An endless, many-headed crowd of people besieged the narrow end of
Lochias on the landward side and the harbor wharves below, where some
stores and shipyards were in flames. Boats innumerable were crowded
round the little peninsula. An attempt was being made, with much
shouting, and by the combined exertions of an immense number of men, to
get the larger ships afloat which lay at anchor close to the quay of the
King's harbor and to place them in security. Every thing far and wide
was lighted up as brightly as by day, but with a ruddier and more
restless light. The north-east breeze fanned the fire, aggravating the
labors of the men who were endeavoring to extinguish it and snatching
flakes of flame off every burning mass. Each blazing storehouse was a
gigantic torch throwing a broad glare into the darkness of the night.
The white marble of the tallest beacon tower in the world, on the island
of Pharos, reflected a rosy hue, but its far gleaming light shone pale
and colorless. The dark hulls of the larger ships and the flotilla of
boats in the background were afloat in a fiery sea, and the still water
under the shore mirrored the illumination in which the whole of Lochias
was wrapped.

Balbilla could not tire of admiring this varying scene, in which the most
gorgeous hues vied with each other and the intensest light contrasted
with the deepest shadows. And she had ample time to dwell on the
marvellous picture before her eyes, for her chariot could only proceed
slowly, and at a point where the street led up from the King's harbor to
the palace, lictors stood in her way and declared positively that any
farther advance was out of the question. The horses, much scared by the
glare of the fire and the crowd that pressed round them, could hardly be
controlled, first rearing and then kicking at the front board of the
chariot. The charioteer declared he could no longer be answerable. The