tant harbour of
Carthage.

Seen from afar it was a stately and beautiful vessel, deep red in
colour, double-banked with scarlet oars, its broad, flapping sail
stained with Tyrian purple, its bulwarks gleaming with brass work. A
brazen, three-pronged ram projected in front, and a high golden figure
of Baal, the God of the Ph[oe]nicians, children of Canaan, shone upon
the after-deck. From the single high mast above the huge sail streamed
the tiger-striped flag of Carthage. So, like some stately scarlet bird,
with golden beak and wings of purple, she swam upon the face of the
waters--a thing of might and of beauty as seen from the distant shore.

But approach and look at her now! What are these dark streaks which foul
her white decks and dapple her brazen shields? Why do the long red oars
move out of time, irregular, convulsive? Why are some missing from the
staring portholes, some snapped with jagged, yellow edges, some trailing
inert against the sides? Why are two prongs of the brazen ram twisted
and broken? See, even the high image of Baal is battered and disfigured!
By every sign this ship has passed through some grievous trial, some day
of terror, which has left its heavy marks upon her.

And now stand upon the deck itself, and see more closely the men who man
her! There are two decks forward and aft, while in the open waist are
the double banks of seats, above and below, where the rowers, two to an
oar, tug and bend at their endless task. Down the centre is a narrow
platform, along which pace a line of warders, lash in hand, who cut
cruelly at the slave who pauses, be it only for an instant, to sweep the
sweat from his dripping brow. But these slaves--look at them! Some are
captured Romans, some Sicilians, many black Libyans, but all are in the
last exhaustion, their weary eyelids drooped over their eyes, their lips
thick with black crusts, and pink with bloody froth, their arms and
backs moving mechanically to the hoarse chant of the overseer. Their
bodies of all tints from ivory to jet, are stripped to the waist, and
every glistening back shows the angry stripes of the warders. But it is
not from these that the blood comes which reddens the seats and tints
the salt water washing beneath their manacled feet. Great gaping wounds,
the marks of sword slash and spear stab, show crimson upon their naked
chests and shoulders, while many lie huddled and senseless athwart the
benches, careless for ever of the whips which