 Book 2 Chapter 7 of Ben Hur. Next day at attachment of legionaries went to the desolated palace, and closing the gates permanently plastered the corners with wax, and at the sides nailed a notice in Latin, this is the property of the emperor. In the haughty Roman idea, the sententious announcement was thought sufficient for the purpose, and it was. The day after that again, about noon, a Deccurion with his command of ten horsemen approached Nazareth from the south, that is, from the direction of Jerusalem. The place was then a straggling village perched on hillside, and so insignificant that its one street was little more than a path well beaten by the coming and going of flocks and herds. The great plain of Esdrelon crept close to it on the south, and from the height on the west a view could be had of the shores of the Mediterranean, the region beyond the Jordan, and Hermon. The valley below, and the country on every side, were given to gardens, vineyards, orchards and pastures, groves of palm trees orientalized the landscape. The houses in irregular assemblage were of the humbler class, square, one-story, flat-roofed, and covered with bright green vines. The drought that had burned the hills of Judea to a crisp, brown and lifeless, stopped at the boundary line of Galilee. A trumpet, sounded when the cavalcade drew near the village, had a magical effect upon the inhabitants. The gates and front doors cast forth groups, eager to be the first to catch the meaning of a visitation so unusual. Nazareth, it must be remembered, was not only aside from any great highway, but within the sway of Judas of Gamala. Wherefore it should not be hard to imagine the feelings with which the legionaries were received. But when they were up and traversing the street, the duty that occupied them became apparent, and then fear and hatred were lost in curiosity, under the impulse of which the people, knowing there must be a halt at the well in the northeastern part of the town, quit their gates and doors and closed in after the procession. A prisoner whom the horsemen were guarding was the object of curiosity. He was a foot, hair-headed, half-naked, his hands bound before him. A thong fixed to his wrist was looped over the neck of a horse. The dust went with the party when a movement, wrapping him in yellow fog, sometimes in a dense cloud. He drooped forward, foot sore and faint. The villagers could see he was young. At the well the daecurion halted, and with most of the men dismounted. The prisoner sank down in the dust of the road, stupefied and asking nothing. Apparently he was in the last stage of exhaustion. Seeing, when they came near, that he was but a boy, the villagers would have helped him had they dared. In the midst of their perplexity, and while the pitchers were passing among the soldiers, a man was described coming down the road from Sephoris. At sight of him a woman cried out, Look! Yonder comes the carpenter. Now we will hear something. The person spoken of was quite venerable in appearance. Thin white locks fell below the edge of his full turban, and a mass of still whiter beard flowed down the front of his coarse-gray gown. He came slowly, for, in addition to his age, he carried some tools, an axe, a saw, and a drawing-knife. All very rude and heavy, and had evidently traveled some distance without rest. He stopped close by to survey the assemblage. Oh, Rabbi! Good Rabbi Joseph! cried a woman running to him. Here is a prisoner. Come ask the soldiers about him, that we may know who he is, and what he has done, and what they are going to do with him. The rabbi's face remained stolid. He glanced at the prisoner, however, and presently went to the officer. The peace of the Lord be with you, he said, with unbending gravity. And that of the gods with you, the Decurion replied. Are you from Jerusalem? Yes. Your prisoner is young. In years, yes. May I ask what he has done? He is an assassin. The people repeated the word in astonishment, but Rabbi Joseph pursued his inquest. Is he a son of Israel? He is a Jew, said the Roman dryly. The wavering pity of the bystanders came back. I know nothing of your tribes, but can speak of his family. The speaker continued. You may have heard of a Prince of Jerusalem named Her. Ben Her, they called him. He lived in Herod's day. I have seen him, Joseph said. Well, this is his son. Exclamations became general, and the Decurion hastened to stop them. In the streets of Jerusalem, day before yesterday, he nearly killed the noble Grotus by flinging a tile upon his head from the roof of a palace, his father's, I believe. There was a pause in the conversation during which the Nazarenes gazed at the young Ben Her as at a wild beast. Did he kill him? asked the Rabbi. No. He is under sentence. Yes, the galley's for life. The Lord help him, said Joseph for once moved out of his delidity. Thereupon a youth who came up with Joseph but had stood behind him unobserved and laid down an axe he had been carrying, and, going to the great stone standing by the well, took from it a pitcher of water. The action was so quiet that before the guard could interfere, had they been disposed to do so, he was stooping over the prisoner and offering him drink. The hand laid kindly upon his shoulder awoke the unfortunate Judah, and looking up he saw a face he never forgot, the face of a boy about his own age, shaded by locks of yellowish bright chestnut hair, a face lighted by dark blue eyes, at the time so soft, so appealing, so full of love and holy purpose that they had all the power of command and will. The spirit of the Jew, hardened though it was by days and nights of suffering, and so embittered by wrong that its dreams of revenge took in all the world, melted under the stranger's look and became as a child's. He put his lips to the pitcher and drank long and deep. Not a word was said to him, nor did he say a word. When the draft was finished the hand that had been resting upon the sufferer's shoulder was placed upon his head, and stayed there in the dusty locks time enough to say a blessing. The stranger then returned the pitcher to its place on the stone, and, taking his axe again, went back to Rabbi Joseph. All eyes went with him, the Decurians, as well as those of the villagers. This was the end of the scene at the well. When the men had drunk, and the horses, the march was resumed. But the temper of the Decurian was not as it had been. He himself raised the prisoner from the dust, and helped him on a horse behind a soldier. The Nazarenes went to their houses, among them Rabbi Joseph and his apprentice, and so, for the first time, Judah and the son of Mary met and parted. Bill South Carolina. Ben Hur. A Tale of the Christ. By Lou Wallace. Book III. Chapter I. Quote. Cleopatra, our size of sorrow, proportion to our cause, must be as great as that which makes it. Enter, below, Diomedes. How now is he dead? Diomedes. His death's upon him, but not dead. End Quote. From Antony and Cleopatra. Act IV. Scene XIII. Chapter I. The city of Mycenum gave name to the promontory which it crowned, a few miles southwest of Naples. An account of ruins is all that remains of it now. Yet in the year of our Lord 24, to which it is desirable to advance the reader, the place was one of the most important on the western coast of Italy. Footnote. The Roman government, it will be remembered, had two harbors in which great fleets were constantly kept, Ravenna and Mycenum. End of footnote. In the year mentioned, a traveller coming to the promontory to regale himself with a view there offered, would have mounted a wall, and would the city at his back of Neapolis, as charming then as now, and then as now, he would have seen the matchless shore, the smoking cone, the sky and wave so softly, deeply blue, Ischia here and Capri yonder. From one to the other and back again, through the purple air his gaze would have sported, at last, for the eyes do weary of the beautiful as the pallet with sweets, at last it would have dropped upon a spectacle which the modern tourist cannot see. Half the reserve navy of Rome must stir, or at anchor below him. Thus, regarded Mycenum was a very proper place for three masters to meet, and at leisure parceled the world among them. In the old time, moreover, there was a gateway in the wall at a certain point, fronting the sea. An empty gateway, forming the outlet of a street, which after the exit, stretched itself in the form of a broad mule, out many stadia into the waves. The watchman on the wall above the gateway was disturbed, one cool September morning, by a party coming down the street in noisy conversation. He gave one look, then settled into his drows again. There were twenty or thirty persons in the party, of whom the greater number were slaves with torches, which flamed little and smoked much, leaving on the air the perfume of the Indian Nard. The masters walked in advance arm in arm. One of them, apparently fifty years old, slightly bald, and wearing over his scant locks a crown of laurel, seemed from the attentions paid him the central object of some affectionate ceremony. They all sported ample togas of white wool broadly bordered with purple. A glance had sufficed the watchman. He knew without question they were of high rank, and escorting a friend to ship after a night of festivity. Further explanation will be found in the conversation they carried on. "'No, my Quintus,' said one, speaking to him with the crown, "'it is ill of fortune to take thee from us so soon. Only yesterday thou didst return from the seas beyond the pillars. Why, thou hast not even got back thy land-legs.' "'By Castor, if a man may swear a woman's oath,' said another, somewhat worse of wine, "'let us not lament. Our Quintus is but going to find what he lost last night. Dice on a rolling ship is not dice on shore, eh, Quintus?' "'Abuse not fortune,' exclaimed a third. She is not blind or fickle. At Antium, where Arius questions her, she answers him with nods, and at sea she abides with him, holding the rudder. She takes him from us, but does she not always give him back with a new victory?' "'The Greeks are taking him away.' Another broke in. "'Let us abuse them, not the gods. In learning to trade they forgot how to fight.' With these words the party passed the gateway and came upon the mole, with the bay before them beautiful in the morning light. To the veteran sailor the plash of the waves was like a greeting. He drew a long breath, as if the perfume of the water were sweeter than that of the nard, and held his hand aloft. "'My gifts were at Prenesti, not Antium, and sea. Wind from the west. Thanks so, fortune, my mother,' he said earnestly. The friends all repeated the exclamation, and the slaves waved their torches. "'She comes, yonder!' he