Boisterous mirth followed the Egyptian, as he started from his couch and left the hall, casting fierce looks in his retreat, like Parthian arrows, on the carousal. The German had, in the mean time, fallen back in a doze, from which he was disturbed by the slave’s refilling his goblet.
“Aye, that tastes like wine,” said he, glancing at the Greek, who had by no means forgotten the controversy.
“Taste what it may, it is the very same wine that you railed at half an hour ago,” returned the Chiote; “the truth is, my good Vladomir, that the wine of Greece is like its language; both are exquisite and unrivaled to those who understand them. But Nature wisely adapts tastes to men, and men to tastes. I am not at all surprised that north of the Danube they prefer beer.”
The German had nothing to give back for the taunt but the frown that gathered on his black brow.
The Chiote pursued his triumph, and with a languid, lover-like gaze on the wine, which sparkled in purple radiance to the brim of its enameled cup, he apostrophized the produce of his fine country.
“Delicious grape!—essence of the sunshine and of the dew!—what vales but the vales of Chios could have produced thee? What tint of heaven is brighter than thy hue? What fragrance of earth richer than thy perfume?”
He lightly sipped a few drops from the edge, like a libation to the deity of taste.
“Exquisite draft!” breathed he; “unequaled but by the rosy lip and melting sigh of beauty! Well spoke the proverb: ‘Chios, whose wines steal every head, and whose women, every heart.’”
“You forget the rest,” gladly interrupted the German—“and whose men steal everything.”
A general laugh followed the retort, such as it was.
“Scythian!” said the Greek across the table, in a voice made low by rage, and preparing to strike.
“Liar!” roared the German, sweeping a blow of his falchion, which the Chiote escaped only by flinging himself on the ground. The blow fell on the table, where it caused wide devastation. All now started up; swords were out on every side, and nothing but forcing the antagonists to their cells prevented the last perils of a difference of palate. The storm bellowed deeper and deeper.
“Here’s to the luck that sent us back before this north-wester thought of stirring abroad,” said the Arab. “I wish our noble captain were among us now. Where was he last seen?”
“Steering westward, off and on Rhodes, looking out for the galley that carried the procurator’s plate. But this wind must send him in before morning,” was the answer of Hanno.
“Or send him to the bottom, where many as bold a fellow has gone before him,” whispered a tall, haggard-looking Italian to the answerer.
“That would be good news for one of us at least,” said Hanno. “You would have no reckoning to settle. Your crew made a handsome affair of the Alexandrian prize, and the captain might be looking for returns, friend Tertullus.”
“Then let him look to himself. His time may be nearer than he thinks. His haughtiness to men as good as himself may provoke justice before long,” growled the Italian, in memory of some late discipline.
Hanno laughed loudly.
“Justice!—is the man mad? The very sound is high treason in our gallant company. Why, comrade, if justice ever ventured here, where would some of us have been these last six months?”
The sound caught the general ear; the allusion was understood, and the Italian was displeased.
“I hate to be remarkable,” said he; “with the honest it may be proper to be honest; but beside you, my facetious Hanno, a man should cultivate a little of the opposite school in mere compliment to his friend. You had no scruples when you hanged the merchant the other day.”
A murmur arose in the hall.
“Comrades,” said Hanno, with the air of an orator, “hear me too on that subject: three words will settle the question to men of sense. The merchant was a regular trader. Will any man who knows the world, and has brains an atom clearer than those with which fate has gifted my virtuous friend, believe that I, a regular liver by the merchant, would extinguish that by which I live? Sensible physicians never kill a patient while he can pay; sensible kings never exterminate a province when it can produce anything in the shape of a tax; sensible women never pray for the extinction of our sex until they despair of getting husbands; sensible husbands never wish their wives out of the world while they can get anything by their living: so, sensible men of our profession will never put a merchant under water until they can make nothing by his remaining above it. I have, for instance, raised contributions on that same trader every summer these five years; and, by the blessing of fortune, hope to have the same thing to say for five times as many years to come. No, I would not see any man touch a hair of his head. In six months he will have a cargo again, and I shall meet him with as much pleasure as ever.”
The Carthaginian was highly applauded.
