Ethbaal appeared to be confirmed in his suspicion that I must be mad, and declared his total ignorance of the Fortunate Islands:
"I have never heard of them!"
"No, nor yet of the Tin Islands; nor yet of Prydhayn; nor yet of the river of the Suomi; nor yet of the chariot of the gods," exclaimed Himilco. "Compared with us you are mere coasters, loafing about in cockle-shells."
Genuine Sidonian as he was, my cousin could not brook any insinuation against his seamanship, and colouring deeply at the slight which he conceived was offered to him, he said in a tone of anger:
"Out upon your insolence! do you call a man a coaster who has made the voyage to Ophir? do you call my gaoul a cockle-shell? Are you mad, or are you drunk, you one-eyed fool?"
Himilco, recalled to a sense of propriety, changed his banter into cajolery:
"Now then, my dear fellow, you can do a great deal better than bully me. Haven't you a little wine on board? It would be a great boon to give us a skin; we haven't tasted a drop this two months."
I interceded with Ethbaal, asking him to overlook what might seem to be rudeness on the part of Himilco, and assured him that our adventures had been so extraordinary that he must really pardon a little bragging. He not only took my mediation in a good spirit, but sent for a goat-skin of wine, which he himself handed to Himilco, in token of forgiveness. Saying that he should make an offering with it to the Cabiri, the pilot emptied so large a share of the contents down his throat that his companions began to wonder when his draught was coming to an end, and almost despaired of the wine lasting out till it should come to their turn to partake of it.
"Glorious wine! wine of Arvad, Hannibal," he said, smacking his lips as he removed the goat-skin from his mouth, and passed it to the rest.