The Race of the Four Galleys

On the night when Dido was keeping her last sorrowful vigil Æneas lay sleeping on the deck of his galley, having made all things ready for a start next day. But in his dreams he saw the youthful form of Mercury standing by him, perfect in grace and beauty, and heard these warning words: “Canst thou sleep, Æneas, on the very brink of peril? Away, fly from this coast, before thy path is beset with sword and brand. A woman’s heart is a fickle and slippery thing.” Æneas started from his couch in affright, and cried to his men: “Up, comrades; take your oars, and let us be gone. A second time I have heard the voice of a god, and again the word is _Fly!_” And, drawing his sword, he cut the rope which moored his vessel to the shore. Swiftly the benches were manned, the calm waters eddied and roared under their sturdy strokes, and the whole fleet, urged by one impulse, swept out to sea. The wind blew fair, and the towers of Carthage were already sinking beneath the horizon, when a great column of smoke shot up from the direction of Carthage, checkered by tongues of fire. It was the funeral pyre on which Dido’s body was burning; but the Trojans knew not this, and thinking that perhaps it was a signal to summon the Tyrian fleet for pursuit they redoubled their efforts, until the smoke column dwindled to a speck, and vanished, and nothing remained in view but sea and sky. Meanwhile the wind had shifted to the north, the sky became overcast, and the waves grew black and threatening. Palinurus, the captain of the royal vessel, after anxiously scrutinizing the signs of the weather, came to Æneas, and said: “My lord, if Jupiter himself were my warrant, I could not hope to reach Italy in this wind. Everything forebodes a storm, and my counsel is that we run for shelter to the friendly harbor of Eryx, on the north coast of Sicily, where we are sure of a brotherly welcome. It is close at hand, unless my seamanship is at fault.” Æneas was well disposed on all accounts to take the advice of his pilot; for Eryx was a Trojan settlement, which they had already visited on their voyage from Epirus; and here too his father Anchises had found his last resting place. Accordingly the order was given, and, running before the wind, they soon reached the shelter of the high cliffs which guarded the harbor of Eryx. As they approached the shore they saw a stalwart warrior standing ready to receive them, grimly attired in a bearskin, and bristling with weapons. “It is my old friend Acestes,” said Æneas, with a smile, “whose heart is as kind as his aspect is threatening.” True to this description of his character, Acestes hails his wandering countrymen with a hearty greeting, and entertains them with princely hospitality. Next day was the anniversary of the death of Anchises, which was celebrated by Æneas and his men with splendid pomp, and offerings of blood and wine and milk at the tomb. When all rites had been duly paid Æneas made proclamation of a great series of games, to be held on the ninth day following, and invited all the subjects of Acestes to take part with the Trojans in the friendly contest. On the day appointed a vast multitude assembled, and took their station on the cliffs to witness the first event, in which four of the Trojan galleys were to race to a rocky island, some distance from the shore, and back again to the mainland. The crews of the vessels—the _Pristis_, the _Chimæra_, the _Centaur_, and the _Scylla_—were mustered in their places; and the captains, brave in their purple uniforms, stood conspicuous on the after-decks, glancing critically at their brawny crews, who sat, stripped to the waist, grasping their oars, and waiting for the signal. There was a breathless pause, then a loud blast from a trumpet rang out for the start, and the four galleys darted out with level prows for the open sea, while a tremendous roar went up from the host of spectators who thronged the cliffs. “She leads—the _Chimæra_ has the lead!” is the cry; and, in fact, the _Chimæra_, under her captain, Gyas, is forging ahead. She is a galley of the largest size, and built for speed. Next comes the _Scylla_, with her crew rowing powerfully and splendidly together; but she is broad in the beam, and a slow traveller. The third place is keenly contested between the _Pristis_[1] and the _Centaur_, whose figureheads may be seen alternately passing and repassing each other, and then again racing neck and neck. The rocky island draws nearer and nearer, and they can see the green bough of ilex, placed there by order of Æneas, waving in the wind. The _Chimæra_ is still leading, and Gyas, her captain, calls to his helmsman. “Keep closer,” he orders; “you are steering too wide; let the oars graze the rocks on the port side.” But the cautious old seaman shakes his head, and steers in a wide curve, fearing the shoal water near the island. Close behind looms the tall prow of the _Scylla_, and they can hear the water hissing and foaming round her cutwater. “They are gaining!” shouts Gyas; and even as he speaks the huge galley, steered by a bold and skilful hand, takes the inside place, sweeps round the island, and gaining deep water, rushes triumphantly forward, bound for the shore. This was too much for the excitable Gyas; with tears of rage and grief he sprang upon the helmsman, and, snatching the tiller from his hand, with one vigorous thrust he flung the too cautious veteran into the sea. Presently a gray head emerged from the water, and the old man was seen swimming slowly towards the rocks, which he reached not without difficulty, and sat down with dripping garments and rueful countenance, gasping, and spitting out the brine. “Now give way, my men,” cried Gyas, putting the helm hard down, as so to bring the galley round to the very edge of the rocks. Meanwhile Mnestheus in the _Pristis_, and Sergestus in the _Centaur_, were still rowing a keen race, and as they neared the turning point the _Centaur_ was leading by half a length. Seeing the wild steering of the _Chimæra_, which was yawing and losing way under the unskilful hand of Gyas, Mnestheus strode up and down the gangway, calling loudly to his crew: “Now show your mettle, my braves! Ye who have fought at Hector’s side, and defied a thousand perils on land and sea, save your captain from the dishonor of coming in last.” His men respond gallantly to the call; the huge hull of the _Pristis_ trembles under their mighty strokes, and the white wake boils and foams behind them. And as they strain and tug at their ponderous oars, with parched throats and heaving chests, suddenly a loud crash announces that fortune has come to their aid; for the _Centaur_, taking the curve too short, has stuck fast on a projecting ridge, and hangs, with shattered prow and broken oars, on the rocks. While the crew are busy with long poles, trying to get her off, the rival _Pristis_ sweeps triumphantly past her, clears the dangerous shallows, and enters deep water again, homeward bound. And first she passes the _Chimæra_, who has lost her helmsman, and cannot keep a straight course; then hard after the _Scylla_ she flies, and seems gaining on her with every stroke. Nearer and nearer creeps the _Pristis_; louder and louder grow the shouts of the waiting multitude on the shore, whose feelings have been wound up to the wildest excitement by the sudden changes of fortune and the startling incidents of this memorable race. Already the prow of the _Pristis_ is overlapping the stern of the _Scylla_, when a sudden fury seems to enter into the crew of the leading vessel, and, as if thrust forward from below by a giant’s hand, she makes a great bound in advance of her pursuer, and gains the harbor. The race was over, and the victorious captains, crowned with laurel, were flaunting their honors proudly before their admiring comrades. Cloanthus, the captain of the _Scylla_, received as first prize a rich mantle, with a double waving border of Tyrian purple, on which was embroidered the story of the rape of Ganymede—a living picture, showing the lovely boy, seized in the midst of his woodland sports, and borne skyward in the talons of a gigantic eagle; while below him were seen his dogs, leaping and baying in wild excitement, and a group of aged attendants, with hands uplifted, and lips parted in speechless dismay. A hundred eyes were curiously scanning this rare device when a loud laugh from the crowd on the shore announced the return of the unlucky _Centaur_. Like a wounded snake, crushed by the wheel of a passing wagon, she came crawling slowly through the harbor mouth, and landed her crestfallen crew, among whom was Menœtes, the _Chimæra’s_ helmsman, still damp from his involuntary bath. [1] Shark.