Away she slipped, and Mark began to hum, knocking the seat with his knuckles to keep time. Then Bevis sang, making a tune of his own, leaning back and watching the sails with the sheet handy to let go if a puff came, for were they not voyaging on unknown seas? Bevis sang the same two verses over and over:—
“Telling how the Count Arnaldos,
With his hawk upon his hand,
Saw a fair and stately galley,
Steering onward to the land.
‘Learn the secret of the sea?
Only those who brave its dangers,
Comprehend its mystery!’”
Mark sang with him, till by-and-by he said, “There’s the battlefield; what country’s that?”
“Thessaly,” said Bevis. “It’s the last land we know; now it’s all new, and nobody knows anything.”
“Except us.”
“Of course.”
“Are you going all round or straight up?” said Mark presently, as they came near Fir-Tree Gulf.
“We ought to coast,” said Bevis. “They used to; we mustn’t go out of sight of land.”
“Steer into the gulf then; mind the stony point; what’s that, what’s the name?”
“I don’t know,” said Bevis. “It’s a dreadful place; awful rocks—smash, crash, ship’s side stove in—no chance for any body to escape there.”