, gentle sirs, don't try 'to
flay a skinned dog' by thrusting down here. Your hands are just itching
for the nails, I warrant!"

Hasdrubal redoubled his vows to Moloch. In place of his daughter he
substituted his son, though the lad was fourteen years old and the darling
of his parents. But the god was not tempted even now. The attack on the
cabin had called the sailors from the oars. The penteconter consequently
had gained fast upon them. The trireme behind was manning her other banks
and drawing down apace. Hiram cast a hopeless glance toward her.

"I know those 'eyes'--those red hawse-holes--the _Nausicaae_. Come what may,
Themistocles must not read the packet in the cabin. There is one chance."

He approached the splintered hatchway and outstretched his
hands--weaponless.

"Ah, good and gracious Master Glaucon, and your honest friends, your gods
of Hellas are very great and have delivered us, your poor slaves, into
your hands. Your friends approach. We will resist no longer. Come on deck;
and when the ship is taken, entreat the navarch to be merciful and
generous."

"Bah!" spat Phormio, "you write your promises in water, or better in oil,
black-scaled viper. We know what time of day it is with us, and what for
you."

Hiram saw Glaucon's hand rise with a javelin, and shrank shivering.

"They won't hearken. All's lost," he whimpered, his smile becoming
ghastly.

"Another rush, men!" pleaded Hasdrubal.

"Lead the charge yourself, master!" retorted the seamen, sullenly.

The captain, swinging a cutlass, leaped down the bloodstained hatch. One
moment the desperate fury of his attack carried Glaucon backward. The two
fought--sword against axe--in doubtful combat.

"Follow! follow!" called Hasdrubal, dashing Phormio aside with the flat of
his blade. "I have him at last!" But just as Hiram was leading down a
dozen more, the athlete's axe swept past the sword, and fell like a
millstone on the master's skull. He never screamed as he crashed upon the
planks.

This was enough. The seamen were at the end of their valour. If they must
die, they must die. What use resisting destiny?

Slowly, slowly the moments crept for the three in the cabin. Even Lampaxo
grew still. They heard Hiram pleading frantically, vainly, for another
attempt, and raving strange things about Democrates, Lycon, and the
Persian. Then behind the _Bozra_ sounded the rushing of foam around a ram,
the bumping of fifty oars plying on the thole-pin