Chapter X: Part 10

Barbarossa was terrified at the successes of Charles V. With the Gouletta he lost eighty-seven galleys, and more than three hundred pieces of bronze ordnance, inclosed in that citadel. He held a council with the Turks, and pointed out to them the dangers to which they were exposed. They had two enemies equally to fear,--the inhabitants and the Arabs, who detested their domination; the twenty-five thousand Christian slaves in Tunis must necessarily be expected to revolt, and open the gates to the Spaniards. With regard to these slaves, he declared he was resolved to put them all to death. Sinan the Jew represented to Barbarossa that he would render himself odious to all nations; that he would lose the ransom of the most considerable of the slaves, and that he must not have recourse to such a cruel measure till the last extremity. Barbarossa consented to suspend the horrible project he had formed; but he had the slaves loaded with fresh chains, shut them up in the castle, and placed under them a number of barrels of gunpowder. He passed the rest of the night in an agony of fear and hope, and in expectation of the day which was to decide his fate. He left Tunis the next morning, at the head of eighty thousand men, and encamped in a plain a full league from the city. The two armies were soon in face of each other. The Arabs at first attacked the Christians with great spirit; but scarcely had they sustained the first discharge of the artillery, than they broke their ranks, and drew with them the Moors, and even the Turks. Barbarossa did his utmost to rally them, but they were deaf to his voice, and only took counsel of the terror with which they were seized. Barbarossa, trembling with rage, sounded a retreat, rallied the fugitives, and passed the night under arms beneath the walls of the city. Whilst he was deliberating if he should go again and offer battle to the Christians, or shut himself up in Tunis, some Turks came to inform him that the slaves had broken their chains, and had made themselves masters of the castle. Barbarossa hastened thither, and was met by musket-shots and a shower of stones. Transported with fury, he cried out that all was lost, as the slaves were masters of the castle and of his treasures. He immediately left Tunis at the head of a body of Turks, and contrived to place himself in safety.

The emperor was ignorant of this revolution; on approaching Tunis, he was informed of it by some Moors. In an instant the imperialists dispersed themselves throughout the city, massacred all who came in their way, carried off all the women and children that were reserved for slavery, and abandoned themselves to all the excesses which accompany cruelty, avarice, and lubricity. The booty was so considerable, that there was not a single soldier who did not make his fortune. It is said that more than two hundred thousand persons perished in the sack of this unfortunate city; some expired under the sword of the conqueror; others, thinking to avoid death by flight, met with it in the burning sands of the deserts, where they died consumed by heat and thirst.

The emperor, master of Tunis, re-established Muley-Hassan on his throne; but that unfortunate prince did not enjoy it long. Muly Hameda, his eldest son, tore the diadem from his head; Hameda himself was deposed by his uncle Abdou-melek, afterwards recalled by his subjects. After having gone through these various changes, he reigned peaceably till the year 1570, when Ulachali, dey of Algiers, one of the successors of Barbarossa, took possession of the kingdom of Tunis, which became nothing but a nest of pirates.

CARTHAGENA.

A.C. 216.

The younger Scipio, charged with the prosecution of the war in Spain, after the death of his father and his uncle, evinced, from the early age of twenty-four, the wisdom and prudence of a consummate captain. Anxious to weaken Carthage, he undertook the siege of Carthagena, one of its most important colonies. This strong city served the Carthaginians at once as magazine, arsenal, and entrepôt; they kept within its walls the hostages which answered for the fidelity of Spain. Scipio made all his preparations during the winter; in the spring, he blockaded Carthagena with his fleet, at the same time that he invested it by land. On the day following, the armies, both by land and sea, commenced hostilities. Scipio ordered his soldiers to mount to the assault; and they executed his orders with ardour and celerity. Mago, the brother of Hannibal, who commanded in the place, had but a thousand soldiers, and thought himself lost. He armed the citizens, picked out two thousand of the best, and made a sortie. Victory was for a long time doubtful; but the Carthaginians were driven back within their walls. This first defeat would have produced the most complete discouragement in Carthagena, if the Romans had not been forced, by the height of the walls, to abandon the escalade and sound a retreat. This untoward circumstance restored hopes of succour to the besieged; but they were not unacquainted with the activity of Scipio. Whilst the sea was at ebb, he placed five hundred men with ladders along the lake where the walls of Carthagena were lowest; he surrounded these walls with fresh troops, and exhorted them to fight like Romans. The ladders were applied, and the soldiers shortly filled the whole extent of the walls. The besieged, although astonished, kept a good face everywhere, and defended themselves with courage. The sea retired, and left the lake everywhere fordable. This phenomenon seemed a marvel to the Romans; they hastened to climb the walls of Carthagena, destitute on that point of defenders, and penetrated into the city without meeting an obstacle. The confused Carthaginians rushed to the citadel, and the Romans entered with them. Mago and his troops surrendered to Scipio, and the city was given up to pillage. During this scene of horror, a young person of exquisite beauty was brought to Scipio; her graces attracted the eyes and admiration of all who were present. Scipio inquired what were her origin and family; and he learnt that she was affianced to Allucius, prince of the Celtiberians, who loved her exceedingly.

