by Phil Masters
And so I transported everything out to the open. Glad though I was to be free of the mass tomb, there was little to eat or drink on the beach, and so every day I made my way back into the cave, and every time there was another funeral, I renewed my supplies by slaying the living spouse.
But most of the time, I kept watch from the beach, until one day my prayers were answered, and I saw a ship sailing past. I snatched up a stick to which I had fastened a white shroud, and ran along the beach, waving frantically. My luck held, and someone aboard the ship saw me, and they stopped, turned towards the island, and sent a boat ashore to collect me.
They asked how I had come to that beach, because the captain swore that, in all the years he had sailed this route, he had never seen any man there. I told them that I was a merchant who had been aboard a ship that was wrecked, but I had managed to load some of my luggage onto a broad beam from the wreck, and had then been cast up on that shore. I did not mention the tomb, for fear that people from the city might be on the ship.
I also offered the captain gifts from among my goods, in gratitude for my rescue, but he refused, saying that it was his custom to rescue shipwrecked travellers without payment. At that, I called down the blessings of Allah upon him.
And so we sailed on, though my sleep was full of nightmares of the cave, and of how I had survived by killing, so that I thought I might go insane. At length, though, the ship came to Basrah, where I parted from the captain and his crew. Then I made my way to Baghdad, where I met my family and household, sold the valuable goods which I had scavenged from the dead, and returned to my old life.
Sinbad has just escaped after being buried alive in a cave-tomb, finding a tunnel out to an otherwise inaccessible beach. He has sighted a passing ship and attracted the crew’s attention, and the crew have sent a boat to pick him up. Fortunately, perhaps, they do not recognize that the clothes he is wearing, and the bundles he is carrying, are actually burial shrouds – despite the fact that they are the white colour typical of funerary garb from the region.
Sinbad is well into his 30s by now, but he has just had a terrifying, dangerous, and brutal experience, which has forced him to act as a ruthless killer, so he is looking gaunt and haunted. Once again, the depiction of the ship here is based on modern attempts to reconstruct a 9th-century Arab merchant dhow. One important feature is that it is assembled entirely without metal nails or bolts; the planks are literally sewn together and attached to the frame and keel with thick coconut-fibre cords.
I gave alms to the poor and lived in luxury, and time brought me relief from nightmares. My ability to forget the terrors of my travels saved my sanity, but once again it allowed my desire to travel the world to take control of me, so that even this was not my last voyage ... But that is tomorrow’s tale.
Then Sinbad the Sailor had a fine meal set before his guests, and gave another gift of one hundred dinars to Sinbad the Porter, who returned to his modest home, wondering at what he had heard.
The Fifth Voyage: Rocs, Again, and the Old Man of the Sea
The next day, Sinbad the Porter rose, said his morning prayers, and returned to the great house of Sinbad the Sailor, as had become his custom. Once they had saluted each other, and all the other guests were present, Sinbad the Sailor told his fifth tale.
Once again, he said, I forgot the terrors that I had suffered, and became determined to travel. Once again, I acquired trade-goods, and sailed down to Basrah. There, at the docks, I saw a newly-built ship, strongly constructed with graceful lines. Being wealthy from my previous adventures, I decided on a whim to buy it for my own, and I appointed a captain and crew, to be supervised by my own clerks and servants. A number of merchants paid me well to travel on this vessel, and we set sail.
Sinbad learns a healthy respect for rocs when he first encounters one, but unfortunately, his companions during a second encounter are less wise. Here, Gustave Doré shows them breaking a roc’s egg and killing its chick.
Sinbad’s fifth voyage involves a second encounter with giant roc-birds. On this occasion, they destroy the ship which Sinbad bought for his own by bombarding it with huge boulders.
We travelled for some time from land to land, making good profits, until one day we came to an uninhabited island. Many of the merchants and crew went ashore to rest and relax, but I remained aboard, to supervise and because I had suffered so many bad experiences on such islands.