“Malek, you don’t drink,” cried the Arab to a gigantic Ethiopian toward the end of the table. “Here, I pledge you in the very wine that was marked for the Emperor’s cellar.”
Malek tasted it, and sent back a cup in return.
“The Emperor’s wine may be good enough for him,” was the message; “but I prefer the wine yonder, marked for the Emperor’s butler.”
The verdict was fully in favor of the Ethiopian.
“In all matters of this kind,” said Malek, with an air of supreme taste, “I look first to the stores of the regular professors—the science of life is in the masters of the kitchen and the cellar. Your emperors and procurators, of course, must be content with what they can get. But the man who wishes to have the first-rate wine should be on good terms with the butler. I caught this sample on my last voyage after the imperial fleet. Nero never had such wine on his table.”
He indulged himself in a long draft of this exclusive luxury, and sank on his couch, with his hand clasping the superbly embossed flagon—a part of his prize.
“The black churl,” said a little shriveled Syrian, “never shares; he keeps his wine as he keeps his money.”
“Aye, he keeps everything but his character,” whispered Hanno.
“There you wrong him,” observed the Syrian; “no man keeps his character more steadily. By Beelzebub! it is like his skin; neither will be blacker the longest day he has to live.”
A roar of laughter rose round the hall.
“Black or not black,” exclaimed the Ethiopian, with a sullen grin, that showed his teeth like the fangs of a wild beast, “my blood’s as red as yours.”
“Possibly,” retorted the little Syrian; “but as I must take your word on the subject till I shall have seen a drop of it spilt in fair fight, I only hope I may live and be happy till then; and I can not put up a better prayer for a merry old age.”
“There is no chance of your ever seeing it,” growled the Ethiopian; “you love the baggage and the hold too well to leave them to accident, be the fight fair or foul.”
The laugh was easily raised, and it was turned against the Syrian, who started up and declaimed with a fury of gesture that made the ridicule still louder.
“I appeal to all,” cried the fiery orator; “I appeal to every man of honor among us, whether by night or day, on land or water, I have ever been backward.”
“Never at an escape,” interrupted the Ethiopian.
“Whether I have ever broken faith with the band?”
“Likely enough; where nobody trusts, we may defy treason.”
“Whether my character and services are not known and valued by our captain?” still louder exclaimed the irritated Syrian.
“Aye, just as little as they deserve.”
“Silence, brute!” screamed the diminutive adversary, casting his keen eyes, that doubly blazed with rage, on the Ethiopian, who still lay embracing the flagon at his ease. “With heroes of your complexion I disdain all contest. If I must fight, it shall be with human beings; not with savages—not with monsters.”
The Ethiopian’s black cheek absolutely grew red; this taunt was the sting. At one prodigious bound he sprang across the table, and darted upon the Syrian’s throat with the roar and the fury of a tiger. All was instant confusion; lamps, flagons, fruits, were trampled on; the table was overthrown; swords and poniards flashed in all hands. The little Syrian yelled, strangling in the grasp of the black giant, and it was with the utmost difficulty that he could be rescued. The Arab, a fine athletic fellow, achieved this object, and bade him run for his life—a command with which he complied unhesitatingly, followed by a cheer from Hanno, who swore that if all trades failed, he would make his fortune by his heels at the Olympic games.
Our share in the scene was come. The fugitive, naturally bold enough, but startled by the savage ferocity of his antagonist, made his way toward our place of refuge. The black got loose and pursued. I disdained to be dragged forth as a lurking culprit, and flinging open the door stood before the crowd. The effect was marvelous. The tumult was hushed at once. Our haggered forms, seen by that half-intoxication which bewilders the brain before it enfeebles the senses, were completely fitted to startle the superstition that lurks in the bosom of every son of the sea; and for the moment they evidently took us for something better, or worse, than man.
But the delusion was short-lived; my voice broke the spell, and perhaps the consciousness of their idle alarm increased their rage. “Spies!” was then the outcry, and this dreaded sound brought from beds and tables the whole band. It was in vain that I attempted to speak; the mob have no ears, whether in cities or caves, and we were dragged forward to undergo our examination. Yet what was to be done in the midst of a host of tongues, all questioning, accusing, and swearing together?