He immediately sent for that prince, together with the parents of the young beauty. As soon as Allucius arrived, Scipio took him on one side, and said: “We are both young; which circumstance enables me to speak more freely to you. My people who brought your affianced wife to me, told me that you loved her tenderly; and her great beauty leaves me no room to doubt that you do. Thereupon, reflecting that if, like you, I were about to form an engagement, and were not entirely occupied with the affairs of my country, I should wish that so honourable and legitimate a purpose should find favour; and I am extremely happy in the present conjuncture, to be able to render you such a service. She whom you are about to espouse has been among us as if she had been in the house of her father and mother; I have preserved her so as to make her a present worthy of you and of me. The only gratitude I require for this inestimable gift is, that you should become the friend of the Roman people. If you deem me a man of worth, if I have appeared so to the people of this province, be assured that there are in Rome many far better than I, and that there does not exist upon the earth a nation you ought more to dread as an enemy or court as a friend than mine.” Allucius, penetrated with joy and gratitude, kissed the hands of Scipio, and implored the gods to bless him for such purity and kindness. Scipio then sent for the parents of the lady, who had brought a large sum of money for her ransom. When they found that he had restored her without a ransom, they conjured him to accept of that sum as a present, and declared that that fresh favour would heighten their joy and satisfy their gratitude. Scipio could not resist their earnest entreaties: he accepted the gift, and ordered it to be laid at his feet. Then, addressing Allucius, he said: “I add this sum to the dowry you are to receive of your father-in-law, and beg you to accept it as a nuptial present.” The young prince, charmed with the virtue and generosity of Scipio, published throughout his province the praises of so magnanimous a conqueror. He said that a young hero had come into Spain, who resembled the gods; for he subdued all, more by the splendour of his virtues and his benefits, than by the power of his arms. Having made levies in the country he governed, he returned to Scipio some days after, with fourteen hundred horsemen. To render the evidence of his gratitude more durable, Allucius caused the noble action of Scipio to be inscribed upon a silver shield, and presented it to him,--a gift more glorious than any triumph!

UTICA.

A.C. 203.

What immortality do great men confer upon places by noble actions! A vessel sailing along the northern coasts of Africa, the curious traveller asks the name of a port, and he is told it is Biserta. The information creates no sensation, till, turning to his hand-book, he finds that that which is now Biserta, was Utica! Then, mark the change! Scipio, Cato, yea, even Joseph Addison, if he be an Englishman, all rush upon his mind at once, and he would stop the ship in her course, if it were possible, to allow him to contemplate at leisure a spot rendered sacred by heroism, patriotism, and genius!

Scipio Africanus having entered upon the country dominated over by the Carthaginians, turned all his attention towards Utica, with the purpose of making a place of arms of it advantageous to his ulterior plans; he attacked it at once, both by land and sea. Carthage exerted itself earnestly to save a city which might be said to protect the capital of its empire. Asdrubal raised a numerous body of troops, and Syphax, king of Numidia, fixed his camp within sight of that of the Roman general. The rival of Rome flattered itself with the hope of soon putting Scipio to flight; but that skilful captain quickly dispersed these smiling expectations. He at once conceived the great project of burning both camps; and this was the happy manner in which he executed it. He amused Syphax with proposals for an accommodation. A crowd of Roman officers disguised as slaves went with the deputies into the enemy’s camps, to observe the entrances and the places of issue, and to ascertain what sort of watch was kept day and night. After having taken measures and precautions according to the information thus gained, he silently attacked the intrenchments of the king of Numidia, in the obscurity of the night, and the soldiers set fire to the barracks, covered with mats, reeds, and dry wood. The whole camp appeared to be in a blaze; and the Numidians and Carthaginians, thinking the fire the effect of accident, were more intent at first upon extinguishing it than upon defending themselves. Scipio attacked the lines of Asdrubal, whilst the flames were consuming those of Syphax. The enemies who were occupied in suppressing the fire, were put to the sword; forty thousand men were left dead upon the spot, and seven thousand were reserved for slavery. The news of this defeat spread consternation amongst the Carthaginians. Asdrubal and Syphax raised fresh troops, whilst the Roman general pressed the siege of Utica. This second army obliged him to suspend his attacks; but another victory, more glorious than the first, maintained the reputation of the Roman general. Carthage, in despair, recalled Hannibal,--its only and last resource. The arrival of this great man entirely suspended the siege of Utica; but his defeat by Scipio terminated the war.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 46.

