Or had Poseidon
carried him? At any rate, the great oars of the galley were flying. He
could hear every rower groan as he pulled at his oar. The sails, too,
were spread. The master himself stood at the helm. His face was one
great frown. The boat was flung up and down like a ball. Then fell
darkness blacker than night.
"Who can steer without sun or stars?" thought the boy.
Then he remembered the look on his master's face as he stood at the
tiller. Such a look Ariston had painted on Herakles' face as he
strangled the lion.
"He will get us out," thought the slave.
For an hour the swift ship fought with the waves. The oarsmen were
rowing for their lives. The master's arm was strong, and his heart was
not for a minute afraid. The wind was helping. At last they reached calm
waters.
"Thanks be to the gods!" cried Tetreius. "We are out of that boiling
pot."
At his words fire shot out of the mountain. It glowed red in the dusty
air. It flung great red arms across the sky after the ship. Every man
and spar and oar on the vessel seemed burning in its light. Then the
fire died, and thick darkness swallowed everything.
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