CHAPTER XVI.
THE SILENT ONE SPEAKS.
As the galleys sailed to the east, the Atlantean eyes lingered with pride upon the island. Never had it looked fairer. What other spot of earth was so fitting to be chosen the abode of a god? What other land had so thriven, so conquered, so repeated itself even in the farthest climes? Surely upon this island the sun must shine forever!
Thus, in happy accord, did they begin to sing praises to their father Poseidon, the while throwing back fond kisses at their island, and even at the water which was alive with porpoises and dolphins, the former leaping their highest in their sportive appreciation of the music, the latter enjoying it with a dignified serenity befitting the state which the Atlanteans ever accorded them.
Yet continually were the singers of every galley glancing at the group under the queen’s awning. In the midst, stood the ‘Silent Priest’ before the queen; and about them were Æole, Electra, and Hellen; while near swayed Sensel, a being as mysterious as the silent one. Small wonder is it that the inquisitive islanders would have gladly ceased their singing could they have heard what was spoken by those so interested.
When presented to the queen, the ‘Silent Priest’ had bowed, then taken the hand she extended, and regarded her fixedly. At his magnetic touch, his eloquent look, she thrilled; and her voice trembled, as she said:
“Father—whom we call the ‘Silent,’ rather should I bow to thee. For thou art one whom the gods favor. Of a truth, art thou sent of them.”
As the silent one stood calm, intent, Æole thought, “How is this grand being to answer the queen?” And she drew nearer to him, her eyes filled with love rather than awe. Noting this, Hellen, Electra, and Sensel watched her eagerly.
The next moment, she received a shock. The silent one, though gesticulating as usual, was also speaking, though in lowest tone.
“Queen Atlana, now will I loose my tongue. In truth, can I say the gods have favored me.”
As his deep, musical tones continued, Æole had seized his robe, then his arm; and next was looking up wistfully in his face. Therewith, Electra began to weep; and Hellen and Sensel turned away, for they could bear no longer this look so commingled of remembrance, longing, hope, doubt.
The queen of her wonder and perturbation, exclaimed, “We believed thee dumb!”
“Queen Atlana, I spoke not that I might baffle.”
“Baffle what?”—Very faint was the queen’s voice.
“The foes of Æole and Hellen, gracious Queen.” He put his arm about the half-fainting Æole, and drew her to him. And Sensel glided beside them to whisper, “Be strong, be strong, dear Æole.”
She, though but half conscious, comprehended: and never had she been so happy. In her ears was the music of this sympathetic voice; upon her had come a tranquillity hardly of earth. In these arms so strongly enfolding her was she to be borne to heaven? Were the years on the island a dream? Surely these were the arms in which she had been wont to rest when the rambles over the dear Pelasgian fields had been too long, this was the touch that had ever soothed her!
Meanwhile, the queen was noting the astonishment of the sailors, who had ceased singing, and were resting on their oars. Thus, she whispered to Sensel:
“Look that no one is within the withdrawing room. Hither will we go.”
Sensel glided off. The queen said, as though to herself, “The ‘Silent Priest’ can only answer there.”
Great was her agitation. The priest, because of the quiet about them, bowed in acquiescence; further, signing that there he would make all plain.
Sensel returned to say the apartment was ready. Waving for her ladies to remain, the queen walked off supported by Electra; and was followed by the priest bearing Æole, and Hellen and Sensel.
Deep was the hush as they passed along. Not only those of their own galley were interested. The occupants of the galleys attending them had also quieted. Every eye was fastened in wonder. When the six had entered the withdrawing room, the hush continued as the galleys pursued their way.
The priest placed Æole upon a couch. But, as she regained strength, she arose to her feet to gaze at him as if charmed.
Meanwhile the queen had sat down; and now was motioning for the others to sit also. But the priest shook his head, thereby causing her to question by her look.
“Queen Atlana, I will stand until all things are made plain to thee.”
The others chose to stand also. Electra brought a fan, and fanned the queen, who had closed her eyes.
Shortly Atlana was able to ask, “Thou whom we call the ‘Silent Priest’—who—art—thou?”
“Queen Atlana—I am—of Pelasgia.”
He spoke in Atlantean; and repeated in Pelasgian.
As the once familiar tongue was heard, Æole ran half way toward him, clasped her hands, and looked up in his face with eyes brilliant from unspeakable hope. The most beautiful color came into her cheeks, and her lips parted in a heavenly smile. So lovely, so angelic was her expression that the beholders gazed spellbound. And low, fervent were her tones.
