All night the galley swept on before the storm.  The light on the other boat had disappeared soon after darkness had set in.  Half the soldiers and crew by turns were kept at work baling out the water which found its way over the sides, and several times so heavily did the seas break into her that all thought that she was lost.  However, when morning broke she was still afloat.  The wind had hardly shifted a point since it had begun to blow, and the pilot told Malchus that they must be very near to the coast of Sardinia.  As the light brightened every eye was fixed ahead over the waste of angry foaming water.  Presently the pilot, who was standing next to Malchus, grasped his arm.

“There is the land,” he cried, “dead before us.”

Not until a few minutes later could Malchus make out the faint outline through the driving mist.  It was a lofty pile of rock standing by itself.

“It is an island!” he exclaimed.

“It is Caralis,” the pilot replied; “I know its outline well; we are already in the bay.  Look to the right, you can make out the outline of the cliffs at its mouth, we have passed it already.  You do not see the shore ahead because the rock on which Caralis stands rises from a level plain, and to the left a lagoon extends for a long way in; it is there that the Roman galleys ride.  The gods have brought us to the only spot along the coast where we could approach it with a hope of safety.”

“There is not much to rejoice at,” Malchus said; “we may escape the sea, but only to be made prisoners by the Romans.”

“Nay, Malchus, the alternative is not so bad,” a young officer who was standing next to him said.  “Hannibal has thousands of Roman prisoners in his hands, and we may well hope to be exchanged.  After the last twelve hours any place on shore, even a Roman prison, is an elysium compared to the sea.”

The outline of the coast was now clearly visible.  The great rock of Caralis, now known as Cagliari, rose dark and threatening, the low shores of the bay on either side were marked by a band of white foam, while to the left of the rock was the broad lagoon, dotted with the black hulls of a number of ships and galleys rolling and tossing heavily, for as the wind blew straight into the bay the lagoon was covered with short, angry waves.

The pilot now ordered the oars to be got out.  The entrance to the lagoon was wide, but it was only in the middle that the channel was deep, and on either side of this long breakwaters of stone were run out from the shore, to afford a shelter to the shipping within.  The sea was so rough that it was found impossible to use the oars, and they were again laid in and a small sail was hoisted.  This enabled the head to be laid towards the entrance of the lagoon.  For a time it was doubtful whether the galley could make it, but she succeeded in doing so, and then ran straight on towards the upper end of the harbour.