by Lew Wallace
CHAPTER VIII
RACING WITH A STORM
One who has seen the boats in which fishermen now work the eddies andstill waters of the Bosphorus will not require a description of thevessel the Prince and Lael stepped into when they arrived at the GrandGate of Blacherne. He need only be told that instead of beingpitch-black outside and in, it was white, except the gunwale which wasfreshly gilt. The untravelled reader, however, must imagine a longnarrow craft, upturned at both ends, graceful in every line, andconstructed for speed and beauty. Well aft there was a box withoutcover, luxuriously cushioned, lined with chocolate velvet, and wideenough to seat two persons comfortably; behind it, a decked space for aservant, pilot or guard. This arrangement left all forward for therowers, each handling two oars.
Ten rowers, trained, stout, and clad in white headkerchiefs, shirts andtrousers of the same hue, and Greek jackets of brilliant scarlet,profusely figured over with yellow braid, sat stolidly, blades in handand ready dipped, when the passengers took their places, the Prince andLael in the box, and Nilo behind them as guard. The vessel was toolight to permit a ceremonious reception.
In front of the party, on the northern shore of the famous harbor, werethe heights of Pera. The ravines and grass-green benches into whichthey were broken, with here and there a garden hut enclosed in a patchof filbert bushes--for Pera was not then the city it now is--were of nointerest to the Prince; dropping his eyes to the water, they took in amedley of shipping, then involuntarily turned to the cold gray face ofthe wall he was leaving. And while seeing in vivid recollection thebenignant countenance of Constantine bent upon him from the chair inthe street, he thought of the horoscope he had spent the night intaking and the forenoon in calculating. With a darkened brow, he gavethe word, and the boat was pushed off and presently seeking the broaderchannel of the Bosphorus.
The day was delightful. A breeze danced merrily over the surface of thewater. Soft white summer clouds hung so sleepily in the southwest theyscarce suggested motion. Seeing the color deepen in Lael's cheeks, andlistening to her questions, he surrendered himself to the pleasures ofthe situation, not the least being the admiration she attracted.
By ships at anchor, and through lesser craft of every variety theysped, followed by exclamations frequently outspoken:
"Who is she? Who can she be?"
Thus pursued, they flew past the gate of St. Peter, turned the point ofGalata, and left the Fish Market port behind; proceeding then inparallelism with the north shore, they glided under the great roundtower so tall and up so far overhead it seemed a part of the sky. OffTophane, they were in the Bosphorus, with Scutari at their right, andPoint Serail at their backs.
Viewed from the harbor on the sea, the old historic Point leaves uponthe well informed an impression that in a day long gone, yielding to aspasm of justice, Asia cast it off into the waves. Its beauty isCircean. Almost from the beginning it has been the chosen place inwhich men ran rounds gay and grave, virtuous and wanton, foolish andphilosophic, brave and cowardly--where love, hate, jealousy, avarice,ambition and envy have delighted to burn their lights beforeHeaven--where, possibly with one exception, Providence has morefrequently come nearer lifting its veil than in any other spot of earth.
Again and again, the Prince, loth to quit the view, turned and refilledhis eyes with Sancta Sophia, of which, from his position, the wall atthe water's edge, the lesser churches of the Virgin Hodegetria and St.Irene, and the topmost sections far extending of the palaces ofBucoleon seemed but foundations. The edifice, as he saw it then,depended on itself for effect, the Turk having not yet, in sign ofMohammedan conversion, broken the line of its marvellous dome withminarets. At length he set about telling stories of the Point.
Off the site of the present palace of Dolma-Batchi he told ofEuphrosyne, the daughter of the Empress Irene; and seeing how thesorrowful fortune of the beautiful child engaged Lael's sympathies, hebecame interested as a narrator, and failed to notice the unusualwarmth tempering the air about Tchiragan. Neither did he observe thatthe northern sky, before so clear and blue, was whitening with haze.
To avoid the current running past Arnoot-Kouy, the rowers crossed tothe Asiatic side under the promontory of Candilli.
Other boats thronged the charming expanse; but as most of them were ofa humbler class sporting one rower, the Prince's, with its liveriedten, was a surpassing attraction. Sometimes the strangers, to gratifytheir curiosity, drew quite near, but always without affronting him;knowing the homage was to Lael, he was happy when it was effusivelyrendered.
His progress was most satisfactory until he rounded Candilli. Then aflock of small boats came down upon him pell-mell, the rowers pullingtheir uttermost, the passengers in panic.
The urgency impelling them was equally recognized by the ships andlarger vessels out in the channel. Anchors were going down, sailsfurling, and oars drawing in. Above them, moreover, much beyond theirusual levels of flight troops of gulls were circling on rapid wingsscreaming excitedly.