Cæsar, conqueror at Thapsus, pursued Scipio into Utica, and invested it. This city would not have fallen an easy conquest, if Cato, who had shut himself up in it, together with most of the senators opposed to tyranny, had found in all hearts a courage and a patriotism equal to his own. In vain this noble Roman endeavoured to awaken in those around him the sublime sentiments which had animated the early citizens of Rome; in vain he went through the streets to calm the alarms of the people,--the dread of the conqueror closed all ears against his exhortations: love of country had given place to love of life. Despairing then of defending Rome by defending Utica, he gave his whole care to the preservation of the senators, the companions of his misfortunes, whom the inhabitants wished to give up to Cæsar. When he had taken all the necessary precautions, he prepared to terminate his days in a manner worthy of himself. Some of his friends exhorted him to have recourse to the clemency of the dictator. “He who is conquered,” said he, “may servilely flatter the hand which has subdued him. Cato is invincible; he acknowledges neither master nor conqueror.” He then assembled his friends, and, after a long conversation upon the state of affairs, he strictly forbade his son ever to take any part in the government. “You cannot do so,” said he, “in a manner worthy of the name you bear; and to do it in any other way, would be to cover yourself with eternal ignominy.” He then took a bath, and whilst in it, remembered Statilius, his friend, who had refused to escape with the other senators. He had charged the philosopher Apollonius to persuade him to save himself. “Have you succeeded with Statilius,” said he,--“can he have gone without bidding me farewell?” “He! no,” replied the philosopher; “he is intractable: he declares he will positively remain here, and imitate you in everything.” “It will soon,” replied Cato, with a smile, “be seen how that will be.” After his bath, he gave a magnificent banquet to all his friends and the magistrates of Utica. They sat long at table, and the conversation was animated, lively, and learned, chiefly turning upon points of moral philosophy. Demetrius, a Peripatetic philosopher, undertook to refute, after the principles of his sect, the two Stoic paradoxes: “The wise alone are free; all the vicious are slaves.” But Cato replied to him with a fire, a vehemence, and in a tone of voice which betrayed his intentions, and changed the suspicions his friends had entertained into certainty. All at once, a dismal silence prevailed; sadness was painted in every countenance, and no one durst venture to raise his tear-dewed eyes towards Cato. This tender friend perceived the effect his rigid philosophy had produced; he changed the subject, and, to drive away melancholy ideas, he spoke of those who had just left them, showing the anxious inquietude he experienced respecting them. After the repast, he walked about for some time, according to his usual custom, and then retired to his apartment. There he spoke more affectionately than he had before done, to his son and his friends, which revived and strengthened the idea they had conceived of his determination. When he went into his inner chamber, he threw himself upon the bed, and meditated for a long time upon Plato’s dialogue on the immortality of the soul. He had already read a considerable part of it, when, turning his eyes upon his bolster, he perceived that his sword was not in its customary place; his son had had it removed whilst they were at supper. Cato called to a slave, and asked him what had become of his sword. The slave made no answer, and his master resumed his reading. A few minutes after; he made the same question, without any eagerness or warmth, but like a man who has no particular desire. At last, when he had finished his reading, seeing that nobody seemed disposed to obey him, he called all his slaves, one after the other, and in the tone of a master, said that he insisted upon having his sword; he even went so far as to give one of them so violent a blow, that he made his hand bloody. “What!” cried he, indignantly, “what! are my son and my people conspiring to deliver me up to my enemy, without arms and without defence?” At this moment, his son, coming into the apartment with his friends, burst into tears. He threw himself at his feet, he embraced his knees, and conjured him to depart from his purpose. Cato, angry at seeing his son in such an attitude of supplication, and darting at him glances denoting displeasure,--“Since when,” cried he, “am I fallen into imbecility, to make it necessary for my son to be my curator? I am treated like an insane man; I am not allowed to dispose of my own person; I am to be disarmed too! Brave and generous son, why do you not chain up your father till Cæsar arrives, so that that enemy of his country may find him destitute of defence? Do I stand in need of a sword, if I wished to deprive myself of life? Could I not hold my breath? could I not dash my head against the wall? If a man really wish for death, there are a thousand ways of obtaining it.” A young slave then brought him back his sword. Cato drew it, examined it, and finding that the point was quite straight and sharp, he exclaimed,--“Now, then, I am my own master.” He laid down his sword, took up his book, and read it through again from beginning to end; he then fell into so profound a sleep, that the anxious friends who listened at the door heard him snore; but the fatal moment approached. Cato called for his freed-man, and asked him if all was quiet; and when he was assured that it was, he threw himself upon the bed as if to take his repose for the night; but the moment he was left alone, he plunged the sword into his body a little below the breast. The blow did not kill him at once; he struggled a little, and fell off the bed on to the ground. At the noise of his fall, his people rushed in, and, as he still breathed, his surgeon bound up the wound. But the instant he recovered his senses, he tore away the bandages, and with them dragged out his bowels, and expired. “Oh, Cato!” cried Cæsar, when he heard of his noble end, “I envy thee the glory of thy death, since thou hast envied me that of sparing thy life.” And he entered triumphantly into Utica.

Without entering into the question of suicide in general, or that which would lead to a much longer digression than we can afford,--the strange mania for self-destruction which possessed the Romans of this age,--we cannot help observing that this celebrated death of Cato reads more like a dramatic scene than a reality. Why, if his son and his friends had been in earnest, when they knew of his intention, they ought to have bound him, hand and foot, and never have left him alone a minute. The man’s mind was weakened with trouble, and he ought to have been treated like a maniac. Such is the modern, or common sense view of the case; but the noblest of the Romans thought far otherwise. Stoicism, the favourite philosophy of the day, taught them to despise life without honour and freedom; and there must have been something exalted in this creed, for, whilst we constantly find great public men, for public reasons, laying violent hands upon themselves, we do not learn that the practice extended to persons affected by disappointed passions, or suffering under private calamities. We called it a mania--when we glance at this one point of history, it can be called nothing else: Cato, Brutus, Cassius, Antony, Cleopatra, Porcia, all playing in one short scene of the great drama; all contemporaries, and acted upon, in some way, by each other, all destroyed themselves, and all without a common-sense reason for doing so.

