“Surely you are not afraid,” said Arkal.
“Afraid!” exclaimed Maikar, with a sarcastic laugh. “No, captain, but I’m sorry to part with you, because you’ve been a good captain to me.”
“An’ I bear no ill-will to you, Bladud, though you did squeeze most of the life out of me once. Farewell, both.”
As he spoke the little man seized an oar, leaped overboard, and, after some trouble in steadying himself and pointing the oar in the right direction, struck out for the shore.
It was a long way off, and often, while this scene was being enacted, was heard the bubbling cry of men whose powers were failing them. Some were carried by currents against a point to the westward and, apparently, dashed against the rocks. Others sank before half the distance had been traversed.
Bladud and the captain looked at each other when Maikar had left them.
“Can you swim?” asked the captain. “Like a duck,” returned the prince, “and I can help you if required.”
“I swim like a fish,” returned the captain, “but it is hard to part from my Penelope! She has never failed me till now, and as this venture contains all my goods, I am a ruined man.”
“But your life still remains,” said the prince. “Be of good cheer, captain. A stout man can make his fortune more than once. Come, let us go.”
A loud cry from Maikar at that moment hastened their deliberations.