In the great city of Baghdad there lived, in the time of the Caliph Harun al-Rashid, a porter — a man who carried loads for a living — by the name of Sindbad. One morning, weary from his work and footsore from the heat, he sat down to rest in the shade outside the gate of a rich merchant's house. From inside the garden came music and the smell of food and the sound of laughter. A servant came out, and the porter asked him: "Who lives here?" "Why, Sindbad the Seaman," said the servant, "the traveller who has voyaged seven times across the great seas." The porter — whose name, by chance, was also Sindbad — sighed and said a few rueful words about how unjust the world was, that one Sindbad should struggle under burdens while another sat in luxury. The servant heard him, went inside, and told his master. And Sindbad the Seaman sent word that the porter should be brought in.

He was seated at a table set with the finest food and drink, among a company of merchants and noblemen and men of good conversation. And when the meal was done, the wealthy Sindbad said to his guest: "I did not always live like this. Let me tell you what I endured to earn it — for my comfort today was paid for with suffering and fear and the mercy of God across seven voyages." And this is what he said:

My father was a merchant — a man of standing and wealth in our city — and he died when I was still a child, leaving me a good inheritance: money, land, and properties. When I grew up, I laid hold of all of it and proceeded to spend it as quickly and enthusiastically as only a young man can. I ate the best food, drank the finest wine, wore expensive clothes, and kept constant company with others my own age, all of us proceeding cheerfully under the misapprehension that this state of affairs would last for ever.

It did not.

I woke up one day and looked around and found my fortune gone and my circumstances as poor as I deserved. I took stock with a clear head, which was painful, and remembered a saying of Solomon the prophet that my father had taught me: "Three things are better than other three: the day of death is better than the day of birth; a living dog is better than a dead lion; and the grave is better than poverty." Then I thought of another saying, this one from a poet:

By toil alone does a man reach the heights —
he who wants glory must not sleep at night.
Who seeks a pearl must dive into the deep,
and win his wealth by effort and by might.
Who seeks his fame through ease and not through strife
seeks the impossible — and wastes his life.

I gathered what little remained of my estate, sold everything — including my clothes — and raised three thousand silver dirhams. With this money I resolved to travel, to trade in distant places, and to see whether Fortune might treat me better abroad than she had done at home. I purchased goods and merchandise for trading, and set out for the port of Basra, where I found a ship loading for the islands. I boarded her along with a company of merchants, and we put out to sea.

We sailed for many days and nights, passing from island to island, trading as we went — buying here, selling there, bartering wherever we touched shore — and for a time the voyage was as pleasant as any voyage can be. Then one day we came to an island of unusual beauty: green and lush, covered in trees, with fresh water and soft grass, and it looked, said the captain, like a garden out of Paradise itself.

We anchored and went ashore. The merchants spread out across the island. Some lit fires and began cooking; others washed clothes; others simply wandered about, glad of solid ground under their feet after the long rolling of the ship. I was among those who walked. The air was sweet; the trees were full of birds; it was, in every outward respect, a perfect place to rest.

Then the captain appeared at the ship's rail, his face white, shouting as loudly as he could: "All hands back to the ship! Leave everything! Run — for your lives — run now! This is not an island!"

We stared at him.

"It is a fish!" He bellowed. "A great fish, lying still so long that sand has settled on its back and trees have grown there and it looks like land — but we have lit fires on it, and it has felt the heat, and it is waking — run!"

Some of us ran immediately. Some stood there a moment longer than they should have. Those who ran fast enough reached the landing planks and scrambled back on board. The rest of us — and I was among them — were still pelting toward the water when the island moved.

It lurched, shuddered, tipped — and plunged beneath the sea.

The water rushed over everything. I went down with it, tumbling in the cold dark, pulling for the surface with all my strength and lungs burning. When I broke the surface the ship was already moving, her sails filling, the captain having no choice but to save those he still had rather than risk the whole vessel in the churning water. I saw her pull away and shouted and waved, but the waves were high and the distance was growing.

By the mercy of God, a large wooden washing-tub came bobbing past me — one of the tubs the crew used for laundry. I grabbed it with both hands and hauled myself across it like a man mounting a horse and lay there, kicking my feet to steer, while the sea tossed me this way and that as if I were something it had not quite decided what to do with.

The ship disappeared. Night came. The wind and waves carried me through the darkness and all through the next day, until finally, toward the end of the second day, the tub grounded gently beneath a wooded island, and I dragged myself up the beach and lay there on the sand, unable to move, barely able to breathe, more dead than alive.

