Another captain, he of the queen’s galley, spoke loud: “My wife, my children are on the island. I would go to them.”
“Thou art the captain of the galley of the queen,” cried another captain. “Wouldst thou leave the queen?”
The poor captain looked irresolute for an instant.
“The queen is dear; but my family is dearer. I take it—my duty is to them, even more than to the queen. There are other captains!”
“Yea, there are other captains,” rang Hellen’s voice. “The captain of my galley can take thy place, and I will take his. Thus mayst thou go back, if any do, to the island.”
The captain of the galley containing the relatives of the handmaid Celesa now called: “We will go back. Come with us, captain of the galley of the queen.”
The captain of the queen’s galley looked upon the foaming sea, the beset island, his sailors at their oars—the door of the withdrawing room through which the fainting queen had been borne.
“How can I leave the queen? My men? I will not. I will stay. Heaven help me to bear this. Heaven help my wife, my little ones!” One heartrending sob burst from him. Then he stood firm, resigned.
Loud cheers rent the air, though little cared he for these. He stood, as in a dream, seeing only his wife, his little ones, in their sore extremity.
Immediately, the captain who had said he would return, parted from them; and after him, went a few galleys heroically. But the greater number, those bearing entire families, determined to press on.