ROME AND THE SEA
Marine development under the Romans was largely influenced by Greek
precedent and practice, but there were points of difference.
The transportation of goods across the seas was conducted by
shipowners, who formed themselves into corporations under the style of
_navicularii marini_, but from the middle of November to the middle of
March navigation was suspended until the finer weather returned. Under
the Republic these shipmen worked for the companies of _publicani_, but
Augustus abolished these financial companies, appointing in their stead
superintendents who dealt direct with the owners of ships. The latter
were regarded as anything but unimportant. On them the victualling of
the capital largely depended, and the early emperors granted them, as
owners of important merchant vessels, special privileges; but this was
conditional on their ships possessing a capacity of 10,000 modii, and
on their carrying corn to Rome for the period of six years. Though they
were not in the permanent employ of the State, yet they were liberally
rewarded for their services. In the corporations of the _navicularii
marini_ there was no clear distinction between the shipowner who worked
“on his own” and those engaged in working for the State.
From the time of Diocletian, however, the _navicularii_ were all
servants of the State, and it was their duty to transport cargoes
of corn, oil, wood, and bullion from the provinces to Rome or
Constantinople. In their ships the Imperial post was carried. They
received a fixed percentage and were responsible to the State for the
goods placed in their holds. Membership of these corporations was
handed down from father to son. They were allowed to engage in private
trade and enjoyed the additional privilege of passing their cargoes
duty free through the Customs. Similarly, additional to the overseas
traffic, the internal navigation was organised by corporations of
merchants and barge-owners. For example, the State employed them to
handle the consignments of corn from Egypt on the Nile, Tiber, and the
rivers and lakes of Northern Italy, Spain, Gaul, and Germany. So, too,
the Rhone and Saône were navigated by them.
The reader is aware that we have had necessity to refer more than once
to the corn-ships from Egypt, and in an age that was given up rather
to the development of the fighting galley than to the exploiting of
the cargo ship these trans-Mediterranean grain-carriers stand out
prominently as a class by themselves. It is most unlikely that they
altered much during a space of several hundred years, when even
that much-petted craft, the galley, remained so little modified.
Therefore the following account which has been left to us by Lucian
may be regarded not merely as representative of the corn-ship in his
immediate period, but as characteristic of the ship for probably five
hundred years at least. Lucian lived in the second century, and was
born probably about A.D. 120. In the dialogue from which the following
extract is taken he taunts his friend Timolaus with being ever fond
of a fine spectacle; to which the latter replies that he had had
nothing to do, and being told of “this monster vessel of extraordinary
proportions putting in at the Piræus,” he goes on to explain that “she
is one of the Egyptian corn-ships and bound for Italy.”
[Illustration: THE EGYPTIAN CORN-SHIP “GODDESS ISIS” (_circa_ A.D.
120).]
Keenly interested, they went on board her by the gangway, and he goes
on to refer to the ship’s cabins, which he examined, to the shipwright
who conducted them round the ship, calls attention to the lofty mast,
stares in amazement at the sailors “as they mounted by the ropes,
and then with perfect safety ran along the yards holding on to the
halyards.” A hundred and thirty feet long she measured, with 30-feet
beam, whilst from deck to bottom of hold she was 29 feet at her deepest
part.
“What a mast she has!” exclaims Samippus, one of the friends; “and how
huge a yard she carries, and what a stay it requires to hold it up in
its place! With what a gentle curve her stern rises, finished with a
goose-neck all of gold! At the other end, in just proportion, the prow
stands up, lengthening itself out as it gets forward, and showing the
ship’s name, the _Goddess Isis_, on either side.... The decorations
and the flame-coloured foresail, and beyond these the anchor with the
windlass and capstan, and I must not omit the stern cabins. Then the
number of souls would make one think it was a camp. We were told it
carried enough corn to feed all the people of Athens for a year. And
all we saw had so far been carried safe and sound by a little old man,
using a slight tiller to turn that huge rudder. They showed him to
me--a bald-pated fellow with a fringe of curly hair. Hero, I think, by
name.”
Then Timolaus still further enriches the narrative:
“The passenger told me of his marvellous seamanship; in all seafaring
matters he out-Proteused Proteus in skill. Did you hear how he brought
his ship home, and all they went through on the voyage, or how the
star guided them to safety?” Lucian answers that he has not heard, so
Timolaus goes on to inform him.