I slept there on the shore until the sun woke me the next morning. When I tried to stand, I found my legs would barely work — cramped and stiff — and the soles of my feet had been nibbled by fish during the night. I felt nothing at the time, being beyond pain, but now I had to shuffle on my hands and knees until the feeling came back. The island had fresh water and fruit in abundance; I ate and drank and gradually revived over the course of several days, until I could walk again and my spirits began to return.

I explored. I rested. I walked along the shore. And one morning I caught sight of something strange on the beach ahead of me — a shape I took at first for a wild animal, or some creature of the sea. But as I drew closer I saw it was a mare, beautifully built, tethered to a post driven into the sand.

She saw me first and cried out in alarm. I turned to leave, and then from a hole in the ground nearby a man emerged — came right up out of the earth — and called after me: "Who are you? Where do you come from? What brings you to this place?"

I told him everything: the voyage, the fish-island, the tub, the sea. He listened carefully, then took my hand. "Come with me," he said, and led me down into an underground chamber — large and comfortable, like a hall — where he sat me down, brought me food, and would not ask me anything more until I had eaten my fill.

When I had eaten, he told me his own story.

He was one of a group of grooms in the service of King Mihrjan, who ruled these islands. Each month at the new moon, he and his companions brought their finest unbroken mares down to this shore and tethered them here, then hid underground and kept very still. Out of the sea would come the sea-stallions — great horses that lived under the waves — drawn by the scent of the mares. They would come ashore, cover the mares, and then try to drag them back into the water. The tethers held; the stallions, frustrated, would kick and bite and roar; and when the grooms heard this signal, they would burst out shouting and brandishing weapons, driving the sea-horses back into the waves. The mares then gave birth to foals of extraordinary quality — the finest horses in the world, worth a great deal to the King.

The groom told me this, and added: "You are very fortunate to have found us, because this shore is otherwise deserted and you might have died here alone. I will take you to King Mihrjan and see you safely returned to your own country."

While we were talking, the sea-stallion arrived: a vast grey shape surging up out of the water, shaking itself on the beach, then covering the mare with furious energy. When he had finished and began trying to haul the mare seaward, the groom burst from the ground with his sword and buckler, shouting; his companions appeared from other hiding places; the stallion shied back in fright and plunged into the sea and was gone. The grooms gathered their mares and invited me to mount one, and we rode together to the capital city of King Mihrjan.

The King received me kindly, heard my story with attention, and expressed his wonder at how I had come through alive. He gave me a position of trust in his port — registrar of all ships coming and going, keeper of records for the harbour. I served him faithfully, and he was generous with me. For a long while I was content enough, though I thought often of Baghdad and of home, and questioned every merchant and sailor who passed through about the roads back to the city, and found no one who knew the way.

Then one day a ship came in carrying a large and varied cargo. As I stood on the quay counting the bales, I asked the captain if anything remained in the hold. He said yes — goods belonging to a merchant who had drowned on the voyage, whose family were to receive the proceeds whenever the goods were sold.

"What was the merchant's name?" I asked.

"Sindbad the Seaman," said the captain.

I stared at him. Then I said, quietly: "Captain. I am Sindbad the Seaman."

The captain shook his head. "That cannot be. I saw the man drown with my own eyes."

"You saw him go into the sea," I said. "But God sent him a washing-tub." And I described to him the day of the fish-island — the first morning of the voyage, what we had eaten, what I was wearing, things I had said to him — detail after detail, until the captain's scepticism crumbled, and he and the merchants who had been aboard that ship gathered round me, marvelling, thanking God for my survival, and confirming that these were indeed my goods.

I took the bales, opened them — everything was there, not an item missing — and made up a fine present for King Mihrjan from the best of the merchandise. He was astonished to hear what had happened, and in return gave me a gift even more generous than mine. I sold the rest of my goods at a good profit, bought new cargo from the local markets, and when the merchants prepared to sail for home, I was among them.

I took my leave of King Mihrjan, who farewelled me with kindness and great gifts; and we set sail, and God was with us on the voyage. We reached Basra safely, and from there I went on to Baghdad, arriving at my own house, greeting my friends and family, giving gifts to everyone, and setting about rebuilding my life — which I did, rather better than before.

"And that," said Sindbad the Seaman, turning to his guest the porter, "was the first of my seven voyages. Come back tomorrow and I will tell you the second."

He gave the porter a hundred gold pieces and sent him home with a full belly and a spinning head, marvelling at what men are made to endure. And the porter came back the next morning, and so did all the others, and Sindbad took up his tale again.