After a while, one of the merchants who had been ashore came back, looking greatly amused. ‘Do come and see,’ he said, ‘we found what we took for a great white dome with no entrance. And so we struck it with rocks to test what it might be, and it began to shatter. I believe that it is naught but a giant egg!’
When I heard this, I was filled with dread, and instantly went ashore and hurried where the merchant was pointing. I was too late, however. As I had guessed, the ‘dome’ was the egg of a roc, and now it was shattered. A flood of liquid rushed out, then the chick within emerged. The others promptly killed it with their swords and thrown stones, and began butchering it, roasting the meat on a fire and happily discussing the flavour.
‘Stop, you fools,’ I cried out. ‘That was the egg of a roc, and where there are eggs, there are parents. What do you think that the roc will do when it sees its child slain?’
At first, the fools ignored me. But then something moved across the face of the sun, and when we all looked up, we saw a roc, returning, just as I expected. Then they all panicked, and leapt to their feet, and we rushed back to the ship.
As we climbed aboard, I ordered the captain to set sail immediately, and run before the wind. But even as we left the island behind us, I looked back and saw not one but two rocs circling high above – both the parents. They saw us, and screamed in rage.
Then, though, they turned away, and for a moment we had hope. But soon they returned, each of them carrying a gigantic boulder in its claws. The first of them dropped its boulder when directly above us, but the captain used all his skill and threw himself against the rudder even as the boulder fell, turning the ship aside just far enough.
Another depiction of the rocs sinking Sinbad’s ship during his fifth voyage. (© North Wind Picture Archives / Alamy)
Our escape did not last for long, however. The waves from that first impact threw us around on the sea, and the chaos was almost enough to draw us under. Before the captain could regain control, the second roc dropped a smaller boulder. It struck my ship directly on the stern, shattering the rudder, killing the captain where he stood, and slamming what was left of the vessel down into the waters. We were all thrown into the sea, and the rocs departed, satisfied with their revenge.
Most of the crew and merchants drowned, but once again fortune and determination saved my life. I grasped hold of one of the larger timbers, clambered astride it, and began to paddle with my feet. At length, when I was almost dead from exhaustion, I came to another island, where the waves cast me up on the shore. I lay for a while, recovering my breath, and then rose and looked around.
Sinbad and the Old Man of the Sea as depicted by the famous illustrator H. J. Ford.
I was pleased to discover that the island, although it seemed deserted, was a veritable paradise, with fruit trees, sweet springs, and birdsong filling the air. When I had eaten of the fruit and drunk of the water, night was falling, and I lay down to sleep.
The next morning, I set out to explore further, and after a while I came upon a strange new sight. Seated on the bank of a stream was a venerable old man, clad in nothing but a kilt of leaves. I thought that he must be another shipwrecked traveller like myself, and so I greeted him. He said nothing in reply, however, and so I asked him who he was and how he had come there. Again he said nothing, but gestured, pointing to the stream, indicating that he wished to cross, and suggesting that I carry him.
It seemed to me that this would be an act of charity which Allah might reward, and so I lifted him onto my shoulders and waded across the stream. When I reached the other
side, I crouched down so he should get down. He did not do so, however, but wrapped his legs tightly around my neck.
Then I truly looked at those legs for the first time, and saw that they were covered in dark skin, tough as leather. I was unnerved, and attempted to throw the old man off. But his legs were every bit as strong as they looked. He wrapped them even more tightly around my throat, throttling me until I collapsed and nearly fell unconscious. Then, as I recovered, he beat and battered me with his feet until I staggered to my feet, and then leaned forward and gestured that I should carry him to a nearby grove of fruit trees.
WHO WAS THE OLD MAN?