“The captain told it me all himself--an honest fellow, and good
company. Seven days after leaving the Pharos they sighted Cape Acamas
without meeting with any very severe weather. Then the west wind
proving contrary, they were swept across as far as Sidon; and after
Sidon they fell in with a heavy gale; and on the tenth day came to
the Chelidonian Islands, passing through the channel, where they had
a narrow escape of going down, every man of them. I know what that
is, for I once passed the Chelidonians myself, and remember how high
the sea runs there, especially when the wind is in the south-west and
backing south. For the result of this is that the Pamphylian Gulf is
cut in two by the Lycian Sea, and the wave is split up by endless cross
currents at the promontory, the rocks there being sheer and worn sharp
by the wash of water, so that the surf becomes really formidable and
the roar overpowering, and, indeed, the wave (not infrequently) is full
as large as the rock it strikes. This, the captain said, was what they
were surprised by in the midst of night and literal darkness; but, he
added, the gods were moved with pity at their cries, and revealed to
them from the Lycian coast the light of a fire, so that they knew where
they were; and at the same time a bright star, one of the Twins, took
his place at the masthead, guiding the ship to the left towards the
open sea, just as it was bearing down on the rock. After that, having
once fallen off from their true course, they at length succeeded in
crossing the Ægean, and beating up in the teeth of the Etesian winds,
only yesterday, seventy days out from Egypt, put in at the Piræus.
They had so long been off their course in the lower seas that they
missed doing what they should have done, keeping Crete on the right and
steering past Malea. Otherwise they would have been in Italy by this
time.”
Further on in the course of the conversation, Adeimantus, one of the
friends, mentions that after stopping to measure the thickness of the
anchor, “though I had seen everything, I must needs stop to ask one of
the sailors what was the average return to the owner from the ship’s
cargo.” “Twelve Attic talents,” he replied, “is the lowest figure, if
you like to reckon it that way.”[13]
I make no apology for giving so full a quotation, for there is in
the narrative something so sincere and yet so curiously modern:
the whole picture is so full of sparkling bits of colour that it
is most pleasing, and we can almost see this mammoth ship with her
hefty spars and beautiful curves and “flame-coloured” sails. The
intervening space of nearly two thousand years seems to have made but
little difference in the type of skippers. I am sure that to many a
sailing man to-day the delightful little sketch of the captain of the
_Goddess Isis_ corn-carrier as “the little old man,” “a bald-pated
fellow with a fringe of curly hair” sitting at his tiller, will at
once suggest the very counterpart in the style and appearance of the
skipper of a corn-barge--“an honest fellow, and good company.” And
the account of the bad weather encountered successfully, the use of
stellar navigation, the good seamanship employed, and the proof of
the corn-ship’s seaworthiness are all too interesting to be lightly
dispensed with. In the present days of accurate charts, ingenious
nautical instruments, and big, sound ships, one is a little too apt to
imagine that the ships and the ability of their crews in ancient times
were scarcely worthy of serious consideration--deserving of little more
than ridicule. So many ill-informed artists, who have drawn on their
imagination in the past to depict what they believed to be the ships
of olden times, have been shown to be wrong and misleading, that there
has been such a reaction as to make it difficult to obtain any definite
legitimate picture in one’s mind. It is just such accounts written by
contemporaries as that of the _Goddess Isis_ that enable us once more
to see the ships of the past in their true likeness and proportions.
But we must return to the warships. Prior to the time of Augustus
there was no fleet in being. Ships were built or fitted out at the
approach of war--a principle that the whole maritime history of the
world has always shown to be the most unmitigated naval heresy. But
by the year 337 B.C. there were certainly docks at Rome--the word
used is _navalia_--so at least there was some provision made for the
accommodation of ships. Knowing what we do of the Romans as magnificent
organisers and soldiers ashore, we are not surprised to find that
the same spirit was manifested in arranging the commands afloat. The
general command at sea was vested in the two consuls. Later on there
were appointed two fleet-masters under the designation, “duoviri
navales classis ornandæ reficiendæque causa.” There was thus a double
squadron consisting usually of twenty ships, ten being under each
duumvir. The coming of the Punic War had this effect, however, that it
caused Rome to think more seriously of her ships and to become in fact
a great naval power. In 260 B.C. there were built 100 quinquiremes and
20 triremes; with these the Romans defeated the Carthaginian fleet of
130 at Mylæ. The method employed was that which thereafter was to be
practised for so many centuries down the history of naval fights; that
is to say, the device consisted in boarding each other and engaging in
hand-to-hand encounter. In the present instance a boarding bridge was
held up against the mast by means of ropes and pulleys and let down
promptly on to the enemy’s deck for the troops of the Roman ships to
rush furiously across. The Greek word for this boarding bridge was
_korax_, the derivative meaning of which was a raven-like beak for
grappling. The Latin word was _corvus_. So powerful had the Romans
become at sea that they also defeated with 330 ships the Carthaginian
fleet of 350 at Ecnomus. Did a violent storm engulf two or three
hundred Roman ships? Then they set to work forthwith to build as
many and more by the aid of voluntary effort. She had such extensive
resources to fall back on that she was destined to win not exclusively
by good seamanship and tactics, but by weight of numbers. The boarding
bridges just mentioned had been found of the greatest value, and yet
prior to their invention boarding tactics had yet been employed. As far
back as 413 B.C. (when they used them against the Syracusans) grapnels
had been in use for hitching on to the enemy and then pouring slaughter
and death into him.
