Chapter IV: Part 4

As it happened, the auspices taken by the dictator at Rome before marching to the seat of war were of no particular significance. Not satisfied with them, he decided to take them again, and returned to Rome for this purpose, the auspices being of a kind which could only be taken within the city walls. He ordered the master of the horse to remain strictly on the defensive during his absence.

Fabius did not obey this order. He attacked the enemy and gained some advantage. The annals say that he won a great victory, defeating the Samnites with a loss of twenty thousand men; but the annals have a habit of magnifying small affairs into large ones where they have any object to gain.

On hearing that his orders had been disobeyed, Papirius hurried back to the camp in a violent rage, and with the intention of making such an example of discipline as Manlius had made in the execution of his son. On reaching camp he ordered that Fabius should be immediately executed. His authority as dictator gave him power for this violent act; but he failed to reckon on the spirit of the soldiers, who supported Fabius to a man, and broke into a violent demonstration that was almost mutiny. So strong was their feeling that the furious dictator found himself obliged to halt in his purpose.

But Fabius knew too well the iron nature of his antagonist to trust his life in his hands. That night he fled from the camp to Rome, and immediately appealed to the senate for protection. Papirius followed in hot haste, and while the senators were still assembling arrived in Rome, where, under his authority as dictator, he gave order for the arrest of the culprit. In this critical situation the prisoner's father, M. Fabius, appealed to the tribunes for the protection of his son, saying that he proposed to carry the case before the assembly of the people.

The tribunes found themselves in a dilemma. Papirius warned them not to sanction so flagrant a breach of military discipline, nor to lessen the majesty of the office of dictator, and they found themselves hesitating between their duty to support the absolute power of the dictator and their abhorrence of an exercise of this power that must shock the feelings of the whole Roman people. The people themselves relieved their tribunes from this difficulty. They hastily met in assembly, and by a unanimous vote implored the dictator to be merciful, and for their sakes to forgive Fabius. His authority thus acknowledged, Papirius yielded, and declared that he pardoned the master of the horse. "And the authority of the Roman generals," says Livy, "was established no less firmly by the peril of Q. Fabius than by the actual death of the young T. Manlius."

It was well for Rome that Fabius was spared, for he afterwards proved one of their ablest generals. The time came, also, when he was able to confer a benefit upon Papirius Cursor. This was during a subsequent war with the Etruscans, in which he commanded as consul and gained great victories. Meanwhile a Roman army was defeated by the Samnites, and on the news of this defeat reaching Rome the senate at once resolved to appoint Papirius once more as dictator.

But this appointment must be made by a consul. One consul was with the defeated army, perhaps dead. It was necessary to apply to Fabius, the other consul, and the declared enemy of the proposed dictator. To overcome his personal feelings, a deputation of the highest senators was sent him, who read him the senate's decree and strongly urged him to support it. Fabius listened in dead silence, not answering by word or look. When they had ended, he abruptly withdrew from the room. But at dead of night he pronounced, in the usual form, the nomination of Papirius as dictator. When the deputies thanked him for his noble conquest over his feelings, he listened still in dead silence, and dismissed them without a word in answer.

We must now pass over years of war, in which both Fabius and Papirius gained honor and fame, and come to an occasion in which the son of Fabius led a Roman army as consul, and met with a severe defeat by a Samnite army. He had been tricked by the Samnites, and great indignation was aroused against him in Rome. It was proposed to remove him from his office, a disgrace which no consul ever experienced in Roman history. It was also proposed that old Fabius should be appointed dictator. But the aged soldier, to preserve the honor of his son, offered to go with him as his lieutenant, and the offer was accepted by the senate.

A second battle ensued, in the heat of which the consul became surrounded by the enemy, and his aged father led the charge to his rescue. His example animated the Romans, they followed him in a vigorous assault, and a complete victory was won. Twenty thousand Samnites were slain, four thousand taken prisoners, and with them their general, C. Pontius. After other victories the younger Fabius returned to Rome and was given a triumph, while behind him rode his old father on horseback, as one of his lieutenants, delighting in the honor conferred on his son. The Samnite general was made to walk in the procession, and at its end was taken to the prison under the Capitoline Hill and there beheaded. It was thus that Rome dealt with its captured foes.

_THE CAUDINE FORKS._

Westward from Rome rise the Apennine Mountains, the backbone of Italy; and amid their highest peaks, where the snow lies all the year long, and whence streams flow into the two seas, dwelt the Sabines, an important people, from whom came the mothers of the Roman state. There is a legend concerning this people which we have now to tell. For many years they had been at war with their neighbors, the Umbrians; and at length, failing to conquer their enemies by their own strength, they sought to obtain the help of the divinities. They made a vow that if victory was given to them, all the living creatures born that year in their land should be held as sacred to the gods.

The victory came, and they sacrificed all the lambs, calves, kids, and pigs of that year's birth, while they redeemed from the gods such animals as were not suitable for sacrifice. But, as it appeared, the deities were not satisfied. The land refused to yield its fruits, and the Sabines were not long in deciding why their crops had failed. They had neither sacrificed nor redeemed the children born that year, and had thus failed in their duty to the gods.