ABYDOS.

A.C. 201.

We now come to a siege which, from being unconnected with any rise or fall of empires, or being made or resisted by any extraordinary personages, may be passed by without particular notice by many readers of history; and yet what horrors are crowded into this short scene; what a picture it presents for human nature to shudder at!

Philip, king of Macedon, father of Perseus, who proved last monarch of that country, was at war with the Rhodians. The inhabitants of Abydos made common cause with that commercial people, who often came to visit the shores of the Dardanelles. Philip was successful in his passage through Thrace and the Chersonesus, where many cities surrendered to his arms, but Abydos shut its gates against him, and prepared for a bold resistance. We need not, in our time, go into any description of the situation of this city: the East is now more familiar to the inhabitants of central England than Cornwall or the isles of Scotland. But Abydos was of more importance in the days of Philip than now; the Dardanelles may still be of consequence as keys to the straits, but this was then a wealthy commercial city and entrepôt. Nothing of what is usually practised in such warlike proceedings was omitted in this siege. No place was ever defended with more bravery; but this bravery, in the end, degenerated into brutality and fury. Confiding in their own strength, the Abydenians repulsed the first attacks of the Macedonians with the greatest vigour. On the side next the sea, the machines no sooner came forward than they were immediately either dismounted by the balistæ or consumed by fire. Even the ships on which they were mounted were in danger, and were saved with difficulty. On the land side they also defended themselves for some time with great courage, and did not despair even of defeating the enemy. But, finding that the outer wall was sapped, and that the Macedonians were carrying their mines under the inner one, they sent deputies to Philip, offering to surrender upon the following terms:--That such forces as had been sent to them by the Rhodians and King Attalus should return to their respective sovereigns, under his safe conduct; and that all free citizens should retire whithersoever they pleased, with the clothes they had then on. Philip answered coolly, that the Abydenians had only to choose whether they would surrender at discretion, or continue to defend themselves bravely. This report being made by the deputies, the besieged, in transports of despair, assembled to debate what was best to be done. They came to the following resolutions:--First, that the slaves should be all set free, to animate them to defend the city; secondly, that all the women should be shut up in the Temple of Diana, and all the children, with their nurses, in the Gymnasium; that they should bring into the great square all the gold and silver in the city, and carry all the rest of the valuable effects to the vessels of the Rhodians and the Cyzicenians. These resolutions having passed unanimously, another assembly was called, in which they chose fifty of the wisest and most ancient of the citizens, but who at the same time had vigour enough left to execute what might be determined on; and they were made to take an oath, in presence of all the inhabitants, that the instant they saw the enemy master of the inner wall, they would kill the women and children, set fire to the galleys laden with their effects, and throw into the sea all their gold and silver, which they had heaped together: then, sending for their priests, they took an oath either to conquer or die, sword in hand; and, after having sacrificed the victims, they obliged the priests and priestesses to pronounce before the altar the greatest curses on those who should break their oath. This being done, they left off countermining, and resolved, the instant the wall should fall, to fly to the breach, and to fight till the last. Accordingly, the inward wall tumbling down, the besieged, true to the oath they had taken, fought in the breach with such unparalleled bravery, that, though Philip had perpetually sustained with fresh soldiers those who had mounted to the assault, yet, when night separated the combatants, he was still doubtful with regard to the success of the siege. Such Abydenians as marched first to the breach, over heaps of slain, fought with fury, and not only made use of their swords and javelins, but after their arms were broken to pieces, or forced out of their hands, they rushed headlong upon the Macedonians, knocked some down, and broke the long spears of others, and with the pieces struck their faces and such parts of their bodies as were uncovered, till they made them absolutely despair of the event. When night put an end to the slaughter, the breach was quite covered with the dead bodies of the Abydenians; and those who had escaped were so overwhelmed with fatigue, and had received so many wounds, that they could hardly support themselves. Things being come to this dreadful extremity, two of the principal citizens, being unable to bring themselves to execute the awful task they had undertaken, and which now came before them as a horrid reality, agreed that, to save their wives and children, they should send to Philip by daybreak all their priests and priestesses, clothed in their pontifical habits, to implore his mercy, and open the gates to him. Accordingly, next morning, the city was surrendered to Philip, whilst the greatest part of the Abydenians who survived vented millions of imprecations against their two fellow-citizens, but more particularly against the priests and priestesses for delivering up to the enemy those whom themselves had devoted to death with the most solemn oaths. Philip marched into the city, and seized, without opposition, all the rich effects which the Abydenians had collected together. But now he beheld a spectacle which might have terrified even an ambitious monarch or a conqueror. Among these ill-fated citizens, whom despair had made furious and distracted, some were smothering their wives and children, and others stabbing them with their own hands; some were running after them to strangle them, others were plunging them into wells, whilst again others were precipitating them from the tops of houses; in a word, death appeared in all its variety of terrors. Philip, penetrated with horror and grief at this spectacle, stopped the soldiers, who were eager to plunder, and published the strange declaration that he would allow three days to all who were resolved to lay violent hands on themselves. He was in hopes that in that interval they would change their determination: but their resolution was fixed. They thought it would be degenerating from those who had lost their lives in defending their country, if they should survive them. The individuals of every family killed one another, and none escaped this murderous sacrifice but a few whose hands were tied, or were otherwise kept, by force, from destroying themselves. And Philip, during the three days, satisfied his ideas of humanity by refraining from plundering the city he saw burning, and by beholding a people destroy each other, whom he might have saved with a word!

