Yet only half our work was done. The enemy were now fully awake, and no man could despise Roman preparation. I ordered a fire galley to run in between the leading ships; but she was caught half-way by a chain, and turned round, scattering flame among ourselves. The boats were then lowered, and our most desperate fellows sent to cut out or board. But the crowded decks drove them back, and the Roman pike was an over-match for our short falchions. For a while we were forced to content ourselves with the distant exchange of lances and arrows. The affair now became critical. The enemy were still three times our force; they were unmooring, and our only chance of destroying them was at anchor. I called the crew forward and proposed that we should run the galley close on the prefect’s ship, set them both on fire, and in the confusion carry the remaining vessels. But sailors, if as bold, are as capricious as their element. Our partial repulse had already disheartened them. I was met by clamors for the captain. The clamors rose into open charges that I had, to get the command, thrown him overboard. I was alone. Jubal, worn out with fatigue and illness, was lying at my feet, more requiring defense than able to afford it. The crowd was growing furious against the stranger. I felt that all depended on the moment, and leaped from the poop into the midst of the mutineers. “Fools,” I exclaimed, “what could I get by making away with your captain? I have no wish for your command. I have no want of your help. I disdain you: bold as lions over the table; tame as sheep on the deck; I leave you to be butchered by the Romans. Let the brave follow me, if such there be among you.” [Sidenote: The Monarch of a War Galley] A shallop that had just returned with the defeated boarders, lay by the galley’s side. I seized a torch. Eight or ten, roused by my taunts, followed me into the boat. We pulled right for the Roman center. Every man had a torch in one hand and an oar in the other. We shot along the waters, a flying mass of flame; and while both fleets were gazing on us in astonishment, rushed under the stern of the commander’s trireme. The fire soon rolled up her tarry sides and ran along the cordage. But the defense was desperate, and lances rained upon us. Half of us were disabled in the first discharge; the shallop was battered with huge stones, and I felt that she was sinking. “One trial more, brave comrades, one glorious trial more! The boat must go down, and unless we would go along with it, we must board.”