Part 23 (2/2)

”Hush,” spoke the other, in undertone, ”don't let the G.o.d overhear me; let me get safe to Mother Earth and Poseidon has not one obol. His power is only over the sea.”

A creaking from the mainmast told that it might fall at any moment.

Pa.s.sengers and crew redoubled their shouts to Poseidon and to Zeus of aegina. A fat pa.s.senger staggered from his cabin, a huge money-bag bound to his belt,-as if gold were the safest spar to cling to in that boiling deep. Others, less frantic, gave commissions one to another, in case one perished and another escaped.

”You alone have no messages, pray no prayers, show no fear!” spoke a grave, elderly man to Glaucon, as both clutched the swaying bulwark.

”And wherefore?” came the bitter answer; ”what is left me to fear? I desire no life hereafter. There can be no consciousness without sad memory.”

”You are very young to speak thus.”

”But not too young to have suffered.”

A wave dashed one of the steering rudders out of the grip of the sailor guiding it. The rush of water swept him overboard. The _Solon_ lurched.

The wind smote the straining mainsail, and the s.h.i.+vered mainmast tore from its stays and socket. Above the bawling of wind and water sounded the crash. The s.h.i.+p, with only a small sail upon the p.o.o.p, blew about into the trough of the sea. A mountain of green water thundered over the prow, bearing away men and wreckage. The ”governor,” Brasidas's mate, flung away the last steering tiller.

”The _Solon_ is dying, men,” he trumpeted through his hands. ”To the boat!

Save who can!”

The pinnace set in the waist was cleared away by frantic hands and axes.

Ominous rumblings from the hold told how the undergirding could not keep back the water. The pinnace was dragged to the s.h.i.+p's lee and launched in the comparative calm of the _Solon's_ broadside. Pitifully small was the boat for five and twenty. The sailors, desperate and selfish, leaped in first, and watched with jealous eyes the struggles of the pa.s.sengers to follow. The noisy merchant slipped in the leap, and they heard him scream once as the wave swallowed him. Brasidas stood in the bow of the pinnace, clutching a sword to cut the last rope. The boat filled to the gunwales.

The spray dashed into her. The sailors bailed with their caps. Another pa.s.senger leaped across, whereat the men yelled and drew their dirks.

”Three are left. Room for one more. The rest must swim!”

Glaucon stood on the p.o.o.p. Was life still such a precious thing to some that they must clutch for it so desperately? He had even a painful amus.e.m.e.nt in watching the others. Of himself he thought little save to hope that under the boiling sea was rest and no return of memory. Then Brasidas called him.

”Quick! The others are Barbarians and you a h.e.l.lene. Your chance-leap!”

He did not stir. The ”others”-two strangers in Oriental dress-were striving to enter the pinnace. The seamen thrust their dirks out to force them back.

”Full enough!” bawled the ”governor.” ”That fellow on the p.o.o.p is mad. Cut the rope, or we are caught in the swirl.”

The elder Barbarian lifted his companion as if to fling him into the boat, but Brasidas's sword cut the one cable. The wave flung the _Solon_ and the pinnace asunder. With stolid resignation the Orientals retreated to the p.o.o.p. The people in the pinnace rowed desperately to keep her out of the deadly trough of the billows, but Glaucon stood erect on the drifting wreck and his voice rang through the tumult of the sea.

”Tell them in Athens, and tell Hermione my wife, that Glaucon the Alcmaeonid went down into the deep declaring his innocence and denouncing the vengeance of Athena on whosoever foully destroyed him!-”

Brasidas waved his sword in last farewell. Glaucon turned back to the wreck. The _Solon_ had settled lower. Every wave washed across the waist.

Nothing seemed to meet his gaze save the leaden sky, the leaden green water, the foam of the bounding storm-crests. He told himself the G.o.ds were good. Drowning was more merciful death than hemlock. Pelagos, the untainted sea, was a softer grave than the Barathrum. The memory of the fearful hour at Colonus, the vision of the face of Hermione, of all things else that he would fain forget-all these would pa.s.s. For what came after he cared nothing.

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