[Illustration: THE “KORAX” ON BOARDING BRIDGE IN ACTION.]
During the second Punic War, Rome had appreciated the value of
retaining permanent squadrons with the same commanders. Thus one
squadron was based on Tarraco, another--that of Sicily--on Lilybæum.
The Adriatic squadron was based on Brundisium. These three squadrons
provided a fleet of about two hundred ships. But when war was
threatening, new quinquiremes were built and the old ones were
refitted. But this excellent system of having a standing navy was
subsequently abolished and Rome’s general sea-command disappeared.
During the first Punic War the fleet was commanded by one or both
consuls in person. Then the separate squadrons were commanded by
prætors or proprætors, though later on by proconsuls or consuls who
sometimes deputed the command to a præfectus. The crews consisted of
three sections--the oarsmen, the sailors, and the marines, designated
respectively _remiges_, _nautæ_, and _milites classici_. It is
important to bear in mind that no Roman ever handled an oar, but that
the rowers and sailors were supplied from the allies and maritime
colonies. This is evidence of the fact that, unlike the Phœnicians or
the Vikings, the Romans were not instinctively seamen, but only took to
the ocean because it was essential for their safety on shore.
The expression _socii navales_ became the stereotyped phrase for
the crew of oarsmen and sailors. Later on--in the third century
B.C.--libertini were to a great extent employed in the crews. Slaves
were used during the Hannibalian War as oarsmen, and sometimes the
ships were manned by prisoners. When it was necessary, the crews were
sometimes armed and used as soldiers. But the Roman naval service
was never popular, and consequently there were many desertions. The
captain of each galley was designated _magister navis_. He and the
steersman (_gubernator_) were _ingenui_, the steersman ranking with
a centurion. The marines were drawn usually from the Roman proletariat,
and there was an arrangement of some sort for the distribution of
prize-money. Additional to the triremes, quadriremes, and quinquiremes,
there were also scouts--_lembi_, which were but light craft--and
_pentekontors_.
[Illustration: SKETCHES OF ANCIENT SHIPS.
By RICHARD COOK, R.A., from Montfarreon’s “Antiquities,” showing
warships with marines and fighting-platform amidships; the lower
sketches show clearly the types of bow and stern.]
Great importance was clearly attached to the quinquiremes, for in such
craft envoys, commissioners, or messengers of victory were carried.
They fought together with the triremes and quadriremes as the capital
ships of the Roman navy, and whilst the State depended on the treaty
towns and allies for their lighter craft, yet the all-important
quinquiremes were kept under immediate control. The description and
arrangement of the different kinds of Greek warships is generally
applicable to those of the Romans. On the deck of the galley the troops
fought, while below them were the oarsmen. These propugnatores were
protected by means of bulwarks (_propugnacula_) as well as by two
wooden towers (_turres_), carried on supports which could be taken down
from the ship whenever required.
[Illustration: THREE ANCIENT COINS FROM SCHEFFER’S “DE MILITIA NAVALI”
ILLUSTRATING TYPES OF RAMS.]
Among the Greeks it was customary to divide ships into _kataphraktoi_
and _aphraktoi_, according as to whether they were decked in or
otherwise. The corresponding Latin expressions were _navis tecta_ or
_navis aperta_ respectively. The quinquireme, however, was always
cataphract; that is to say, the planking did not end at the gunwale,
but was continued to the upper deck so as to afford protection to
the rowers from missiles. As to the dimensions and tonnage of the
quinquireme it is impossible to make any statement, but they were of
such a size that, with some difficulty, they could be hauled up on
shore at night.
[Illustration: BRONZE FIGUREHEAD OF MINERVA FROM A ROMAN SHIP FOUND IN
THE SEA OFF ACTIUM.
(Probably belonging to one of the ships which fought in the battle of
Actium, B.C. 31.)]
Augustus realised that a Roman fleet in being was essential to police
the seas and keep down piracy so as to ensure the safe passage
of Rome’s corn supply from Egypt. The two fleets which he based
permanently on Misenum and Ravenna respectively to guard the Western
and Eastern seas were of the utmost utility. He even went so far
as to connect Ravenna with the Po by means of a canal. Manned with
crews and captains who were either slaves or freedmen, the ships were
unfortunately allowed to rot and the service to fall into desuetude,
and about A.D. 6 piracy was again rampant, so that it required once
more to be checked.