“I felt it, I felt it!—‘Silent Priest’ who art thou? Thy name?”
“Daughter,” and he approached her, his arms extended, “my name—is—Deucalion.”
“Father!” She would have fallen at his feet, had he not caught her.
The strong man was sobbing. “Ah, Æole, Æole, to hold thee once again!”
“Father, father, after these years! But I knew thou wouldst come, if of earth!”
The rapture of her tone was so intense that he began to fear for her. Thus, he bore her to a couch, and sat beside her, supporting her; and then Electra came to chafe her hands, and bathe her brow. Her trembling was excessive; and she kept repeating, “Father—father. Thanks—thanks!” Though soon she calmed to question, “Father, tell me of mother. Is she well?” And extreme was the pathos of her tone.
“Æole, thy mother waiteth for thee.”
“What, then, is the past? One look from her will heal all. Mother—mother!” So intense were tone and look that Sensel turned away. And Electra sobbed.
Throughout this scene, Queen Atlana had gazed stonily. Though, at Æole’s cry for her mother, she thrilled, and her eyes moistened. But she conquered her feeling, and now asked in irony: “Sir Deucalion, doth this—thy guile—come of the gods?”
He arose, and bowed. “Most gracious Queen, this is not guile.”
“How callest thou it?”
“I call it working to the best end a matter between Pelasgia and Atlantis.”
“That is the look from thine eyes. I can see it in but one light.”
“Queen Atlana, I have a right to mine own.”
“But not a right to lead us wrong—to—to use us.”
“Queen Atlana, how have we been used?”
She answered not.
“Queen Atlana, to gain my children, I have used powers given from above. If through such, I have mastered king and priests, have caused the sleep of Æole, have drawn thee, judge whether or not the gods are with me. Answer me in this, seemeth they to be with Atlantis?”
The queen arose; and ignoring his question, demanded, “Sir Deucalion of Pelasgia, if it doth agree with thy will, let it be ordered that the galleys turn toward Atlantis.” Bitter, scornful was her tone.
“Dear Queen Atlana, not yet,” interposed Electra. “If thou wilt think for a moment, thou wilt judge he hath done what thou wouldst have done in his place. Wouldst thou not have done as much for children of thine own—even for Æole and myself? Further, with all his art, his power, none hath borne pain, hath lost life. Think, he might have brought an army upon Atlantis.”
“Electra, I could stand the bringing of an army better than this. How have I been tricked! To think I have set myself against the king, even to coming on this ‘little sail.’ And to please whom, to wait upon whom? Why, his foe Deucalion. Atlano—Atlano!” Utter despair was in tone and gesture.
“Queen Atlana, thy coming is not of thine ordering. Cast such thought from thee. If it hath been of mine ordering, the higher will is behind,” urged Deucalion.
“Sir Deucalion, thy words are idle. As if the Higher Good should set aside thought for all save thee and thine. Thou hast high thought of self. But the sun shineth on all. It is my will that my galley be turned.” Hard had it been to control herself. And now her tones broke. “Should harm come to Atlano, I cease to live! The blame, the grief, I could not bear! Sir Deucalion, why hast thou not moved? My galleys are not ordered!” And she turned to Sensel, as if he might help her.
“One moment, Queen Atlana, and I will. But first, think not thy presence with Atlano could turn aside that which doth threaten.”
“What meanest thou?”
“Thy presence, can it turn aside the judgment of the gods?”
Faint, wondering was her tone, “So runneth the prophecy—so runneth the prophecy.” She clasped her hands to her forehead, gasping, “I shall go mad with this dread upon me!”
Æole ran to her, and put her arm around her. “Dear Queen Atlana, call to mind it was thy kind thought for us that made thee leave the king for this short season. Could the gods make use of such?”
At her touch and voice, the queen shivered, and averted her face. “Æole, Æole, what thou hast cost me!”
“Dear Queen, thou hast not ceased to care for me?”
Atlana held out her hand; and as Æole took it, replied: “Nay, I have not ceased to care for thee. For thy sake, I could joy over this. But, the king! Atlano—Atlano!”
There was a painful hush for a little, until she stooped to kiss the suffering girl. Afterward, with her old dignity, she commanded: “Sensel, as Sir Deucalion heedeth not, I ask that thou wilt order the galleys to be turned.”