Some were ready to take every star of heaven to witness that we were a pair of Paphlagonian pilots, and the identical ones hired to run two of their ships aground, by which the best expedition of the year was undone. Others knew us to have been in the regular pay of the procurator, and the means of betraying their last captain to the ax. But the majority honored us with the character of simple thieves, who had taken advantage of their absence to plunder the baggage.
The question next arose, “How we could have got in?” and for the first time the carousers thought of their sentinel. I told them what I had seen. They poured into his chamber, and their suspicions were fixed in inexorable reality: “We had murdered him.” The speediest death for us was now the only consideration. Every man had his proposal, and never were more curious varieties of escape from this evil world offered to two wretches already weary of it; but the Arab’s voice carried the point. “He disliked seeing men tossed into the fire; ropes were too useful, and the sword was too honorable to be employed on rogues. But as by water we came, by water we should go.” The sentence was received with a shout; and amid laughter, furious cries, and threats of vengeance, we were dragged to the mouth of the cave.
There was a new scene. The tempest was appalling. The waves burst into the anchorage in huge heaps, dashing sheets of foam up to its roof. The wind volleyed in gusts, that took the strongest off their feet; the galleys at anchor were tossed as if they were so many weeds on the surface of the water. Lamps and torches were useless, and the only light was from the funereal gleam of the billows, and the sheets of sulfurous fire that fell upon the turbulence of ocean beyond. Even the hardy forms round me were startled, and I took advantage of a furious gust that swung us all aside, to struggle from their grasp, and seizing a pike, fight for my life. Jubal seconded me with the boldness that no decay could exhaust, and setting our backs to the rocks, we for a while baffled our executioners. But this could not last against such numbers. Our pikes were broken; we were hemmed in, and finally dragged again to the mouth of the cavern, that with its foam and the howl of the tumbling billows looked like the jaws of some huge monster ready for its prey.
Bruised and overpowered, I was on the point of denying my murderers their last indulgence, and plunging headlong, when a trumpet sounded. The pirates loosed their hold, and in a few minutes a large galley with all her oars broken and every sail torn to fragments shot by the mouth of the cavern. A joyous cry of, “The captain! the captain!” echoed through the vaults. The galley, disabled by the storm, tacked several times before she could make the entrance; but at length, by a masterly maneuver, she was brought round, and darted right in on the top of a mountainous billow. Before she touched the ground, the captain had leaped into the arms of the band, who received him with shouts. His quick eye fell upon us at once, and he demanded fiercely what we were. “Spies and thieves” was the general reply.
“Spies!” he repeated, looking contemptuously at our habiliments—“impossible. Thieves, very likely, and very beggarly ones.”
I denied both imputations alike. He seemed struck by my words, and said to the crowd: “Folly! Take them away, if it does not require too much courage to touch them; and let them be washed and fed for the honor of hospitality and their own faces. Here, change my clothes and order supper.”
I attempted to explain how we came.
“Of course—of course,” said the captain, pulling off his dripping garments and flinging his cloak to one, his cuirass to another, and his cap to a third. “Your rags would vouch for you in any port on earth. Or, if you carry on the trade of treachery, you are very ill paid. Why, Memnon, look at these fellows; would you give a shekel for their souls and bodies? Not a mite. When I look for spies, I expect to find them among the prosperous. However, if you turn out to be spies, eat, drink, and sleep your best to-night, for you shall be hanged to-morrow.”
He hurried onward, and we followed, still in durance. The banquet was reinstated, and the principal personages of the band gathered round to hear the adventures of the voyage.
“All has been ill luck,” said the captain, tossing off a bumper. “The old procurator’s spirit was, I think, abroad either to take care of his plate or to torment mankind, according to his custom. We were within a boat’s length of the prize when the wind came right in our teeth. Everything that could, ran for the harbor; some went on the rocks; some straight to the bottom; and that we might not follow their example, I put the good ship before the wind, and never was better pleased than to find myself at home. Thus you see, comrades, that my history is brief; but then it has an advantage that history sometimes denies itself—every syllable of it is true.”