To atone for this fault, all their children of that year's birth were devoted to the god Mamers, and when they had grown up they were sent away to make themselves a home in a new land. As the young men started on their pilgrimage a bull went before them, and, as they fancied that Mamers had sent this animal for their guide, they piously followed him. He first lay down to rest when he had come to the land of the Opicans. This the Sabines took for a sign, and they fell on the Opicans, who dwelt in villages without walls, and drove them out from their country, of which the new-comers took possession. They then sacrificed the bull to Mamers; and in after-ages they bore the bull for their device. They also took a new name, and were afterwards known as Samnites.

While the Romans were extending their dominion in Central Italy, the Samnites were conquering the peoples farther south. Their dominion became great, and at one time included the famous cities of Herculaneum and Pompeii and many others of the cities of the southern plains. In the centre of the Samnite country stood a remarkable mountain mass, an offshoot from the Apennines. This mountain, now called the Matese, is nearly eight miles in circumference, and rises abruptly in huge wall-like cliffs of limestone to the height of three thousand feet. Its surface is greatly varied in character, now sloping into deep valleys, now rising into elevated cliffs, of which the loftiest is six thousand feet high. It is rich in springs, which gush out in full flow, and disappear again in the caverns with which limestone rocks abound. Its valleys yield abundant pasture and magnificent beech forests, while on its highest summits the snow tarries till late summer, and in the hottest months of summer the upland pastures continue cool.

This mountain fastness formed the citadel from which the Samnites issued in conquering excursions over the surrounding country, and enabled them in time to extend their dominion far and wide, and to rival Rome in the width and importance of their state. Thus Rome and Samnium approached each other step by step, and the time inevitably came when they were to join issue in war.

Three wars took place between the Romans and the Samnites. In the first of these Valerius Corvus (the origin of whose name of Corvus we have already told) led the Roman army to victory. In honor of this victory Rome received from Carthage (with which city it was to engage in a desperate contest in later years) a golden crown, for the shrine of Jupiter in the Capitol.

In 329 B.C. Rome finally overcame the Volscians, with whom they had been many years at war, and three years afterwards war with the Samnites was again declared. The latter were invading Campania, in which country lay the volcano of Vesuvius and the city of Naples. Rome came to the aid of the Campanians, and a war began which lasted for more than twenty years.

Of this war we have but one event to tell, that in which Rome suffered the greatest humiliation it had met with in its entire career, the famous affair of the Caudine Forks. It was in the fifth campaign of the war that this event took place. Two Roman armies had marched into Campania and threatened the southern border of Samnium, which the Samnite general Pontius was prepared to defend. His force occupied the passes which led from the plain of Naples into the higher mountain valleys; but he deceived the Romans by spreading the report that the whole Samnite army had gone to Apulia, where they were besieging the city of Luceria. His purpose was to lure the Romans into these difficult defiles under the impression that the Samnites were trusting to the natural strength of their country for its defence.

The trick succeeded. The Roman consuls believed the story, and, in their haste to go to the aid of their allies in Apulia, chose the shortest route, that which led through the Samnian hills. The absence of the Samnite army would enable them, they thought, to force their way through Samnium without difficulty; and, blinded by their false confidence, the consuls recklessly led their men into the fatal pass of Caudium.

This pass was a narrow opening in the outer wall of the Apennines, which led from the plain of Campania to Maleventum. To-day it is traversed by the road from Naples to Benevento, and is called the valley of Arpaia. In the past it was famous as Caudium.

Into this defile the Romans marched between the rugged mountain acclivities that bounded its sides, and through the deep silence that reigned around. The pass seemed utterly deserted, and they expected soon to emerge into a more open valley in the interior of the hills.

But as they advanced the pass contracted, until it became but a narrow gorge, and this they found to be blocked up with great stones and felled trees. Brought to a halt, the troops stood gazing in dismay and dread on these obstacles, when suddenly the silence was broken, loud war-cries filled the air, and armed Samnites appeared as if by magic, covering the hills on both flanks, and crowding into the pass in the rear.

The Romans were caught in such a trap as that from which Cincinnatus had rescued a Roman army many years before. But there was here no Cincinnatus with his stakes, and they were far from Rome. The entrapped army made a desperate effort to escape, attacking the Samnites in the rear, and seeking to force their way up the rugged surrounding hills. They fought in vain. Many of them fell. The Samnite foe pressed them still more closely into the rocky pass. Only the coming of night saved them from total destruction.

But escape was impossible. The gorge in front was completely blocked up. The pass in the rear was held by the enemy in force. The flanking hills could hardly have been climbed by an army, even if they had not been occupied. No resource remained to the Romans but to encamp in the broader part of the narrow valley, and there wait in hopeless despair the outcome of their folly.

The Samnites could well afford to let them wait. The rear was held by the bulk of their army. The obstacles in front were strongly guarded. Every possible track by which the Romans might try to scale the hills was held. Some desperate attempts to break out were made, but they were easily repulsed. Nothing remained but surrender, or death by famine.

One or other of these alternatives had soon to be chosen. A large army, surprised on its march, and confined within a barren pass, could not have subsistence for any long period. Nothing was to be gained by delay, and they might as well yield themselves prisoners of war at once.

So the Romans evidently thought, and without delay they put themselves at the mercy of their conquerors. "We yield ourselves your captives," they said, "to do with as you will. Put us all to the sword, if such be your decision; sell us into slavery; or hold us as prisoners until we are ransomed: one thing only we ask, save our bodies, whether living or dead, from all unworthy insults."

In this request they forgot the record that Rome had made; forgot how often noble captives had been forced to walk in Roman triumphs and been afterwards slain in cold blood in the common prison; forgot how they had recently refused the rites of burial to the body of a noble Samnite. But Pontius, the Samnite general, was much less of a barbarian than the Romans of that age. He was acquainted with Greek philosophy, had even held conversation, it is said, with Plato, and was not the man to indulge in cruel or insulting acts.

"Restore to us," he said to the consuls, "the towns and territory you have taken from us, and withdraw the colonists whom you have unjustly placed on our soil. Conclude with us a treaty of peace, in which each nation shall be acknowledged to be independent of the other. Swear to do this, and I will grant you your lives and release you without ransom. Each man of you shall give up his arms, but may keep his clothes untouched; and you shall pass before our army as prisoners who have been in our power and whom we have set free of our own will, when we might have killed or sold them, or held them for ransom."

These terms the consuls were glad enough to accept. They were far better than they would have granted the Samnites under similar circumstances. Pontius now called for the Roman fecialis, whose duty it was to conclude all treaties and take all oaths for the Roman people. But there was no fecialis with the army. The senate had sent none, having resolved to make no terms with the Samnites, and to accept only their absolute submission. They had never dreamed of such a turn of the tide as this.

In the absence of the proper officer, the consuls and all the surviving officers took the oath, while it was agreed that six hundred knights should be held as hostages until the Roman people had ratified the treaty. Why Pontius did not insist on treating with the senate and people of Rome at once, instead of trusting to them to ratify a treaty made with prisoners of war, we are not told. He was soon to learn how weak a reed to lean upon was the Roman faith.

The treaty made, the humiliating part of the affair came. The Roman army was obliged to march under the yoke, which consisted of two spears set upright and a third fastened across their tops. Under this the soldiers of the legions without their arms, and wearing but a single article of clothing,--the campestre or kilt, which reached from the waist to the knees,--passed in gloomy succession. Even the consuls were obliged to appear in this humble plight, the six hundred hostage knights alone being spared.

This was no peculiar insult, but a common usage on such occasions. The Romans had imposed it more than once on defeated enemies. They were now to endure it themselves, and the affair, under the name of the Caudine Forks, has become famous in history.

Pontius proved, indeed, generous to his foes. He supplied carriages for the sick and wounded, and furnished provisions to last the army until it should arrive at Home. When that city was reached the senate and people came out and welcomed the soldiers with the greatest kindness. But the wounded pride of the legionaries could not be soothed. Those who had homes in the country stole from the ranks and sought their several dwellings. Those who lived in Rome lingered without the walls until after the sun had fallen, and then made their way home through the darkness. The consuls were obliged to enter in open day, but as soon as possible they sought their homes, and shut themselves up in privacy.

As for the city, it went into mourning. All business was suspended; the patricians laid aside their gold rings and took off the red border of their dresses which marked their rank; the plebeians appeared in mourning garbs; there was as much weeping for those who had returned in dishonor as for those left dead on the field; all rejoicings, festivals, and marriages were set aside for a year of happier omen.

The final result was such as might have been expected from the earlier record of Rome. The senate refused to recognize the treaty. The defeated consuls themselves sustained this bad faith, saying that they and all the officers should be given up to the Samnites, as having promised what they were unable to perform.

This was done. Half stripped, as when they passed under the yoke, and their hands bound behind their backs, the officers were conducted by the fecialis to the Samnian frontier, and delivered to the Samnites as men who had forfeited their liberty by their breach of faith. The surrender completed, Postumius, one of the consuls, struck a fecialis violently with his knee,--his hands and feet being bound,--and cried out,--

"I now belong to the Samnites, and I have done violence to the sacred person of a Roman fecialis and ambassador. You will rightfully wage war with us, Romans, to avenge this outrage."

This transparent trick was wasted on Pontius. He refused the victims offered him. They were not the guilty ones, he said. The legions must be placed again in the Caudium Valley, or Rome keep the treaty. Anything else would be base and faithless.

The treaty was not kept. The war went on. And nearly thirty years afterwards, as we have told in the preceding story, Pontius, who had behaved so generously to the Romans, was led as a prisoner in a Roman triumph, and then basely beheaded while the triumphal car of the victor ascended the Capitoline Hill. His death is one of the darkest blots on the Roman name. "Such a murder," we are told, "committed or sanctioned by such a man as Q. Fabius, is peculiarly a national crime, and proves but too clearly that in their dealings with foreigners the Romans had neither magnanimity, nor humanity, nor justice."

_THE FATE OF REGULUS._

We have followed the growth of Rome from its seed in the cradle of Romulus and Remus to its early maturity in the conquest of Italy. Its triumph over the Latins, Samnites, and Etruscans had made it virtually master of that peninsula. In the year 280 B.C. it was first called upon to meet a great foreign soldier in the celebrated Pyrrhus of Epirus, who had invaded Italy. How this great soldier scared the Romans with his elephants and defeated them in the field, but was finally baffled and left the country in disgust, we have told in "Historical Tales of Greece." It was not many years after this that Rome herself went abroad in search of new foes, and her long and bitter struggle with Carthage began.

The great city of Carthage lay on the African side of the Mediterranean, where it had won for itself a great empire, and had added to its dominion by important conquests in Spain and Sicily. Settled many centuries before by emigrants from the Phoenician city of Tyre, it had, like its mother city, grown rich through commerce, and was now lord of the Mediterranean and one of the great cities of the earth. With this city Rome was now to begin a mighty struggle, which would last for many years and end in the utter destruction of the great African city and state.

Pyrrhus of Epirus, on leaving Sicily, had said, "What a grand arena this would be for Rome and Carthage to contend upon!" And it was in the island of Sicily that the struggle between these two mighty powers began. In the year 264 B.C., nearly five centuries after the founding of Rome, that city first sent its armies beyond the borders of Italy, and the long contest between Rome and Carthage was inaugurated.

Some soldiers of fortune, who had invaded Sicily and found themselves in trouble, called upon Rome for help. Carthage, which held much of the island, was also appealed to, and both sent armies. The result was a collision between these armies. In two years' time most of Sicily belonged to Rome, and Carthage retained hardly a foothold upon that island.

This rapid success of the Romans in foreign conquest encouraged them greatly. But they were soon to find themselves at a disadvantage. Being an inland power, they knew nothing of ocean warfare, and possessed none but small ships. Carthage, on the contrary, had a large and powerful fleet, and now began to use it with great effect. By its aid the Carthaginians took from Rome many towns on the coast of Sicily. They also landed on and ravaged the coasts of Italy. It was made evident to the Roman senate that if they looked for success they must meet the enemy on their own element, and dispute with Carthage the dominion of the sea.

How was this to be done? The largest ships they knew of had only three banks of oars. Carthage possessed war vessels with five banks of oars, and built on a plan different from that of the smaller vessels. Rome had no model for these ships, and was at a loss what to do. Fortunately a Carthaginian quinquereme (a ship with five banks of oars) ran ashore on the coast of Italy, and was captured and sent to Rome. This served as a model for the shipwrights of that city, and so energetically did they set to work that in two months after the first cutting of the timber they had built and launched more than a hundred ships of this class.

And while the ships were building the crews selected for the quinqueremes were practising. Most of them had never even seen an oar, and they were now placed on benches ashore, ranged like those in the ships, and carefully taught the movements of rowing, so that when the ships were launched they were quite ready to drive them through the waves. The Romans, who could fight best hand to hand, added a new and important device, providing their ships with wooden bridges attached to the masts, and ready to fall on an enemy's vessel whenever one came near. A great spike at the end was driven into the deck of the enemy's ship by the weight of the falling bridge, and held her while the Romans charged across the bridge.

The new fleet was soon tried. It met a Carthaginian fleet on the north coast of Sicily. The Romans proved poor sailors, but the bridges gave them the victory. These could be wheeled round the mast and dropped in any direction, and, however the Carthaginians approached, they found themselves grappled and boarded by the Romans, whose formidable swords soon did the rest. In the end Carthage lost fifty ships and ten thousand men, and with them the dominion of the seas.

This success was a great event in the history of Rome. The victory was celebrated by a great naval triumph, and a column was set up in the Forum, which was adorned with the ornamental prows of ships.

Three years afterwards Rome resolved to carry the war into Africa, and for this purpose built a great fleet of three hundred and thirty ships, and manned by one hundred and forty thousand seamen, in addition to its soldiers or fighting men. These were largely made up of prisoners from Sardinia and Corsica, Carthaginian islands which had been attacked by the Roman fleets. The two consuls in command were L. Manlius Vulso and M. Atilius Regulus.

The great fleet of Rome met a still greater Carthaginian one at Ecnomus, on the southern coast of Sicily, and here one of the greatest sea-fights of history took place. In the end the Romans lost twenty-four ships, while of those of the enemy thirty were sunk and sixty-four captured. The remainder of the enemy's fleet fled in all haste to Carthage.

The Romans now prepared to take one of the greatest steps in their history,--to cross the sea to the unknown African world. The soldiers murmured loudly at this. They were to be taken to a new and strange land, burnt by scorching heats and infested with noisome beasts and monstrous serpents; and they were to be led into the very stronghold of the enemy, where they would be at their mercy. Even one of their tribunes supported the soldiers in this complaint. But Regulus was equal to the occasion: he threatened the tribune with death, forced the soldiers on board, and sailed for the African coast.

The event proved very different from what the soldiers had feared. The army of Carthage was so miserably commanded that the Romans landed without trouble and ravaged the country at their will; and instead of the scorching heats and deadly animals they had feared, they found themselves in a fertile and thickly-settled country, where grew rich harvests of corn, and where were broad vineyards and fruitful orchards of figs and olives. Towns were numerous, and villas of wealthy citizens covered the hills.

On this rich and undefended country the hungry Roman army was let loose. Villas were plundered and burnt, horses and cattle driven off in vast numbers, and twenty thousand persons, many of them doubtless of wealth and rank, were carried away to be sold as slaves. Meanwhile the army of Carthage lurked on the hills, and was defeated wherever encountered. Regulus, who had been left in sole command of the Roman army, overran the country without opposition, and boasted that he had taken and plundered more than three hundred walled towns or villages.

The Carthaginians, who were also attacked by roving desert tribes, who proved even worse than the Romans, were in distress, and begged for peace. But the terms offered by Regulus were so intolerable that it was impossible to accept them. "Men who are good for anything should either conquer or submit to their betters," said Regulus, haughtily. He had not yet learned how unwise it is to drive a strong foe to desperation, and was to pay dearly for his arrogance and pride.

The tide of war turned when Carthage obtained a general fit to command an army. An officer who had been sent to Greece for soldiers of fortune brought with him on his return a Spartan named Xanthippus, a man who had been trained in the rigid Spartan discipline and had played his part well in the wars of Greece. He openly and strongly condemned the conduct of the generals of Carthage; and, on his words being reported to the government, he was sent for, and so clearly pointed out the causes of the late disasters that the direction of all the forces of Carthage was placed in his hands.

And now a new spirit awakened in Carthage. Xanthippus reviewed the troops, taught them how they should meet the Roman charge, and filled them with such enthusiasm and hope that loud shouts broke from the ranks, and they eagerly demanded to be led at once to battle.

The army numbered only twelve thousand foot, but had four thousand cavalry and a hundred elephants, in which much confidence was placed. The demand of the soldiers was complied with; they boldly marched out, and now no longer to the hills, but to the lower ground, where the devastation of the enemy was at once checked.

Regulus was forced to risk a battle, for his supply of food was in peril. He marched out and encamped within a mile of the foe. The Carthaginian generals, on seeing these hardy Roman legions, so long victorious, were stricken with something like panic. But the soldiers were eager to fight, and Xanthippus bade the wavering generals not to lose so precious an opportunity. They yielded, and bade him to draw up the army on his own plan.

In the battle that ensued the victory was due to the cavalry and elephants. The cavalry drove that of Italy from the field, and attacked the Roman rear. The elephants broke through the Roman lines in front, furiously trampling the bravest underfoot. Those who penetrated the line of the elephants were cut to pieces by the Carthaginian infantry. Of the whole Roman army, two thousand of the left wing alone escaped; Regulus, with five hundred others, fled, but was pursued and taken prisoner; the remainder of the army was destroyed to a man. The defeat was total. Rome retained but a single African port, which was soon given up. Xanthippus, crowned with glory and richly rewarded, returned to Greece to enjoy the fame he had won.

For five years Regulus remained a prisoner in Carthage, while the war went on in Sicily. Here, in the year 250 B.C., the Romans gained an important victory at Panormus (now Palermo), and Carthage, weary of the struggle, sent to Rome to ask for terms of peace. With the ambassadors came Regulus, who had promised to return to Carthage if the negotiations should fail, and whom the Carthaginians naturally expected to use his utmost influence in favor of peace.

They did not know their man. Regulus proved himself one of those indomitable patriots of whom there are few examples in the ages. On reaching the walls of Rome he refused at first to enter, saying that he was no longer a citizen, and had lost his rights in that city. When the ambassadors of Carthage had offered their proposal to the senate, Regulus, who had remained silent, was ordered by the senate to give his opinion of the proposed treaty. Thus commanded, he astonished all who heard by strongly advising the senate not to make the treaty. He might die for his words, he might perish in torture, but the good of his country was dearer to him than his own life, and he would not counsel a treaty that might prove of advantage to the enemy. He even spoke against an exchange of prisoners, saying that he had not long to live, having, he believed, been given a secret poison by his captors, and would not make a fair exchange for a hale and hearty Carthaginian general.

Such an instance of self-abnegation has rarely been heard of in history. It has made Regulus famous for all time. His advice was taken, the treaty was refused; he, refusing to break his parole, or even to see his family, returned to Carthage with the ambassadors, knowing that he was going to his death. The rulers of that city, so it is said, furious that the treaty had been rejected through his advice, resolved to revenge themselves on him by horrible tortures. His eyelids were cut off, and he was exposed to the full glare of the African sun. He was then placed in a cask driven full of nails, and left there to die.

It is fortunate to be able to say that there is no historical warrant for this story of torture, or for the companion story that the wife and son of Regulus treated two Carthaginian prisoners in the same manner. We have reason to believe that it is untrue, and that Regulus suffered no worse tortures than those of shame, exile, and imprisonment.

_HANNIBAL CROSSES THE ALPS._

In the year 235 B.C. the gates of the Temple of Janus were closed, for the first time since the reign of Numa Pompilius, the second king of Rome, nearly five centuries before. During all that long period war had hardly ever ceased in Rome. And these gates were soon to be thrown open again, in consequence of the greatest war that the Roman state had ever known, a war which was to bring it to the very brink of destruction.

The end of the first Punic War--as the war with Carthage was called--left Rome master of the large island of Sicily, the first province gained by that ambitious city outside of Italy. Advantage was also taken of some home troubles in Carthage to rob that city of the islands of Sardinia and Corsica,--a piece of open piracy which redoubled the hatred of the Carthaginians.

Yet Rome just now was not anxious for war with her southern rival. There was enough to do in the north, for another great invasion of Gauls was threatened. And about this time the Capitol was struck by lightning, a prodigy which plunged all Rome into terror. The books of the Sibyl were hastily consulted, and were reported to say, "When the lightning shall strike the Capitol and the Temple of Apollo, then must thou, O Roman, beware of the Gauls." Another prophecy said that the time would come "when the race of the Greeks and the race of the Gauls should occupy the Forum of Rome."

But Rome had its own way of dealing with prophecies and discounting the decrees of destiny. A man and woman alike of the Gaulish and of the Greek race were buried alive in the Forum Boarium, and in this cruel way the public fear was allayed. As for the invasion of the Gauls, Rome met and dealt with them in its usual fashion, defeating them in two battles, in the last of which the Gaulish army was annihilated. This ended this peril, and the dominion of Rome was extended northward to the Alps.

It was fortunate for the Romans that they had just at this time rid themselves of the Gauls, for they were soon to have a greater enemy to meet. In the first Punic War, Carthage had been destitute of a commander, and had only saved herself by borrowing one from Greece. In the second war she had a general of her own, one who has hardly had his equal before or since, the far-famed Hannibal, one of the few soldiers of supreme ability which the world has produced.

During the peace which followed the first Punic War Carthage sent an expedition to Spain, with the purpose of extending her dominions in that land. This was under the leadership of Hamilcar, a soldier of much ability. As he was about to set sail he offered a solemn sacrifice for the success of the enterprise. Having poured the libation on the victim, which was then duly offered on the altar, he requested all those present to step aside, and called up his son Hannibal, at that time a boy of but nine years of age. Hamilcar asked him if he would like to go to the war. With a child's eagerness the boy implored his father to take him. Then Hamilcar, taking the boy by the hand, led him up to the altar, and bade him lay his hand on the sacrifice, and swear "that he would never be the friend of the Romans." Hannibal took the oath, and he never forgot it. His whole mature life was spent in warfare with Rome.

From the city of New Carthage (or Carthagena), founded by Carthage in Spain, Hamilcar gradually won a wide dominion in that land. He was killed in battle after nine years of success, and was succeeded by Hasdrubal, another soldier of fine powers. On the death of Hasdrubal, Hannibal, then twenty-six years of age, was made commander-in-chief of the Carthaginian armies in Spain. Shortly afterwards his long struggle with Rome began.

Hannibal had laid siege to and captured the city of Saguntum. The people of Saguntum were allies of Rome. That city, being once more ready for war with its rival, sent ambassadors to Carthage to demand that Hannibal and his officers should be surrendered as Roman prisoners, for a breach of the treaty of peace. After a long debate, Fabius, the Roman envoy, gathered up his toga as if something was wrapped in it, and said, "Look; here are peace and war; take which you choose." "Give whichever you please," was the haughty Carthaginian reply. "Then we give you war," said Fabius, shaking out the folds of the toga. "With all our hearts we welcome it," cried the Carthaginians. The Romans left at once for Rome. Had they dreamed what a war it was they were inviting it is doubtful if they would have been so hasty in seeking it.

War with Rome was what Hannibal most desired. He was pledged to hostility with that faithless city, and had assailed Saguntum for the purpose of bringing it about. On learning that war was declared, he immediately prepared to invade Italy itself, leading his army across the great mountain barrier of the Alps. He had already sent messengers to the Gauls, to invite their aid. They were found to be friendly, and eager for his coming. They had little reason to love Rome.

A significant dream strengthened Hannibal's purpose. In his vision he seemed to see the supreme god of his fathers, who called him into the presence of all the gods of Carthage, seated in council on their thrones. They solemnly bade him to invade Italy, and one of the council went with him into that land as guide. As they passed onward the divine guide warned, "See that you look not behind you." But at length, heedless of the command, the dreamer turned and looked back. He saw behind him a monstrous form, covered thickly with serpents, while as it moved houses, orchards, and woods fell crashing to the earth. "What mighty thing is this?" he asked in wonder. "You see the desolation of Italy," replied the heavenly guide; "go on your way, straight forward, and cast no look behind." And thus, at the age of twenty-seven, Hannibal, at the command of his country's gods, went forward to the accomplishment of his early vow.

His route lay through northern Spain, where he conquered all before him. Then he marched through Gaul to the Rhone. This he crossed in the face of an army of hostile Gauls, who had gathered to oppose him. He had more difficulty with his elephants, of which he had thirty-seven. Rafts were built to convey these great beasts across the stream, but some of them, frightened, leaped overboard and drowned their drivers. They then swam across themselves, and all were safely landed.

Other difficulties arose, but all were overcome, and at length the mountains were reached. Here Hannibal was to perform the most famous of his exploits, the crossing of the great chain of the Alps with an army, an exploit more remarkable than that which brought similar fame to Napoleon in our own days, for with Hannibal it was pioneer work, while Napoleon profited by his example.

The mountaineers proved to be hostile, and gathered at all points that commanded the narrow pass. But they left their posts at night, and Hannibal, when nightfall came, set out with a body of light troops and occupied all these posts. When morning dawned the natives, to their dismay, found that they had been outgeneralled.

Soon after the day began the head of the army entered a dangerous defile, and made its way in a long slender line along the terrace-like path which overhung the valley far below. The route proved comparatively easy for the foot-soldiers, but the cavalry and the baggage-animals only made their way with great difficulty, finding obstacles at almost every step.

The sight of the struggling cavalcade was too much for the caution of the natives. Here was abundant plunder at their hands. From many points of the mountain above the road they rushed down upon the Carthaginians, arms in hand. A frightful disorder followed. So narrow was the path that the least confusion was likely to throw the heavily-laden baggage-animals down the precipitous steep. The cavalry horses, wounded by the arrows and javelins of the mountaineers, plunged wildly about and doubled the confusion.

It was fortunate for Hannibal that he had taken the precaution of the night before. From the post he had taken with his light troops the whole scene of peril and disorder was visible to his eyes. Charging down the hill, he attacked the mountaineers and drove them from their prey. But it was a dearly bought victory, for the fight on the narrow road increased the confusion, and in seeking the relief of his army he caused the destruction of many of his own men.

At length the perilous defile was safely passed, and the army reached a wide and rich valley beyond. Here was the town of Montmelian, the principal stronghold of the mountaineers. This Hannibal took by storm, and recovered there many of his own men, horses, and cattle which the natives had taken, while he found an abundant store of food for the use of his weary soldiers.

After a day's rest here the march was resumed. During the next three days the army moved up the valley of the river Isere without difficulty. The natives met them with wreaths on their heads and branches in their hands, promising peace, offering hostages, and supplying cattle. Hannibal mistrusted the sudden friendliness of his late foes, but they seemed so honest that he accepted some of them as guides through a difficult region which he was now approaching.

He had reason for his mistrust, for they treacherously led him into a narrow and dangerous defile, which might have easily been avoided; and while the army was involved in this straitened pass an attack was suddenly made by the whole force of the mountaineers. Climbing along the mountain-sides above the defile, they hurled down stones on the entangled foe, and loosened and rolled great rocks down upon their defenceless heads.

Fortunately Hannibal, moved by his doubts, had sent his cavalry and baggage on first. The attack fell on the infantry, and with a body of these he forced his way to the summit of one of the cliffs above the defile, drove away the foe, and held it while the army made its way slowly on. As for the elephants, they were safe from attack. The very sight of these huge beasts filled the barbarians with such terror that they dared not even approach them. There was no further peril, and on the ninth day of its march the army reached the summit of the Alps.

It was now the end of October. The grass and flowers which carpet that elevated spot in summer had become replaced by snow. In truth, the climate of the Alps was colder at that period than now, and snow lay on the higher passes all through the year. The soldiers were disheartened by cold and fatigue. The scene around them was desolate and dreary. New perils awaited their onward course. But no such feeling entered Hannibal's courageous soul. Fired by hope and ambition, he sought to plant new courage in the hearts of his men.

"The valley you see yonder is Italy," he said, pointing to the sunny slope which, from their elevated position, appeared not far away. "It leads to the country of our friends, the Gauls; and yonder is our way to Rome." Their eyes followed the direction of his pointing hand, and their hearts grew hopeful again with the cheerfulness and enthusiasm of his words.

Two days the army remained there, resting, and waiting for the stragglers to come up. Then the route was resumed.

The mountaineers, severely punished, made no further attacks; but the road proved more difficult than that by which the ascent had been made. Snow thickly covered the passes. Men and horses often lost their way, and plunged to their death down the precipitous steep. Onward struggled the distressed host, through appalling dangers and endless difficulties, losing men and animals at every step. But these troubles were trifling compared with those which they were now to endure. They suddenly found that the track before them had entirely disappeared. An avalanche had carried it bodily away for about three hundred yards, leaving only a steep and impassable slope covered with loose rocks and snow.

A man of less resolution than Hannibal might well have succumbed before this supreme difficulty. The way forward had vanished. To go back was death. It was impossible to climb round the lost path, for the heights above were buried deep in snow. Nothing remained but to perish where they were, or to make a new road across the mountain's flank.

The energetic commander lost not an hour in deciding. Moving back to a space of somewhat greater breadth, the snow was removed and the army encamped. Then the difficult engineering work began. Hands were abundant, for every man was working for his life. Tools were improvised. So energetically did the soldiers work that the road rapidly grew before them. As it was cut into the rock it was supported by solid foundations below. Many ancient authors say that Hannibal used vinegar to soften the rocks, but this we have no sufficient reason to believe.

So vigorously did the work go on, so many were the hands engaged, that in a single day a track was made over which the horses and baggage-animals could pass. These were sent over and reached the lower valley in safety, where pasture was found.

The passage of the elephants was a more difficult task. The road for them must be solid and wide. It took three days of hard labor to make it. Meanwhile the great beasts suffered severely from hunger, for forage there was none, nor trees on whose leaves they might browse.

At length the road was strong enough to bear them. They safely passed the perilous reach. After them came Hannibal with the rear of the army, soon reaching the cavalry and baggage. Three days more the wearied host struggled on, down the southward slopes of the Alps, until finally they reached the wide plain of Northern Italy, having safely accomplished the greatest military feat of ancient times.

But Hannibal found himself here with a frightfully reduced army. The Alps had taken toll of their invader. He had reached Gaul from Spain with fifty thousand foot and nine thousand horse. He reached Italy with only twenty thousand foot and six thousand horse. No fewer than thirty-three thousand men had perished by the way. It was a puny force with which to invade a country that could oppose it with hundreds of thousands of men. But it had Hannibal at its head.

_HOW HANNIBAL FOUGHT AND DIED._

The career of Hannibal was a remarkable one. For fifteen years he remained in Italy, frequently fighting, never losing a battle, keeping Rome in a state of terror, and dwelling with his army in comfort and plenty on the rich Italian plains. Yet he represented a commercial city against a warlike state. He was poorly supported by Carthage; Rome was indomitable; great generals rose to command her armies; in the end the mighty effort of Hannibal failed, and he was forced to leave Rome unconquered and Italy unsubdued.

The story of his deeds is a long one, a record of war and bloodshed which our readers would be little the wiser and none the better for hearing. We shall therefore only give it in the barest outline.

Hannibal defeated the Romans on first meeting them, and the Gauls flocked to his army. But of the elephants, which he had brought with such difficulty over the Rhone and the Alps, the cold of December killed all but one. But without them he met a large Roman army at Lake Trasimenus, and defeated it so utterly that but six thousand escaped.

Rome, in alarm, chose a dictator, Fabius Maximus by name. This leader adopted a new method of warfare, which has ever since been famous as the "Fabian policy." This was the policy of avoiding battle and seeking to wear the enemy out, while harassing him at every opportunity. Fabius kept to the hills, followed and annoyed his great antagonist, yet steadily avoided being drawn into battle.

For more than a year this continued, during all which time Fabius grew more and more unpopular at Rome. The waiting policy was not that which the Romans had hitherto employed, and they became more impatient as days and months passed without an effort to drive this eating ulcer from their plains. In time the discontent grew too strong to be ignored. A _man of business_, who was said to have begun life as a butcher's son, Varro by name, became the favorite leader of the populace, and was in time raised to the consulship. He enlisted a powerful army, ninety thousand strong, and marched away to the field of Cannae, where Hannibal was encamped, with the purpose of driving this Carthaginian wasp from the Italian fields.

It was a dwarf contending with a giant. The vainglorious Varro gave Hannibal the opportunity for which he had long waited. The Roman army met with such a crushing defeat that its equal is scarcely known in history. Baffled, beaten, and surrounded by Hannibal's army, the Romans were cut down in thousands, no quarter being asked or given, till when the sun set scarce three thousand men were left alive and unhurt of Varro's hopeful host. Of Hannibal's army less than six thousand had fallen. Of the Roman forces more than eighty thousand paid the penalty of their leader's incompetence.

Hannibal did not advance to Rome, which seemed to lie helpless before him. He doubtless had good reasons for not attempting to capture it. Maharbal, his cavalry general, said, "Let me advance with the horse, and do you follow; in four days from this time you shall sup in the Capitol." Hannibal, on the contrary, sent terms of peace to Rome. These the Romans, unconquerable in spirit despite their disaster, refused. He then marched to southern Italy and established his head-quarters in the rich city of Capua, which opened its gates to him, and which he promised to make the capital of all Italy.

Hannibal won no more great victories in Italy, though he was victor in many small conflicts. The Romans had paid dearly for their impatience. Fabius was again called to the head of the army, and his old policy was restored. And thus years went on, Hannibal's army gradually decreasing and receiving few reinforcements from home, while Rome in time regained Capua and other cities.

At length, in the year 208 B.C., Hasdrubal, the brother of Hannibal, who commanded the Carthaginian armies in Spain, resolved to go to his brother's aid. He crossed the Alps, as Hannibal had done, following the same pass, and making use of the bridges, rock cuttings, and mountain roads which his brother had made eleven years before.

Had this movement been successful, it might have been the ruin of Rome. But the despatches of Hasdrubal were intercepted by the Romans. Perceiving their great danger, they raised an army in haste, marched against the invader, and met him before he could effect a junction with his brother. The Carthaginians were defeated with great slaughter. Hasdrubal fell on the field, and his head was cruelly sent to Hannibal, who, as he looked with bitter anguish on the gruesome spectacle, sadly remarked, "I recognize in this the doom of Carthage."