"Take the helm, master, and keep her head straight. Humphrey, fetch down the poet. He and I will mount the first watch to-night. Maiden, do you get what rest you may, ere your turn comes in the morning." "Ay, ay, my captain," said she cheerily, and went. "Humphrey," said Ludar, calling me back, when she had gone, "do you wonder that I love that maiden?" "I do not," said I. "Is she you love as fair, as brave, as noble?" "She is," I answered, "every whit as fair, every whit as brave, every whit as noble." "Then why," he asked, looking hard at me, "are you sad when you speak of her?" "Alas," said I, "she loves me not. Ludar, talk not to me of her; I will go fetch the poet." The poor fellow was by this time well-nigh at the end of his patience. For, though he had fixed himself cunningly in the rigging of the foremast, seating himself on the royal yard, and hugging the mast lovingly with his arms and legs, he found himself unable to budge, or even see what was going on below, by reason of the dizziness which afflicted him. How he had got up so far, and managed to cut the ropes behind him, he never could explain. But a man will do desperate feats for his life's sake. It was no light task to dislodge him. With my maimed arm I could not haul myself up the rigging even to the lower top-yard, much less carry up to him his dangling ladder. All I could do was to hail him and bid him be of good cheer till we had him down. "Cheer," he cried, "cometh not in a voice from the void, neither is there help in empty breath. Come up, for I am weary of my perch; and verily, if the mountain come not to Mahomet, the prophet must abase himself to the mountain. In short, my man, I am near tumbling." "Hold on," cried I. "I shall fetch help and all will be safe." "Oh, that the giants would pile Pelion on Ossa and get me out of this heaven!" I heard him say. Methought, however, the fellow could not yet be in desperate straits to talk thus. At last the seaman scrambled up and fetched him down, not without many protestations and caveats by the way. Once down, however, he shook his fluttered plumes, and crowed like any chanticleer. "_Facilis descensus Averni_, as our Maro hath it. As the muse droppeth from the heights, and the golden shower descendeth, so visit I once more the Arcadian plains. Which remindeth me, where is my Danae, and how fareth she? Apprise her, I pray you, of my return. And, by the way," added he, puffing himself valiantly, "where is the varlet that late sought my life. He and I must settle scores before this night be an hour older. Fetch him hither and by my--"