As the light of the lamps fell on him, it struck me that his face was familiar to my recollection. He was young, but the habits of his life had given him a premature manhood; his eye flashed and sparkled with Eastern brilliancy, but his cheek, after the first flush of the banquet, was pale; and the thinness of a physiognomy naturally masculine and noble, showed that either care or hardship had lain heavily upon his days. He had scarcely sat down to the table when, his glance turning where we stood guarded, he ordered us to be brought before him.
“I think,” said he, “you came here but a day or two ago. Did you find no difficulty with our sentinels?”
“Ha!” exclaimed the Arab, “how could I have forgotten that? I left Titus, or by whatever of his hundred names he chose to be called, on guard, at his own request, the day I steered for the Nile. He was sick, or pretended to be so; and as I gave myself but a couple of days for the voyage, I expected to be back in time to save him from the horrors of his own company. But the wind said otherwise—the two days were ten; and on my return we found the wretched fellow a corpse—whether from being taken ill and unable to help himself, or from the assistance of those worthy persons here whom we discovered in attendance.”
“On that subject I have no doubt whatever,” interposed the Egyptian; “those villains murdered him.”
“It is possible,” mused the captain; “but I can not foresee what they are to get by it. A question that you at least will acknowledge to be of considerable importance,” said he, with a careless smile at the Egyptian, whose avarice was proverbial.
The object of satire was stung, and to get rid of the dangerous topic, he affected wrath and said impetuously:
“Let it be so; let our blood go for nothing; let treachery thrive; let our throats be at the mercy of every wandering ruffian; and let us have the consolation that our labors and our sacrifices will be honored with a sneer.”
He turned to the crowd waiting round us. “Brave comrades,” exclaimed he, “henceforth understand that you are at every dagger’s mercy; that if you are left behind, you may be assassinated with impunity, as, if you are taken out upon our foolish expeditions, your lives may be flung away upon the whims and follies of would-be heroes.”
The crowd, fickle and inflamed by wine, gave a huzza for the “sailor’s friend.” The Egyptian encouraged, and having a load of gall upon his memory, made the desperate venture of at once disowning the authority of the captain, and ordering in his own name that we should be delivered over to execution.
The captain listened without a word, but his hand was on his simitar, and his cheek burned, as he fixed his eyes on the livid accuser.
The crowd pressed closer upon us, and I saw the dagger pointed at my breast, when I recollected the letter. I gave it to the captain, who read it in silence, and then, with the utmost composure, desired it to be handed over to the Egyptian.
“Comrades,” said he, “I have to apologize for a breach of the confidence that should always subsist between men of honor. I have here accidentally read a letter which the cipher shows to have been intended for our trusty friend Memnon; but since the subject is no longer confined to himself, he will doubtless feel no objection to indulging us all with the correspondence.”
The band thronged round the table; expectation sat on every face, and its various expression in the crowded circle of those strong physiognomies—the keen, the wondering, the angry, the contemptuous, the convinced, the triumphant—would have made an incomparable study for a painter. The Egyptian took the letter with a trembling hand and read the fatal words.
“The fleet will be off the northern promontory by midnight. You will light a signal, and be ready to conduct the troops into the cavern.”
The reader let the fatal despatch fall from his hands.
An outcry of wrath rose on all sides, and the traitor was on the point of being sacrificed when the young Idumean generously started forward.
“It is known, I believe, to every man here,” said he, “that I dislike and distrust Memnon as much as any being on earth. I know him to be base and cruel, and therefore hate him. I have long suspected him of being connected with transactions that nothing but the madness of avarice could venture upon, and nothing but death atone. But he must not perish without a trial. Till inquiry is made, the man who strikes him must strike through me.”
He placed himself before the culprit, who now taking courage, long and dexterously insisted that the letter was a forgery, invented by “assassins and those who employed assassins.”
The tide of popular wisdom is easily turned; opinion was now raging against me, and the Egyptian stood a fair chance of seeing his reputation cleared in my blood.
“Come,” said the captain, rising, “as we are not likely to gain much information from the living, let us see whether the dead can give us any: lead on, prisoners.”
I led the way to the recess. The dead man lay untouched; but in the interval the features had returned, as is often the case in death, to the expression of former years. I uttered an exclamation; he was the domestic who had betrayed me to the procurator.
“Conscience!” cried the Egyptian.
“Conscience!” echoed the crowd.