During the first century B.C. two new types of warships appeared in
the bireme and the liburnian. The latter was really a lightly built
trireme, and originally was a swift lembos with a ram attached. The
Romans built liburnians also as biremes, which they employed for
scouting and fighting. The name was derived from the Liburnians of
Dalmatia, from whom the shape of the hull was borrowed; but later
on the expression came to denote simply a ship of war. Just before the
dawn of the Christian era the Romans began to build those bigger and
stouter ships, mounting heavy catapults, which were probably not very
different from the tall ships which the Crusaders had to contend with
some hundreds of years later.
[Illustration: SKETCHES OF ANCIENT SHIPS.
By RICHARD COOK, R.A., from Montfarreon’s “Antiquities,” showing Roman
Warship under sail; the lower sketches well illustrate species of stems
and sterns.]
Before the close of the second century A.D. there were afloat not
only the Italian fleets, but also those of the Roman provinces.
There was the Egyptian fleet based on Alexandria, the Syrian fleet,
the Libyan fleet, the Euxine fleet, besides two fleets on the
Danube and the Rhine. Furthermore, there must not be omitted the
Romano-British fleet--the Classis Britannica--which was based on
Boulogne (Gesoriacum), with stations at Dover, Lympne, and Gloucester.
This dated from the invasion by Claudius and assisted Agricola in his
Scottish expedition in A.D. 83. It circumnavigated Britain, discovered
for the Romans the Orkneys, and saw the long line of the outer
Hebrides. The classiarii also on shore helped to build Hadrian’s wall.
But as to the exact nature of such ships we shall speak in greater
detail presently.
Each of the fleets just mentioned was commanded by a præfectus and
had also a sub-præfectus. The Egyptian fleet-præfect was sometimes
also præfect of the Nile revenue boats. Each ship was commanded by
a trierarch, the classiarii being organised as a century under a
centurio-classicus, or fleet-centurion. Thus whenever the men had to
be put on shore for duty their organisation went with them. The term
of service for the classiarii was twenty-five or twenty-six years. The
Roman fleets illustrated at an early date in the world’s history what
every nation has since been compelled to realise: that a standing navy
cannot be dispensed with among the essential attributes of peace and
self-defence. Rome’s fleets kept off Carthage and Philip and enabled
Rome to be mistress of the sea route between Hannibal and Spain; and,
as is usually the case, the decadence of the Government was promptly
followed by the decadence of the fleet.
[Illustration: TWO COINS DEPICTING “NAUMACHIÆ.”
(From Scheffer’s “De Militia Navali.”)]
The influence of the Roman navy on land was seen in a manner similar
to that in which the Roman army influenced gladiatorial combats. In
Rome there were various “naumachiæ,” which were great reservoirs
surrounded by seats like an amphitheatre and were specially constructed
for holding naval fights. There was one, for instance,[14] built by
Augustus on the trans-tiberine side of the river, and traces of this
naumachia were discovered not many years ago. A naumachia consisted of
an enormous tank or lake excavated in the ground, and measured 1800
feet long by 1200 feet wide. Within this ample area naval battles
containing thirty beaked ships with three or four tiers of oars,
together with many other smaller ships were engaged, and no fewer
than three thousand fighting men, to say nothing of the rowers, were
engaged. It is interesting to add that naval fights were also held
in a gigantic reservoir on the site now occupied by the Colosseum.
[Illustration: REPRESENTATION OF A ROMAN NAUMACHIA.
(See text.)]
No consideration of the relation of Rome to the sea can be complete
without taking into consideration those important and daring adventures
which Julius Cæsar attempted. Adventures they certainly were, for
here was a land general trying experiments which belonged rightly to
sailormen; and, as was the inevitable result, he made terrible mistakes
as he blundered through towards victory. His expedition against the
Veneti, “the stoutest and the most skilful seamen in Gaul,” taught
him much: taught him that he was matched to play a game whose tricks
he did not understand. But the praise belongs to him, a landsman, for
his ingenuity and resource in toiling with such signal success against
very heavy odds. He recognised quickly that the ships of the Veneti and
their allies were so heavy that no Roman galley with its cruel rams
could have any appreciable effect on them. They were too high out of
the water, too, to enable the legionaries to hurl their missiles with
any telling effect. It has been suggested that the design of these
powerful Biscayan craft had originally been borrowed from the great
Carthaginian merchantmen, “whose commerce in British waters they had
inherited, and their prosperity depended upon the carrying trade with
Britain, of which they possessed the monopoly.”[15]
It was Cæsar’s opportunity to rise to the occasion, and he availed
himself of the chance. Sending instructions to his officers to have
a fleet built in the ports at the mouth of the Loire, he also raised
oarsmen from the province and collected as many local pilots and seamen
as possible. Thus, when the time came, the Roman fleet included ships
impressed from the maritime tribes between the Loire and Garonne. The
Roman engineers also came to the rescue, and, taking long poles,
they armed them at one end with sharp-edged hooks. There was just one
feature in which the galleys surpassed the stout ships of the enemy:
they were far more mobile. So, when the rival fleets approached, two
or more galleys ran alongside the Biscayan craft, thrust out the sharp
hooks, caught the halyards, rowed hard away, with the result that the
ropes snapped, the yard and sail came tumbling down on to the deck
below and enveloped the crew. Springing smartly from the galleys on
to this confused crowd, the enemy was soon slaughtered and the ship
captured. In principle, though not in detail, the tactic was similar to
that used in comparatively modern times when sailing men-of-war aimed
to blow away the enemy’s rigging, leaving him so much out of control
that complete annihilation was a matter only of time.
