_A Sea Fight_
[Sidenote: The Captain as Seaman]
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.
[Sidenote: His Request]
“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!”
[Sidenote: The Presence of the Roman Fleet]
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.”
[Sidenote: Salathiel Gives the Order]
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.
[Sidenote: The Suddenness of Mutiny]
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.”
[Sidenote: The Monarch of a War Galley]
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.
[Sidenote: The Conflagration]
But my kingdom was without subjects. None of my own crew had followed me.
I saw the pirate vessels bearing down to complete the destruction of
the fleet, and hailed them, but they all swept far wide of the trireme.
The fire had taken too fast hold of her to make approach safe. I now
began to feel my situation. The first sense of triumph was past, and I
found myself deserted. The deed of devastation, meanwhile, was rapidly
going on. I saw the Roman ships successively boarded, almost without
resistance, and in a blaze. The conflagration rose in sheets and spires
to the heavens, and colored the waters to an immeasurable extent with
the deepest dye of gore. I heard the victorious shouts, and mine rose
spontaneously along with them. In every vessel burned, in every torch
flung, I rejoiced in a new blow to the tyrants of Judea. But my thoughts
were soon fearfully brought home. The fire reached the cables; the
trireme, plunging and tossing like a living creature in its last agony,
burst away from her anchors; the wind was off the shore; a gust, strong
as the blow of a battering-ram, struck her; and on the back of a huge
wave she shot out to sea, a flying pyramid of fire.