And then the sailors knelt on the decks and prayed, not all together, but
five or six at a time. Side by side there kneeled down together five or
six, for there only prayed at the same time men of different faiths, so
that no god should hear two men praying to him at once. As soon as any one
had finished his prayer, another of the same faith would take his place.
Thus knelt the row of five or six with bended heads under the fluttering
sail, while the central stream of the River Yann took them on towards the
sea, and their prayers rose up from among the lanterns and went towards
the stars. And behind them in the after end of the ship the helmsman
prayed aloud the helmsman's prayer, which is prayed by all who follow his
trade upon the River Yann, of whatever faith they be. And the captain
prayed to his little lesser gods, to the gods that bless Belzoond.
And I too felt that I would pray. Yet I liked not to pray to a jealous God
there where the frail affectionate gods whom the heathen love were being
humbly invoked; so I bethought me, instead, of Sheol Nugganoth, whom the
men of the jungle have long since deserted, who is now unworshipped and
alone; and to him I prayed.
And upon us praying the night came suddenly down, as it comes upon all men
who pray at evening and upon all men who do not; yet our prayers comforted
our own souls when we thought of the Great Night to come.
And so Yann bore us magnificently onwards, for he was elate with molten
snow that the Poltiades had brought him from the Hills of Hap, and the
Marn and Migris were swollen with floods; and he bore us in his full might
past Kyph and Pir, and we saw the lights of Goolunza.
Soon we all slept except the helmsman, who kept the ship in the mid-stream
of Yann.
When the sun rose the helmsman ceased to sing, for by song he cheered
himself in the lonely night. When the song ceased we suddenly all awoke,
and another took the helm, and the helmsman slept.
We knew that soon we should come to Mandaroon. We made a meal, and
Mandaroon appeared. Then the captain commanded, and the sailors loosed
again the greater sails, and the ship turned and left the stream of Yann
and came into a harbour beneath the ruddy walls of Mandaroon. Then while
the sailors went and gathered fruits I came alone to the gate of
Mandaroon. A few huts were outside it, in which lived the guard. A
sentinel with a long white beard was standing in the gate, armed with a
rusty pike. He wore large spectacles, which were covered with dust.
Through the gate I saw the city. A deathly stillness was over all of it.
The ways seemed untrodden, and moss was thick on doorsteps; in the
market-place huddled figures lay asleep. A scent of incense came wafted
through the gateway, of incense and burned poppies, and there was a hum of
the echoes of distant bells. I said to the sentinel in the tongue of the
region of Yann, "Why are they all asleep in this still city?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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