CREMONA.

A.C. 200.

A numerous army of Gauls laid siege to Cremona. The prætor Lucius Furius marched to the succour of the allies of the Romans, in the absence of the consul. He gave battle the moment he arrived. The Gauls fought bravely, but at length took to flight, and retired in disorder to their camp. The Romans followed them thither, attacked the camp, and took it. Out of thirty-five thousand combatants, scarcely six thousand were saved. Eighty standards and two hundred chariots filled with booty were the trophies and the ornaments of this triumph. Amilcar, a Carthaginian general, who had joined the barbarians, fell in this engagement, together with three of the most distinguished Gaulish leaders.

SECOND SIEGE, A.C. 69.

Vespasian was just raised to the empire, but he still had to tear the diadem from the brow of the barbarous Vitellius, and maintain the choice of the legions with the sword. The new emperor sent Primus, one of his lieutenants, and a very skilful general, against the tyrant of Rome. After several advantages, Primus attacked two legions posted before Cremona. The Roman legions fought against each other like the most determined enemies. Primus was near losing the battle; but his courage rallied his troops when on the point of giving way, he brought them back to the charge, and gained a complete victory. His army was eager to enter Cremona, but was prevented by the arrival of six legions of the opposite party. A fresh nocturnal combat instantly ensued between the victorious soldiers and their newly-arrived enemies. Success was doubtful; in the obscurity of night, address and courage were equally useless; they slaughtered each other indiscriminately,--their blows fell as frequently upon their friends as upon their foes. At length, however, the moon shed her beams over the bloody scene, and gave a more certain direction to the fury of the combatants; the troops of Primus had this friendly light at their backs. In this situation, the legions opposed to them, deceived by the shade, aimed their arrows badly, and shot them short of the mark. Primus profiting by this advantage, encouraged his soldiers, redoubled his exertions, and added the prudence of a consummate captain to the bravery of an enterprising soldier. Nothing could resist him; his enemies fled before him; and Primus was victor a second time. This carnage was signalized by one of those tragical events which are only met with in civil wars: a son killed his own father without knowing him; he recognised him as he was expiring, and, transported with grief, he gave himself up to despair, cursing the war which had made him an involuntary parricide. The victorious troops were indefatigable; believing that nothing was done till all was done, they attacked and carried the camp which surrounded Cremona. This place must have fallen into their hands, and the inhabitants surrendered, in the hopes of meriting some clemency by a prompt and voluntary submission; but they were deceived--the greedy legions would not be disappointed of their booty. Cremona was pillaged, its walls were razed, its citizens were slaughtered, its edifices were burnt, and the city was almost entirely destroyed by troops which ought to have respected the ancient allies of the Roman people and the citizens of the same empire.

THIRD SIEGE, A.D. 1702.

Cremona was besieged in 1702, by Prince Eugene. Marshal de Villeroi was at the time within the walls. Son of the governor of Louis XIV., Villeroi had always enjoyed the favour of the monarch. He was of very imposing and agreeable person, exceedingly brave, a worthy man, magnificent in everything he undertook--but no general. He was a courtier, and Louis and Madame de Maintenon had the weakness to send him against some of the best generals the world ever saw. Prince Eugene, who had beaten him at Chiari, still maintained his superiority over him. At length, in the depth of winter, whilst the marshal was one day comfortably asleep in Cremona, a city sufficiently strong, and provided with a good garrison, he was awakened by a discharge of musketry; he arose in all haste, and was quickly on horseback. The first thing he met was a squadron of the enemy, by whom he was in an instant brought to the ground. A German officer, judging by his uniform that he was a general, made him his prisoner. As soon as he was on his feet he whispered to the officer, “I am the Marshal de Villeroi; I will give you ten thousand pistoles, and the command of a regiment, if you will conduct me to the citadel.” “I have for a long time,” replied the officer, “served the emperor, my master, and I will not begin betraying him to-day.” He led him to the most remote _corps-de-garde_. The Marquis de Crenan, a lieutenant-general, was mortally wounded close to the marshal. Villeroi, a prisoner, showed great regret at not being free, and declared that he envied him his fate. He was immediately taken out of the city, without knowing what was going on there.

