TYRE
It was a formidable task that Alexander had undertaken. Tyre was built
upon an island separated from the mainland by a channel half-a-mile
broad. Half of this channel was, indeed, shallow, but the other half,
that nearest to the city, was as much as twenty feet deep. The island
was surrounded by walls of the most solid construction, rising on one
side, that fronting the channel, to the enormous height of a hundred and
fifty feet. How was a place so strong to be taken, especially when the
besiegers had not the command of the sea?
Alexander’s fertility of resource did not fail him. A century and a half
before Xerxes had undertaken, or rather pretended to undertake,[51] the
construction of a mole from the mainland of Attica to the island of
Salamis. It was curiously in keeping with Alexander’s idea of retaliating
upon Persia its own misdoings that he should take one of its cities by
accomplishing in earnest what Xerxes had begun in pretence. Accordingly
he made preparations for constructing a great mole or embankment, which
was to be carried across from the mainland to the island. It was to be
seventy yards wide, and so, when completed, would give plenty of space
for carrying on operations against the walls.
Materials in abundance were at hand. The city of Old Tyre was on the
mainland. The greater part of it had been in ruins for many years, in
fact, ever since the siege by Nebuchadnezzar, and the rest was now
deserted by its inhabitants. From this plenty of stone and brick and
rubbish of all kinds could be obtained. Not far off were the forests of
Lebanon, contracted, indeed, within narrower limits than they had once
been, but still able to supply as much timber as was wanted. Of labour,
forced and free, there was no lack. The soldiers worked with a will, and
crowds of Syrian peasants were driven in from the neighbourhood to take
their part in the labour.
At first the operations were easy enough. The ground was soft so that the
piles could be driven in without any difficulty, and the water was so
shallow that it did not require much labour to fill up the spaces between
them. At the same time the Phœnician fleet did not venture, for fear of
running aground, to come near enough to damage or annoy the workmen.
It was when the embankment had been carried about half way across the
channel, and had touched the deeper water, that the difficulties began.
The men worked under showers of missiles, discharged from the ships and
even from the walls. The soldiers themselves, accustomed though they
were to risk their lives, did not ply their tools as promptly as usual;
the unwarlike peasants were simply paralyzed with fear. Though the king
himself was everywhere, encouraging, threatening, promising, sometimes
even putting his own hand to the work, little progress was made. So far
the advantage seemed to rest with the besieged. At the present rate
of advance Alexander would be as long making his way into the city as
Nebuchadnezzar had been.[52]
The next move was won by the besiegers. Two huge moveable towers were
constructed upon the finished portion of the mole. They were made of
wood, but the wood was covered with hides, and so made fireproof.
Catapults were placed on the top; from these such a fire of javelins,
bullets, and stones were kept up that the enemy’s ships could not
approach. Again the mole began to advance, the towers being moved
forwards from time to time so as to protect the newly finished portion.
It was now time for the Tyrians to bestir themselves, and they did so
effectually. A huge transport, originally made for carrying horses, was
filled with combustibles of every kind, caldrons of pitch and brimstone
being attached even to the yardarms of the masts. The stern was heavily
weighted with ballast, and the prow thus raised high above water. Taking
advantage of a day when the wind blew strongly on to the mole, the
Tyrians set light to the contents of this fire-ship, and after towing it
part of the way by a small ship on either side, let it drive towards the
embankment. It struck between the towers, the elevated prow reaching some
way over the top of the mole. The sudden shock, too, broke the masts, and
the burning contents of the caldrons were discharged. In a few moments
the towers were in a blaze, and all the work of weeks was lost.