But far more interesting than his expedition against the Veneti was
Cæsar’s invasion of England. Regarded merely as a naval exploit, it is
deserving of great attention; but to those who have had any experience
of winds, waves, and tides it is most instructive. Picture Cæsar,
therefore, in the summer of 55 B.C. at Gesoriacum, better known to
the reader under its modern name of Boulogne. Here was a port that
was important in even those early days. From this spot the merchants
of Gaul were wont to embark their cargoes and carry them across the
Channel to the shores of Kent, and later on it was destined to become
one of the naval stations for the Classis Britannica. Think of it in
the year we are speaking of as a busy place, lined with shipyards along
its banks and many craft in its haven. From the forest above could be
hewn and floated down the trees for the making of ships. Every mariner
to-day knows that when the heavy north-east gales make it impossible
for the cross-Channel packet-steamers to enter Calais, Boulogne can
be entered with safety by even sailing craft.
[Illustration: CHART TO ILLUSTRATE CÆSAR’S CROSSING THE ENGLISH
CHANNEL.]
But inasmuch as the prevailing wind along the English Channel is
from the south-west, the reader will observe on consulting a chart
that the position of Boulogne for the Gallic traders bound for Dover
or the Thames was singularly well placed, inasmuch as it gave the
mariner a fair wind outward-bound on most occasions. That fact was
doubtless appreciated by Cæsar when he elected to use this port as his
starting-place for Britain. He therefore gave orders that his fleet
was here to be got in readiness, and then sent forth Volusenus in a
galley to reconnoitre the British coast. The ship was a Roman galley
manned by oarsmen who had been trained by years of work for the task,
and with such a craft as this Volusenus could be independent of wind
and accomplish his task with the utmost dispatch. He was away cruising
about the English Channel for a period of three days, during which
time he had doubtless been able to locate a suitable place where his
master’s troops could be disembarked. He had had the opportunity of
taking soundings, and--perhaps most important of all to one accustomed
almost exclusively to the Mediterranean--of noticing both the range
of tide and the force and direction of the strong tidal streams.
Similarly, he was able to make a note of the cliffs of Dover and other
landmarks. With this knowledge he returned to place himself at Cæsar’s
disposal.
On August 25, then, the transports came out from Boulogne. The time was
midnight, it wanted five days to full moon, and high water that evening
was at 6 p.m., so that the tides were neaps, or at their weakest. We
can be quite sure that, acting on the experience of Volusenus in the
Channel, it was deliberately intended to avoid spring tides. (It is
high water at Boulogne at new and full moon at 11.28.) The transports
thus came out of the haven with the last drain of the ebb. But in the
offing the tide that night did not make to the eastward till 4 a.m., so
there would be the Channel ebb to contend against for some time.
So far all had been splendidly arranged, so that by the time the flood
or east-going tide had begun the fleet would all have got clear of
the harbour and the oarsmen have been getting into their stride for
the passage. Gris Nez and the French cliffs were left behind as the
hulls ploughed their way through the heaving sea and sped onwards.
But it was not to be a quick passage. The tide, of course, turned
against them before they were across, and those transports would not
easily be impelled through the waves; but at nine the next morning the
oar-propelled galleys which had got ahead during the night approached
the cliffs of Dover. Far behind followed the sail-driven transports, so
Cæsar let go anchor in Dover Bay, summoned a council of his generals
and tribunes, gave them instructions as to the landing-place, told them
how to handle both ships and men in disembarking, and then between
three and four o’clock that same afternoon the bulky transports
wallowed up to join the galleys. Between four and five p.m. the Channel
stream off Dover turned to the eastward, and as the wind was favourable
Cæsar gave the signal to weigh anchor. Presently the galleys,
transports, and the smaller craft were stretched out running past the
Foreland with wind and tide to help them. It did not take them long to
skirt past St. Margaret’s Bay, and at some point between Walmer and
Deal the transports were beached and the journey accomplished. Thus,
with careful foresight, Cæsar had got safely across the Channel with
his troops and fleet.