Prince Eugene was already in Cremona. A priest, named Cassoli, the prevôt of Sainte-Marie-la-Neuve, had introduced the Germans by a sewer. Four hundred soldiers, by means of this sewer, had gained the house of the priest, and had immediately killed the guards of two of the gates. Prince Eugene then entered with four thousand men. And all this had been done without the Spanish governor having the least suspicion, and before Marshal de Villeroi was awake. The secrecy, order, diligence, and all the possible precautions which distinguish an able commander, had secured the success of the enterprise. The Spanish governor showed himself in the streets at the head of a few soldiers, but was speedily killed by a musket-shot. All the general officers were either killed or taken, with the exception of the Count de Revel and the Marquis de Praslin. And yet the prudence of Prince Eugene was confounded. The Chevalier d’Entragues was that day to review, in the city, the royal regiment of the marine, of which he was colonel. These soldiers were already assembled at one extremity of the city, precisely at the moment Prince Eugene entered by the other. D’Entragues began by hastily scouring through the streets with his soldiers, and resisting all the Germans he met with, which gave time for the rest of the garrison to come up. Officers and soldiers, _pêle-mêle_, some badly armed, and some half-naked, without commanders, without order, filled the streets and public places, fought in confusion, or intrenched themselves from street to street, or from place to place. Two Irish regiments, which formed part of the garrison, stopped the efforts of the Imperialists. Never was city surprised with more art and prudence, and never was one better defended by courage and promptness. The garrison consisted of five thousand men; Prince Eugene had not introduced more than four thousand. A large detachment of his army was expected to arrive by the bridge over the Po; his measures were well taken, but another event deranged them all. The bridge over the Po, badly guarded by a hundred French soldiers, was to be seized by the German cuirassiers. At the instant Prince Eugene entered the city, it became necessary that as the cuirassiers had entered by the southern gate, near to the sewer, they should go out of Cremona immediately at the north, by the gate of the Po, and should hasten to the bridge. They went thither, but the guide who conducted them was killed by a musket-shot from a window, and the cuirassiers mistook one street for another, which made their passage much longer. In this short interval the Irish threw themselves into the gate of the Po, and fought and repulsed the cuirassiers. This resistance at first perplexed Prince Eugene. He sent Macdonald, one of their compatriots, to them, who had been the first man that entered the city. “Sir,” said he, addressing the commanding officer, “Prince Eugene has sent me here to say, that if you are willing to change your party, and come over to that of the Imperialists, he will promise you better pay and more considerable pensions than you have in the French service. The affection I bear for all persons of my nation, and for you, sir, in particular, obliges me to exhort you to accept the offers I make you from this general; if you refuse, I do not see how you are to escape certain destruction. With the exception of your solitary post, we are masters of the whole city; and this is why his highness only waits for my return to attack you with the greatest part of his forces, and cut you to pieces.” “Sir,” replied the commander, “if his highness waits your return to attack us and cut us to pieces, he is not likely to do so very quickly; for I arrest you as a prisoner, not considering you the envoy of a great general, but as a suborner. It is by such conduct we would merit the esteem of the prince who sent you, and not by a treachery unworthy of a man of honour.” At these words the combat was renewed with fresh fury. Eugene finding Macdonald did not return, at once comprehended that he was arrested; and being unwilling to resort to force, he conceived another stratagem to make them lay down their arms. He went to Marshal Villeroi: “You have passed through the city, monsieur,” said he, “and you must have remarked that we are masters of it. There are still some of your tirailleurs firing from the ramparts; if that continues, they will oblige me to put them all to the sword: order them to surrender.” The marshal easily perceived that the prince’s affairs were not going on so well as he could wish, and only coolly replied--“I have the misfortune not to be at liberty, and therefore can order nothing.” Eugene made a fresh attempt upon the Irish, who still opposed a wall of fire and steel to the Germans. The Baron de Freibourg was charged with this attack. Mahoney, commanding a battalion of Dillon, seized the bridle of this officer’s horse, exclaiming, “Good quarter for M. de Freibourg.” But the latter, looking at him with contempt, replied, “This is not a day for clemency; do your duty, and I will do mine.” He spoke, and a discharge of musketry stretched him dead on the pavement. The Marquis de Praslin, during this engagement, broke down the bridge over the Po, so that the Germans could not obtain the succours they looked for, and the city was saved. Prince Eugene, after fighting all day, being still master of the gate by which he had entered, at length retired, taking with him Marshal Villeroi and several officers prisoners, but having missed Cremona. His activity and prudence had given him the place, but the valour of the Irish and the French prevented his keeping it.

In the revolutionary war, Cremona was three times an object of attack and defence, but had no siege sufficiently interesting to claim a place in our pages.

CARTHAGE.

A.C. 146.

The siege of Carthage seemed to seal the fate of that great and ambitious republic. Whilst we have had to record so many sieges of Rome, we have only one to describe of her great rival, and that closed the career of that rival. Proud, wealthy, and, as the Romans would add, _false_ Carthage, was never annoyed by the invasion of her capital, till Rome had so risen in the ascendant that Carthage must necessarily sink: and then she did sink, like a tropical sun, without twilight. Whether it is with the great captain, Hannibal, or with the powerful nation to which he did so much honour, that our sympathies are attached, we cannot say, but we acknowledge to feeling a greater interest for the Carthaginians throughout all the Punic wars than we do for the Romans. Besides, Carthage has no native historians, it was blotted from the map of nations, and we have reason to receive with suspicion much that the Latin, or even the Greek writers--for Carthage was generally at variance with Greece--may say on the subject of “Punica fides.”

