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 rose 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 peril be of beast or
of rock: or from enemy lurking on land or pursuing on sea: wherever
the tiller is cold or the helmsman stiff: wherever sailors sleep or
helmsmen watch: guard, guide, and return us to the old land that has
known us: to the far homes that we know.

To all the gods that are.

To whatever god may hear.

* * * * *

So he prayed, and there was silence. And the sailors laid them down to