Æneas was well disposed on all accounts to take the advice of his pilot; for Eryx was a Trojan settlement, which they had already visited on their voyage from Epirus; and here too his father Anchises had found his last resting place. Accordingly the order was given, and, running before the wind, they soon reached the shelter of the high cliffs which guarded the harbor of Eryx.
As they approached the shore they saw a stalwart warrior standing ready to receive them, grimly attired in a bearskin, and bristling with weapons. “It is my old friend Acestes,” said Æneas, with a smile, “whose heart is as kind as his aspect is threatening.” True to this description of his character, Acestes hails his wandering countrymen with a hearty greeting, and entertains them with princely hospitality.
Next day was the anniversary of the death of Anchises, which was celebrated by Æneas and his men with splendid pomp, and offerings of blood and wine and milk at the tomb. When all rites had been duly paid Æneas made proclamation of a great series of games, to be held on the ninth day following, and invited all the subjects of Acestes to take part with the Trojans in the friendly contest.
On the day appointed a vast multitude assembled, and took their station on the cliffs to witness the first event, in which four of the Trojan galleys were to race to a rocky island, some distance from the shore, and back again to the mainland. The crews of the vessels—the Pristis, the Chimæra, the Centaur, and the Scylla—were mustered in their places; and the captains, brave in their purple uniforms, stood conspicuous on the after-decks, glancing critically at their brawny crews, who sat, stripped to the waist, grasping their oars, and waiting for the signal.
There was a breathless pause, then a loud blast from a trumpet rang out for the start, and the four galleys darted out with level prows for the open sea, while a tremendous roar went up from the host of spectators who thronged the cliffs. “She leads—the Chimæra has the lead!” is the cry; and, in fact, the Chimæra, under her captain, Gyas, is forging ahead. She is a galley of the largest size, and built for speed. Next comes the Scylla, with her crew rowing powerfully and splendidly together; but she is broad in the beam, and a slow traveller. The third place is keenly contested between the Pristis[1] and the Centaur, whose figureheads may be seen alternately passing and repassing each other, and then again racing neck and neck.
The rocky island draws nearer and nearer, and they can see the green bough of ilex, placed there by order of Æneas, waving in the wind. The Chimæra is still leading, and Gyas, her captain, calls to his helmsman. “Keep closer,” he orders; “you are steering too wide; let the oars graze the rocks on the port side.” But the cautious old seaman shakes his head, and steers in a wide curve, fearing the shoal water near the island. Close behind looms the tall prow of the Scylla, and they can hear the water hissing and foaming round her cutwater. “They are gaining!” shouts Gyas; and even as he speaks the huge galley, steered by a bold and skilful hand, takes the inside place, sweeps round the island, and gaining deep water, rushes triumphantly forward, bound for the shore. This was too much for the excitable Gyas; with tears of rage and grief he sprang upon the helmsman, and, snatching the tiller from his hand, with one vigorous thrust he flung the too cautious veteran into the sea. Presently a gray head emerged from the water, and the old man was seen swimming slowly towards the rocks, which he reached not without difficulty, and sat down with dripping garments and rueful countenance, gasping, and spitting out the brine. “Now give way, my men,” cried Gyas, putting the helm hard down, as so to bring the galley round to the very edge of the rocks.
Meanwhile Mnestheus in the Pristis, and Sergestus in the Centaur, were still rowing a keen race, and as they neared the turning point the Centaur was leading by half a length. Seeing the wild steering of the Chimæra, which was yawing and losing way under the unskilful hand of Gyas, Mnestheus strode up and down the gangway, calling loudly to his crew: “Now show your mettle, my braves! Ye who have fought at Hector’s side, and defied a thousand perils on land and sea, save your captain from the dishonor of coming in last.” His men respond gallantly to the call; the huge hull of the Pristis trembles under their mighty strokes, and the white wake boils and foams behind them. And as they strain and tug at their ponderous oars, with parched throats and heaving chests, suddenly a loud crash announces that fortune has come to their aid; for the Centaur, taking the curve too short, has stuck fast on a projecting ridge, and hangs, with shattered prow and broken oars, on the rocks. While the crew are busy with long poles, trying to get her off, the rival Pristis sweeps triumphantly past her, clears the dangerous shallows, and enters deep water again, homeward bound. And first she passes the Chimæra, who has lost her helmsman, and cannot keep a straight course; then hard after the Scylla she flies, and seems gaining on her with every stroke.
Nearer and nearer creeps the Pristis; louder and louder grow the shouts of the waiting multitude on the shore, whose feelings have been wound up to the wildest excitement by the sudden changes of fortune and the startling incidents of this memorable race. Already the prow of the Pristis is overlapping the stern of the Scylla, when a sudden fury seems to enter into the crew of the leading vessel, and, as if thrust forward from below by a giant’s hand, she makes a great bound in advance of her pursuer, and gains the harbor.
The race was over, and the victorious captains, crowned with laurel, were flaunting their honors proudly before their admiring comrades. Cloanthus, the captain of the Scylla, received as first prize a rich mantle, with a double waving border of Tyrian purple, on which was embroidered the story of the rape of Ganymede—a living picture, showing the lovely boy, seized in the midst of his woodland sports, and borne skyward in the talons of a gigantic eagle; while below him were seen his dogs, leaping and baying in wild excitement, and a group of aged attendants, with hands uplifted, and lips parted in speechless dismay.