Before we commence this memorable siege, it will be well to give our readers a short account of what Carthage was at this period. At the beginning of the war, Carthage contained seven hundred thousand inhabitants. It stood at the bottom of a gulf, surrounded by the sea, and in the form of a peninsula, whose neck,--that is, the isthmus which joined it to the continent,--was twenty-five stadia, or a league and a quarter, in breadth. The peninsula was three hundred and sixty stadia, or eighteen leagues round. On the west side there projected from it a long strip of land, half a stadium, or twelve fathoms, broad, which, advancing into the sea, divided it from a morass, and was fenced on all sides with rocks and a single wall. On the south side, towards the continent, where stood the citadel called Byrsa, the city was surrounded with a triple wall thirty cubits high, exclusive of the parapets and towers, with which it was flanked all round at equal distances, each interval being fourscore fathoms. Every tower was four stories high, and the stalls but two; they were arched, and in the lower part were stalls to hold three hundred elephants, with their fodder; and over these were stables for four thousand horses, and lofts for their food. There likewise was room enough to lodge twenty thousand foot and four thousand horse. All these were contained within the walls alone. In one place only the walls were weak and low, and that was a neglected angle, which began at the neck of land above mentioned, and extended as far as the harbours, which were on the west side. Of these there were two, which communicated with each other, but had only one entrance, seventy feet broad, shut up with chains: the first was appropriated to the merchants, and had several distinct habitations for the seamen; the second, or inner harbour, was for ships of war, in the midst of which stood an island, called Cothon, lined, as the harbours were, with large quays, in which were distinct receptacles for sheltering from the weather two hundred and twenty ships. Over these were magazines or storehouses, wherein was lodged everything necessary for arming and equipping fleets. The entrance to each of these receptacles was adorned with two marble pillars of the Ionic order; so that both the harbour and the island represented on each side two magnificent galleries. In the island was the admiral’s palace; and as it stood opposite to the mouth of the harbour, he could thence discover whatever was doing at sea, though no one could see what was being transacted in the inward parts of the harbour. The merchants, in like manner, had no prospect of the men-of-war, the two ports being separated by a double wall, each having a particular gate that led to the city, without passing through the other harbour. So that Carthage may be divided into three parts: the harbour, which was double, and was called Cothon, from the little island of that name; the citadel, named Byrsa; and the city properly so called, where the inhabitants dwelt, which lay round the citadel, and was called Megara.

The existence of Carthage constantly reminded the Romans of the fatal days of Cannæ and Thrasymenus; Rome dreaded to see her rival rise again from the state of humiliation to which her arms had reduced her. To free themselves from all apprehension for the future, the senate determined to annihilate Carthage, and sent thither a formidable army, under the command of the two consuls. In this circumstance, we find one of the most striking instances of political expediency overpowering the sense of justice in a great mind. Cato the Censor, a wise, good, and just man, was the principal promoter of this infamous infraction of the rights of nations and humanity. To judge of Cato by all the other parts of his character, we might as well expect to see Fénelon presiding over an _auto-da-fè_, as to find the great censor constantly urging the necessity for the destruction of Carthage.

At the approach of the Romans, the Carthaginians sent out deputies to offer to give up to the great republic, themselves and all that belonged to them. Hannibal, it is true, had long been dead; but one would think his very remembrance would have stimulated such a populous nation to some show of resistance to the tyranny of a people they had more than once beaten. Hostages and all their arms were demanded as proofs of their submission. This severe order was complied with: a long train of chariots arrived at the Roman camp, bearing an immense quantity of arms and machines of war. The most respectable old men of the senate of Carthage, with the most venerable priests, followed this melancholy _cortège_, to endeavour to excite compassion. “I praise your promptitude,” said Censorinus, one of the consuls; “and the senate now commands you to leave Carthage, which it is determined to destroy, and to remove your abode whithersoever it may please you, provided it be four leagues from the sea-shore.” This was a clap of thunder for the deputies. In vain they endeavoured to soften the Romans by their prayers and tears; they were forced to carry this terrible reply back to Carthage. At this news, despair and rage possessed the citizens, and it was resolved to sacrifice everything for the defence of their country. Asdrubal had the command of the troops, and every expedition was employed to fabricate new arms and machines. Temples, palaces, and all public places became so many workshops; men, women, children, and the aged worked in them day and night. Grave historians say that hemp for the manufacture of ropes being deficient, the women cut off their hair and supplied a substitute in abundance. But we consider this to be one of the pleasing “lies” of history. If we calculate how many of our fair damsels must be shorn of this their principal ornament to make one cable, we may judge of the probability of the story. During two years, the Romans made but little progress; they even experienced several checks and losses. It seemed to require another Scipio to terminate the wars in which the heroes of his family had been so successful. No name is more honoured in Roman history than that of Scipio; and our young readers must be particularly careful not to confound the various persons who bore it with one another; for there were many Romans, and most of them of superior character, who were honoured with it. The real family name was Cornelius, and the addition Scipio was what we should now call a sobriquet, or nickname, given to the first so called for serving as a staff to his blind father; Scipio being the Latin for a walking-stick. Many boasted names and titles have a less honourable source. This Scipio was, of course, not the conqueror of Hannibal; he is therefore termed Scipio Africanus the younger. He was the son of the great Paulus Æmilius, the conqueror of Perseus, and was adopted by the son of the first Scipio Africanus, and called Scipio Æmilianus, according to the laws of adoption. The two families, by marriages and adoptions, were almost one. Scipio Africanus the younger is one of the finest characters of antiquity; and if the reputation of Polybius the historian were not fully established for its truthfulness, we might almost suspect the picture we have of it to be too favourable. But really great historical characters escape from the charge of partiality in their biographers by means of their actions; history tells us how they affected the periods at which they lived, and either bears out or contradicts the record of the individuals. Where there are several persons in remote history of one name, their conspicuous actions are not unfrequently all given to one. There were many Hercules, but all their labours are laid upon the broad shoulders of one of them: so with the Scipios: the younger Africanus is such a favourite with ancient writers, that modern readers sometimes confound him with his senior of that name. We shall only observe, that though quite capable of such an action, it was not he who restored Allucius his beautiful bride.