It was now clear that without a fleet nothing could be done, and again
Alexander’s good fortune became conspicuous. Just at the critical time
when he most needed help, this help was supplied. The Persian fleet in
the Ægean had been broken up. Tyre had summoned back her own ships to
aid in her defence, and the other Phœnician cities had also recalled
their squadrons. But as these cities had submitted to Alexander their
ships were at his disposal. Other small contingents had come in, till he
could muster about a hundred men-of-war. Still he was not a match for the
Tyrians, the less so as these were by common consent the best of all the
Phœnician seamen. It was then that a decisive weight was thrown into his
side of the balance. The kings of Cyprus, a country which had no reason
to love the Persians, joined him, adding one hundred and twenty more
ships to his fleet. He could now meet his adversaries at sea on more than
equal terms.
It was necessary indeed before a battle could be ventured on to give
some time to discipline and practice. Many of the crews were raw and
unskilful, and the various contingents of which the fleet was composed
had never learnt to act together. Another great improvement, adding much
to the fighting force of the ships, was to put on board each of them a
small number of picked soldiers, who took the place of the marines in our
own navy. Charidemus and Charondas both found employment in this way, the
former being attached to the flag-ship, as it may be called, of the King
of Sidon, the latter to that of Androcles, Prince of Amathus in Cyprus.
After eleven days given to practice in manœuvring and general
preparation, Alexander sailed out from Sidon, where a _rendezvous_ had
been given to the whole naval force. The ships advanced in a crescent
formation, the king himself commanding on the right or sea-ward wing,
one of the Cyprian princes on the left; the latter skirted the shore as
closely as the depth of water permitted. The Tyrians, who now learnt for
the first time how great a fleet their enemy had succeeded in getting
together, did not venture to fight. They could do nothing more than
fortify the entrance to their two harbours, the Sidonian harbour, looking
to the north, and the Egyptian, looking to the south. Alexander, on the
other hand, established a blockade. The ships from Cyprus were set to
watch the northern harbour, those from the submitted Phœnician cities
that which looked to the south.
The Tyrians, however, though for the time taken by surprise, were
not going to give up without a struggle the command of the sea. They
came to the resolution to attack one of the blockading squadrons, and
knowing, perhaps, the skill and prowess of their fellow Phœnicians,
they determined that this one should be the contingent from Cyprus.
Each harbour had been screened from view by sails spread across its
mouth. Under cover of these, preparations were actively carried on in
that which looked towards the north. The swiftest and strongest of the
Tyrian ships, to the number of thirteen, were selected, and manned with
the best sailors and soldiers that could be found in the city. Midday,
when the Cyprian crews would be taking their noonday meal, and Alexander
himself, if he followed his usual practice, would be resting in his
tent, was fixed as the time for the attack. At midday, accordingly, the
thirteen galleys issued from the harbour mouth, moving in single file and
in deep silence, the crews rowing with muffled oars, and the officers
giving their orders by gesture. They had come close on the blockading
ships without being noticed, when a common signal was given, the crews
shouted, and the rowers plied their oars with all the strength that
they could muster. Some of the Cyprian ships had been almost deserted
by their crews, others lay broadside to; few were in a position to
make a vigorous resistance. Just at this moment, and long before his
usual time for returning, Alexander came back from his tent, and saw
the critical position of affairs. Prompt as ever, he manned a number of
the Cyprian ships that were lying at the mole, and sent for help to the
other squadron. The mouth of the northern harbour was promptly blockaded,
so that no more ships could get out to help the attacking galleys, and
these were soon assailed in the rear by a contingent from the blockading
squadron on the south side. The fortune of the day was effectually
restored, but some loss had already been sustained. Several of the
Cyprian ships had been sunk, and their crews either drowned or taken
prisoners. This had been the fate of the vessel of Androcles of Amathus.
The prince himself was drowned, and Charondas had very nearly shared his
fate. Weighed down by his armour, he could only just keep himself afloat
by the help of a spar which he had seized. A Tyrian sailor who saw him in
this situation was about to finish him with the blow of an oar, when an
officer, seeing that the swimmer must be a man of some rank, interfered.
The Theban was dragged on board, and, with some thirty or forty others,
three of whom were Macedonians or Greeks, carried back into the city.
