"The men are
drinking themselves senseless. I will try what I can do."
He felt the wall till he found that Timokles' chain was held, not by
a hook, but a staple. It was only after long labor with his knife
around this staple that it shook a little in its hold on the wall.
Then Heraklas seized the staple, and swung his whole weight upon it,
and dug his knife into the wall like a madman. He worked with
perspiration standing on his forehead, his breath coming in pants.
Furiously, with all his strength, he dug and pulled till the staple
yielded, and he fell down among the prisoners. But the drunken men
on deck did not hear.
Heraklas labored on, till at last he threw his arms about his
brother.
"Stand up, my Timokles," he begged. "See if thou art not free!"
Timokles arose. Nothing hindered him.
"O Heraklas!" he whispered, trembling with excitement.
"Sit down again and rest, till I help our brethren, also," whispered
his brother.
But though Heraklas toiled with all his remaining strength, he
succeeded in releasing but one other Christian.
"Leave us," urged the others.
"O my brethren," answered Heraklas with a sob, "would that I could
save you!"
But the six Christians answered steadily, "Why weepest thou,
brother? We but go to our Father's house before thee."
Then he whose feet Heraklas had released, thanked him most heartily,
and all said farewell.
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