there the storm snatched them, and drove them ever
southwards, beyond Crete, towards the mouth of the Nile. They scudded
long before the storm-wind, losing their reckoning, and rushing by
island temples that showed like ghosts through the mist, and past havens
which they could not win. On they fled, and the men would gladly have
lightened the ship by casting the cargo overboard; but the captain
watched the hatches with a sword and two bronze-tipped spears in his
hand. He would sink or swim with the ship; he would go down with his
treasure, or reach Sidon, the City of Flowers, and build a white house
among the palms by the waters of Bostren, and never try the sea again.
So he swore; and he would not let them cast the Wanderer overboard, as
they desired, because he had brought bad luck. "He shall bring a good
price in Tanis," cried the captain. And at last the storm abated, and
the Sidonians took heart, and were glad like men escaped from death; so
they sacrificed and poured forth wine before the dwarf-gods on the prow
of their vessel, and burned incense on their little altar. In their
mirth, and to mock the Wanderer, they hung his sword and his shield
against the mast, and his quiver and his bow they arrayed in the fashion
of a trophy; and they mocked him, believing that he knew no word of
their speech.
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