Scipio, being proclaimed consul, immediately took the command of the army before Carthage. He found everything in disorder; discipline was relaxed, and luxury of every kind was indulged in. These evils were his first care; but these he speedily cured by the best of all possible means,--the example of his own attention to his duties, and his temperate mode of living.

As soon as that first of military requisites, discipline, was re-established, he at once proceeded to action. Having ordered his troops to provide themselves with axes, levers, and scaling-ladders, he led them, in the dead of the night and without noise, to the district of the city called Megara, where, commanding them to give a sudden and general shout, he commenced the attack with great vigour. Not expecting a night assault, the Carthaginians were at first in the utmost terror; they, however, defended themselves so courageously, that Scipio could not carry out his escalade; but, perceiving a tower that was forsaken, and which stood very near the city walls, he detached thither a party of intrepid and active soldiers, who, by the help of pontoons, got from the tower on to the walls, and thence into Megara, the gates of which they broke down. Scipio entered it immediately after, and drove the enemy out of that post. Terrified at this unexpected assault, and imagining that the whole city was taken, they fled into the citadel, whither they were followed even by those forces that were encamped without the city, who abandoned their camp to the Romans, and were glad to find a place of safety.

At daybreak, Asdrubal, perceiving the ignominious defeat of his troops, in order to be revenged upon the Romans and to deprive the inhabitants of all hopes of accommodation and pardon, brought all the Roman prisoners he had taken, upon the walls, in sight of both armies. There he put them to the most exquisite tortures, plucking out their eyes, cutting off their noses, ears, and fingers; tearing their skin from their bodies with iron rakes or harrows, and then threw them from the top of the battlements. Such inhumanity filled the Carthaginians even with horror; he, however, did not spare them, but murdered many senators who had ventured to oppose his cruelty and tyranny. This was a worthy descendant of the Carthaginians who in the first Punic war tortured Regulus.

Scipio, finding himself master of the isthmus, burnt the camp the enemy had deserted, and built a new one for his troops. It was of a square form, surrounded with strong and deep intrenchments, and fenced with large palisades; on the side which faced the Carthaginians, he built a wall twelve feet high, flanked at proper distances with towers and redoubts; and on the middle tower he erected a very high wooden fort, whence everything could be seen that was going on in the city. This wall was equal to the whole breadth of the isthmus,--that is, twenty-five stadia. The enemy, who were within bow-shot of it, employed their utmost efforts to put a stop to this work; but as the whole army were engaged in it night and day without intermission, it was finished in twenty-four days. Scipio reaped a double advantage from this work: first, his forces were lodged more safely and commodiously; secondly, he cut off all supplies of provisions from the besieged, to whom none could now be brought but by sea, which was attended with many difficulties, arising from the frequency of tempests and the good guard kept by the Roman fleet. This proved one of the chief causes of the famine which raged soon after in the city. Besides, Asdrubal distributed the corn that was brought only among the thirty thousand men who served under him, caring little what became of the rest of the inhabitants.

To complete their distress for provisions, Scipio attempted to stop up the mouths of the haven by a mole, beginning at the neck of land which was near the harbour. The besieged at first looked upon this attempt as ridiculous, and amused themselves with laughing at and insulting the workmen; but at last, seeing them make an astonishing progress every day, they began to be afraid, and to adopt measures to defeat the undertaking. Every one, even the women and children, went to work, but so privately, that all that Scipio could learn from the prisoners was, that they had heard a great noise in the harbour, but did not know the cause of it. At length, all things being ready, the Carthaginians opened on a sudden a new outlet on the other side of the haven, and appeared at sea, with a numerous fleet built with the old materials found in their magazines. It is generally allowed that, had they attacked the Roman fleet directly, they must infallibly have taken it; because, as no such attempt was expected and every man was elsewhere employed, the Carthaginians would have found it without rowers, soldiers, or officers. But the ruin of Carthage, says the historian, was decreed. Having offered a kind of bravado to the Romans, they returned into the harbour.