VI
A Tripolitan fisherman, Mohammed Ben Ali el Bad, a holy man nearlyseventy years of age, who had twice made the journey to Mecca and whonow in his declining years occupied himself with reading the Koran andinstructing his grandsons in the profession of fishing for mullet alongthe reefs of the Gulf of Cabes, had anchored for the night off theTunisian coast, about midway between Sfax and Lesser Syrtis. The mullethad been running thick and he was well satisfied, for by the nextevening he would surely complete his load and be able to return home tothe house of his daughter, Fatima, the wife of Abbas, the confectioner.Her youngest son, Abdullah, a lithe lad of seventeen, was at that momentengaged in folding their prayer rugs, which had been spread in the bowof the falukah in order that they might have a clearer view as theyknelt toward the Holy City. Chud, their slave, was cleaning mullet inthe waist and chanting some weird song of his native land.
Mohammed Ben Ali el Bad was sitting cross-legged in the stern, smoking ahookah and watching the full moon sail slowly up above the Atlas Rangeto the southwest. The wind had died down and the sea was calm, heavingslowly with great orange-purple swells resembling watered silk. In thewest still lingered the fast-fading afterglow, above which the starsglimmered faintly. Along the coast lights twinkled in scattered coves.Half a mile astern the Italian cruiser _Fiala_ lay slowly swinging atanchor. From the forecastle came the smell of fried mullet. Mohammed BenAli was at peace with himself and with the world, including even theirritating Chud. The west darkened and the stars burned morebrilliantly. With the hookah gurgling softly at his feet, Mohammedleaned back his head and gazed in silent appreciation at the wonders ofthe heavens. There was Turka Kabar, the crocodile; and Menish el Tabir,the sleeping beauty; and Rook Hamana, the leopard, and there--up thereto the far north--was a shooting star. How gracefully it shot across thesky, leaving its wake of yellow light behind it! It was the season forshooting stars, he recollected. In an instant it would be gone--like aman's life! Saddened, he looked down at his hookah. When he should lookup again--if in only an instant--the star would be gone. Presently hedid look up again. But the star was still there, coming his way!
He rubbed his old eyes, keen as they were from habituation to theblinding light of the desert. Yes, the star was coming--coming fast.
"Abdullah!" he called in his high-pitched voice. "Chud! Come, see thestar!"
Together they watched it sweep onward.
"By Allah! That is no star!" suddenly cried Abdullah. "It is anair-flying fire chariot! I can see it with my eyes--black, and spoutingflames from behind."
"Black," echoed Chud gutturally. "Black and round! Oh, Allah!" He fellon his knees and knocked his head against the deck.
The star, or whatever it was, swung in a wide circle toward the coast,and Mohammed and Abdullah now saw that what they had taken to be a trailof fire behind was in fact a broad beam of yellow light that pointeddiagonally earthward. It swept nearer and nearer, illuminating the wholesky and casting a shimmering reflection upon the waves.
A shrill whistle trilled across the water, accompanied by the sound offootsteps running along the decks of the cruiser. Lights flashed.Muffled orders were shouted.
"By the beard of the Prophet!" cried Mohammed Ali. "Something is goingto happen!"
The small black object from which the incandescent beam descended passedat that moment athwart the face of the moon, and Abdullah saw that itwas round and flat like a ring. The ray of light came from a pointdirectly above it, passing through its aperture downward to the sea.
"Boom!" The fishing-boat shook to the thunder of the _Fiala's_eight-inch gun, and a blinding spurt of flame leaped from the cruiser'sbows. With a whining shriek a shell rose toward the moon. There was aquick flash followed by a dull concussion. The shell had not reached atenth of the distance to the flying machine.
And then everything happened at once. Mohammed described afterward to agaping multitude of dirty villagers, while he sat enthroned upon hisdaughter's threshold, how the star-ship had sailed across the face ofthe moon and come to a standstill above the mountains, with its beam ofyellow light pointing directly downward so that the coast could be seenbright as day from Sfax to Cabes. He saw, he said, genii climbing up anddown on the beam. Be that as it may, he swears upon the Beard of theProphet that a second ray of light--of a lavender colour, like the eyeof a long-dead mullet--flashed down alongside the yellow beam. Instantlythe earth blew up like a cannon--up into the air, a thousand miles up.It was as light as noonday. Deafened by titanic concussions he fell halfdead. The sea boiled and gave off thick clouds of steam through whichflashed dazzling discharges of lightning accompanied by a thundering,grinding sound like a million mills. The ocean heaved spasmodically andthe air shook with a rending, ripping noise, as if Nature were bent upondestroying her own handiwork. The glare was so dazzling that sight wasimpossible. The falukah was tossed this way and that, as if caught in asimoon, and he was rolled hither and yon in the company of Chud,Abdullah, and the headless mullet.
This earsplitting racket continued, he says, without interruption fortwo days. Abdullah says it was several hours; the official report of the_Fiala_ gives it as six minutes. And then it began to rain in torrentsuntil he was almost drowned. A great wind arose and lashed the ocean,and a whirlpool seized the falukah and whirled it round and round.Darkness descended upon the earth, and in the general mess Mohammed hithis head a terrific blow against the mast. He was sure it was but amatter of seconds before they would be dashed to pieces by the waves.The falukah spun like a marine top with a swift sideways motion.Something was dragging them along, sucking them in. The _Fiala_ wentcareening by, her fighting masts hanging in shreds. The air was full offalling rocks, trees, splinters, and thick clouds of dust that turnedthe water yellow in the lightning flashes. The mast went crashing overand a lemon tree descended to take its place. Great streams of lavapoured down out of the air, and masses of opaque matter plunged into thesea all about the falukah. Scalding mud, stones, hail, fell upon thedeck.
And still the fishing-boat, gyrating like a leaf, remained afloat withits crew of half-crazed Arabs. Suffocated, stunned, scalded, petrifiedwith fear, they lay among the mullet while the falukah raced along inits wild dance with death. Mohammed recalls seeing what he thought to bea great cliff rush by close beside them. The falukah plunged over awaterfall and was almost submerged, was caught again in a maelstrom, andwent twirling on in the blackness. They all were deathly sick, but weretoo terrified to move.
And then the nearer roaring ceased. The air was less congested. Theywere still showered with sand, clods of earth, twigs, and pebbles, it istrue, but the genii had stopped hurling mountains at each other. Thedarkness became less opaque, the water smoother. Soon they could see themoon through the clouds of settling dust, and gradually they coulddiscern the stars. The falukah was rocking gently upon a broad expanseof muddy ocean, surrounded by a yellow scum broken here and there by afloating tree. The _Fiala_ had vanished. No light shone upon the face ofthe waters. But death had not overtaken them. Overcome by exhaustion andterror Mohammed lay among the mullet, his legs entangled in the lemontree. Did he dream it? He cannot tell. But as he lost consciousness hethinks he saw a star shooting toward the north.
When he awoke the falukah lay motionless upon a boundless ochre sea.They were beyond sight of land. Out of a sky slightly dim the sun burnedpitilessly down, sending warmth into their bodies and courage to theirhearts. All about them upon the water floated the evidences of thecataclysm of the preceding night--trees, shrubs, dead birds, and thedistorted corpse of a camel. Kneeling without their prayer rugs amongthe mullet they raised their voices in praise of Allah and his Prophet.