continued, pointing to a galley outside the mole. What need has a sailor for other mistress? Is your Lucretium more graceful, my chaius?' He gazed at the coming ship and justified his pride. A white sail was bent to the low mast, and the oars dipped, arose, oised a moment, then dipped again with wing-like action, and in perfect time. "'Yes, spare the gods,' he said soberly, his eyes fixed upon the vessel. "'They send us opportunities. Hours the fault if we fail. And as for the Greeks, you forget, O my lentulis. The pirates I am going to punish are Greeks. One victory over them is of more account than a hundred over the Africans. When thy way is to the Aegean?' The sailor's eyes were full of his ship. "'What grace! What freedom! A bird hath not less care for the fretting of the waves. See?' he said, but almost immediately added. "'Thy pardon, my lentulis. I am going to the Aegean, and as my departure is so near, I will tell the occasion. Only keep it under the rose. I would not that you abuse the doom-vir when next you meet him. He is my friend. The trade between Greece and Alexandria, as ye may have heard, is hardly in fear to that between Alexandria and Rome. The people in that part of the world forgot to celebrate this cerealia, and tryptolomus paid them with a harvest not worth the gathering. At all events the trade is so grown that it will not brook interruption a day. ye may also have heard of the Chersinesan pirates nested up in the oxen. None boulder by the paquet. Yesterday word came to Rome that, with a fleet they had rode down the Bosphorus, sunk the galleys off Byzantium and Chalcedon, swept the propontus, and, still unsated, burst through into the Aegean. The corn merchants who have ships in the east Mediterranean are frightened. They had audience with the emperor himself, and from Ravenna there go to-day a hundred galleys, and from Mycenum he pauses up to pique the curiosity of his friends, and ended with an emphatic one. Happy Quintus! We congratulate thee! The preferment for runneth promotion. We salute thee, doom-vir! Nothing less! Quintus Arius, the doom-vir, hath the better sound than Quintus Arius the Tribune. In such manner they showered him with congratulations. I am glad with the rest, said the Bibulus friend. Very glad! What I must be practical, O my doom-vir! And not until I know if promotion will help thee to knowledge of the tesserae, will I have an opinion as to whether the gods mean thee ill or good in this business. Many thanks, many thanks! Arius replied, speaking to them collectively, Had ye but lanterns I would say ye were augurs. Purple! I will go further and show what master diviners ye are. See and read. In the folds of his toga he drew a roll of paper and passed it to them, saying, Received while at table last night from Sajanis. The name was already a great one in the Roman world, great and not so infamous as it afterwards became. Sajanis! they exclaimed, with one voice, closing in to read what the minister had written. Sajanis! to see Cosilius Rufus to umvir. Rome! 19 Cal September. Caesar hath good report of Quintus Arius the Tribune. In particular he hath heard of his valor, manifested in the western seas, in so much that it is his will that the said Quintus be transferred instantly to the east. It is our Caesar's will, further, that you cause a hundred triremes of the first class, and full appointment, to be dispatched without delay against the pirates who have appeared in the Aegean, and that Quintus be sent to command the fleet so dispatched. Details are thine, my Cosilius. The necessity is urgent, as thou will be advised by the reports enclosed for thy perusal and the information of the said Quintus. Arius gave little heed to the reading. As the ship drew more plainly out of the perspective, she became more and more an attraction to him. The look with which he watched her was that of an enthusiast. At length he tossed the loose and folds of his toga in the air. In reply to the signal over the apluster, or fan-like fixture at the stern of the vessel, a scarlet flag was displayed, while several sailors appeared upon the bulwarks, and swung themselves hand over hand up the ropes to the antenna, or yard, and furled the sail. The bow was put round, and the time of the oars increased one-half, so that at racing speed she bore down directly towards him and his friends. He observed the maneuvering with a perceptible brightening of the eyes. Her instant answer to the rudder and the steadiness with which she kept her course were especially noticeable as virtues to be relied upon in action. By the nymphe, said one of the friends, giving back the role, we may not longer say our friend will be great. He is already great. Our love will now have famous things to feed upon. What more has thou for us? Anything more? Arius replied. What ye have of the affair is by this time old news in Rome, especially between the palace and the forum. The deumvir is discreet. What I am to do, where go to find my fleet, he will tell me on the ship where a sealed package is waiting me. If however ye have offerings for any of the altars today, pray the gods for a friend applying ore and sail somewhere in the direction of Sicily. But she is here and will come too, he said, reverting to the vessel. I have interest in her masters. They will sail and fight with me. It is not an easy thing to lay ship-side on a shore like this, so let us judge their training and skill. What, is she new to thee? I never saw her before, and as yet I know not if she will bring me one acquaintance. Is that well? It matters but little. We of the sea come to know each other quickly. Our loves, like our hates, are born of sudden dangers. The vessel was of the class called Neves le Bernique, long, narrow, low in the water, and modeled for speed and quick maneuver. The bow was beautiful, a jet of water spun from its foot as she came on, sprinkling all the prow, which rose in graceful curvature twice a man's stature above the plain of the deck. Upon the bending of the sides were figures of triton blowing shells. Below the bow, fixed to the keel, and projecting forward under the waterline, was the rostrum, or beak, a device of solid wood, reinforced and armed with iron, in action used as a ram. A stout molding extended from the bow the full length of the ship's sides, defining the bulwarks which were tastefully crenellated. Below the molding, in three rows, each covered with a cap or shield of bull-hide, were the holes in which the ores were worked, sixty on the right, sixty on the left. In further ornamentation Caducier leaned against the lofty prow. Two immense ropes passing across the bow marked the number of anchors stowed on the foredeck. The simplicity of the upper works declared the ores the chief dependence of the crew. A mast, set a little forward of midship, was held by fore and backstays, and shrouds fixed to rings on the inner side of the bulwarks. The tackle was that required for the management of one great square sail and the yard to which it was hung. Of the bulwarks the deck was visible. Save the sailors who had reefed the sail and yet lingered on the yard, but one man was to be seen by the party on the mole, and he stood by the prow, helmeted and with a shield. The hundred and twenty oaken blades, kept white and shining by pumice and the constant wash of the waves, rose and fell as if operated by the same hand, and drove the galley forward with a speed rivaling that of a modern steamer. So rapidly and apparently so rashly did she come that the landsmen of the tribune's party were alarmed. Suddenly the man by the prow raised his hand with a peculiar gesture, whereupon all the ores flew up, poised a moment in air, then fell straight down. The water boiled and bubbled about them. The galley shook in every timber, and stopped as if scared. Another gesture of the hand and again the ores arose, feathered and fell, but this time those on the right, dropping towards the stern, pushed forward, while those on the left, dropping towards the bow, pulled backwards. Three times the ores thus pushed and pulled against each other. Round to the right the ship swung as upon a pivot, then caught by the wind she settled gently broadside to the mole. The movement brought the stern to view with all its garniture, tritons like those at the bow, name enlarged raised letters, the rudder at the side, the elevated platform upon which the helmsmen sat, a stately figure in full armour, his hand upon the rudder-rope, and the aplustre, high, gilt, carved, and bent over the helmsmen like a great ronsonate leaf. In the midst of the rounding too a trumpet was blown brief and shrill, and from the hatchways out poured the marines, all in superb equipment, brazen helms, burnished shields, and javelins. While the fighting men thus went to quarters as for action, the sailors proper climbed the shrouds and perched themselves along the yard. The officers and musicians took their posts. There was no shouting or needless noise. When the ores touched the mole a bridge was sent out from the helmsmen's deck, then the tribune turned to his party and said, with a gravity he had not before shown, Duty now, O my friends! He took the chaplet from his head and gave it to the dice-player. Take thou the myrtle, O favourite of the tesserae! He said, If I return, I will seek my sister T.I. again. If I am not victor, I will not return. Hang the crown in thy atrium. To the company he opened his arms, and they came one by one and received his parting embrace. The gods go with thee, O Quintus, they said. Farewell, he replied. To the slaves waving their torches he waved his hand, then he turned to the waiting ship, beautiful with ordered ranks and crested helms, and shields and javelins. As he stepped upon the bridge, the trumpets sounded, and over the aplustre rose the vexillum perpureum, or pennant of a commander of a fleet. The tribune standing upon the helmsman's deck with the order of the doom veer open in his hand spoke to the chief of the rowers, who was called the Hortator. What force hast thou? Of oarsmen, two hundred and fifty-two, ten supernumeraries, making reliefs of eighty-four. And thy habit? It has been to take off and put on every two hours. The tribune mused a moment. The division is hard, and I will reform it, but not now. The oars may not rest day or night. Then to the sailing-master he said, The wind is fair, let the sail help the oars. When the two thus addressed were gone he turned to the chief pilot, called Rector. What service hast thou had? Two and thirty years? Then what seized chiefly? Between our Rome and the East. Thou art the man I would have chosen. The tribune looked at his orders again. Past the Campanile and Cape the course will be to Messina. Beyond