“Dear Queen Atlana,” explained Deucalion, “how could I give the order whilst thou art angered with me?”
His tone and manner touched her. “Sir Deucalion, speak not of anger. Let us have no further words as to the right or wrong. We will part in peace.”
He stooped and kissed her robe. “Queen Atlana, thou art a queen, in truth. I go to make good thine order.”
“Father,” burst from Hellen, “wilt thou note this fast gathering darkness?”
In his absorption, Deucalion had not remarked the very sudden change. With serious, awed countenance, he looked about him; and then spoke lightly, hoping to reassure the blanching queen.
“It meaneth rain. It seemeth as if the clouds gather.”
But the suddenness of this gloom was as nothing to the way in which it was deepening. It threatened to hide them from each other. In her alarm, the queen moved toward the door; and this was opened for her by Sensel just as her ladies were about to knock.
“Gracious Queen,” said Rica, the first lady, “it will storm. All is dark.”
Atlana stepped out; and those behind her, followed. They looked to become appalled.
The atmosphere was thick and dark. The heavens were obscure. An inky cloud lay over the island. The sea was in foam. And the galleys were trying to keep close, whilst on their decks were huddled the fear-stricken islanders. These, upon perceiving the queen, cheered faintly. Then a spokesman inquired: “Most gracious Queen, shall we now go back?”
“The order hath been given,” shouted Hellen, at behest of the almost rigid queen.
Instantly, Sensel went to the captain of the queen’s galley, who, thereupon, gave orders to the other galleys. Thus, all the galleys were speedily pointed for Atlantis, excepting the one appropriated to Hellen and Æole.
Then did Hellen’s and Æole’s thought turn to the downcast Electra. Indeed, poor Electra seemed overwhelmed. Hellen, feeling he could not part with her, grew fierce in his determination to the declaring, “Father, if Electra goeth back, I go with her!”
This was an unexpected obstacle, as Hellen looked a rock. For the moment, Deucalion felt he was not equal to it; and then spoke hesitatingly. “Queen Atlana, can we have Electra?”
The queen recovering somewhat, was resolute. “Sir Deucalion, Electra will go with me.”
“To go again into the temple?” demanded Hellen. “To be forced within the inner holy place? To—”
“To lose her life?” interrupted Deucalion. “To pour out her blood as water to aid the vain, fiendish quest of king and priest? To stand over the crucible, and stir this lifeblood until she perisheth of the drain? Thrice cursed draught! The ‘Deeps’ tell the tale!”
They stared aghast at Deucalion. But the queen interpreted. Every unguarded sentence, every sudden pause of Atlano reverted to her until she felt like accusing her memory for its tenacity. And her horror grew. Tornado-like it swept over her—the sufferings she had borne through him, his contempt, his neglect, his indignities, his infidelities. Now this revelation of Deucalion filled the measure.
Her spirit revolted. The words came clear and firm. “Electra will not go back. I go to the king without her. He can but yield me on the altar. Or try the blood of a queen, for change, in seeking his draught.”
Electra ran to embrace her. “Speak not of the altar, dear Queen. After that, I cannot leave thee.”
Atlana kissed her. “Dear Electra, I meant but to jest when I spoke of the altar. We know the need of my presence to the king.” Sad, bitter was her tone. Then, bethinking her of their present condition, remorse swept over her so that she tottered, and would have fallen but for Sensel.
At this moment, the blackness of the atmosphere became appalling; and a cry of horror went up from the galleys. All were pointing to the island. The queen looked, and fell half fainting upon Deucalion. As he sustained her, he whispered to Sensel: “It hath come!”
Yes, it had come. There lay their beloved island at the mercy of fierce warring elements. For, about it were dread waterspouts; upon it were falling sheets of water; above it were playing the fiery messengers of Amen. And the ocean responded white.
Although so terror-stricken, the occupants of the galleys were anxious to return; and but waited to follow the queen. Already she was reviving; and presently stood up for another view, saying reproachfully, “We move not toward it.”
“Look! Look!” cried many voices.
And utter despair came upon all. The island was rocking as if in the throes of a mighty earthquake, the waves were leaping up its cliffs, the waterspouts were breaking, the thunderbolts falling, the northern sky beginning to blaze.
“The mountain burneth!” they cried. And fell on their knees. Once, only, in the history of the island, had this volcano burst its bands.
