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 Menodorus, apprehending that this rising storm would increase in violence, moved farther seaward and rode at anchor where, on account of the depth of water, the waves were less boisterous; and even here he had recourse to hard rowing to avoid being driven ashore. Some of the others followed his example, but most of them, thinking that the wind would soon subside, as it usually did in the springtime, moored themselves with anchors on either side, landward and seaward, and thrust out poles to prevent collisions with each other. As the wind grew more violent everything was thrown into confusion. The ships collided, broke their anchors, and were upset on the shore one after another. Cries of alarm and groans of pain were mingled together, and exhortations that fell upon deaf ears. Orders could not be heard. There was no distinction between pilot and common sailor. Knowledge and authority were alike unavailing. The same destruction awaited those in the ships and those who fell overboard, the latter being crushed by wind, waves, and floating timber. The sea was full of sails, spars, and men, living and dead. Those who sought to escape by swimming to land were dashed against the rocks by the surf. When the convulsion seized the water,1 as is usual in that strait, they were terrified, being unaccustomed to it, and then their vessels were whirled around and dashed against each other worse than ever. As night came on the wind increased in fury, so that they perished no longer in the light but in the darkness.
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