The captain turned to me. “Did either you or your companion commit this murder? I will have no long stories. I know that this fellow was a villain, and if he had lived until my return, he should have fed the crows within the next twelve hours. One word—yes or no?”
I answered firmly.
“I believe you,” said the captain. He took the hand of the corpse, and called to the Egyptian. “Take this hand, and swear that you know nothing of the treason. But, ha! what have we here?”
As he lifted the arm, the sleeve of the tunic gave way, and a slip of papyrus fell on the bed. He caught it up, and exclaiming, “What! to-night? pernicious villain!” turned to the astonished band.
“Comrades, there is treachery among us. We are sold—sold by that accursed Egyptian. Strip the slave, and fling him into the dungeon until I return; no, he shall come with us in chains. Call up the men. Every galley must put to sea instantly, if we would not be burned in our beds.”
The trumpets sounded through the cavern, and rapid preparations were made for obeying this unexpected command. The fires blazed again; arms and armor rang; men were mustered, and the galleys swung out from their moorings, in the midst of tumult and volleys of execrations against the treachery that “could not wait, at least, for daylight and fair weather.”
“And now,” said the captain, “I think that it is time for me to sup. Sit down, and let us hear over our wine what story the prisoners have to tell.”
I briefly stated our escape from the dungeon.
“It may be a lie; yet the thing hangs not badly together. Your wardrobe speaks prodigiously in favor of your veracity. Ho, Ben Ali! see that the avenue into the warehouse is stopped up. We must have no visits from the garrison of the tower.”
He had soon a group of listeners round the table.
“As I was lying off and on, waiting to catch that galley, a correspondent on shore let me partly into the secret of that Egyptian dog’s dealings. Rich as the knave was—and how he came by his money, Tartarus only knows—Roman gold had charms for him still. In fact, he had been carrying on a very handsome trade in information during the last six months, which may best account for the escape of two fleets from Byzantium, and not less for the present safety of the procurator’s plate, which, however, I hope, by the blessing of Neptune, to see before another week shining upon this table.”
Then, turning to me, he laughingly said: “Tho I should not trust you for pilotage, your discovery was of use. That an attack upon us was intended I was aware; but the how and the when were the difficulty. The time of the attack was announced in the papyrus, and but for the storm we should probably be now doing other things than supping.”
“The sea is going down already, and the wind has changed,” said the Arab. “We can haul off the shore without loss of time.”
“Then the sooner the better. We must seal up the Romans in their port, or if they venture out on such a night, give them sound reason for wishing that they had stayed at home. Their galleys, if good for nothing else, will do to burn.”
This bold determination was received with a general cheer; the crews drank to the glory of their expedition, and all rushed toward the galleys, which, crowded with men, lay tossing at the edge of the arch.
I followed, and demanded what was to be our fate.
“What will you have?”
“Anything but abandonment here. Let us take the chances of your voyage, and be set on shore at the first place you touch.”
“And sell our secret to the best bidder? No. But I have no time to make terms with you now. One word for all; ragged as you both are, you are strong, and your faces would do no great discredit to our profession. You probably think this no very striking compliment,” said he, laughing. “However, I have taken a whim to have you with us and offer you promotion. Will you take service with the noble company of the Free-trade?”
Jubal was rashly indignant; I checked him, and merely answered that I had purposes of extreme exigency which prevented my accepting his offer.
“Ha, morality!” exclaimed he, “you will not be seen with rogues like us?” He laughed aloud. “Why, man, if you will not live, eat, drink, travel, and die with rogues, where upon earth can you expect to live or die? The difference between us and the world is that we do the thing without the additional vice of hypocrisy.”
The bold fellows who waited round us felt for the honor of their calling, and but for their awe of the captain we had stood slight chance of escape.
“A pike might let a little light into their understandings,” said one.
“If they will not follow on the deck, they should swim at the stern,” said another.
“The hermits should be sent back to their dungeon,” said a third.
The boat was now run up on the sand.
“Get in,” said the captain. “I have taken it into my head to convince you by fact of the honor, dignity, and primitiveness of our profession, which is, in the first place, the oldest, for it was the original employment of all human hands; in the next place, the most universal, for it is the principle of all trades, pursuits, and professions, from the Emperor on his throne down through the doctor, the lawyer, and the merchant, to the very sediment of society.”