These transports had carried his infantry; now the cavalry were
starting not from Boulogne, but from Ambleteuse, which is about midway
between Boulogne and Cape Gris Nez, and slightly nearer to Dover.
Not till August 30 were these descried approaching the British coast.
A gale from the north-east sprang up and prevented them from keeping
their course, so that some were carried back to Ambleteuse, while
others were swept to the westward down Channel. Some anchored for a
time, but the north-east wind gave them a lee shore, and they had
to put out to sea and make for the Continent. Some scudded past the
gale beyond the South Foreland and the high cliffs of Dover, risking
disaster every minute. Those which had hauled with the wind abeam over
to the Gallic coast managed to heave-to on the port tack, and drifting
past Cape Gris Nez, were in fairly sheltered water, so that they could
carry on and make port. This they did, and re-entered Ambleteuse
without the loss of either a ship or a man. Such a fact proves at once
that Cæsar had been able to get together from somewhere a number of men
who were not novices, but very fine seamen. We must concede that the
Gallic sailors knew their business, at any rate.
Cæsar and his men had already landed near Deal. They had left their
galleys and the infantry transports, and gone inland before this had
happened. The galleys, as was the Mediterranean custom for centuries,
had been hauled up above the mark for ordinary high water; the
transports, because of their weight and size, had been left at anchor.
Now Cæsar, in spite of what he had gathered regarding tides, had
evidently omitted to bear in mind the fact that at full moon or new
moon--“springs”--the rise of the tide is greater than at neaps. Neither
he nor his officers knew the connection between tides and moon, and
there is a difference of several feet on that coast between high-water
springs and high-water neaps. It was full moon, and every seafaring
man knows that when a gale does occur at that time it is worse than
when the moon is not at full or change. High water was somewhere about
11 p.m. Wind and tide rose in great strength on to this lee shore, so
that the galleys which had been hauled up were dashed to pieces, while
transports broke from their anchors and drove on to the beach.
We have no concern with any operations on land; it is enough for our
purpose to add that after spending some time in making repairs to those
ships which remained, Cæsar took his ships and men back to Boulogne.
The expedition had proved a failure. But in the following year Cæsar
again invaded Britain. This time he set forth neither from Boulogne
nor Ambleteuse, but from Wissant, which is about midway between the
chalk cliffs of Cape Blanc Nez and the sandstone cliffs of Cape Gris
Nez, and on the charts of to-day you will still find “Cæsar’s Camp”
marked. Wissant was much nearer to the British coast than either of
the other two ports, and the Roman evidently was not anxious to make
the cross-Channel passage any longer than need be this time. The fleet
at Boulogne had been weather-bound for three weeks with a series of
north-west winds. Anyone who has sailed along this portion of the
French coast knows what a nasty sea a wind from that direction sets up,
blowing as it does directly on shore. A north-west wind would have sent
a strong swell into Boulogne harbour; but apart from that, even had the
ships been at Wissant ready to start it would not have been of much
avail, for the course from there to the nearest British shore was about
north-west--a dead “nose-ender.” June, therefore, came and went.
But about July 6, Cæsar set sail from Wissant about sunset. As the
wind was light from the south-west he had a favourable air. There was
no moon, but the nights are warm and not very dark at the beginning of
July. The tide probably set him down some distance in the vicinity of
Gris Nez, for it did not begin to flow to the north-east till 10 p.m.
Good progress was made this time, and by midnight the leading division
was getting well up to the South Foreland. The wind, as it so often
does on a July night, began to fail and finally dropped utterly, so
that the fleet had barely steerage way. The strong Channel flood took
hold of them, and about 3.15 a.m. Cæsar was abreast of Kingsdown (a
little to the south of Walmer). Eventually he arrived at Sandwich about
noon, having no doubt anchored for six hours, since the Channel tide
was just about to run to the south-west when he had got to Kingsdown.
This time he left his 600 ships not hauled up on the beach, but at
anchor, having disembarked his troops. Yet once more a storm rose which
caused some of the vessels to part their anchors, others to collide
with each other, and others still to be dashed ashore and damaged.
Forty were totally destroyed, but the remainder he managed to patch
well enough. They were hauled ashore, probably by means of windlasses
or capstans, greased rollers being inserted under the keels. They were
then surrounded by earthworks so as to be protected efficiently. About
the middle of September and about nine o’clock at night, Cæsar and his
fleet once more returned from Britain and arrived at Boulogne about
daybreak.
He took back with him a great deal of invaluable information on the
subject of tides, but the cost of obtaining such knowledge had been by
no means small. It is possible that a critical reader may feel disposed
to remark that the Channel tides in Cæsar’s time were not identical in
direction and force with those of to-day. It is impossible to settle
the point with accuracy. Certain it is that for some centuries the
coast between Sandgate and Dover has altered a good deal, but, speaking
generally, this has not been of much consequence, though a good deal of
alteration has taken place between Hythe and Dungeness, which may or
may not have affected the tidal stream. Similarly, it is a matter for
dispute whether the Channel stream in the neighbourhood of the Dover
Straits began to ebb and flow at precisely the same time as to-day.
