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.