When the losses of the day were reckoned up the first impression was
that Charondas had shared the fate of his captain. Later in the evening
the real truth was known. A Cypriote sailor, one of the crew of the lost
ship, had seen what had happened. He was supporting himself in the water
by holding on to a mass of broken timber, and, luckily for himself, had
not been observed. Two or three hours later he had been picked up by a
friendly vessel, but in such a state of exhaustion that he could give no
account of himself. It was not till late in the night that he recovered
his senses. Charidemus, who had refused to give up hope, was called to
hear the man’s story, and satisfied himself that it was true. But he
could not be sure that his friend had not better have been drowned than
been taken as a prisoner into Tyre.
His fears were greatly increased by the events of the next day.
Alexander, who had a great liking for Charondas, and whose conscience
was especially tender whenever anything Theban was concerned, sent a
herald early in the morning to negotiate an exchange of prisoners. The
man returned without succeeding in his mission. The Tyrians refused the
proposal, vouchsafing no other reason for their refusal except that they
had other uses for their prisoners.
Charidemus found himself that evening the next neighbour of a young
Sidonian noble, at a banquet which the king was giving to some of his
Phœnician allies. He asked him what he thought was the real meaning
of the somewhat obscure answer which the herald had brought back that
morning.
“I hope,” said the young man, “that there is no friend of yours among the
prisoners.”
“Yes, but there is,” was the answer. “The very dearest friend that I have
is in the city.”
The Sidonian—he was the son of the newly-appointed king of that
city—looked very grave. “I know something of these Tyrians and of their
ways, which indeed are not very different from ours. They mean to
sacrifice these prisoners to the gods.”
Charidemus uttered an exclamation of horror.
“Yes,” said the Sidonian, “it is shocking, but it is not so very long, as
I have read, since you Greeks did the same. But let that pass; you are
thinking what is to be done. Stop,” he went on, for Charidemus started up
from his seat, “you can’t take Tyre single-handed. And I think I might
help you. Let me consider for a few moments.”
After a pause he said, “You are ready, I take it, to risk a good deal for
your friend.”
“Yes,” cried the Macedonian, “my life, anything.”
“Well; we must get him out. Fortunately there are two or three days to
think about it. At least I hope so. There is always a great sacrifice to
Melkarth—your Hercules, as, I dare say, you know—on the new moon; and
they will probably reserve the principal prisoner for that. The moon is,
I know, four days short of being new. So we have time to think. Come
with me to my quarters, when we can leave this place, and let us talk the
matter over.”
It was not long before the two contrived to slip away from their places
at the table. When they found themselves alone, the prince began—
“We might get into Tyre, I think, unobserved.”
“_We_,” interrupted Charidemus in intense surprise. “Do _you_ think of
going with me?”
“Why not?” returned his companion. “I am fond of adventure, and this
really seems to promise very well. And I have other reasons, too; but
they will do another day when I will tell you my story. Of course you
must have some one with you who can speak the language; so that if you
are willing to have me for a comrade, I am ready.”
The Macedonian could only clasp the prince’s hand. His heart was too full
to allow him to speak.
“Well,” the other went on, “as I said, we might get in unobserved. There
is a way of clambering up the wall on the sea side—I lived, you must
know, for a year in Tyre, working in one of the dockyards.[53] Or we
might swim into one of the harbours at night. But the chances are very
much against us; and if we were to be caught, it would be all over with
us, and your friend too. And besides, supposing that we did get in, I
don’t see what we could do. No; we must take a bolder line; we must go
openly. We must make some plausible pretext; and then, having got in,
we will see what can be done for your friend. Now as for myself, there
is no difficulty. I have a good reason. You know we Sidonians took part
with your king. It seemed to us that we had no other choice, and that it
would have been downright folly to attempt to hold out against him. But
these Tyrians, though we are fighting against them, are, after all, of
our blood—you see I talk quite frankly to you—and, if things come to the
worst with them, as they must come, sooner or later, then we shall do our
best to save as many of them as we can. I have really a commission to
tell them this, and to warn them that, if the city is stormed, they must
make for our ships. But the question is—how are you to go?”
