; for I have
heard since that something swift and wonderful has suddenly wrecked
Perdondaris 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
rest for the night. The silence deepened, and was only broken by the
ripples of Yann that lightly touched our prow. Sometimes some monster
of the river coughed.

Silence and ripples, ripples and silence again.

And then his loneliness came upon the helmsman, and he began to
sing. And he sang the market songs of Durl and Duz, and the old
dragon-legends of Belzoond.

Many a song he sang, telling to spacious and exotic Yann the little
tales and trifles of his city of Durl. And the songs welled up over
the black jungle and came into the clear cold air above, and the great
bands of stars that look on Yann began to know the affairs of Durl and
Duz, and of the shepherds that dwelt in the fields between, and the
flocks that they had, and the loves that they had loved, and all the
little things that they hoped to do. And as I lay wrapped up in skins
and blankets, listening to those songs, and watching the fantastic
shapes of the great trees like to black giants stalking through the
night, I suddenly fell asleep.

When I awoke great mists were trailing away from the Yann. And the
flow of the river was tumbling now tumultuously, and little waves
appeared; for Yann had scented from afar the ancient crags of Glorm,
and knew that their ravines lay cool before him wherein he should meet
the merry wild Irillion