Queen Atlana had looked to fall back insensible into the arms of Deucalion. He bore her to a couch in the withdrawing room; and then hung over her with restoratives, Electra, Æole, and the ladies—each dumb with apprehension.
Outside, Hellen was addressing the galleys with tones firm and far-reaching, for he felt all-powerful now that Electra was not to return.
“Ye Nobles, Elders, and Captains; the ‘Silent Priest’ is firm that the island is doomed. If ye go back, it is to your death. If ye press on with us toward the Middle Sea, ye will be saved. What say ye, captains of the galleys?”
There followed hurried consultations between the captains and their employers. Finally, one captain answered, “We, of this galley, will press on.”
Another captain, he of the queen’s galley, spoke loud: “My wife, my children are on the island. I would go to them.”
“Thou art the captain of the galley of the queen,” cried another captain. “Wouldst thou leave the queen?”
The poor captain looked irresolute for an instant.
“The queen is dear; but my family is dearer. I take it—my duty is to them, even more than to the queen. There are other captains!”
“Yea, there are other captains,” rang Hellen’s voice. “The captain of my galley can take thy place, and I will take his. Thus mayst thou go back, if any do, to the island.”
The captain of the galley containing the relatives of the handmaid Celesa now called: “We will go back. Come with us, captain of the galley of the queen.”
The captain of the queen’s galley looked upon the foaming sea, the beset island, his sailors at their oars—the door of the withdrawing room through which the fainting queen had been borne.
“How can I leave the queen? My men? I will not. I will stay. Heaven help me to bear this. Heaven help my wife, my little ones!” One heartrending sob burst from him. Then he stood firm, resigned.
Loud cheers rent the air, though little cared he for these. He stood, as in a dream, seeing only his wife, his little ones, in their sore extremity.
Immediately, the captain who had said he would return, parted from them; and after him, went a few galleys heroically. But the greater number, those bearing entire families, determined to press on.
Then Hellen called: “Captains, your queen—our dear Queen Atlana—lieth as one dead. The captain of her galley will lead us. In my galley is food enough for a few days, if shared with care. Moreover, there are islands near. And the Afrite Coast is not far.”
A faint cheering replied.
Hellen then spoke apart with his father. “Would we could get the queen, her ladies, Æole and Electra on my galley, for it is stronger, and holdeth the food. It might be tempted to leave us.”
“That is well thought of. But how to get them on board? The rowers cannot keep near enough, so fierce groweth the sea. I like not the crest of these waves.”
“It would be well to throw the ropes, to keep the galleys close. The sea may quiet a little; and then can they pass over.”
“Sensel, what thinkest thou?” inquired Deucalion.
“It can be done, should the sea calm a little. It would be well to throw the ropes, when the rowers have come as nigh as they can.”
“It is well.”
At the word, Hellen’s galley drew as near as it could for the tossing sea. Then, the ropes were thrown bringing them within unsteady touch, almost. Whilst thus engaged, Hellen remarked: “Father, the air seemeth more than full of rain. And yet none droppeth.”
“I, too, have wondered over it. But, where is Sensel?”
For Sensel had most suddenly disappeared.
But even as they began to look about for him he reappeared, coming from the direction of the withdrawing room. And in each hand was held a lamp of beautiful pattern. These he hastened to lay before Deucalion.
“Thou hast it, Sensel,” exclaimed the latter, his eyes brightening.
“Yea I thought this oil might ease the troubled waters.”
“Thou thinkest of everything.”
“Thou hast taught me.”
“What meaneth it, father?” interposed the wondering Hellen.
“It is the Pelasgian custom in storms, Hellen. Tell him, Sensel.”
“I will. But first, there is quite a vessel of oil upon thy galley, Hellen, as I found when I was saving the food from that torrent. It is for thee to order that a little of that oil be dropped upon the water about thy galley when we have done the like with this.”
“I will to it, Sensel. But, meanest thou that the oil hath the power to still the waves?”
“It hath.”
“It doth amaze.” Then, at Sensel’s behest, he stood at that side of the galley toward his own, and slowly allowed some drops to fall from the lamp upon the tumultuous sea; and perceived that this small amount spread rapidly, forming an expansive thin film upon the water.
Meanwhile, with the second lamp, Sensel was acting to as good purpose on the other side of the galley. For, in scarce less time, was an even more expansive film spreading from his side also. Then he called, “Hellen, speak now to thy galley. The oil is in an earthen jar in the hold. They are to drop it at each side.”