A loud laugh echoed through the cavern.
While he was arranging his corselet and weapons round him, the captain proceeded: “The Free-trade is the essence of the virtues. For example, I meet a merchantman loaded with goods—for what is the cargo meant? To purchase slaves; to tear fathers from their families—husbands from their wives; to burn villages, and bribe savages to murder each other. I strip the hold; the slave-market is at an end, and none suffer but fellows who ought to have been hanged long ago.”
The captain’s doctrine was more popular than ever.
“I see, comrades,” said the captain, “that tho truth is persuasive, your huzza is not for me, but for fact. We find a young rake ranging the world with more money than brains, sowing sedition among the fair rivals for the honor of sharing his purse; running away with daughters; gambling greater fools than himself out of their fortunes; in short, playing the profligate in all shapes. He drops into our hands, and we strip him to the last penny. What is the consequence? We make him virtuous on the spot. The profligate becomes a model of penitence; the root of all his ills has been unearthed; the prodigal is saving; the bacchanal temperate; the seducer lives in the innocence of a babe; the gambler never touches a die. We have broken the mainspring of his vices—money; disarmed the soft deceiver of his spell—money; checked the infection of the gambler’s example by cutting off the source of the disease—money; or if nothing can teach him common sense, our dungeon will at least keep him out of harm’s way. We meet a rich old rogue,” continued he, “on his voyage between the islands. What is he going to do? To marry some young creature who has a young lover, perhaps a dozen. The marriage would break her heart and raise a little rebellion in the island. We capture the old Cupid, strip him of his coin, and he is a Cupid no more; fathers and mothers abhor him at once; the young lover has his bride and the old one his lesson; the one gets his love and the other his experience; and both have to thank the gallant crew of the Scorpion, which may Neptune long keep above water.”
A joyous shout and the waving of caps and swords hailed the captain’s display. “The Free-trade forever!” was cheered in all directions.
“And now, my heroes of salt water, noble brothers of the Nereids, sons of the starlight, here I make libation to fortune.”
He poured a part of his cup into the wave, and drank to the general health with the remainder.
“Happiness to all! Let our work to-night be what it will, I know, my heroes, that it will be handsomely done. The enemy may call us names, but you will answer them by proofs that, whatever we may be, we are neither slaves nor dastards. If I catch the insolent commander of the Roman fleet, I will teach him a lesson in morals that he never knew before. He shall flog, fleece, and torture no more. I will turn the hard-hearted tyrant into tenderness from top to toe. His treatment of the crew of the Hyæna was infamous; and, by Jupiter! what I owe him shall be discharged in full. Now on board, and may Neptune take care of you!”
The trumpets flourished, the people cheered, the boats pushed off, the galleys hoisted every sail, and in a moment we found ourselves rushing through the water under the wildest canopy of heaven.
We stretched out far to sea, for the double purpose of falling by surprise upon the Roman squadron and of avoiding the shoals. The wind lulled at intervals so much that we had recourse to our oars; it would then burst down with a violence that all but hurled us out of the water. I now saw more of the captain, and was witness to the extraordinary activity and skill of this singular young man. Never was there a more expert seaman. For every change of sea or wind he had a new expedient; and when the hearts of the stoutest sank, he took the helm into his hands and carried us through the chaos of foam, whirlwind, and lightning with the vigor of one born to sport with the storm.
As I was gazing over the vessel’s side at the phosphoric gleams that danced along the billows, he came up to me.
“I am sorry,” said he, “that we have been compelled to give you so rough a specimen of our hospitality, and this is not altogether a summer sea, but you saw how the matter stood. The enemy would have been upon us, and the whole advantage of our staying at home would be to have our throats cut in company.”
Odd and rambling as his style was, there was something in his manner and voice that had struck me before, even in the boisterousness of the convivial crowd. But now, in the solitary sea, there was a melancholy sweetness in his tones that made me start with sad recollection. Yet, when by the lightning I attempted to discover in his features any clue to memory, and saw but the tall figure wrapped in the sailor’s cloak, the hair streaming over his face in the spray, and every line of his powerful physiognomy at its full stretch in the agitation of the time, the thought vanished again.
