As if nothing had happened, he began giving orders. "Let go!"
The three hundred-weight anchor was thrown over, and the ship brought up in the middle of the channel, so as to be hidden by the cliffs from the upper reaches of the river.
"And now ashore with the boat," Timar ordered three oarsmen.
"Change your clothes," advised Euthemio.
"Waste of time," answered Timar. "I shall soon be wet again; now I am thoroughly soaked. We have no time to spare."
The last words he whispered into Euthemio's ear.
The man's eyes glittered as he agreed. The captain sprung into the boat and rowed himself, so as to get quicker to the post-house on the bank, where towing-teams could be engaged. He collected hastily eighty oxen. Meanwhile, a new towing-rope was attached to the vessel, the oxen harnessed, and before half an hour had passed, the "St. Barbara" was on her way again through the Iron Gate, and on the opposite side of the stream.
When Timar returned on board, his exertions had dried his clothes.
The ship was saved, perhaps doubly saved, and with it the cargo, Euthemio, and Timéa.
But what are they to him that he should work so hard? He is only the captain and supercargo, and receives a scanty salary as such. It can not matter to him whether the vessel's hold is full of wheat or contraband tobacco or real pearls; his wages remain the same.