The Goth was out of reach before the enemy’s crew fully understood their disaster. The harpoons and lances they flung after him missed their mark, and he got on board unhurt. Chrysostomus, the steersman, had at the same time handled his ship very cleverly. The Batavia was now in a position, on her part, to run the foe through the flank with her iron-shod beak so effectually, that he would never have made his way home, for with a loose rudder the Charybdis was of course defenceless. Cinna, however, would not hear of this. He would have fought for freedom--he would not fight for revenge. Three blows of the hammer, the Batavia’s oars dipped deeply in the waves and she rode majestically away to the westward. The Charybdis did not even attempt to chase her. The soldier and the captain of the vessel foamed with rage. They had been so sure of their prey, and it had slipped through their fingers when they thought they held it fast. It was their confidence, which had led to their disappointment. Cornelius Cinna leaned thoughtfully over the taffrail, gazing at the Charybdis as she diminished to a speck, for she had taken a homeward course to Antium. Strange thoughts filled his brain. Was it so easy as this, to make a proud and well-armed vessel incapably helpless? One bold stroke, and she had become unmanageable--was it not the same perhaps with the vessel of State?[76] Could it be so difficult to deal a blow at that ship’s rudder, to board the drifting barque and to pull it at last into the haven of freedom and peace, there to be freshly fitted and manned for a happier voyage in the future? Magus, of course, was the hero of the hour. He was loaded with thanks and praises, his master embraced him warmly, and gifts were showered upon him; but the honest fellow seemed hardly to understand why so much was made of his achievement. What was the difference, whether he hung over a precipice on some northern shore to gather a rare plant from the rock, or cut his way through the Rugian forests to cast a net over the horns of the aurochs, or climbed to the top-most branches of a primeval oak, or--as he had just done--swam a few paces to thwart a foe? It was all instinctive prompting, nothing meritorious or remarkable. The rowers set to work with a will, notwithstanding that the imperial trireme was now disabled. The coast was still too close for them to feel sure whence or by whom the pursuit might not be taken up.