“I hinted,” said he, after an interval of silence, “at your taking chance with us. If you will, you may. But the hint was thrown out merely to draw off the fellows about me, and you are at full liberty to forget it.”
“It is impossible to join you,” was my answer; “my life is due to my country.”
“Oh, for that matter, so is mine, and due a long time ago; my only wonder is, how I have evaded payment till now. But I am a man of few words. I have taken a sort of liking to you, and would wish to have a few such at hand. The world calls me pirate, and the majority, of course, carries the question. For its opinion I do not care a cup of water; a bubble would weigh as heavily with me as the rambling, giddy, vulgar judgment of a world in which the first of talents is knavery. I never knew a man fail who brought to market prostitution of mind enough to make him a tool, vice enough to despise everything but gain, and cunning enough to keep himself out of the hands of the magistrate till opulence enabled him to corrupt the law or authority to defy it. But let that pass. The point between us is, will you take service with us?”
“No! I feel the strongest gratitude for the manliness and the generosity of your protection. You saved our lives, and our only hope of revisiting Judea in freedom is through you. But, young man, I have a great cause in hand. I have risked everything for it. Family, wealth, rank, life, are my stake; and I look upon every hour given to other things as so far a fraud upon my country.”
I heard him sigh. There was silence on both sides for a while, and he paced the deck; then suddenly returning, laid his hand on my shoulder.
“I am convinced of your honor,” said he, “and far be it from me to betray a man who has indeed a purpose worthy of manhood into our broken and unhappy—aye, let the word come out, infamous career. But you tell me that I have been of some use to you; I now demand the return. You have refused to take service with me. Let me take service with you!”
I stared at him. He smiled sadly, and said: “You will not associate with one stained like me. Aye, for me there is no repentance! Yet, why shall the world”—and his voice was full of anguish—“why shall an ungenerous and misjudging world be suffered to keep forever at a distance those whom it has first betrayed?” His emotion got the better of him, and his voice sank. He again approached me. “I am weary of this kind of life. Not that I have reason to complain of the men about me, nor that I dislike the chances of the sea; but that I feel the desire to be something better—to redeem myself out of the number of the dishonored; to do something which, whether I live or die, will satisfy me that I was not meant to be—the outcast that I am.”
“Then join us, if you will,” said I. “Our cause demands the bold; and the noblest spirit that ever dwelt in man would find its finest field in the deliverance of our land, the land of holiness and glory. But can you leave all that you have round you here?”
“Not without a struggle. I have an infinite delight in this wild kind of existence. I love the strong excitement of hazard; I love the perpetual bustle of our career; I love even the capriciousness of wind and wave. I have wealth in return for its perils; and no man knows what enjoyment is but he who knows it through the fatigue of a sailor’s life. All the banquets of Epicureanism are not half so delicious as even the simplest meal to his hunger, nor the softest bed of luxury half so refreshing as the bare deck to his weariness. But I must break up those habits; and whether beggar, slave, or soldier obtaining the distinction of a soldier’s success, I am determined on trying my chance among mankind.”
A sheet of lightning at this instant covered the whole horizon with blue flame, and a huge ball of fire springing from the cloud, after a long flight over the waters split upon the shore. The keenness of the seaman’s eye saw what had escaped mine.
“That was a lucky sea-light for us,” said he. “The Romans are lying under yonder promontory, driven to take shelter by the gale, of course; but for that fire-ball they would have escaped me.”
All the crew were now summoned on deck; signals were made to the other galleys; the little fleet brought into close order; pikes, torches, and combustibles of all kinds gathered upon the poop; the sails furled, and with muffled oars we glided down upon the enemy. The Roman squadron, with that precaution which was the essential of its matchless discipline, was drawn up in order of battle, tho it could have had no expectation of being attacked on such a night. But the roar of the gale buried every other sound, and we stole round the promontory unheard.
The short period of this silent navigation was one of the keenest anxiety. All but those necessary for the working of the vessel were lying on their faces; not a limb was moved, and like a galley of the dead we floated on, filled with destruction. We were yet at some distance from the twinkling lights that showed the prefect’s trireme when, on glancing round, I perceived a dark object on the water, and pointed it out to the captain.