The Prince had reached the part of greatest interest in the story hewas telling--how the cruel and remorseless Emperor Michel, determinedto wed the innocent and helpless Euphrosyne, shamelessly cheated theChurch and cajoled the Senate--when Nilo touched his shoulder, andawoke him to the situation. A glance over the water--another at thesky--and he comprehended danger of some kind was impending. At the samemoment Lael commenced shivering and complaining of cold. The air hadundergone a sudden change. Presently Nilo's red cloak was shelteringher.
The boat was in position to bring everything into view, and he spoke tothe rowers:
"A storm is rising."
They ceased work, and looked over their shoulders, each for himself.
"A blow from the sea, and it comes fast. What we shall do is for myLord to say," one of them returned.
The Prince grew anxious for Lael. What was done must be for her--he hadno thought else.
A cloud was forming over the whole northeastern quarter of the sky,along the horizon black, overhead a vast gray wave, in its heartcopper-hued, seething, interworking, now a distended sail, now a sailbursted; and the wind could be heard whipping the shreds into fleece,and whirling them a confusion of vaporous banners. Yet glassy, thewater reflected the tint of the cloud. The hush holding it was like thedrawn breath of a victim waiting the first turn of the torturous wheel.
The Asiatic shore offered the Prince a long stretch, and he persistedin coasting it until the donjon of the White Castle--that terror toChristians--arrested his eye. There were houses much nearer, some ofthem actually overhanging the water; but the donjon seemed speciallyinviting; at all events, he coolly reflected, if the Governor of theCastle denied him refuge, the little river near by known as the SweetWaters of Asia would receive him, and getting under its bank, he mighthope to escape the fury of the wind and waves. He shouted resolutely:
"To the White Castle! Make it before the wind strikes, my men, and Iwill double your hire."
"We may make it," the rower answered, somewhat sullenly, "but"--
"What?" asked the Prince.
"The devil has his lodgings there. Many men have gone into its accursedgates on errands of peace, and never been heard of again."
The Prince laughed.
"We lose time--forward! If there be a fiend in the Castle, I promiseyou he is not waiting for us."
The twenty oars fell as one, and the boat jumped like a steed under astab of the spur.
Thus boldly the race with the storm was begun. The judgment of thechallenger, assuming the Prince to be such, may be questioned. Theriver was the goal.
Could he reach it before the wind descended in dangerous force?--Thatwas the very point of contest.
The chances, it is to be remembered next, were not of a kind to admitweighing with any approach to certainty; it was difficult even tomarshal them for consideration. The distance was somewhat less thanthree-quarters of a mile; on the other part, the competing cloud waswrestling with the mountain height of Alem Daghy, about four milesa
way. The dead calm was an advantage; unfortunately it was more thanoffset by the velocity of the current which, though not so strong bythe littoral of Candilli as under the opposite bluffs ofRoumeli-Hissar, was still a serious opposing force. The boatmen wereskilful, and could be relied upon to pull loyally; for, passing thereward offered in the event of their winning, the dangers of failurewere to them alike. Treating the contest as a race, with the storm andthe boat as competitors, the Prince was not without chances of success.
But whatever the outcome of the venture, Lael would be put todiscomfort. His care of her was so habitually marked by tendersolicitude one cannot avoid wondering at him now.
After all he may have judged the affair more closely than at firstappears. The sides of the boat were low, but danger from that causemight be obviated by the skill of the rowers; and then Alem Daghy wasnot a trifling obstacle in the path of the gale. It might be trusted tohold the cloud awhile; after which a time would be required by the windto travel the miles intervening.
Certainly it had been more prudent to make the shore, and seek refugein one of the houses there. But the retort of the spirited Jew of thatday, as in this, was a contemptuous refusal of assistance, and thedegree to which this son of Israel was governed by the eternalresentment can be best appreciated by recalling the number of his dayson earth.
At the first response to the vigorous pull of the oarsmen, Lael drewthe red cloak over her face, and laid her head against the Prince. Heput his arm around her, and seeing nothing and saying nothing, shetrusted in him.
The rowers, pulling with strength from the start, gradually quickenedthe stroke, and were presently in perfect harmony of action. A shortsough accompanied each dip of the blades; an expiration, like that ofthe woodman striking a blow with his axe, announced the movementcompleted. The cords of their brawny necks played fast and free; theperspiration ran down their faces like rain upon glass. Their teethclinched. They turned neither right nor left; but with their strainingeyes fixed upon him, by his looks they judged both their own well-doingand the progress of their competitor.
Seeing the boat pointed directly toward the Castle, the Prince watchedthe cloud. Occasionally he commended the rowers.
"Well done, my men!--Hold to that, and we will win!"
The unusual brightness of his eyes alone betrayed excitement. Once helooked over the yet quiet upper field of water. His was the only vesselin motion. Even the great ships were lying to. No--there was anothersmall boat like his own coming down along the Asiatic shore as if tomeet him. Its position appeared about as far above the mouth of theriver as his was below it; and its three or five rowers were plainlydoing their best. With grim pleasure, he accepted the stranger asanother competitor in the race.