The film was continuing to spread in a manner astonishing; and more astonishing, the water about them was unable to tear this film and send its wavelets to the crest. The fierce sea was becoming subdued, threatening no longer with its cresting waves. There was now but a swell that was growing less and less. As Hellen comprehended this, a passion of hope possessed him. Enthusiastically, he called to his galley, and gave commands that those on board were quick to understand. For, in scarce more than a minute were men stationed to pour the precious drops on the cresting waves beneath.
Meanwhile, the occupants of the other galleys were watching, and gradually taking in this new position of affairs. In a few minutes, there was not a galley but had its men dropping oil; for each was supplied with lamps.
And, oh the cheering that prevailed as the waves grew quieter, as the blanket of oil—the thin, almost gossamer film—continued to spread, the spreading so conquering the waters that the other galleys soon lay at ease near Hellen’s galley, in obedience to his command!
When the ropes had well united the queen’s galley with Hellen’s, Sensel called: “Now is the time. Thou Deucalion, wilt bear the queen. Hellen, thou wilt lead Electra. I will look to Æole and the ladies. And, thou, Captain of the galley, wilt go over with us, and take charge for the queen.”
“Quick,” added Hellen, nervously.
The three ran to the withdrawing room, and each seized his charge. The queen was still unconscious; but to the others, explanations were made as they were hurried along.
Sensel, in delight that the calm was continuing, leaped over, and then held out his arms, when, with Hellen’s assistance, Æole was passed over. Then followed the queen, Electra, and the ladies in waiting. Next was transferred Deucalion’s boat.
Then went over the captain of the queen’s galley with his men, the captain and men of Hellen’s galley taking their places. Meanwhile, Hellen was gathering rugs and cushions, and throwing these over. Even a few couches were transferred. Then himself and Deucalion passed over, after Azu.
Immediately the men on Hellen’s galley bestirred themselves to supply the queen’s galley and the now adjacent other galleys with food, though small was the portion allotted each. But, as Hellen had said, the African Coast was not far; and several islands were between.
Scarcely had all this been accomplished than a noise as of muffled thunder was heard beneath the water, the galleys receiving the shock as though they had struck upon the rocks. Again the waters began to rage and foam. The films of oil had yielded. Again were the waves cresting, and most threateningly.
“Let us move on,” shouted Sensel. “And more oil!”
“The island!”—“The island!” cried a few agonized voices.
The island was shaking terrifically. And it had certainly lost in height. Deucalion, as he looked, exclaimed wildly: “Sensel—Hellen—it sinketh. It is lost!”
He spoke very loud, forgetting himself, and the listening islanders, in their amazement, concluded that the time had arrived when the ‘Silent Priest’ could speak the will of the gods.
“He knoweth,” called one captain to the others. “Let us press on!”
“Yea—press on,” cried Deucalion in his mightiest tone. “Further, forget not the oil!”
Then to Hellen and Sensel, he added, “Ye will press on to the fifth island to the east, and there wait for me. I will take oil, food, and drink, and stay here in my boat, that I may witness the death throes of the island.”
“I will stay with thee,” said Sensel.
“And I,” added Hellen.
“I will stay alone. Your duty is with those on this galley. Hellen, call to mind that thy mother looketh for thee and Æole.”
“She looketh for thee, likewise.”
“I will come.”
Hellen, of his impatience, turned away. He dared not speak.
“Sensel, thou wilt aid Hellen in caring for Æole, Electra, and the queen. Further, forget not to take in water at that fifth island. It is fine.”
Fierce was Hellen’s tone. “Father, if thou goest, I go also. I will share thy watch!”
“Nay, I will share it,” urged Sensel. “I came with him. I stay with him to the end!”
“Thou art not his son!”
“Hellen, calm thyself. I will bide alone. Look ye to the queen, and to Æole and Electra. Bring me the food, drink, and oil while I go to speak with them.”
They gazed at him, irresolute. But, as he regarded them, they at length turned to comply; whereupon, he repaired to the withdrawing room to find that the queen was still unconscious, whilst beside her sat Æole and Electra. He took a hand of each, saying, “I would speak with you.”
When the ladies in waiting had withdrawn, he continued: “Æole, Electra, gather your strength. I have to tell you that I will stay here in my boat after the galleys pass on to the east, that I may witness the last of the island.”
