from the East and North, and only the pinnacles of the towers of
Perdóndaris still took the fallen sunlight. Then I went to the captain
and told him quietly of the thing I had seen. And he questioned me at
once about the gate, in a low voice, that the sailors might not know;
and I told him how the weight of the thing was such that it could not
have been brought from afar, and the captain knew that it had not been
there a year ago. We agreed that such a beast could never have been
killed by any assault of man, and that the gate must have been a
fallen tusk, and one fallen near and recently. Therefore he decided
that it were better to flee at once; so he commanded, and the sailors
went to the sails, and others raised the anchor to the deck, and just
as the highest pinnacle of marble lost the last rays of the sun we
left Perdóndaris, that famous city. And night came down and cloaked
Perdóndaris and hid it from our eyes, which as things have happened
will never see it again; for I have heard since that something swift
and wonderful has suddenly wrecked Perdóndaris in a day--towers, and
walls, and people.

And the night deepened over the River Yann, a night all white with
stars. And with the night there arose the helmsman's song. As soon as
he had prayed he began to sing to cheer himself all through the lonely
night. But first he prayed, praying the helmsman's prayer. And this is
what I remember of it, rendered into English with a very feeble
equivalent of the rhythm that seemed so resonant in those tropic
nights

To whatever god may hear.

Wherever there be sailors whether of river or sea: whether their
way be dark or whether through storm: whether their perils be of