d laugh all their praise,
To the bluff seagods kind;
Whilst deep down below,
Where no storm blasts may go,
On their care-charming trumpets
The loud Tritons blow,
The loud Tritons blow."

Bravely thus for a while, but at last Themistocles, watching from the poop
with eyes that nothing evaded, saw how here and there the dip of the
blades was weakening, here and there a breast was heaving rapidly, a mouth
was panting for air.

"The relief," he ordered. And the spare rowers ran gladly to the places of
those who seemed the weariest. Only a partial respite. Fifty
supernumeraries were a poor stop-gap for the one hundred and seventy. Only
the weakest could be relieved, and even those wept and pled to continue at
the benches a little longer. The thunderous threat of Ameinias, that he
who refused a proffered relief must stand all day by the mast with an iron
anchor on his shoulder, alone sufficed to make the malcontents give place.
Yet after a little while the singing died. Breath was too precious to
waste. It was mockery to troll of "AEolus's winds" whilst the sea was one
motionless mirror of gray. The monotonous "beat," "beat" of the
_keleustes's_ hammer, and the creaking of the oars in their leathered
holes alone broke the stillness that reigned through the length of the
trireme. The penteconter and her prize had long since faded below the
horizon. With almost wistful eyes men watched the islets as they glided
past one after another, Thera now, then Ios, and presently the greater
Paros and Naxos lay before them. They relieved oars whenever possible. The
supernumeraries needed no urging after their scanty rest to spring to the
place of him who was fainting, but hardly any man spoke a word.

The first time the relief went in Glaucon had stepped forward.

"I am strong. I am able to pull an oar," he had cried almost angrily when
Themistocles laid his hand upon him, but the admiral would have none of
it.

"You shall not. Sooner will I go on to the bench myself. You have been
through the gates of Tartarus these last days, and need all your strength.
Are you not the Isthmionices,--the swiftest runner in Hellas?"

Then Glaucon had stepped back and said no more. He knew now for what
Themistocles reserved him,--that after the _Nausicaae_ made land he must
run, as never man ran before across wide Boeotia to bear the tidings to
Pausanias.

They were betwixt Paros and Naxos at last. Wine and barley cakes soaked in