“Some lurking spy,” said he, “who was born to pay for his knowledge.”
With a sailor’s promptitude he caught up a lamp and swung it overboard. It fell beside the object, a small boat, as black as the waves themselves.
“Now for the sentinel,” were his words, as he plunged into the sea. The act was as rapid as the words. I heard a struggle, a groan, and the boat floated empty beside me on the next billow.
But there was no time to wait for his return. We were within an oar’s length of the anchorage. To communicate the probable loss of their captain (and what could human struggle do among the mountainous waves of that sea?) might be to dispirit the crew and ruin the enterprise. I took the command upon myself, and gave the word to fall on.
A storm of fire, as strange to the enemy as if it had risen from the bottom of the sea, was instantly poured on the advanced ships. The surprise was complete. The crews, exhausted by the night, were chiefly asleep. The troops on board were helpless, on decks covered with spray, and among shrouds and sails falling down in burning fragments on their heads. Our shouts gave them the idea of being attacked by overwhelming numbers, and after a short dispute we cleared the whole outer line of every sailor and soldier. The whole was soon a pile of flame, a sea volcano that lighted sky, sea, and shore.
Yet only half our work was done. The enemy were now fully awake, and no man could despise Roman preparation. I ordered a fire galley to run in between the leading ships; but she was caught half-way by a chain, and turned round, scattering flame among ourselves. The boats were then lowered, and our most desperate fellows sent to cut out or board. But the crowded decks drove them back, and the Roman pike was an over-match for our short falchions. For a while we were forced to content ourselves with the distant exchange of lances and arrows. The affair now became critical. The enemy were still three times our force; they were unmooring, and our only chance of destroying them was at anchor. I called the crew forward and proposed that we should run the galley close on the prefect’s ship, set them both on fire, and in the confusion carry the remaining vessels. But sailors, if as bold, are as capricious as their element. Our partial repulse had already disheartened them. I was met by clamors for the captain. The clamors rose into open charges that I had, to get the command, thrown him overboard.
I was alone. Jubal, worn out with fatigue and illness, was lying at my feet, more requiring defense than able to afford it. The crowd was growing furious against the stranger. I felt that all depended on the moment, and leaped from the poop into the midst of the mutineers.
“Fools,” I exclaimed, “what could I get by making away with your captain? I have no wish for your command. I have no want of your help. I disdain you: bold as lions over the table; tame as sheep on the deck; I leave you to be butchered by the Romans. Let the brave follow me, if such there be among you.”
A shallop that had just returned with the defeated boarders, lay by the galley’s side. I seized a torch. Eight or ten, roused by my taunts, followed me into the boat. We pulled right for the Roman center. Every man had a torch in one hand and an oar in the other. We shot along the waters, a flying mass of flame; and while both fleets were gazing on us in astonishment, rushed under the stern of the commander’s trireme. The fire soon rolled up her tarry sides and ran along the cordage. But the defense was desperate, and lances rained upon us. Half of us were disabled in the first discharge; the shallop was battered with huge stones, and I felt that she was sinking.
“One trial more, brave comrades, one glorious trial more! The boat must go down, and unless we would go along with it, we must board.”
I leaped forward and clung to the chains. My example was followed. The boat went down; and this sight, which was just discovered by the livid flame of the vessel, raised a roar of triumph among the enemy. But to climb up the tall sides of the trireme was beyond our skill, and we remained, dashed by the heavy waves as she rose and fell. Our only alternatives now were to be piked, drowned, or burned. The flames were already rapidly advancing; showers of sparkles fell upon our heads; the clamps and ironwork were growing hot to the touch; the smoke was rolling over us in suffocating volumes. I was giving up all for lost when a mountainous billow swept the vessel’s head round, and I saw a blaze burst out from the shore,—the Roman tents were on fire!
Consternation seized the crews, thus attacked on all sides; and uncertain of the number of the assailants, they began to desert the ships and by boats or swimming make for the various points of the land. The sight reanimated me. I climbed up the side of the trireme, torch in hand, and with my haggard countenance, made still wilder by the wild work of the night, looked a formidable apparition to men already harassed out of all courage. They plunged overboard—and I was monarch of the finest war-galley on the coast of Syria.