The waves grew in size, and were no longer like slim racers keeping pace with the friendly vessel, but more like great angry beasts longing to consume the frail craft that so confidently rode upon their restless heaving backs.
The sail suddenly filled and expanded ready to burst; and the seamen tightened the cords, being tossed from side to side as they moved about.
Gundian's face was wet with the spray; his bright young eyes peered before him into the growing darkness.
A lantern had been lit and shone far above him like the Star of Bethlehem, flashing on his uncovered head, casting in turn lights and shadows over the fairness of his face. The boat bounded and creaked and groaned; the wind began to howl, frightened gulls flew around the sail with cries of distress, their white wings passing in and out of the gleam of the lantern.
The waves grew greater and greater, beating the sides of the vessel, throwing huge masses of water over the low rail. Eric had to keep a firm grip on the ropes so as not to be hurled into the restless, surging, wailing deep—to him this growing storm was a mighty joy; he revelled in the wind with its many tormented voices; he loved the salt water that dashed in his face, drenched his clothes, and tore at the chain he wore round his neck.
He loved the heaving and sinking of the vessel under him; he loved the weird shrieks of the birds, the flashing of their white wings when they came within the halo,—loved the shimmer of the lantern on the enormous, rolling, always advancing waves.
He trusted the seaman that sailed the ship—trusted the strong boards on which he stood,—above all he trusted with a child's simplicity the great God above.
All through the night the storm howled, and raged, and sobbed; and the brave little craft fought her way through the foaming masses, till the morning slowly overcame the darkness, bringing with the new day a hush that held a promise of peace and rest. Thus did day follow on day, night on night.
Gundian either basked in the sun, or hardened his hands working with the sailors, or sang them sweet songs that melted their hearts, fired their blood, awoke their longings, brought tears to their eyes, or a laugh to their lips. But at times he would also play his little flute; then, all else vanished from his mind, and always, always did the flute hold the same questioning notes that were like the cry of his soul for the unknown vision he was pursuing, that dreams alone allowed him to grasp.
The rough men in the boat looked upon him as a bright being of another sphere. They imagined he brought luck to their voyage, that his presence calmed the storm and had power over the elements, that his wonderful voice and magic flute enchanted the striving, ever-changing winds and waves. They loved him, and were in fear of the day when he would bid them good-bye and withdraw his sunny presence from their lives.