that follow the bend of the Calabrian shore till Melito is on thy left. Then knowest thou the stars that govern in the Ionian Sea? I know them well. Then from Melito course eastward for Scythira. The God's willing I will not anchor until in the bay of Antimona. The duty is urgent. I rely upon thee. A prudent man was aureus, prudent, and of the class which, while enriching the altars at Prenesta and Antium, was of opinion nevertheless that the favour of the blind goddess depended more upon the votaries' care and judgment than upon his gifts and vows. All night as master of the feast he had sat at table drinking and playing, yet the odour of the sea returned him to the mood of the sailor, and he would not rest until he knew his ship. Knowledge leaves no room for chances. Having begun with the chief of the rowers, the sailing master and the pilot, in company with the other officers, the commander of the marines, the keeper of the stores, the master of the machines, the overseer of the kitchen or fires, he passed through the several quarters. Nothing escaped his inspection. When he was through, of the community crowded within the narrow walls he alone knew perfectly all there was of material preparation for the voyage and its possible incidents. And finding the preparation complete there was left him but one thing further—thorough knowledge of the personnel of his command. As this was the most delicate and difficult part of his task, requiring much time, he set about it his own way. At noon that day the galley was skimming the sea off Pastiam. The wind was yet from the west, filling the sail to the master's content. The watches had been established. On the foredeck the altar had been set and sprinkled with salt and barley, and before it the tribune had offered solemn prayers to Jove and Neptune and all the Oceania Day, and with vows poured the wine and burned the incense, and now, the better to study his men, he was seated in the great cabin, a very martial figure. The cabin, it should be stated, was the central compartment of the galley, in extent quite sixty-five by thirty feet, and lighted by three broad hatchways. A row of stanchions ran from end to end supporting the roof, and near the center the mast was visible, all bristling with axes and spears and javelins. To each hatchway there were double stairs descending right and left, with a pivotal arrangement at the top to allow the lower ends to be hitched to the ceiling, and, as these were now raised, the compartment had the appearance of a sky-lighted hall. The reader will understand readily that this was the heart of the ship, the home of all aboard, eating-room, sleeping-chamber, field of exercise, lounging-place, off-duty, use as made possible by the laws which reduced life there to minute details and a routine relentless as death. At the after-end of the cabin there was a platform, reached by several steps. One at the chief of the rowers sat, in front of him a sounding-table, upon which with a gavel he beat time for the oarsmen, at his right a klepsydra, or water-clock, to measure the reliefs and watches. Above him on a higher platform, well guarded by girded railing, the tribune had his quarters, overlooking everything, and furnished with a couch, a table, and a cathedral, or chair cushioned and with arms in high back, articles which the imperial dispensation permitted of the utmost elegance. Thus at ease, lounging in the great chair, swaying with emotion of the vessel, the military cloak half draping his tunic, soared in belt, Arius kept watchful eye over his command, and was as closely watched by them. He saw critically everything in view but dwelt longest upon the rowers. The reader would doubtless have done the same, only he would have looked with much sympathy, while as is the habit with masters, the tribune's mind ran forward of what he saw, inquiring for results. The spectacle was simple enough of itself. Along the sides of the cabin, fixed to the ship's timbers, were what at first appeared to be three rows of benches. A closer view, however, showed them a succession of rising banks, in each of which the second bench was behind and above the first one, and the third above and behind the second. To accommodate the sixty rowers on a side, the space devoted to them permitted nineteen banks separated by intervals of one yard, with a twentieth bank divided so that what would have been its upper seat or bench was directly above the lower seat of the first bank. The arrangement gave each rower when at work ample room, if he timed his movements with those of his associates, the principle being that of soldiers marching with cadence step in close order. The arrangement also allowed a multiplication of banks, limited only by the length of the galley. As to the rowers, those upon the first and second benches sat, while those upon the third, having longer oars to work, were suffered to stand. The oars were loaded with lead in the handles, and near the point of balance hung deployable thongs, making possible the delicate touch called feathering. But at the same time, increasing the need of skill, since an eccentric wave might at any moment catch a heedless fellow and hurl him from his seat. Each oar-hole was a vent through which the laborer opposite had his plenty of sweet air. It streamed down upon him from the grating which formed the floor of the passage between the deck and the bulwark above his head. In some respects, therefore, the condition of the men might have been much worse. Still, it must not be imagined that there was any pleasantness in their lives. Communication between them was not allowed. Day after day they filled their places without speech. In hours of labor they could not see each other's faces. Their short respits were given to sleep and the snatching of food. They never laughed. No one ever heard one of them sing. What is the use of tongues when a sigh or a groan will tell all men feel while perforce they think in silence? Existence with the poor wretches was like a stream underground, sweeping slowly, laboriously, on to its outlet, wherever that might chance to be. Oh, son of Mary, the sword has now a heart, and thine the glory. So now. But in the days of which we are writing, for captivity there was drudgery on walls, and in the streets and mines, and the galleys both of war and commerce were insatiable. When Drew Ilius won the first sea-fight for his country, Romans plied the oars, and the glory was to the rower, not less than the marine. These benches, which now we are trying to see as they were, testified to the change come with conquest, and illustrated both the policy and the prowess of Rome. Nearly all the nations had sons there, mostly prisoners of war, chosen for their brawn and endurance. In one place of Britain, before him a Libyan, behind him a Crimean, elsewhere a Scythian, a Gaul, and a Thebysite. Roman convicts cast down to consort with Goths and Longobardi. Jews, Ethiopians, and barbarians from the shores of Meotius. Here an Athenian, there a red-haired savage from Hibernia, yonder blue-eyed giants of the Cymbry. In the labor of the rowers there was not enough art to give occupation to their minds, rude and simple as they were. The reach forward, the pull, the feathering the blade, the dip, were all there was of it. Motions most perfect when most automatic. Even the care forced upon them by the sea outside grew in time to be a thing instinctive rather than a thought. So as the result of long service the poor wretches became embruted, patient, spiritless, obedient, creatures of vast muscle and exhausted intellects, who lived upon recollections generally few but dear, and at last lowered into the semi-conscious alchemic state wherein misery turns to habit, and the soul takes on incredible endurance. From right to left, hour after hour, the Tribune, swaying in his easy chair, turned with thought of everything rather than the wretchedness of the slaves upon the benches. Their motions, precise and exactly the same on both sides of the vessel, after a while became monotonous, and then he amused himself singling out individuals. With his stylus he made note of objections, thinking if all went well he would find among the pirates of whom he was in search better men for the places. There was no need of keeping the proper names of the slaves brought to the galleys as to their graves. So for convenience they were usually identified by the numerals painted upon the benches to which they were assigned. As the sharp eyes of the great man moved from seat to seat on either hand they came at last to number sixty, which, as has been said, belonged properly to the last bank on the left-hand side, but wanting room aft had been fixed above the first bench of the first bank. There they rested. The bench of number sixty was slightly above the level of the platform, and but a few feet away. The light glinting through the grating over his head gave the rower fairly to the tribune's view, erect and like all his fellows naked except a sink sure about the loyans. There were, however, some points in his favour. He was very young, not more than twenty. Furthermore Arius was not merely given to dice. He was a connoisseur of men physically and, when assured, indulged a habit of visiting the gymnasia to see and admire the most famous athletee. From some professor, doubtless, he had caught the idea that strength was as much of the quality as the quantity of the muscle, while superiority and performance required a certain mind as well as strength. Having adopted the doctrine, like most men with a hobby, he was always looking for illustrations to support it. The reader may well believe that while the tribune, in the search for the perfect, was often called upon to stop and study, he was seldom perfectly satisfied. In fact, very seldom held as long as on this occasion. In the beginning of each movement of the oar, the rower's body and face were brought into profile view from the platform. The movement ended with the body reversed and in a pushing posture. The grace and ease of the action at first suggested a doubt of the honesty of the effort put forth, but it was speedily dismissed. The firmness with which the oar was held while in the reach forward, its bending under the push, were proofs of the force applied. Not that only, they as certainly proved the rower's art, and put the critic in the great arm-chair in search of the combination of strength and cleverness which was the central idea of his theory. In course of the study, Arius observed the subject's youth. Holy unconscious of tenderness on that account, he also observed that he seemed of good height, and that his limbs, upper and nether, were singularly perfect. The arms perhaps were too long, but the objection was