At
last they recognised Hamilcar's trireme.
It advanced in fierce and haughty fashion, cleaving the foam around it,
the lateen-yard quite square and the sail bulging down the whole length
of the mast; its gigantic oars kept time as they beat the water;
every now and then the extremity of the keel, which was shaped like a
plough-share, would appear, and the ivory-headed horse, rearing both
its feet beneath the spur which terminated the prow, would seem to be
speeding over the plains of the sea.
As it rounded the promontory the wind ceased, the sail fell, and a man
was seen standing bareheaded beside the pilot. It was he, Hamilcar, the
Suffet! About his sides he wore gleaming sheets of steel; a red cloak,
fastened to his shoulders, left his arms visible; two pearls of great
length hung from his ears, and his black, bushy beard rested on his
breast.
The galley, however, tossing amid the rocks, was proceeding along
the side of the mole, and the crowd followed it on the flag-stones,
shouting:
"Greeting! blessing! Eye of Khamon! ah! deliver us! 'Tis the fault of
the rich! they want to put you to death! Take care of yourself, Barca!"
He made no reply, as if the loud clamour of oceans and battles had
completely deafened him. But when he was below the staircase leading
down from the Acropolis, Hamilcar raised his head, and looked with
folded arms upon the temple of Eschmoun.
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