They were bewildered. Thus, he repeated his words, and with such conviction that they became horrified, and piteously besought him not to leave them, not to go to his death.
“Do ye not feel I shall come back? Æole, gather thy trust. Electra, where is thy strength?”
“Gone, gone is my strength,” moaned Electra. “I now know fear. Ah, Sir Deucalion, think of us. Yield not to this wish. What is its furthering to the delight of joining thy wife, of bringing before her Æole and Hellen. And, tempt not the gods.”
“Thou meanest be not too sure of the favor of the gods, Electra.”
She blushed; but regarded him bravely. “I have said it. Take it as thou wilt. Either is my thought.”
“Thou art a ready one. And I like thy truth. But no talking will hold me. I go.”
He took them in his arms, and kissed them. “Now is my parting word for a little. But I shall come back. And, give of this to the queen when I am gone, a drop with every hour.”
He laid a vial upon the table; then led them to a couch, and bade them comfort each other. They replied not to him, but drooped their heads forlornly as he passed out. As for Æole, she seemed turning to marble.
At the threshold were awaiting Hellen and Sensel with their supplies; and each looked most determined as he passed onward. Then, Sensel knocked lightly at the door, when Electra opened to them.
Sensel hurried on toward Æole; but Hellen paused by the door. “Electra, I go with my father. Sensel will care for thee and Æole. And now to kiss thee. For never shall I see thee more!”
The last words seemed to tear him. Electra, pallid and trembling, whispered: “Thou art right to go. But—the pain!”
He caught her to him, declaring how dear she was, and begging she would not forget his love; then kissed her, and ran out.
Meanwhile, Sensel was pressing Æole’s hand so that she revived, and looked up at him. At sight of the anguish in her eyes, he forgot himself, and kissed her hair, her hands, her robe, as he cried, “Æole—Æole!”
She, flushing and paling, would have arisen. But he said, “Nay, nay!” And after again kissing her hand, sped to the door where he paused to bid farewell to Electra, and then vanished.
Deucalion stood at the stern. When they joined him, he said as though giving some simple order, “Press on to the island. There will I come to you.”
The two received his embraces, each biding his time, each watching the other. Into the boat, they threw the bags of food, the skins of water and wine; then, handing him the oil, waited as he began the descent, each purposing to throw himself after.
But Deucalion was not half way, when, in the hush of the amazed beholders, was heard a sharp cry from Electra. Instantly, Hellen turned, and ran to the withdrawing room. Thus Sensel found no bar to his resolve. In a trice, he had leaped down beside Deucalion. “I came with thee, I go with thee!” he cried. With this, he detached the rope, and the boat tossed away.
Deucalion, surprised at his insistency, demurred, “Rash youth, rash prince, thy life is of too much worth.”
Sensel smiled as he answered, “Is not thy life of worth?”
“We shall have evil work.”
“It looketh it.” Then Sensel waved his hand gaily to the astounded Hellen, who was looking over at them; and who could only gasp, “Father!”
“It is well. Be not troubled, my son. Think of thy mother. What aileth Electra?”
“Æole sleepeth as she did in the temple.”
“Again is it well. Should I know I could not come out of this, I would cause her to awake. But, let her sleep for three days, should I not come back. Then, the written word I left for thee in my case will show thee how to arouse her. Further, my son, press on with speed. Show thy fond feeling for me in this. And forget not, my last word is for thy mother.”
Hellen could not reply; but merely waved his hand in farewell. As the boat shot off, he turned away without hope.
But the galleys were awaiting his lead. Thus he imparted the directions of his father to their occupants who were regarding the returning boat in dismay.
Then quickly certain whispers spread. Was the ‘Silent Priest’ an evil spirit? And, was he going back to gloat over the condition of their island? Or, was he indeed of the gods, and going to aid? Nobles, elders, captains, sailors, women and children were divided, some judging him to be on the side of evil, others on the side of good. But the majority inclined to the evil. However, his directions must be followed, as whether good or evil, he had shown proper knowledge of the fitness of the fifth island as a stopping place. And much they needed the water.
After the opinions had been well expressed, they grew mute, for the vessels began to labor eastward. It seemed as though their eyes must remain with the island, their heavy hearts drag them to the bottom. Alas, these poor Atlanteans!
When they had well gone on, Deucalion and Sensel stayed their course; and shortly bounded back to the place they had left, from there to watch the doomed Atlantis! That is, to watch the points within their vision of this great, this magnificent island.