well hidden under a mass of muscle, which in some movements swelled and knotted like kinking cords. Every rib in the round body was discernible, yet the leanness was the healthful reduction so strained after in the pelistre. And altogether there was in the rower's action a certain harmony, which, besides addressing itself to the tribune's theory, stimulated both his curiosity and general interest. Very soon he found himself waiting to catch a view of the man's face in full. The head was shapely, and balanced upon a neck broad at the base, but of exceeding pliancy and grace. The features in profile were of oriental outline, and of that delicacy of expression which has always been thought a sign of blood and sensitive spirit. With these observations the tribune's interest in the subject deepened. "'By the gods,' he said to himself, "'the fellow impresses me. He promises well. I will know more of him.' Directly the tribune caught the view he wished. The rower turned and looked at him. "'A Jew! At a boy!' Under the gaze then fixed steadily upon him the large eyes of the slave grew larger. The blood surged to his very brows. The blade lingered in his hands. But instantly, with an angry crash, down fell the gavel of the hortidor. The rower started, withdrew his face from the inquisitor, and, as if personally chiden, dropped the oar half-feathered. When he glanced again at the tribune he was vastly more astonished. He was met with a kindly smile. Meantime the galley entered the straits of Messina, and, skimming past the city of that name, was after a while turned eastward, leaving the cloud over Etna in the sky a stern. Even as Arius resumed to his platform in the cabin he returned to study the rower, and he kept saying to himself, "'The fellow hath the spirit. A Jew is not a barbarian. I will know more of him.' CHAPTER III The fourth day out, and the Astroia, so the galley was named, speeding through the Ionian Sea. The sky was clear, and the wind blew as if bearing the good will of all the gods. As it was possible to overtake the fleet before reaching the bay east of the island of Scythira, designated for assemblage, Arius, somewhat impatient, spent much time on deck. He took note diligently of matters pertaining to his ship, and as a rule was well pleased, in the cabin, swinging in the great chair, his thought continually reverted to the rower on number sixty. Knowest thou the man just come from Jan Bench? He at length asked of the Hortitor. Our relief was going on at the moment. From number sixty. Returned the chief. Yes. The chief looked sharply at the rower, then going forward. "'As thou knowest,' he replied, "'this ship is but a month from the maker's hand, and the men are as new to me as the ship.' "'He is a Jew,' Arius remarked thoughtfully. The noble Quintus is shrewd. "'He is very young,' Arius continued. "'But our best rower,' said the other, "'I have seen his oar bend almost to breaking. "'Of what disposition is he?' "'He is obedient. Further I know not. Once he made request of me. "'For what?' He wished me to change him alternately from the right to the left. "'Did he give a reason?' He had observed that the men who are confined to one side became misshapen. He also said that some day of storm or battle there might be sudden need to change him, and he might then be unserviceable. "'Purple, the idea is new. What else hast thou observed of him?' He is cleanly above his companions. "'In that he is Roman,' said Arius approvingly. "'Have you nothing of his history?' Not a word. The Tribune reflected a while and turned to go to his own seat. "'If I should be on deck when his time is up,' he paused to say, "'Send him to me. Let him come alone.'" About two hours later Arius stood under the apluster of the galley. In the mood of one who, seeing himself carried swiftly towards an event of mighty import, has nothing to do but wait. The mood in which philosophy vests an even-minded man with the utmost calm and is ever so serviceable. The pilot sat with a hand upon the rope by which the rudder-paddles, one on each side of the vessel, were managed. In the shade of the sail some sailors lay asleep, and up on the yard there was a lookout. Lifting his eyes from the solarium set under the apluster, for reference in keeping the course, Arius beheld the rower approaching. "'The chief called thee the noble Arius, and said it was thy will that I should seek thee here. I have come.'" Arius surveyed the figure, tall, sinewy, glistening in the sun, and tinted by the rich red blood within. Surveied it admiringly, and with the thought of the arena, yet the manner was not without effect upon him. There was in the voice a suggestion of life at least partly spent under refining influences. The eyes were clear and open, and more curious than defiant. To the shrewd, demanding, masterful glance bent upon it, the face gave back nothing to mar its youthful comeliness, nothing of accusation or sulleness or menace, only the signs which a great sorrow long borne in prints, as time mellows the surface of pictures. Intacid acknowledgment of the effect, the Romans spoke as an older man to a younger, not as a master to a slave. "'The Hortitor tells me thou art his best rower.' "'The Hortitor is very kind,' the rower answered. "'Has thou seen much service?' "'About three years. "'At the oars?' "'I cannot recall a day of rest from them.' "'The labour is hard. Few men bear it a year without breaking, and thou, thou art but a boy.' The noble Arius forgets that the spirit hath much to do with endurance, by its help the weak sometimes thrive when the strong perish. "'From thy speech thou art a Jew.' "'My ancestors further back than the first Roman were Hebrews. "'The stubborn pride of thy race is not lost in thee,' said Arius, observing a flush upon the rower's face. "'Pride is never so loud as when in chains.' "'What cause hast thou for pride?' "'That I am a Jew,' Arius smiled. "'I have not been to Jerusalem,' he said, "'but I have heard of its princes. I knew one of them. He was a merchant and sailed the seas. He was fit to have been a king. Of what degree art thou?' "'I must answer thee from the bench of a galley. I am of the degree of slaves. My father was a prince of Jerusalem, and as a merchant he sailed the seas. He was known and honoured in the guest-chamber of the Great Augustus. His name—Ithamar—of the house of her. The tribune raised his hand in astonishment. "'A son of her—thou?' After a silence he asked, "'What brought thee here?' Judah lowered his head and his breast laboured hard. When his feelings were sufficiently mastered he looked the tribune in the face, and answered, "'I was accused of attempting to assassinate Valerius Gratus, the procurator.' "'Thou!' cried Arius, yet more amazed, and retreating a step. "'Thou, that assassin! All Rome rang with a story. It came to my ship in the river by Lonedenham.' The two regarded each other silently. "'I thought the family of her blotted from the earth,' said Arius, speaking first. A flood of tender recollections carried the young man's pride away. Tears shone upon his cheeks. "'Mother, mother, my little Terza, where are they? Oh tribune, noble tribune, if thou knowest anything of them!' He clasped his hands in appeal. "'Tell me all thou knowest. Tell me if they are living. If living, where are they? And in what condition? Oh, I pray thee, tell me!' He drew nearer Arius, so near that his hands touched the cloak where it dropped from the ladder's folded arms. "'The horrible day is three years gone,' he continued. Three years, oh tribune, and every hour a whole lifetime of misery, a lifetime in a bottomless pit with death, and no relief but in labor, and all that time not a word from any one, not a whisper. Oh, if in being forgotten we could only forget. If only I could hide from that scene, my sister torn from me, my mother's last look. I have felt the plague's breath and the shock of ships in battle. I have heard the tempest lashing the sea, and laughed, though others prayed. Death would have been a riddance. Bend the oar, yes, in the strain of mighty effort, trying to escape the haunting of what that day occurred. Think what little will help me. Tell me they are dead, if no more. For happy they cannot be while I am lost. I have heard them call me in the night. I have seen them on the water walking. Oh, never anything so true as my mother's love. And Terza, her breath was as the breath of white lilies. She was the youngest branch of the palm, so fresh, so tender, so graceful, so beautiful. She made my day all morning. She came and went in music, and mine was the hand that laid them low, I. Thus thou admit thy guilt, asked Arius sternly. The change that came upon Ben Hur was wonderful to see. It was so instant and extreme. The voice sharpened. The hands arose tight-clenched. Every fiber thrilled. His eyes inflamed. Thou hast heard of the God of my fathers, he said, of the infinite Jehovah, by his truth and all mightiness, and by the love with which he hath followed Israel from the beginning, I swear I am innocent. The Tribune was much moved. Oh, noble Roman, continued Ben Hur, give me a little faith and into my darkness, deeper darkening every day, send a light. Arius turned away and walked the deck. "'Dits thou not have a trial?' he asked, stopping suddenly. "'No!' the Roman raised his head, surprised. "'No trial, no witnesses. Who passed judgment upon thee?' Romans it should be remembered were at no time such lovers of the law and its forms as in the ages of their decay. They bound me with cords and dragged me to a vault in the tower. I saw no one. No one spoke to me. Next day soldiers took me to the seaside. I have been a galleyslave ever since. "'What couldst thou hast proven?' "'I was a boy, too young to be a conspirator. Gratis was a stranger to me. If I had meant to kill him, that was not the time or the place. I was riding in the midst of a legion, and it was broad day. I could not have escaped. I was of a class most friendly to Rome. My father had been distinguished for his services to the Emperor. We had a great estate to lose. Ruin was certain to myself, my mother, my sister. I had no cause for malice, while every consideration, property, family, life, conscience, the law, to a son of Israel as the breadth of his nostrils, would have stayed my hand, though the foul intent had been ever so strong. I was not mad. Death was preferable to shame, and believe me, I pray, it is so yet. Who was with thee when the blow was struck? I was on the housetop, my father's house. Terza was with me, at my side, the soul of gentleness. Together we leaned over the parapet to see the legion pass. A tile gave way under my hand, and fell upon gratis. I thought I had killed him. Ah, what horror I felt! Where was thy