A thought struck Charidemus. He wondered indeed that it had not occurred
before. He showed the Sidonian the ring which King Darius had given him.
“Perhaps this may help me,” he said. The prince was delighted. “It is the
very thing,” he said. “You need not fear anything, if you have that with
you. The Tyrians will respect that, though the prisoners tell us that
they are very sore at being left all these months without any help from
the king. I should not profess to have any message from him. They have
been looking for help, not messages. No; I should recommend you simply to
show the ring. It will be a safe-conduct for you. Once in, we shall begin
to see our way.”
The next morning brought only too convincing a proof that the Sidonian
prince was right in his conjecture about the fate destined for the
prisoners. Three of these unhappy creatures were brought on to that part
of the city wall which faced the mole, and sacrificed as a burnt-offering
with all the formalities of Phœnician worship. The besiegers watched
the performance of the hideous ceremony with unspeakable rage in their
hearts. Their only comfort was to vow vengeance against the ruthless
barbarians who perpetrated such atrocities. The three victims, as far as
could be made out, were Cypriote sailors belonging to the ships that had
been sunk. Charidemus was able to satisfy himself that his friend was not
one of them.
It was arranged that the two adventurers should make their way that night
to one of the ships of war that guarded the entrance to the Sidonian
harbour. They were to put off after dark with every appearance of
secrecy, were to be pursued, and as nearly as possible captured, by a
Macedonian galley, and so were to present themselves to the besieged as
genuine fugitives.
The little drama was acted to perfection. The prince and Charidemus stole
out in a little boat from the land. A minute or so afterwards a hue and
cry was raised upon the shore, and a galley started in pursuit. The boat
was so nearly overtaken that its occupants jumped overboard, and swam to
the nearest Tyrian galley. No one who saw the incident could doubt that
it was a genuine escape.
The two companions were brought into the presence of Azemilcus, King
of Tyre. The king had been in command of the Tyrian squadron in the
Ægean fleet, and had seen Charidemus in Memnon’s company. By great good
fortune he had not happened to inquire in what character he was there.
So friendly had Memnon’s demeanour been to the young man that no one
would have taken him for a prisoner, and Azemilcus had supposed that he
was a Greek in the service of Persia, who was assisting Memnon in the
capacity of secretary or _aide-de-camp_. This recollection and the sight
of the ring perfectly satisfied him. Nor did he seem to doubt the real
friendliness of the Sidonian’s message. It seemed to him, as indeed it
was, perfectly genuine,[54] and he warmly thanked the two companions for
the risk they had run. They frankly explained that they had not really
meant to desert from the besieging army. Such a proceeding, indeed,
would have seemed suspicious in the critical condition of the city. They
had hoped, on the contrary, to come and return unobserved. As it was,
having been seen and pursued, they must stay and take their chance with
the besieged.
Azemilcus invited the two young men to be his guests at supper. He had
lived a good deal with Greeks, and spoke their language fluently, besides
having adopted some of their ways of thought. When the conversation
happened to turn on the sacrifices to Melkarth, he explained that he
had nothing to do with them, though without expressing any particular
horror or disgust. “The priests insist upon them, and though I don’t
like such things, I am not strong enough to resist. You see,” he went
on to explain, for the benefit of the Greek guests, “we Phœnicians are
much more religious than you, and if I were to set myself against an old
custom of this kind, it would very likely cost me my throne and my life.”
In the course of the conversation it came out that the victims intended
for sacrifice were kept in a chamber adjoining the Temple of Melkarth,
and that, as the Sidonian prince had supposed, the next great ceremony
would take place on the approaching new moon.