It is more than possible that the changes in the configuration of the
coast and of the Goodwin Sands may, during the centuries, have modified
the Channel tides hereabouts. Some say that in Cæsar’s time Thanet
was an island, that Dungeness did not exist, that Romney Marsh was
covered at high water by an estuary 50,000 acres in extent, and that
the estuary of the Thames was far wider than to-day. But even when all
these points have been taken into consideration, two facts remain true:
that the tide ebbed and flowed backwards and forwards along the English
Channel, and that because of the narrow neck through which this huge
volume of water has to rush by the Straits of Dover there must have
been not much difference in strength from that which is experienced
to-day.
The geographical information which Cæsar brought back concerning Gaul
and Britain after his campaigns cannot be lightly regarded. It was the
knowledge which an explorer bestows on a wondering community. Such
items as prevailing winds, tides, currents, the influence of moon and
the nature of harbours along the coast, the depths of water, and so on,
might have been appreciated still more had the Romans been as eager for
scientific knowledge as they were for organisation and conquest.
But if the Romans were not great navigators nor even a race of
seamen, at any rate they were very fine shipwrights. Expert opinion
of to-day, arguing from the evidence of the only Roman craft which
are still in existence, gives the highest praise to the art of the
Roman shipbuilder. The relics of the craft found in Lake Nemi were
discussed by me in another volume,[16] and need be referred to now
only slightly. But the other craft which was recently unearthed whilst
excavations were being made in 1910 at Westminster, on the site for the
new London County Council Hall, is far more instructive, because being
above ground it is get-at-able and capable of intimate study. It now
lies among the collection of the London Museum in Kensington Gardens.
This craft was probably one of the fleet of Carausius, who for a time
was admiral under Maximilian and Diocletian, but subsequently rebelled
against the Imperial authority and proclaimed himself emperor of
Britain in A.D. 287.
[Illustration: Ship of the Roman Period discovered at Westminster.
SKETCH SHOWING THE INTERIOR OF HULL.]
This boat was found lying on a shell sand which indicated the original
bed of the Thames. The date is approximately fixed by the three coins
which were found with the boat: one of Tetricus the Elder in Gaul (A.D.
268–273), the second of Carausius in Britain (A.D. 286–293), and the
third of Alectus in Britain (A.D. 293–296). It is possible that there
was some ceremony in placing coins in a Roman boat, just as to-day coin
of the realm is placed at the laying of a foundation-stone.
She was probably a single-decked war-galley, built in Gaul, but had
been dismantled before being abandoned to sink in the waters of the
Thames. One expert naval architect, who made a careful inspection of
this relic when first discovered, has gone so far as to state that not
only is the craftsmanship excellent, that probably nothing built in our
own time would look so well after seventeen hundred years’ immersion,
but that finer fitting could not be expected to-day. It shows, further,
not merely good workmanship, but good design.
It is more than likely that this ship was built at Boulogne on one of
the Roman shipyards there, and formed originally a unit in the Classis
Britannica. There is a votive tablet preserved in the Boulogne Museum,
and found in that neighbourhood, depicting two triremes with the stern
steering oar, the beak at the bows, and the banks of oars, which shows
how similar these Romano-British ships were to the Mediterranean model.
The votive offering in question had been made by the crew of a trireme
named the _Radians_. Possibly the Westminster ship was the flagship of
Carausius.
Her timbers were found to have been cut with the grain, and every
other one ran to the gunwale. A rubbing strake ran along outside the
hull which took the thwart ends, the recesses for the same being still
visible. It would appear as if the frames above turned outwards and
formed a support for that gangway along which the soldiers were wont to
fight. Some think there is evidence to show that the ship had a false
keel, and that she carried a mast. As to the dimensions of the vessel,
one authority, judging by the run of the stringer, suggests that when
she was whole she measured about 90 feet long by 18 feet beam. The
material was oak; the treenails, which were perfectly made and fitted,
measured 1¼ inches in diameter.[17]
[Illustration: DETAILS OF ROMAN SHIP FOUND AT WESTMINSTER.]
The two vessels buried at the bottom of Lake Nemi--from the fragments
which have been brought to the surface--belong to the time of Caligula
(A.D. 37), and equally demonstrate the first-class workmanship of the
Romans. Of these two pleasure craft one measured 208 feet long by 65
feet beam, whilst the other was 227 feet by 80 feet. The planking
was of white fir, and the frames were probably of oak. All the metal
fastenings below the water-line were of bronze, but above water they
were iron. The nail heads were cemented over and the planking canvased,
and finally a lead sheathing was laid on with copper nails. It has
been ascertained that the builders had been careful to cut out any
faulty timber, and to fill up the space with sound material. The metal
fastenings connecting the timbers and planking were put through, the
points being laid over and turned back into the wood. The planking in
the first of the Nemi wrecks was of two thicknesses of 1½-inch stuff.