The friendly heights of Alem, seen from the Bosphorus, are one greatforest always beautifully green. Even as the Prince looked at them,they lost color, as if a hand out of the cloud had suddenly dropped acurtain of white gauze over them. He glanced back over the course, thenforward. The donjon was showing the loopholes that pitted its southernface. Excellent as the speed had been, more was required. Half thedistance remained to be overcome--and the enemy not four miles away.
"Faster, men!" he called out. "The gust has broken from the mountain. Ihear its roaring."
They turned involuntarily, and with a look measured the space yet to becovered, the distance of the foe, and the rate at which he was coming.Nor less did they measure the danger. They too heard its warning, themuffled roar as of rocks and trees snatched up and grinding to atoms inthe inner coils of the cloud.
"It is not a blow," one said, speaking quick, "but a"--
"Storm."
The word was the Prince's.
"Yes, my Lord."
Just then the water by the boat was rippled by a breath, purring,timorous, but icy.
The effect on the oarsmen was stronger than any word from the mastercould have been. They finished a pull long and united; then while theoars swung forward taking reach for another, they all arose to theirfeet, paused a moment, dipped the blades deeper, gave vent to a cry socontinuous it sounded like a wail, and at the same time sunk back intotheir seats, pulling as they fell. This was their ultimate exertion. Ajet of water spurted from the foot of the sharp bow, and the bubblesand oar eddies flew behind indistinguishably.
"Well done!" said the Prince, his eyes glowing.
Thenceforward the men continued to rise at the end of a stroke, andfall as they commenced delivery of another. Their action was quick,steady, machine-like; they gripped the water deep, and made no slips;with a thought of the exhilaration an eagle must feel when swoopingfrom his eyrie, the Prince looked at the cloud defiantly as achallenger might. Each moment the donjon loomed up more plainly. He sawnow, not merely the windows and loopholes, but the joinery of thestones in their courses. Suddenly he beheld another wonder--an army ofmen mounted and galloping along the river bank toward the Castle.
The array stretched back into the woods. In its van were two flagsborne side by side, one green, the other red. Both were surrounded by atroop in bright armor. No need for him to ask to whom they belonged.They told him of Mecca and Mahomet--on the red, he doubted not seeingthe old Ottomanic symbols, in their meaning poetic, in their simplicitybeautiful as any ever appropriated for martial purposes. The riderswere Turks. But why the green flag? Where it went somebody more thanthe chief of a sanjak, more than the governor of a castle, or even aprovince, led the way.
The number trailing after the flags was scarcely less mysterious. Theywere too many to be of the garrison; and then the battlements of theCastle were lined with men also under arms. Not daring to speak of thisnew apparition lest his oarsmen might take alarm, the Prince smiled,thinking of another party to the race--a fourth competitor.
He sought the opposing boat next. It had made good time. There werefive oarsmen in it; and, like his own, they were rising and fallingwith each stroke. In the passengers' place, he could make out twopersons whom he took to be women.
A roll of thunder from the cloud startled the crew. Clear, angry,majestic, it filled the mighty gorge of the Bosphorus. Under the soundthe water seemed to shrink away. Lael looked out from her hiding, butas quickly drew back, crowding closer to the Prince. To calm her hesaid, lightly,
"Fear nothing, O my Gul Bahar! A pretty race we are having with thecloud yonder; we are winning, and it is not pleased. There is nodanger."
She answered by doubling the folds of the gown about her head.
Steadily, lithely, and with never an error the rowers drove through thewaves--steadily, and in exact time, their cry arose cadencing eachstroke. They did their part truly. Well might the master cry them,"Good, good." But all the while the wind was tugging mightily at itscloudy car; every instant the rattle of its wheels sounded nearer. Thetrees on the hills behind the Castle were bending and bowing; and notmerely around the boat, but far as could be seen the surface of theancient channel was a-shirr and a-shatter under beating of advancegusts.
And now the mouth of the Sweet Waters, shallowed by a wide extendedosier bank, came into view; and the Castle was visible from base toupper merlon, the donjon, in relief against the blackened sky, risingmore ghostly than ever. And right at hand were the flags, and theriders galloping with them. And there, coming bravely in, was thecompeting boat.
Over toward Roumeli-Hissar the sea birds congregated in noisy flocks,alarmed at the long line of foam the wind was whisking down thecurrent. Behind the foam, the world seemed dissolving into spray.
Then the boats were seen from the Castle, and a company of soldiers ranout and down the bank. A noise like the rushing of a river soundeddirectly overhead. The wind struck the Castle, and in the thick of themists and flying leaves hurled at it, the donjon disappeared.
"We win, we win, my men!" the Prince shouted. "Courage--goodspirit--brave work--treble wages! Wine and wassail to-morrow!"
The boat, with the last word, shot into the little river, and up to thelanding of the Castle just as the baffled wind burst
over the refuge.And simultaneously the van of the army galloped under the walls and thecompeting boat arrived.
