CHAPTER XVIII
“His looks do measure heaven and dare the gods:
His fiery eyes are fixed upon the earth.”
—Marlowe, in Tamburlaine.
Oftentimes the necessity for mere physical exertion alleviates the dull pain of hopelessness and induces men to forget themselves. The renewed activity may be long delayed and unsought, but when at last it comes the change is everywhere apparent. For months the colony had been subject to a kind of lethargy, a spirit of retrospection and dark foreboding, which even the endeavors of Vytal and his men could not dispel. But on the day of exodus there was not even an attempt at prophecy. The tangible present became paramount. Each man, with a few exceptions, acted for himself, and thus for all. Even selfishness, if it be positive, may result in a benefit widespread beyond its own intent.
The sun, rising slowly, seemed at last to pause and balance itself on the edge of the flaming sea, like an oven’s red-hot lid for a moment lifted from its hole. The sky, papery, blue, and shallow—a ceiling painted azure in clumsy imitation of the heavens—seemed so low as to shut out air. One might almost have expected to see strips of the blue peel off in places, cracked by the consuming heat. The bosom of the sea lay motionless, as if the breath of life had gone forever; and the corpse of the earth was carrion for the sun.
But the toilers persisted. The emigration had begun.