mother? In her chamber, below. What became of her? Benher clenched his hands, and drew a breath like a gasp. I do not know. I saw them drag her away. That is all I know. Out of the house they drove every living thing, even the dumb cattle, and they sealed the gates. The purpose was that she should not return. I too asked for her, oh, for one word. She at least was innocent. I can forgive, but I pray, thy pardon, noble tribune, a slave like me should not talk of forgiveness or of revenge. I am bound to an oar for life. Various listened intently. He brought all his experience with slaves to his aid. If the feelings shown in this instance were assumed, the acting was perfect. On the other hand, if it were real, the Jew's innocence might not be doubted. And if he were innocent, with what blind fury the power had been exercised, a whole family blotted out to atone an accident, the thought shocked him. There is no wiser providence than that our occupations, however rude or bloody, cannot wear us out morally, that such qualities as justice and mercy, if they really possess us, continue to live on under them, like flowers under the snow. The tribune could be inexorable, else he had not been fit for the usages of his calling. He could also be just, and to excite his sense of wrong was to put him in the way to right the wrong. The crews of the ships in which he served came after a time to speak of him as the good tribune. Shrewd readers will not want a better definition of his character. In this instance there were many circumstances, certainly in the young man's favor, and some to be supposed. Possibly Arius knew Valerius Gratis without loving him. Possibly he had known the elder her. In the course of his appeal Judah had asked him of that, and, as will be noticed, he had made no reply. For once the tribune was at loss and hesitated. His power was ample. He was monarch of the ship. His prepossessions all moved him to mercy. His faith was one. Yet, he said to himself, there was no haste, or rather there was haste to Sathira, the best rower could not then be spared. He would wait. He would learn more. He would at least be sure this was the Prince Ben-Hur, and that he was of a right disposition. Ordinarily slaves were liars. It is enough, he said aloud. Go back to thy place. Ben-Hur bowed, looked once more into the master's face, but saw nothing for hope. He turned away slowly, looked back, and said, If thou dost think of me again, O tribune, let it not be lost in thy mind that I prayed the only for word of my people, mother, sister. He moved on. Arius followed him with admiring eyes. Purple, he thought, with teaching, what a man for the arena! What a runner! He gods! What an arm for the sword or the cestus! Stay! He said aloud. Ben-Hur stopped, and the tribune went to him. If thou wert free, what wouldst thou do? The noble Arius mocks me, Judas said, with trembling lips. No, by the gods, no. Then I will answer gladly. I would give myself to duty the first of life. I would know no other. I would know no rest until my mother and Terza were restored to home. I would give every day and hour to their happiness. I would wait upon them, never a slave more faithful. They have lost much. But by the god of my fathers I would find them more. The answer was unexpected by the Roman. For a moment he lost his purpose. I spoke to thy ambition, he said, recovering. If thy mother and sister were dead, or not to be found, what wouldst thou do? A distinct pallor overspread Ben-Hur's face, and he looked over the sea. There was a struggle with some strong feeling. When it was conquered he turned to the tribune. What pursuit would I follow? He asked. Yes. Tribune, I will tell thee truly, only the night before the dreadful day of which I have spoken I obtained permission to be a soldier. I am of the same mind yet, and as in all the earth there is but one school of war, thither I would go. The palestra, exclaimed Arius, and no, a Roman camp. Thou must first acquaint thyself with the use of arms. Now a master may never safely advise a slave. Arius saw his indiscretion, and in a breath chilled his voice and manner. Go now, he said, and do not build upon what is past between us. Perhaps I do but play with thee. Or, he looked away musingly, or, if thou dost think of it with any hope, use between the renown of a gladiator and the service of a soldier. The former may come of the favour of the emperor. There is no reward for thee in the latter. Thou art not a Roman. Go! A short while after Ben Hur was upon his bench again. A man's task is always light if his heart is light. Handling the ore did not seem so toilsome to Judah. A hope had come to him like a singing bird. He could hardly see the visitor or hear its song. That it was there, though, he knew. His feelings told him so. The caution of the tribune. Perhaps I do but play with thee. Was dismissed often, as it recurred to his mind. That he had been called by the great man and asked his story was the bread upon which he fed his hungry spirit. Surely something good would come of it. The light about his bench was clear and bright with promises, and he prayed, O God, I am a true son of the Israel thou hast so loved. Help me! I pray thee. CHAPTER IV In the bay of Antimona, east of Sathira, the island, the hundred galleys assembled. There the tribune gave one day to inspection. He sailed then to Naxos, the largest of the Cyclades, midway the coasts of Greece and Asia, like a great stone planted in the center of a highway from which he could challenge everything that passed. At the same time he would be in position to go after the pirates instantly, whether they were in the Aegean or out on the Mediterranean. As the fleet, in order, rode in towards the mountain shores of the island, a galley was described coming from the north. Arius went to meet it. She proved to be a transport, just from Byzantium, and from her commander he learned the particulars of which he stood in most need. The pirates were from all the farther shores of the Uxin. Even Tene, at the mouth of the river which was supposed to feed Pailus meotius, was represented among them. Their preparations had been with the greatest secrecy. The first known of them was their appearance off the entrance to the Thracian Bosphorus, followed by the destruction of the fleet in station there. Thence to the outlet of the helispont, everything afloat had fallen their prey. There were quite sixty galleys in the squadron, all will manned and supplied. A few were Byremes, the rest Stout Triremes. A Greek was in command, and the pilots, said to be familiar with all the eastern seas, were Greek. The plunder had been incalculable. The panic consequently was not on the sea alone. Cities with closed gates sent their people nightly to the walls. Traffic had almost ceased. Where were the pirates now? To this question of most interest to Arius he received answer. After sacking Hephaestia, on the island of Lemnos, the enemy had coursed across to the Thacalian group, and by last account appeared in the gulfs between Uboa and Helus. Such were the tidings. Then the people of the island, drawn to the hilltops by the rare spectacle of a hundred ships careering in united squadron, beheld the advanced division suddenly turn to the north, and the others follow, wheeling upon the same point like cavalry in a column. Those of the piratical descent had reached them, and now, watching the white sails until they faded from sight up between Rin and Cyrus, the thoughtful among them took comfort and were grateful. What Rome seized with strong hand she always defended. In return for their taxes she gave them safety. The Tribune was more than pleased with the enemy's movements. He was doubly thankful to Fortune. She had brought swift and sure intelligence, and had lured his foes into the water's wear of all others, destruction was most assured. He knew the havoc one galley could play in a broad sea like the Mediterranean, and the difficulty of finding and overhauling her. He knew also how those very circumstances would enhance the service and glory if, at one blow, he could put a finish to the whole piratical array. If the reader will take a map of Greece and the Aegean, he will notice the island of Vuboa, lying along the classic coast like a rampart against Asia, leaving a channel between it and the continent quite a hundred and twenty miles in length, and scarcely an average of eight in width. The inlet on the north had admitted the fleet of Xerxes, and now it received the bold raiders from the Oxene. The towns along the Plastik and Meliak gulfs were rich and their plunder seductive. All things considered, therefore, Arius judged that the ravers might be found somewhere below Thermopylae. Welcoming the chance, he resolved to enclose them north and south. To do which not an hour could be lost, even the fruits and wines and women of Nexus must be left behind. So he sailed away without stop or tack, until, a little before nightfall, Mount Oka was seen upreared against the sky, and the pilot reported the Yuboing coast. At a signal the fleet rested upon its oars. When the movement was resumed, Arius led a division of fifty of the galleys, intending to take them up the channel, while another division, equally strong, turned their prowls to the outer or seaward side of the island, with orders to make all haste to the upper inlet and descend, sweeping the waters. To be sure, neither division was equal in number to the pirates, but each had advantages and compensation, among them, by no means least, a discipline impossible to a lawless horde, however brave. Besides it was a shrewd count on the tribune's side, if, per adventure, one should be defeated, the other would find the enemy shattered by his victory, and in condition to be easily overwhelmed. Meantime, Ben Hur kept his bench, relieved every six hours. The rest in the bay of Antimona had freshened him, so that the ore was not troublesome, and the chief on the platform found no fault. People generally are not aware of the ease of mind there is in knowing where they are, and where they are going. The sensation of being lost is a keen distress, still worse as the feeling one has in driving blindly into unknown places. Custom had dulled the feeling with Ben Hur, but only measurably. Pulling away, hour after hour, sometimes days and nights together. Sensible all the time that the galley was gliding swiftly along some of the many tracks of the broad sea, the longing to know where he was, and with or going, was always present with him. But now it seemed quickened by the hope which had come to new life in his breast since the interview with the tribune. The narrower the abiding place happens to be, the more intense is the longing, and so he found. He seemed