Читать книгу Idylls of the Sea, and Other Marine Sketches онлайн

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Ras Nungwe stood out boldly against the deep azure of the midnight sky, its rugged outlines softened and etherealised by the flood of molten light flowing from the rising moon. Within the velvety shadow which extended far to the north-westward from that bold headland lay our brig, a lonely, almost pathetic object, with sails all vertical in the utter calm, and taut as boards with the drenching dew. The royals, peering above the enwrapping dark, gleamed silvery-white where the unintercepted moon-rays touched them, crowning the homely craft with a radiant halo of silver sheen. I stood alone in the silent gloom of the deck completely absorbed in the solemn beauty of the scene, and utterly unmindful for the present of the severe stress of our encompassing emergencies. After the fierce heat of the glowing day the caressing coolness of the hour was a pure delight, for, although not a breath lifted the down fringing the dog-vane suspended just above my head, there was a freshness in the atmosphere which belied the thermometer. A sound rippled along through the quiet, sending a responsive thrill over my scalp, as of an attuned nerve. Mellow and sustained, the clear call of the Muezzin from the minaret in Zanzibar Town had travelled this great distance, bearing its tremendous challenge, “Allah ho Akbar!” Dropping all consonants on its way, only the open vowels persisted; but even so, none could mistake the words. Obedient even in sleep to the call of his faith, Sa’adi, our Suahili steward, turned upon his mat near the mainmast, and rising to his feet, with hands outstretched before him, began in low gutturals the majestic ritual of the Mussulmani, “Bismillahi ’Rahmanni ’Raheem.”