Even the reenforcements of Saturninus's troops could not have changed
the result of the battle around the ships and the camp on the
lake-shore: the die had fallen long before, nay, almost at the moment
the conflict began; for the surprise here had been almost more complete
than in the assault upon the Idisenhang.
In spite of the chill of the September night, the brave Commander,
Nannienus, had had his couch prepared on the high quarter-deck, above
the second bank of oars of his bireme; a very simple bed, consisting of
a woolen blanket spread over the planks, a coil of rope under his neck
and his Breton cloak for a coverlet. In reply to the warning of the
colonist from Arbor, who now relieved the helmsman, against the
nocturnal coolness of the lake, he had said, smiling:
"Oh, how often I have crossed at night, no more warmly wrapped, between
Britain and Gaul! Is the German ocean to be shamed by this fresh water
pond? There is no better sleeping potion than the rocking ship beneath
me and the stars above! Unfortunately, tonight there is no moon and
there are few stars. Strange, this constant calling of the swans. I
never supposed there could be so many!"
While thinking of the swan notes, he fell asleep, but they haunted his
dreams. He saw countless white, brown, and black swans coming from both
sides of the marshy forest against his squadron, raising their wings
threateningly as if to strike.
After a long sleep he awoke: gradually, as is natural after healthy
slumber, not all at once, his thoughts began to clear. Was he still
dreaming? It seemed as if the calling and singing of the swans on both
sides actually came nearer, accompanied by a peculiar low whistling,
humming, rippling, with now and then a louder splash in the water.
Still half asleep he asked the man at the helm: "What is that humming
among the rushes?"
"The swans, my lord, the wild swans," replied the helmsman, the old
Roman colonist from Arbor. He was a retired member of the Twenty-second
Legion, faithful to the Caesar. "I know it well! I have often seen them
at sunset going by thousands to the marshy forests of this lake. They
are preparing to migrate."
"No," cried the Breton starting up. "Those are no water birds, the
splashing is too loud." Lifting the helmet from his head, he gazed out
keenly.
"The night is black as pitch, but look, something is swimming out
from the rushes yonder: Swans? No, no!" He tore his sword from its
sheath.--"Those are boats! To arms! Raise the anchor! The foe!"
At the same moment a bright light flamed on the Idisenhang, red torches
blazed in the camp on the shore; a bundle of burning straw flew over
Nannienus's helmet into the half-reefed sail, remained there caught by
the folds, while tongues of fire, fanned by the north wind, crept up
the sail, the rigging, the mast. Already dark forms were climbing up
the sides of the galley from all directions, and wild cries from men,
attacked and mortally wounded while sleeping, rang from all the ships
and the camp on the lake shore.
Nannienus sprang with flashing sword toward the first man who boarded
the galley. But the desperate fellow did not seem to care for his own
life. Without heeding or attempting to parry the blow, which came
within a hair's breadth of his unprotected head, he thrust a sort of
harpoon (that is, a spear eight feet long with a sharp point and a hook
curving backward, such as the men threw through holes in the ice on the
lake in winter to catch the largest sheatfish) into the Roman's bronze
belt, jerked him forward with tremendous force and hurled him
overboard.
Nannienus fell into one of the boats of the Alemanni, at the starboard
side of his bireme, and striking his head against a thwart, lay stunned
for a considerable time. The skiff was empty, all its occupants had
boarded the galley. When he regained consciousness, he saw his own ship
and most of the other vessels in flames; while his camp on the shore,
and even that of Saturninus, high up on the Idisenhang, were burning.
Then he perceived that all was lost. Everywhere the remnant of his
armada which had escaped the flames was in full flight, pursued by the
Barbarians.
He resolved to make his escape to Arbor, and hastily unbuckled the
Roman armor that would have betrayed him; his helmet he had lost in his
fall. Then, seeing a German mantle lying among the rubbish in the boat,
he threw it on, placed himself at the helm (these boats were rowed and
steered standing), trimmed the coarse square sail to catch the wind,
and was soon flying, unnoticed by the Germans, who recognized the boat
as one of their own, across the lake toward Arbor.
Once only, the utmost peril threatened him. He had overtaken a lofty
Roman ship whose sails were partly burned, but the fire was evidently
being extinguished by the crew. He was on the point of hailing it and
ordering the men to take him on board when, to his horror, he perceived
that the galley was filled with Alemanni. As he had taken possession of
the German boat, they were pursuing on the captured bireme other Roman
ships that were flying to Arbor.
He hastily rowed the skiff away from the great vessel, and now
perceived that in Arbor, too, a terrible conflagration was rising
toward heaven. It was the funeral pyre of Roman rule in the fortress on
the lake. Nannienus saw it with terror, turned his boat west southwest,
and tried to gain, instead of the lost Arbor, the distant but safe
harbor citadel of Constantia.