At the door of his hut stood his pretty little Greek wife, with a solid, square, bluff, and resolute, but not yet bronzed, baby in her arms.
“Well, Penelope, I’m off,” said the captain. At least he used words to that effect, as he enveloped wife and baby in a huge embrace.
Of course he spoke in a dialect of ancient Greek, of which we render a free translation.
The leave-taking was of the briefest, for just then a loud halloo from his mate, or second in command, apprised the captain that all was ready to set sail. But neither Penelope nor her husband were anxious souls or addicted to the melting mood. The square baby was rather more given to such conditions. In emulation of the mate it set up a sudden howl which sent its father away laughing to the harbour.
“No sign of the young men,” remarked the mate, as his superior came within hail.
“It is ever the way with these half-fledged boys who think themselves men while their faces are yet hairless,” growled the captain, casting a glance at his unfailing chronometer, the rising sun. “They have no more regard for the movements of that ball of fire than if it was set in the sky merely to shine and keep them warm, and had no reference whatever to time. If this youth from Albion does not appear soon, I shall set sail without him, prince though he be, and leave him to try his hand at swimming to the Cassiterides. His comrade and friend, Dromas, assured me they would not keep us waiting; but he is no better than the rest of them—a shouting, singing, smooth-faced, six-foot set they are, who think they inherit the combined wisdom of all their grandfathers but none of their weaknesses; reckless fear-nothings, fit only for war and the Olympic games!”
“Nevertheless, we could not do well without them,” returned the mate, glancing significantly at the ship’s crew, a large proportion of which was composed of these same stalwart fear-nothings of whom his leader spoke so contemptuously; “at least they would make a fine show at these games, and our ventures at sea would not prosper so well if we had not such to help us.”
“True, true, and I would not speak slightingly of them, but they do try one’s patience; here is the wind failing, and we all ready to hoist sail,” returned the captain with another growl, a glance at the sky, and a frown at his vessel, everything about which betokened readiness for instant departure. The crew—partly composed of slaves—were seated at the oars; the fighting men and seamen were all on board arranging their shields round the vessel’s sides, and the great sail was cast loose ready to hoist as soon as the mouth of the harbour should be cleared.
Just then a band of young men issued from the town, and the captain’s good humour was restored as they hurried towards him. They seemed to be much excited, and talked in loud tones as they advanced, their manners and costumes indicating that they belonged to the upper ranks of society.
One of the band, a fair youth, towered, like Saul, head and shoulders above his fellows. Another, of dark complexion, handsome features, and elegant, active frame, hurried forward to salute the captain.