While I was making these observations, a double line of Seminarians had ascended from the lower deck; separating at the mainmast, one column had passed to the right and one to the left, completely encircling us as we stood in the centre of the sky-roofed cabin. Without any prelude or observable signal, the attending priests and Seminarians broke forth in a Kyrie-like invocation, quite resembling the first movement of the mass in the Roman churches immediately preceding the communion service. This was of brief duration, and at its conclusion the High Priest of the Sacred Fire, who had remained standing throughout the Kyrie, took up the solemn ceremonial of the Water Worshipers. Speaking chiefly in Portuguese, but following the usage of the Sargassons and interpolating words of French, English, Italian, German and Spanish wherever his vocabulary failed him, the High Priest offered a rhapsody to the sea, which I venture to translate in the following language:
“The Ocean. It covereth all. It telleth nothing. It is silent—secretive as the dead ones. Death is our portion. It endeth all. It maketh us glad. We are of the sea, for it encompasseth us about like a mantle, shielding us from the miseries of the savage world.”
Here the choir broke forth into a Kyrie Eleison, in words that might be interpreted:
“O most gracious Ruler of the Seaweed Sea, be merciful unto us. Amen.”
Following which the High Priest of the Sacred Fire continued:
“Hail, welcoming arms of the Sea! We are at peace upon thy heaving bosom. Thy warm breath enchants us. We are as driftwood in thy grasp. Do thou, O glorious Sea, continue to endure us. We love thee. No other thoughts but of thee constrain us. Do suffer us to exist, that we may know thou ever loveth us.”
As the High Priest paused, the choir again chanted:
“Adoration ever. O forgiving Sea, endure us.”
Resuming, the High Priest said: “Hail to the attendants of the Sea, the Clouds—the homeless, wandering Clouds. Like unto us are they. Nor home, nor friends; but, like us, are they of the elements of the sea and not of the land. ’Tis ours to roll and roll till life doth cease to be. O splendid, boundless Sea, the wealth of all the world is thine; and with thee the burning sun, the cold, pale moon and the twinkling stars make merry company. Thou art eternal. None may measure thee or sound thy depths. Amen.”
At a signal from an attending acolyte, Fidette and I knelt, slightly turning our bodies so that we directly faced the Chief Kantoon, who, raising high a glowing marlinspike heated to whiteness in the Sacred Fire, administered the following oath: