_Among Roman Soldiers_
Jubal guided us down the declivities among ramparts and trenches, and
after long windings, where every step reminded me of havoc, brought us
to a little hamlet in the recesses of the valley, so secluded that it
seemed never to have heard the sound of war. The thunder of the falling
masses of fortification, as the fire reached their props, kept us awake
all night, and I arose from my humble couch to breathe the delicious air
that makes the summer night of Asia the time of refreshment alike to the
frame and to the mind. I found Jubal already abroad and gazing on the
summit of the mountain, where the sullen glare of the sky and the crash
of buildings showed that the work of devastation was rapidly going on.
[Sidenote: Details of a Siege]
He gave me some details of the siege. The Romans had found the fortress
so hazardous to the advance of their reenforcements that its possession
was essential to the conquest of Judea. Cestius, my old antagonist,
solicited the command to wipe off his disgrace, and the whole force
of the legions was brought up. But the generalship of Eleazar and the
intrepidity of the garrison baffled every assault, with tremendous loss
of the enemy. The siege was next turned into a blockade. Famine and
disease were more formidable than the sword; and the brave defenders were
reduced to a number scarcely able to man the walls.
“We now,” said Jubal, “fought the battle of despair; we saw the enemy’s
camp crowded every day with fresh troops, and the provisions of the
whole country brought among them in profusion, while we had not a morsel
to eat, while our fountains ran dry, and while our few troops were
harassed with mortal fatigue. Yet no man thought of surrender. Eleazar’s
courage—a courage sustained by higher thoughts than those of the
soldier, the fortitude of piety and prayer—inspired us all, and we went
to our melancholy duties with the calmness of men to whom the grave was
inevitable.
[Sidenote: The Final Attack]
“At last, when our reduced numbers gave the enemy a hope, we were
attacked by their whole force. But, if they expected to conquer us at
their ease, never were they more deceived. When the walls gave way before
their machines, they were fought from street to street, from house to
house, from chamber to chamber. Eleazar, as active as he was wise, was
everywhere; we fought in ruins—in fire. Multitudes of the enemy perished,
and more deaths were given by the knife than the spear, for our arms were
long since exhausted. The last effort was made on the spot where you
found me. When every defense was mastered by the constant supply of fresh
troops, Eleazar, passing through the subterranean to attack the Roman
rear, left me in command of the few who survived. We entrenched ourselves
in the armory. For three days we fought without tasting food, without an
hour’s sleep, without laying the weapons out of our hands. At length the
final assault was given. In the midst of it we heard shouts which told
us that our friends had made the concerted attack, but we were too few
and feeble to second it. The shouts died away; we were overpowered, and
my first sensation of returning life was the combined agony of famine,
wounds, and suffocation, under the ruins that I then thought my living
grave.”
“By dawn,” said I, “we must set out for Jerusalem.”
“It has been closely invested,” was the answer, “for the last three
months;[42] and famine and faction are doing their worst within the
walls. Titus is without, at the head of a hundred thousand of the
legionaries and auxiliaries. To enter will be next to impossible, and
when once entered, what will be before you but the madness of civil
discord, and finally, death by the hands of an enemy utterly infuriated
against our nation?”
“To Jerusalem, at all risks,” I exclaimed; “my fate is mingled with that
of the last stronghold of our fallen people. What matters it to one whose
roots of happiness are cut up like mine, in what spot he struggles
with man and fortune? As a son of Judea my powers are due to her cause,
and every drop of my blood, shed for any other, would be treason to the
memory of my fathers. The dawn finds me on my way to Jerusalem.”
“Spoken like a prince of Naphtali,” sighed Jubal; “but there I must not
follow you. The course of glory is cut off for me; alone, something may
still be done by collecting the fugitives of the tribes and harassing
the Roman communications. But Jerusalem, tho every stone of her walls
is precious to my soul, must not receive my guilty steps. I have horrid
recollections of things seen and done there. Onias, that wily hypocrite,
will be there to fill me with visions of terror. There, too, are others.”
He was silent, but suddenly resuming his firmness: “I have no hostility
to Constantius; I even honor him; but my spirit is still too feverish
to bear his presence—I must live and die, far from all whom I have ever
known.”
He hid his face in his mantle, but the agitation of his form showed his
anguish, more than clamorous grief. He walked forth into the darkness. I
was ignorant of his purpose, and lingered long for his return—I saw him
no more.
[Sidenote: The Arrival of Roman Cavalry]
Disturbed and pained by his loss, I had scarcely thrown myself on the
cottage floor, my only bed, when I was roused by the cries of the
village. A squadron of Roman cavalry marching to Jerusalem had entered,
and was taking up its quarters for the night. The peasantry could make
no resistance, and attempted none. I had only time to call to my adopted
daughter to rise, when our hut was occupied and we were made prisoners.
This was an unexpected blow; yet it was one to which, on second thoughts,
I became reconciled. In the disturbed state of the country, traveling
was totally insecure, and even to obtain a conveyance of any kind was a
matter of extreme difficulty. The roving plunderers who hovered in the
train of the camp were, of all plunderers, the most merciless; while,
falling into the hands of the legionaries, we were at least sure of an
escort; I might obtain some useful information of their affairs, and
once in sight of the city, might escape from the Roman lines with more
ease as a prisoner than I could pass them as an enemy.
The cavalry moved at daybreak, and before night we saw in the horizon
the hills which surround Jerusalem. We had full evidence of our approach
to the center of struggle by the devastation that follows the track
of the best-disciplined army—groves and orchards cut down, cornfields
trampled, cottages burned, gardens and homesteads ravaged. Farther on, we
traversed the encampments of the auxiliaries, barbarians of every color
and language within the limits of the mightiest of empires.
[Sidenote: Salathiel Views the Soldier of Barbarism]
To the soldier of civilized nations, war is a new state of existence; to
the soldier of barbarism, war is but a more active species of his daily
life. It requires no divorce from his old habits, and even encourages his
old objects, cares, and pleasures. We found the Arab, the German, the
Scythian, and the Ethiop hunting, carousing, trafficking, and quarreling,
as if they had never stirred from their native regions. The hordes
brought with them their families, their cattle, and their trade. In the
rear of every auxiliary camp was a regular mart crowded with all kinds of
dealers. Through the fields the barbarians were following the sports of
home. Trains of falconers were flying their birds at the wild pigeon and
heron. Half-naked horsemen were running races, without saddle or rein,
on horses as wild and swift as the antelope. Groups were lying under
the palm-groves asleep, with their spears fixed at their heads; others
were seen busily decorating themselves for battle; crowds were dancing,
gaming, and drinking.
As we advanced, we could hear the variety of clamors and echoes that
belong to barbarian war—the braying of savage horns, the roars of mirth,
rage, and feasting; the shouts of clans moving up to reenforce the
besiegers; the screams and lamentations of the innumerable women, as
the wains and litters brought back the wounded; the barbarian howlings
over the hasty grave of some chieftain; the ferocious revelry of the
discoverers of plunder, and the inextinguishable sorrows of the captives.
We passed through some miles of this boisterous and bustling scene,
in which even a Roman escort was scarcely a sufficient security. The
barbarians thronged round us, brandished their spears over our heads,
rode their horses full gallop against us, and exhausted the whole
language of scorn, ridicule, and wrath upon our helpless condition.
But the clamor gradually died away, and we entered upon another region,—a
zone of silence and solitude interposed between the dangerous riot of
barbarism and the severe regularity of the legions. Far within this
circle, we reached the Roman camp—the world of disciplined war! The
setting sun threw a flame on the long vistas of shield and helmet drawn
out, according to custom, for the hour of exercise before nightfall. The
tribunes were on horseback in front of the cohorts, putting them through
that boundless variety of admirable movements in which no soldiery were
so dexterous as those of Rome.
[Sidenote: The Perfection of Discipline]
But all was done with characteristic silence. No sound was heard but
the measured tramp of the maneuver and the voice of the tribune. The
sight was at once absorbing to the eye of one like me, an enthusiast in
soldiership, and appalling to the lover of his country. Before me was the
great machine, the resistless energy that had leveled the strength of the
most renowned kingdoms. With the feeling of a man who sees the tempest at
hand, in the immediate terror of the bolt, I could yet gaze with wonder
and admiration at the grandeur of the thunder-cloud! Before me was at
once the perfection of power and the perfection of discipline. Here were
no rambling crowds of retainers, no hurrying of troops startled by sudden
rumor, no military clamors. All was calm, regular, and grand. In the
center of the most furious war ever waged, I might have thought that I
saw but a summer camp in an Italian plain.
As the night fell, the legions saluted the parting sun with homage,
according to a custom which they had learned in their eastern campaigns.
Sounds less of war than of worship arose; flutes breathed in low and
sweet harmonies from the lines; and this iron soldiery, bound on the
business of extermination, moved to their tents in the midst of strains
made to wrap the heart in softness and solemnity.
I rose at dawn. But was I in a land of enchantment? I looked for the
immense camp—it had vanished. A few soldiers collecting the prisoners
sleeping about the field were all that remained of an army. Our guard
explained the wonder. An attack on the trenches, in which the besiegers
had been driven in with serious loss, determined Titus to bring up his
whole force. The troops had moved with that habitual silence which eluded
almost the waking ear. They were now beyond the hills, and the hour was
come when the prisoners were ordered to follow them. But where was the
daughter of Ananus? I had placed her in a tent with some captive females
of our nation. The tent was struck, and its inmates were gone! On the
spot where it stood a flock of sheep were already grazing, with a Roman
soldier leaning drowsily on his spear for their shepherd.
To what alarms might not this fair girl be exposed? Dubious and
distressed, I followed the guard, in the hope of discovering the fate
of an innocent and lovely being, who seemed, like myself, marked for
misfortune.
[Sidenote: The Equipment of Soldiers]
In this march we traversed almost the whole circuit of the hills
surrounding Jerusalem, and I thus had, for three days, the opportunity
that I longed for, of seeing the nature of the force with which we were
to contend. The troops were admirably armed. There was nothing for
superfluity; yet those who conceived the system knew the value of show,
and the equipment of the legions was superb. The helmets, cuirasses, and
swords were frequently inlaid with precious metals, and the superior
officers rode richly caparisoned chargers, purchased at an enormous price
from the finest studs of Europe and Asia. The common soldier was proud of
the brightness of his shield and helmet; on duty both were covered, but
on their festivals the most cheering moment was when the order was given
to uncase their arms. Then nothing could be more magnificent than the
aspect of the legion.
[Sidenote: The Methods of Warriors]
One striking source of its pomp was the multitude of its banners.
Every emblem that mythology could feign, every animal, every memorial
connected with the history of soldiership and Rome, glittered above the
forest of spears. Gilded serpents, wolves, lions, gods, genii, stars,
diadems, imperial busts, and the eagle paramount over all, were mingled
with vanes of purple and embroidery. The most showy pageant of civil life
was dull and colorless to the crowded splendor of the Roman line.
Their system of maneuver gave this magnificence its full development.
With the modern armies the principle is the avoidance of fire. With the
ancient armies the principle was the concentration of force. All was
done by impulse. The figure by which the greatest weight could be thrown
against the enemy’s ranks, was the secret of victory. The subtlety of
Italian imagination, enlightened by Greek science, and fertilized by
the experience of universal war, was occupied in the discovery; and the
field exercise of the legions displayed every form into which troops
could be shaped for victory. The Romans always sought to fight pitched
battles. They left the minor services to their allies, and haughtily
reserved themselves for the master strokes by which empires are lost or
won. The humbler hostilities, the obscure skirmishings and surprises,
they disdained; observing that, while “to steal upon men was the work of
a thief, and to butcher them was the habit of a barbarian, to fight them
was the act of a soldier.”