CHAPTER THE ONE HUNDRED AND FOURTEENTH. We were still discussing this and other matters when the sea grew rough, and clouds, gathering from every quarter, obscured with darkness the light of day. The panic-stricken sailors ran to their stations and took in sail before the squall was upon them, but the gale did not drive the waves in any one direction and the helmsman lost his bearings and did not know what course to steer. At one moment the wind would set towards Sicily, but the next, the North Wind, prevailing on the Italian coast, would drive the unlucky vessel hither and yon; and, what was more dangerous than all the rain-squalls, a pall of such black density blotted out the light that the helmsman could not even see as far forward as the bow. At last, as the savage fury of the sea grew more malignant, the trembling Lycas stretched out his hands to me imploringly. “Save us from destruction, Encolpius,” he shouted; ‘‘restore that sacred robe and holy rattle to the ship! Be merciful, for heaven’s sake, just as you used to be!” He was still shouting when a wind-squall swept him into the sea; the raging elements whirled him around and around in a terrible maelstrom and sucked him down. Tryphæna, on the other hand, was seized by her faithful servants, placed in a skiff, along with the greater part of her belongings, and saved from certain death. Embracing Giton, I wept aloud: “Did we deserve this from the gods,” I cried, “to be united only in death? No! Malignant fortune grudges even that. Look! In an instant the waves will capsize the ship! Think! In an instant the sea will sever this lover’s embrace! If you ever loved Encolpius truly, kiss him while yet you may and snatch this last delight from impending dissolution!” Even as I was speaking, Giton removed his garment and, creeping beneath my tunic, he stuck out his head to
The Rescue of Tryphæna
be kissed; then, fearing some more spiteful wave might separate us as we clung together, he passed his belt around us both. “If nothing else,” he cried, “the sea will at least bear us longer, joined together, and if, in pity, it casts us up upon the same shore, some passerby may pile some stones over us, out of common human kindness, or the last rites will be performed by the drifting sand, in spite of the angry waves.” I submit to this last bond and, as though I were laid out upon my death-bed, await an end no longer dreaded. Meanwhile, accomplishing the decrees of the Fates, the storm stripped the ship of all that was left; no mast, no helm, not a rope nor an oar remained on board her; she was only a derelict, heavy and water-logged, drifting before the waves. Some fishermen hastily put off in their little boats to salvage their booty, but, seeing men, alive and ready to defend their property, they changed their predatory designs into offers of help.
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