For those who want to find some real-world basis for things that appear in Sinbad’s tales, there are various possible explanations for the Old Man of the Sea. In the footnotes to his translation of the Arabian Nights, Sir Richard Burton offered a selection, including references to Greek myth. One of his suggestions that remains popular is that the image came from stories of the orang-utan of Sumatra; the appearance of a wizened old man, the leathery skin on the legs, and the diet of fruit, all correspond quite well. The real orang-utan is a rather cautious (though physically formidable) ape, but local superstitions do sometimes credit it with being dangerously intelligent and almost supernatural, and such stories may have been passed on to visiting seafarers.
However, Burton actually preferred another theory; some East African societies which kept slaves apparently did employ them for riding, much as in the story. Of course, more than one travellers’ tale from around the Indian Ocean may have ended up mixed together.
Another depiction of Sinbad and Old Man of the Sea. Here, the Old Man is depicted as a curious merman-like creature, rather than the seemingly human figure described in the story. (Bridgeman Art Library)
When we arrived there, he plucked the best and ripest fruit in reach, gobbling everything up greedily. Then he directed me to other trees, and so we went from place to place, with him eating the best food to be found on the island. From time to time, he would void his bladder or bowels down my back, and if ever I delayed or seemed to be defying him, he would beat me savagely with his legs.
This went on for many days. If the old man wished to sleep, he would doze briefly, but the grip of his legs would not slacken even then. He allowed me only snatched moments of sleep, and food scavenged from what he left. I cursed my ill fortune, and the pity that had made me try to help him.
Then, one day, I found a number of gourds lying around one part of the island, some of them dry and hollow. I had a small idea, and in one of my brief moments of rest, I picked up one of these, made an opening in it, and cleaned it out. Then, I found a grapevine, took some grapes, and squeezed their juice into the gourd. Then I stoppered it and left it in the sun.
I repeated this with more of the gourds in snatched moments, and then, after a few days, I went back to the first. I found that, as I hoped, the juice had fermented, and become a sort of wine. I drank this, and found it helped me endure my suffering.
After another little while, the old man saw me drinking from a gourd, and gestured towards it questioningly. ‘It is something invigorating,’ I told him, for I was quite drunk at the time, and I went running and dancing through the trees, regardless of the weight on my shoulders. Then the old man snatched the gourd from my hands.
He drank deep, swallowing all the wine. This made him as drunk as you would expect, and he began to sway on my shoulders. To my delight, I felt his legs loosen, and as I sank carefully to the ground, he let go his grip and slumped on the forest floor, snoring.
Overjoyed to be free at last, I looked around until I found a good big stone. I picked this up in both hands, carried it over to my tormentor, and brought it down on the old demon’s head with all my strength. With one blow, I smashed his skull and killed him. May Allah have no mercy on him!
A weird, seemingly human figure, the Old Man of the Sea, has tricked Sinbad into carrying him on his shoulders, then locked his muscular legs around Sinbad’s neck, and is using Sinbad as a slave. Here, Sinbad has hit on a way to escape, manufacturing rough wine in gourds which he has found around the forest. Sinbad himself is already happily drunk; when the Old Man, who has never encountered wine before, drinks himself into a stupor, he will release his grip.
Sinbad’s improvised bottle, as seen in this picture, may be a green calabash, or bottle gourd, which is used as a container in many places around the Indian Ocean.
ALCOHOL
Anyone who knows a little about traditional Muslim law may be startled to see wine appearing in Sinbad’s tales. Sinbad drinks to help him endure the situation with the Old Man of the Sea, but there are also hints of wine-drinking at parties.
In fact, the Arabian Nights takes a relaxed view of the Muslim prohibition on alcohol. Many stories feature characters drinking wine, and this does not automatically make them into villains. The fact is that, despite the Koran’s fairly clear prohibition of alcohol, historically many Muslims finessed the rules, or just ignored them. Only the most puritanical Islamic states had total legal prohibition, and some poets and mystics even praised wine. In the Nights, the Caliph Haroun al-Rashid is frequently shown as a social drinker, although the real man may have been more austere.
