He steps inside the cabin, spotting funny windows with four round brass screws surmounted by curved turning handles. He places a hand on the fixture, as if to open it, but he’s blocked by a slave who screams, “The ocean is only three feet below us!”
Thick glass distorts the casting off from shore, as thick ropes are taken off the ship’s iron bollards and lowered by thinner ropes retrieved by dockyard workers. Oars splash in concentrated unison. The gap between ship and shore widens, the legion band becomes fainter and fainter, the crowds smaller and smaller, soon to disappear completely.