to hear every sound of the ship in labour, and listened to each one as if it were a voice come to tell him something. He looked to the grating overhead, and threw it into the light of which so small a portion was his, expecting, he knew not what, and many times he caught himself on the point of yielding to the impulse to speak to the chief on the platform, than which no circumstance of battle would have astonished that dignitary more. In his long service, by watching the shifting of the meagre sunbeams upon the cabin floor when the ship was under way, he had come to know, generally, the quarter into which he was sailing. This, of course, was only of clear days like those good fortune was sending the tribune. The experience had not failed him in the period succeeding the departure from Sathira. Thinking they were tending towards the old Judean country, he was sensitive to every variation from the course. With a pang he had observed the sudden change northward, which, as has been noticed, took place near Naxos. The cause, however, he could not even conjecture, for it must be remembered that, in common with his fellow slaves he knew nothing of the situation, and had no interest in the voyage. His place was at the oar, and he was held there inexorably, whether at anchor or under sail. Once only in three years had he been permitted an outlook from the deck. The occasion we have seen. He had no idea that, following the vessel he was helping drive, there was a great squadron close at hand, an imputiful order. No more did he know the object of which it was in pursuit. When the sun, going down, withdrew his last ray from the cabin, the galley still held northward. Night fell, yet Ben Hur could discern no change. About that time the smell of incense floated down the gangways from the deck. The tribune is at the altar. He thought, Can it be we are going into battle? He became observant. Now he had been in many battles without having seen one. From his bench he had heard them above and about him, until he was familiar with all their notes, almost as a singer with a song. Though too he had become acquainted with many of the preliminaries of an engagement, of which, with a Roman as well as a Greek, the most invariable was the sacrifice to the gods. The rites were the same as those performed at the beginning of a voyage, and to him, when noticed, they were always in admonition. A battle it should be observed, possessed for him and his fellow slaves of the oar, an interest unlike that of the sailor and marine, it came not of the danger encountered but of the fact that defeat, if survived, might bring an alteration of condition, possibly freedom, at least a change of masters which might be for the better. In good time the lanterns were lighted and hung by the stairs, and the tribune came down from the deck. At his word the marines put on their armor. At his word again the machines were looked to, and spears, gavelins and arrows, in great sheaves, brought and laid upon the floor, together with jars of inflammable oil, and baskets of cotton balls well loose like the wicking of candles. And when, finally, Benhur saw the tribune mount his platform and don his armor, and get his helmet and shield out, the meaning of the preparations might not be any longer doubted, and he made ready for the last ignominy of his service. To every bench, as a fixture, there was a chain with heavy anklets. These the Hortitor proceeded to lock upon the oarsmen, going from number to number, leaving no choice but to obey, and, in event of disaster, no possibility of escape. In the cabin then a silence fell, broken at first only by the soff of the oars turning in the leathering cases. Every man upon the benches felt the shame, Benhur more keenly than his companions. He would have put it away at any price. Soon the clanking of the fetters notified him of the progress the chief was making in his round. He would come to him in turn, but would not the tribune interpose for him? The thought maybe set down to vanity or selfishness as the reader pleases. It certainly at that moment took possession of Benhur. He believed the Roman would interpose. Anyhow the circumstance would test the man's feelings. If intent upon the battle he would but think of him, it would be proof of his opinion formed, proof that he had been tacitly promoted above his associates in misery. Such proof as would justify hope. Benhur waited anxiously. The interval seemed like an age. At every turn of the oar he looked towards the tribune, to his simple preparations made lay down upon the couch and composed himself to rest, whereupon number sixty chied himself and laughed grimly and resolved not to look that way again. The Hortitor approached, now he was at number one. The rattle of the iron links sounded horribly. At last number sixty. Calm from despair Benhur held his oar at poise and gave his foot to the officer. Then the tribune stirred, sat up, beckoned to the chief. A strong revulsion seized the Jew. From the Hortitor the great man glanced at him, and when he dropped his oar all the section of the ship on his side seemed aglow. He heard nothing of what was said, enough that the chain hung idly from its staple in the bench, and that the chief going to his seat began to beat the sounding board. The notes of the gavel were never so like music. With his breast against the leaded handle he pushed with all his might, pushed until the shaft bent as if about to break. The chief went to the tribune, and smiling, pointed to number sixty. What strength! he said. And what spirit! the tribune answered. Her pole! he is better without the irons! put them on him no more. So saying he stretched himself upon the couch again. The ship sailed on hour after hour under the oars in water scarcely rippled by the wind, and the people not on duty slept, Arius in his place, the marines on the floor. Once, twice, Benhur was relieved, but he could not sleep. Three years of night, and through the darkness a sun-beam at last, at sea adrift and lost, and now land, dead so long, and low the thrill and stir of resurrection. Sleep was not for such an hour. Hope deals with the future, now and the past are but servants that wait on her with impulse and suggestive circumstance. Starting from the favour of the tribune she carried him forward indefinitely. The wonder is, not that things so purely imaginative as the results she points us to can make us so happy, but that we can receive them as so real. There must be as gorgeous poppies under the influence of which, under the crimson and purpling gold, reason lies down the while, and is not. Sorrows assuaged, home in the fortunes of his house restored, sister and sister in his arms once more. Such were the sensual ideas which made him happier that moment than he had ever been. That he was rushing as on wings into horrible battle had, for the time, nothing to do with his thoughts. The things thus and hope were unmixed with doubts. They were. Hence his joy so full, so perfect, there was no room in his heart for revenge. Masala, Gratis, Rome, and all the bitter, passionate memories connected with them were as dead plagues, miasmas of the earth above which he floated, far and safe listening to singing stars. The deeper darkness before the dawn was upon the waters, and all things going well with the Astroia, when a man, descending from the deck, walked swiftly to the platform where the tribune slept, and awoke him. Arius arose, put on his helmet, sword and shield, and went to the commander of the marines. The pirates are close by, up and ready, he said, and passed to the stairs, calm, confident, and so much that one might have thought, happy fellow, epicious as set a feast for him. CHAPTER 5 Every soul aboard, even the ship, awoke. Officers went to their quarters. The marines took arms, and were led out, looking in all respects like legionaries. Sheaves of arrows and armfuls of javelins were carried on deck. By the central stairs the oil tanks and fireballs were set ready for use. Additional lanterns were lighted. Buckets were filled with water. The rowers in relief assembled under guard in front of the chief. As Providence would have it, Ben Hur was one of the latter. Overhead he heard the muffled noises of the final preparations, of the sailor's furling sail, spreading the nettings, unslinging the machines, and hanging the armor of bull-hide over the side. Presently quiet settled about the galley again, quiet full of vague dread and expectation, which, interpreted, means ready. At a signal passed down from the deck, and communicated to the hortitor by a petty officer stationed on the stairs, all at once the oars stopped. What did it mean? Of the hundred and twenty slaves chained to the benches, not one but asked himself the question. They were without incentive. Patriotism, love of honour, sense of duty, brought them no inspiration. They felt the thrill common to men rushed helpless and blind into danger. It may be supposed the dullest of them, poising his oar, thought of all that might happen, yet could promise himself nothing, for victory would but rivet his chains the firmer, while the chances of the ship were his, sinking or on fire he was doomed to her fate. Of the situation without, they might not ask. And who were the enemy? And what if they were friends, brethren, countrymen? The reader, carrying the suggestion forward, will see the necessity which govern the Roman when, in such emergencies, he locked the hapless wretches to their seats. There was little time, however, for such thought with them. A sound like the rowing of galleys astern attracted Ben Hur, and the Astroia rocked as if in the midst of countering waves. The idea of a fleet at hand broke upon him, a fleet in manoeuvre, forming probably for attack. His blood started with the fancy. The signal came down from the deck. The oars dipped, and the galleys started imperceptibly. No sound from without, none from within, yet each man in the cabin instinctively poised himself for a shock. The very ship seemed to catch the sense and hold its breath, and go crouched, tiger-like. In such a situation time is inappreciable, so that Ben Hur could form no judgment of distance gone. At last there was a sound of trumpets on deck, full, clear, long blown. The chief beat the sounding board until it rang. The rowers reached forward full length, and, deepening the dip of their oars, pulled suddenly with all their united force. The galleys, quivering in every timber, answered with a leap. Other trumpets joined in the clamour, all from the rear, none forward. The latter quarter only a rising sound of voices in tumult heard briefly. There was a mighty blow. The rowers in front of the chief's platform reeled. Some of them fell. The ship bounded