Also, readers might think that grape juice would probably not ferment into even the roughest of drinkable wine after only a few days. However, in the world where these stories originated, people may have been more familiar with a kind of very low-strength ‘wine’ made by soaking raisins or dried dates in water and letting the liquid ferment for a day or two, or with the ‘toddy’ made from palm tree sap in Asia and Africa, which ferments to modest strength within a day. Hence Sinbad’s story would not have sounded particularly outrageous.
Then I went down to the beach, cleaned myself in the sea, and began gathering fruit and water. I lived thus for a few days, until one day a ship came past, and dropped anchor, and some of the crew came ashore to gather supplies. I hurried up to them, and they were startled to see me, so I told them my story.
‘Allah be praised!’ they said. ‘Stories tell of that fiend who enslaved you. He was called the Old Man of the Sea. But no one has ever escaped him before!’
And so they took me aboard, and we sailed away. At length, the ship came to a great city which they said was called the City of the Apes. I went ashore to look around, not knowing that the ship was set to leave soon, and they must have thought that I had found somewhere I wished to be, for they sailed without me.
As I wandered around the docks, some local people came up to me, seeing that I was a stranger. I explained my situation, and they told me to come aboard a boat at once. Looking around, I saw that everyone in the city seemed to be doing the same, and so I joined them. We put out to sea a little way as the sun set, and then, watching the darkened city, I saw scurrying movement and heard screeching and howling.
The local folk explained to me why their city had its name. ‘Every night, countless apes come into the centre,’ they explained. ‘By day, they live in the forests and mountains, but we cannot stop them using our buildings at night. They are strong and savage, and kill any man they find still ashore.’
And so we rested on the waves, and then returned ashore after the sun rose. As we rowed into the docks, my new companions asked if I had a trade which could earn me a living.
Another depiction of Sinbad and the Old Man of the Sea, here in a more fairy-tale style. (Mary Evans Picture Library)
‘No,’ I said. ‘I am a merchant. But my ship was wrecked and my stock was lost.’
‘In that case,’ one of them said, ‘I can assist you, if fortune favours you. Here, take this bag, and go down to the seashore and gather up as many pebbles as you can carry. A group of men will be along later to do the same; they are friends of mine, and I will tell them to help you.’
I was puzzled, but I had no other ideas, and so I obeyed, collecting pebbles in the bag, then going along with the party from the city when they appeared. They led
me to a forested valley, and looking up, I saw apes in the treetops, staring down at us. These creatures were not so bold in daylight! My companions stopped, reached into their bags, and produced their stones, which they used to pelt the apes. I followed their example. The apes responded with fury, screeching and howling, and began to retaliate.
Dodging their missiles, I looked closer and realized that they were in fact coconuts. The apes could be provoked to pick this fruit for us! After a few minutes, we all gathered up as many coconuts as we could carry, and hurried back to the city well before nightfall. I returned to my new friend from the night before, and offered him the coconuts which I had collected, but he told me to keep them and trade them.
So that is how I lived for a while, spending my nights on the water and my days collecting coconuts. By hard work and careful trading, I turned a decent profit, and was soon able to recompense my local friends for their assistance.
Then, one day, a merchant ship came into port, which I learned was bound for Basrah. And so I went to my new friends, thanked them for their aid, and said my farewells. Then I took my accumulated stock of best-quality coconuts and some money which I had saved, went to the ship’s captain, and paid him for passage.
We sailed from island to island, and starting with my stock of coconuts, I traded for local goods, for peppers, cinnamon, and agarwood. When we came to an island of pearl-fishers, I hired local divers, and by good fortune added fine pearls to my stock too.
And so it was that by the time I came to Basrah and thence to Baghdad, I had more than restored the fortune with which I had set out. Back home, I gave gifts to my family and alms to the poor, and settled down again – until such time as my wanderlust overcame me again. For you must know by now that I was forever making the same error. Tomorrow, I will tell you of my sixth voyage.
