For a whole month they had nothing but contrary gales from the south and east, and long before that time had run out they had come to the end of their store of provisions.  For some time they contrived to live on the fish which they caught by angling from the rocks, though this was but poor fare for the robust appetites of those heroic days.

All this time Odysseus kept a careful watch over the movements of his men, fearing that they might be driven by hunger to break the oath which they had taken.  But one morning he wandered away to a distant part of the island, that he might spend an hour in solitary prayer and meditation.  Having found a secluded spot, he washed his hands, and prayed earnestly to the gods for succour:  and when he had prayed, heaven so ordered it that he fell into a deep sleep.

Then the demon of mischief entered into the heart of Eurylochus, a factious knave, who had more than once thwarted the counsels of Odysseus.  “Comrades,” he said, “let us make an end of this misery.  Death in any shape is loathly to us poor mortals, but death by hunger is the most hideous of all.  Come, let us take the choicest of the herds of Helios, and feast upon them, after sacrifice to the gods.  When we return to Ithaca we will build a temple to Helios, and appease him with rich offerings.  And even though he choose to wreck our ship and drown us all, I would rather swallow the brine, and so make an end, than waste away by inches on a desert island.”

The famishing sailors lent a ready ear to his words, and having picked out the fattest of the oxen they slaughtered them and offered sacrifice, plucking the leaves of an oak as a substitute for the barley-meal for sprinkling between the horns of the victims, and pouring libations of water instead of wine.  When the vain rite was finished, they spitted slices of the meat, and roasted them over the glowing embers.

Meanwhile Odysseus had awakened from his sleep, and made his way, not without forebodings of ill, back to the camp.  As he approached, the steam of roasting meat was borne to his nostrils.  “Woe is me!” he cried, “the deed is done!  What a price must we now pay for one hour of sleep.”

Vengeance, indeed, was already prepared.  Helios received prompt news of the sacrilege from one of the nymphs who had charge of his flocks and herds, and hastened to Olympus to demand speedy punishment for the transgressors, vowing that if they escaped he would leave the earth in darkness and carry the lamp of day to the nether world.  Zeus promised that the retribution should be swift and complete, and Helios thereupon returned immediately to his daily round, knowing full well that the father of gods would keep his word.

When Odysseus entered the camp he rebuked his men bitterly for their impiety.  But no words, and no repentance, could now repair the mischief; the cattle were slain, and in that very hour dire portents occurred, to show them the enormity of their crime.  A strange moaning sound, like the lowing of kine, came from the meat on the spits, and the hides of the slaughtered beasts crawled and writhed.