nd his Breton cloak for a coverlet. In reply to the warning of the
colonist from Arbor, who now relieved the helmsman, against the
nocturnal coolness of the lake, he had said, smiling:

"Oh, how often I have crossed at night, no more warmly wrapped, between
Britain and Gaul! Is the German ocean to be shamed by this fresh water
pond? There is no better sleeping potion than the rocking ship beneath
me and the stars above! Unfortunately, tonight there is no moon and
there are few stars. Strange, this constant calling of the swans. I
never supposed there could be so many!"

While thinking of the swan notes, he fell asleep, but they haunted his
dreams. He saw countless white, brown, and black swans coming from both
sides of the marshy forest against his squadron, raising their wings
threateningly as if to strike.

After a long sleep he awoke: gradually, as is natural after healthy
slumber, not all at once, his thoughts began to clear. Was he still
dreaming? It seemed as if the calling and singing of the swans on both
sides actually came nearer, accompanied by a peculiar low whistling,
humming, rippling, with now and then a louder splash in the water.
Still half asleep he asked the man at the helm: "What is that humming
among the rushes?"

"The swans, my lord, the wild swans," replied the helmsman, the old
Roman colonist from Arbor. He was a retired member of the Twenty-second
Legion, faithful to the Caesar. "I know it well! I have often seen them
at sunset going by thousands to the marshy forests of this lake. They
are preparing to migrate."

"No," cried the Breton starting up. "Those are no water birds, the
splashing is too loud." Lifting the helmet from his head, he gazed out
keenly.

"The night is black as pitch, but look, something is swimming out
from the rushes yonder: Swans? No, no!" He tore his sword from its
sheath.--"Those are boats! To arms! Raise the anchor! The foe!"

At the same moment a bright light flamed on the Idisenhang, red torches
blazed in the camp on the shore; a bundle of burning straw flew over
Nannienus's helmet into the half-reefed sail, remained there caught by
the folds, while tongues of fire, fanned by the north wind, crept up
the sail, the rigging, the mast. Already dark forms were climbing up
the sides of the galley from all directions, and wild cries from men,
attacked and mortally wounded while sleeping, rang from all the ships
and the camp on the lake shore.

Nannienus sprang with