back, recovered, and rushed on more irresistibly than before. Shrill in high arose the shrieks of men in terror. Over the glare of trumpets and the grind and crash of the collision they arose. Men under his feet, under the keel, pounding, rumbling, breaking to pieces, drowning, Ben Hur felt something overridden. The men about him looked at each other, afraid. A shout of triumph from the deck. The beak of the Roman had won. But who were they whom the sea had drunk? Of what tongue, from what land were they? No pause, no stay. Richard rushed the Astroia. And as it went some sailors ran down, and, plunging the cotton balls into the oil tanks, tossed them dripping to comrades at the head of the stairs. Fire was to be added to other horrors of the combat. Directly the galley healed over so far that the oarsmen on the uppermost side, with difficulty, kept their benches. Again the hardy Roman cheer, and with it despairing shrieks. An opposing vessel, caught by the grappling hooks of the great crane swinging from the prow, was being lifted into the air that it might be dropped, and sunk. The shouting increased on the right hand, and on the left, before, behind, swelled an indescribable clamour. Occasionally there was a crash, followed by sudden peals of fright, telling of other ships ridden down, and their crews drowned in the vortexes. Nor was the fight all on one side. Now and then a Roman in armour was borne down the hatchway, and laid bleeding, sometimes dying, on the floor. Sometimes also, puffs of smoke, blended with steam, and foul with the scent of roasting human flesh, poured into the cabin, turning the dimming light into yellow murk. Gasping for breath the while, Ben Hur knew they were passing through the cloud of a ship on fire, and burning up with the rowers chained to the benches. The Astroia all this time was in motion. Suddenly she stopped. The oars forward were dashed from the hands of the rowers, and the rowers from their benches. On deck then, a furious trampling, and on the sides a grinding of ships afoul of each other. For the first time the beating of the gavel was lost in the uproar. Men sank on the floor in fear, or looked about seeking a hiding place. In the midst of the panic a body plunged or was pitched headlong down the hatchway, falling near Ben Hur. He beheld the half-naked carcass, a mass of hair blackening the face, and under it a shield of bull-hide and wicker work, a barbarian from the white-skinned nations of the north whom death had robbed of plunder and revenge. How came he there? An iron hand had snatched him from the opposing deck. No. The Astroia had been boarded. The Romans were fighting on their own deck. A chill, smote the young Jew. Arius was hard-pressed. He might be defending his own life. If he should be slain, God of Abraham forfend! The hopes and dreams so lately come, were they only hopes and dreams? Mother and sister, house, home, holy land, was he not to see them after all? The tumult thundered above him. He looked round. In the cabin all was confusion. The rowers on the benches, paralyzed, men running blindly hither and thither, only the chief on his seat, imperturbable, vainly beating the sounding-board and waiting the orders of the tribune, in the red merc illustrating the matchless discipline which had won the world. The example had a good effect upon Ben Hur. He controlled himself enough to think. Honor and duty bound the Roman to the platform. But what had he to do with such motives then? The bench was a thing to run from, while if he were to die a slave, who would be the better of the sacrifice? With him living was duty, if not honor. His life belonged to his people. They arose before him never more real. He saw them, their arms outstretched. He heard them imploring him. And he would go to them. He started. Stopped. Alas! Roman judgment held him in doom. While it endured, the scape would be profitless. In the wide, wide earth there was no place in which he would be safe from the imperial demand. Upon the land none, nor upon the sea. Whereas he required freedom according to the forms of law, so only could he abide in Judea and execute the filial purpose to which he would devote himself. In other lands he would not live. Dear God! How had he waited and watched and prayed for such a release? And how it had been delayed? But at last he had seen it in the promise of the Tribune. What else the great man's meaning? And if the benefactor so belated should now be slain, the dead come not back to redeem the pledges of the living. It should not be. This should not die. At least better perish with him than survive a galley slave. Once more Ben Hur looked around. Upon the roof of the cabin the battle yet beat. Against the sides the hostile vessels yet crushed and grinded. On the benches the slaves struggled to tear loose from their chains and, finding their efforts vain, howled like madmen. The guards had gone upstairs. Discipline was out. Panic in. No. The chief kept his chair unchanged, calm as ever, except the gavel weaponless. Vainly with his clangor he filled the lulls and the din. Ben Hur gave him a last look, then broke away. Not in flight, but to seek the Tribune. A very short space lay between him and the stairs of the hatchway aft. He took it with a leap, and was half way up the steps, up far enough to catch a glimpse of the sky, blood red with fire, of the ships alongside, of the sea covered with ships and wrecks, of the fight closed in about the pilot's quarter, the assailants many, the defenders few, when suddenly his foothold was knocked away and he pitched backward. The floor, when he reached it, seemed to be lifting itself and breaking to pieces. Then in a twinkling the hole after part of the hull broke asunder, and as if it had all the time been lying in wait, the sea, hissing and foaming, leaped in, and all became darkness and surging water to Ben Hur. It cannot be said that the young Jew helped himself in this stress. Besides his usual strength he had the indefinite extra force which nature keeps in reserve for just such perils to life. Yet the darkness and the whirl and roar of water stupefied him. Even the holding his breath was involuntary. The influx of the flood tossed him like a log forward into the cabin, where he would have drowned but for the refluence of the sinking motion. As it was, fathoms under the surface the hollow mass vomited him forth, and he arose along with a loose debris. In the act of rising he clutched something and held to it. The time he was under seemed an age longer than it really was. At last he gained the top, with a great gasp he filled his lungs afresh, and, tossing the water from his hair and eyes, climbed higher upon the plank he held, and looked about him. Death had pursued him closely under the waves. He found it waiting for him when he was risen, waiting multi-form. Smoke lay upon the sea like a semi-transparent fog, through which here and there shone cores of intense brilliance. A quick intelligence told him that they were ships on fire. The battle was yet on, nor could he say who was victor. Within the radius of his vision, now and then, ships passed, shooting shadows of thwart lights. Out of the done clouds farther on he caught the crash of other ships colliding. The danger, however, was closer at hand. When the Astoria went down, her deck, it will be recollected, held her own crew, and the crews of the two galleys which had attacked her at the same time, all of whom were engulfed. Many of them came to the surface together, and on the same plank or support of whatever kind continued the combat, begun possibly in the vortex fathoms down. Rithing and twisting in deadly embrace, sometimes striking with sword or javelin, they kept the sea around them in agitation, at one place, inky black, at another, aflame with fiery reflections. With their struggles he had nothing to do. They were all his enemies, not one of them but would kill him for the plank upon which he floated. He made haste to get away. About that time he heard oars in quickest motion and beheld a galley coming down upon him. The tall prow seemed doubly tall, and the red light playing upon its guilt and carving gave it an appearance of snakey life, under its foot the water churned to flying foam. He struck out, pushing the plank which was very broad and unmanageable. Seconds were precious, half a second might save or lose him. In the crisis of the effort, up from the sea, within arms reach, a helmet shot like a gleam of gold, next came two hands with fingers extended. Large hands were they, and strong. Their hold once fixed might not be loosed. Benhur swirred from them appalled. Up rose the helmet and the head it encased, then two arms which began to beat the water wildly. The head turned back and gave the face to the light. The mouth gaping wide, the eyes open but sightless, and the bloodless pallor of a drowning man, never anything more ghastly. Yet he gave a cry of joy at the sight, and as the face was going under again he caught the sufferer by the chain which passed from the helmet beneath the chin, and drew him to the plank. The man was Arius, the Tribune. For a while the water foamed and eddied violently about Benhur, taxing all his strength to hold to the support, and at the same time keep the Roman's head above the surface. The galley had passed, leaving the two barely outside the stroke of its oars. Right through the floating men, overheads helmeted as well as heads bare, she drove, in her wake nothing but the sea sparkling with fire. A muffled crash, succeeded by a great outcry, made the rescuer look again from his charge. A certain savage pleasure touched his heart. The Astroia was avenged. After that the battle moved on. Resistance turned to flight. But who were the victors? Benhur was sensible how much his freedom and the life of the Tribune depended upon that event. He pushed the plank under the latter until it floated him, after which all his care was to keep him there. The dawn came slowly. He watched its growing, hopefully, yet sometimes afraid. Would it bring the Romans or the pirates? If the pirates his charge was lost. At last morning broken full, the air without a breath. Off to the left he saw the land, too far to think of attempting to make it. Here and there men were adrift like himself. In spots the sea was blackened by charred and sometimes smoking fragments. A galley up a long way was lying too with a torn sail hanging from the tilted yard, and the oars all idle. Still farther away he could discern moving specks, which he thought might be ships in flight or pursuit, or there might be white birds a wing. An hour passed thus. His anxiety increased. If relief came not speedily, Arius would die. Sometimes he seemed already dead. He lay so still. He took