In the larger of the two, three thicknesses of planking were found
to exist, the beams for the decks being found to be attached to the
gunwale as in the method seen on the Westminster ship.
Even if we allow a great deal for the knowledge in shipbuilding which
the Romans acquired from the Veneti and from Gallic shipbuilders, yet
everything points to the fact that Italy knew how to build and how
to fight ships to such perfection that we cannot but feel for them
the keenest admiration. If they were not great explorers such as the
Phœnicians, they accomplished a great deal in other spheres of the
maritime art, and sometimes in the teeth of great obstacles.
[Illustration: DETAILS OF ROMAN SHIP FOUND AT WESTMINSTER.]
Here and there Virgil gives us delightful little sea-cameos which
show how keenly the ancients exulted in their ships, and raced them
against each other past rock and cliff, through wind and spume. What,
for example, could be more interesting than the account of the race
of the four galleys in the fifth book of the Æneid? He gives you the
names of the swift _Pristis_, the huge _Chimæra_, which with her triple
arrangement of oars was so big that she seemed like a floating town,
the _Centaur_, and the dark blue _Scylla_. He draws for you the picture
of the captains standing at the sterns, the crew taking their seats at
the oars and waiting in eager breathlessness for the trumpet to start
them on their race. Almost you can see the strong arms being drawn up
to the breast and thrust smartly away again. The blue _Scylla_ wins,
but it is a splendid struggle. The little touches of the ship which
was “swifter than wind or flying arrow speeds towards land,” and of
the disabled galley which moves slowly (like to a snake which has been
run over), yet hoists her canvas and enters the harbour’s mouth “with
full sails,” are pencilled in by a man who must have often watched
a galley doing her work. He speaks of the lofty sterns which these
galleys possessed, of Palinurus the pilot bidding his men to reef the
sails at the gathering of a “dark storm of rain, bringing with it
gloom and foul weather,” and gives orders to “labour at their strong
oars, and sidewards turn the sails to meet the wind.” Evidently with
the squall came a shift of wind, so that instead of being able to run
with the breeze free, under sail power alone, they were now compelled
to come on a wind, shorten canvas, and get out oars to prevent such
shallow-draught vessels from drifting to leeward.
And in a later passage Æneas, after the sea has calmed down, “bids
all the masts quickly to be raised, and on the sailyards the sails to
be stretched. All at once veered the sheet, and loosened the bellying
canvas to right, to left; at once they all turn up and down the tall
ends of the sailyards; favouring breezes bear the fleet along. Foremost
before them all, Palinurus led the close line; with an eye to him the
rest were bid to direct their course. And now damp night had just
reached the centre of its course in the heavens; the sailors, stretched
on their hard seats beneath the oars, had relaxed their limbs in quiet
repose.”
There is some indication in the Georgics of the manner in which the
ancient seamen made use of stars and weatherology. “As carefully must
the star of Arcturus, and the days of the Kids, and the bright Dragon
be observed by us on land, as by those who, homewards bound across the
stormy seas, venture to the Euxine and the straits of oyster-breeding
Abydos.” ... “Hence we can learn coming changes of weather in the
dubious sky, hence the days of harvest and the season of sowing, and
when ’tis meet with oars to cut the faithless sea, when to launch our
rigged fleets, and when at the proper time to fell the pine tree in
the woods: nor will you be disappointed, if you watch the setting and
rising of the heavenly signs, and observe the year fairly divided by
four distinct seasons.” ... “Straightway, when winds arise, either the
straits of the sea begin to swell with agitation, and a dry crash is
heard on the high hills, or far in the distance the shores are filled
with confused echoes, and the murmur of the woods thickens on the ear.
The wave can but ill forbear to do a mischief to the crooked keels,
even when gulls fly swiftly back from the high sea, sending their
screams before them.... Oft too, when wind impends, you will see stars
shoot headlong from the sky.... But when it lightens from the quarter
of grim Boreas, and when the home of Eurus and Zephyrus thunders, then
are the dykes filled and all the country is flooded, and every mariner
out at sea furls his dripping sails.... The sun also, both when rising
and when he hides himself beneath the waves, will give you signs;
infallible signs attend the sun ... a blue colour announces rain, or
fiery winds; but if the spots begin to be mixed with glowing red, then
you will see all nature rage with wind and stormy rain together. On
such a night let no one advise me to venture on the deep, or pluck my
cable from its mooring on the shore.”