the helmet off, and then, with greater difficulty, the cuirass, the heart he found fluttering. He took hope at the sign and held on. There was nothing to do but wait. And after the manner of his people—pray. The throws of recovery from drowning are more painful than the drowning. These Arius passed through, and at length, to Ben Hur's delight, reached the point of speech. Gradually, from incoherent questions as to where he was, and by whom and how he had been saved, he reverted to the battle. The doubt of the victory stimulated his faculties to full return. A result aided not a little by a long rest, such as could be had on their frail support. After a while he became talkative. Our rescue, I see, depends upon the result of the fight. I see also what thou hast done for me. To speak fairly, thou hast saved my life at the risk of thy own. I make the acknowledgment broadly, and whatever cometh, thou hast my thanks. More than that, if fortune doth but serve me kindly, and we get well out of this peril, I will do thee such favour as be cometh the Roman who hath power and opportunity to prove his gratitude. Yet it is to be seen if, with thy good intent, thou hast really done me a kindness, or rather, speaking to thy good will, he hesitated. I would exact of thee a promise to do me in a certain event. The greatest favour one man can do another. And of that let me have thy pledge now. If the thing be not forbidden, I will do it, been her replied. Arias rested again. Art thou indeed a son of her, the Jew, he next asked? It is, as I have said. I knew thy father. Judah drew himself nearer, for the tribune's voice was weak. He drew nearer, and listened eagerly. At last he thought to hear of home. I knew him, and loved him. Arias continued. There was another pause, during which something diverted the speaker's thought. It cannot be, he proceeded, that thou, a son of his, hast not heard of Cato and Brutus. They were very great men, and never as great as in death. In their dying they left this law. A Roman may not survive his good fortune. Not thou listening? I hear. It is a custom of gentlemen in Rome to wear a ring. There is one on my hand. Take it now. He held the hand to Judah, who did as he asked. Now put it on thine own hand. Ben heard did so. The trinket hath its uses, said Arias next. I have property and money. I am accounted rich, even in Rome. I have no family. Show the ring to my freedman, who hath control in my absence. You will find him in a villa near Mycenum. Tell him how it came to thee and ask anything, or all he may have. He will not refuse the demand. If I live, I will do better by thee. I will make thee free, and restore thee to thy home and people. For thou mayest give thyself to the pursuit that pleases thee most. Dost thou hear? I could not choose but hear. Then pledge me by the gods. Nay good tribune, I am a Jew. By thy God, then, or in the form most sacred to those of thy faith, pledge me to do what I tell thee now, and as I tell thee, I am waiting. Let me have thy promise. Noble Arias, I am warned by thy manner to expect something of graveest concern. Tell me thy wish first. Wilt thou promise then? That were to give the pledge, and bless it be the God of my fathers, yonder cometh the ship. In what direction? From the north. Canst thou tell her nationality by outward signs? No, my serveth hath been at the oars. Has she a flag? I cannot see one. Arias remained quiet some time, apparently in deep reflection. Does the ship hold this way yet? He at length asked. Still this way. Look for the flag now. She hath none. Nor any other sign. She hath a sail set, and is of three banks, and cometh swiftly. That is all I can say of her. A Roman in triumph would have out many flags. She must be an enemy. Here now, said Arias, becoming grave again, here, while yet I may speak. If the galley be a pirate, thy life is safe. They may not give thee freedom. They may put thee to the oar again, but they will not kill thee. On the other hand, I—the Tribune faltered. Purple! He continued resolutely. I am too old to submit to dishonour. In Rome let them tell how Quintus Arias, as became a Roman Tribune, went down with his ship in the midst of the foe. This is what I would have thee do. If the galley prove a pirate, push me from the plank and drown me. Just thou here? Swear thou wilt do it. I will not swear, said Ben Hur, firmly. Neither will I do the deed. The law, which is to me most binding, O Tribune, would make me answerable for thy life. Take back the ring. He took the seal from his finger. Take it back, and all thy promises of favour in the event of delivery from this peril. The judgment which sent me to the oar for life made me a slave, yet I am not a slave. No more am I thy freedman. I am a son of Israel, and this moment at least my own master. Take back the ring. Arias remained passive. Thou wilt not, Judah continued, not in anger then, nor in any despite, but to free myself from a hateful obligation. I will give thy gift to the sea, sea, O Tribune." He tossed the ring away. Arias heard the splash where it struck and sank, though he did not look. Thou hast done a foolish thing, he said, foolish for one place does thou art. I am not dependent upon thee for death. Life is a thread I can break without thy help, and if I do, what will become of thee? Men determined on death prefer it at the hands of others, for the reason that the soul which Plato giveth us is rebellious at the thought of self-destruction, that is all. If the ship be a pirate I will escape from the world. My mind is fixed. I am a Roman. Success and honour are all in all. Yet I would have served thee. Thou wilt not. The ring was the only witness of my will available in this situation. We are both lost. I will die regretting the victory and glory rested from me. Thou wilt live to die a little later, mourning the pious duties undone because of this folly. I pity thee. Ben Hur saw the consequences of his act more distinctly than before, yet he did not fault her. In the three years of my servitude, O Tribune, thou werest the first to look upon me kindly. No, no, there was another. The voice dropped, the eyes became humid, and he saw plainly as if it were then before him the face of the boy who helped him to a drink by the old well at Nazareth. At least, he proceeded, thou werest the first to ask me who I was, and if, when I reached out and caught thee, blind and sinking the last time, I too had thought of the many ways in which thou couldst be useful to me in my wretchedness. Still the act was not all selfish. This I pray you to believe. Moreover, seeing as God giveth me to know, the ends I dream of are to be wrought by fair means alone. As a thing of conscience, I would rather die with thee than be thy slayer. My mind is firmly set as thine. Though thou werest to offer me all Rome, O Tribune, and it belonged to thee to make the gift good, I would not kill thee. Thy Cato and Brutus were as little children compared to the Hebrew whose law a Jew must obey. But my request hast thy command would be of more weight, and that would not move me, I have said. Both became silent, waiting. And her looked often at the coming ship, Arius rested with closed eyes, indifferent. Art thou sure she is an enemy? Ben her asked. I think so, was the reply. She stops and puts a boat over the side. Dost thou see her flag? Is there no other sign by which she may be known if Roman? If Roman she hath the helmet over the mast's top. Then be of cheer, I see the helmet. Still Arius was not assured. The men in the small boat are taking in the people afloat. Pirates are not humane. They may need rowers, Arius replied, recurring possibly to times when he had made rescues for the purpose. Ben her was very watchful of the actions of the strangers. The ship moves off, he said, wither. Over on our right there is a galley which I take to be deserted. The newcomer heads toward it. Now she is alongside. Now she is sending men aboard. Then Arius opened his eyes and threw off his calm. Thank thou thy God, he said to Ben her after a look at the galleys. Thank thou thy God, as I do my many gods. A pirate would sink, not save, yon ship. By the act and the helmet on the mast I know a Roman. The victory is mine. Fortune hath not deserted me. We are saved. Wave thy hand, call to them, bring them quickly. I shall be du-um-vir, and thou. I knew thy father and loved him. He was a prince indeed. He taught me a Jew was not a barbarian. I will take thee with me. I will make thee my son. Give thy God thanks, and call the sailors. Haste! The pursuit must be kept. Not a robber shall escape. Hasten them. Judah raised himself upon the plank and waved his hand, and called with all his might. At last he drew the attention of the sailors in the small boat, and they were speedily taken up. Arius was received on the galley with all the honors due a hero, so the favored of Fortune. Upon a couch on the deck he heard the particulars of the conclusion of the fight. When the survivors afloat upon the water were all saved and the prize secured, he spread his flag of Commandant Anu, and hurried northward to rejoin the fleet and perfect the victory. In due time the fifty vessels coming down the channel closed in upon the fugitive pirates and crushed them utterly, not one escaped. To swell the tribune's glory twenty galleys of the enemy were captured. Upon his return from the cruise Arius had warm welcome on the mole at Mycenum. The young man attending him very early attracted the attention of his friends there, and to their questions, as to who he was, the tribune proceeded in the most affectionate manner to tell the story of his rescue, and introduced the stranger, omitting carefully all that pertained to the latter's previous history. At the end of the narrative he called Ben Hur to him, and said, with a hand resting affectionately upon his shoulder, Good friends, this is my son and heir, who, as he is to take my property, if it be the will of the gods that I leave any, shall be known to you by my name. I pray you all to love him as you love me." Speedily, as opportunity permitted, the adoption was formally perfected, and in such manner the brave Roman kept his faith with Ben Hur, giving him happy introduction into the imperial world. The month succeeding Arius' return, the Armilustrium was celebrated with the utmost magnificence in the theatre of Scaris. One side of the structure was taken up with military trophies, among which by far the most conspicuous and most admired were twenty prowls, complimented by their corresponding aplustra, cut bodily from as many galleys, and over them, so as to be legible to the eighty thousand spectators in the seats, was this inscription, taken from the pirates in the Gulf of Euripus by Quintus Arius de Umvir.