THE COMING OF CÆSAR.
“The foremost man of all the world.”
A king amongst men now draws near. As he strides by, a proud and majestic figure, you know that you are in the presence of one of the world’s greatest men. He bears himself like a conqueror, yet he is far more than a mere victorious general. Scholar, statesman, writer, orator, and architect, he is the “noblest Roman of them all.” Look at his stern, powerful face, his eagle-like nose, his thin, firm-set lips, his lofty brow, and his massive head crowned with a wreath of laurel. “Cæsar!” you cry, and it is none other than he.
He has subdued Gaul, and now he looks across the narrow strait towards the white, gleaming cliffs of Dover. A new arena opens before him, a land untrodden by Roman feet, an island of fabled wealth of pearl and tin, of waving cornfields and rich pastures, peopled by sturdy warriors worthy to cross swords even with him. He remembers the fiery charge of the British on many a Gaulish battlefield, and his wrath rekindles as he thinks of the havoc they have wrought amongst his legions, and of the welcome and shelter they have afforded his flying foes in their unconquered island only a few leagues away. Right well do they deserve to feel the weight of the Roman hand. He has received invitations, too. The tribes on yonder coveted island are ever at war with each other; ambitious chiefs are ever seeking to subdue their weaker neighbours. Refugees have fled to him beseeching his assistance against their enemies. Ambition, revenge, and the prospect of easy victory over a disunited foe, all urge him on to the new enterprise now shaping itself in his busy brain. “The die is cast.” He will invade and conquer Britain, and add another laurel to his wreath of fame.
He consults the chief merchants of the Gallic coast, and endeavours to learn the military strength, the resources, the landing-places of the island; but they are dumb, and only find their tongues when they secretly and hurriedly send off messengers to warn the islanders of the threatened invasion. Envoys from Britain speedily arrive, eager to appease the wrath of great Cæsar by humbly offering to submit. They are too late. “The die is cast.”
A Roman galley pushes out to survey the British coast and to fix upon a suitable landing-place. Meanwhile Cæsar masses his legions and hies him to Portus Itius, where his transports lie. The return of the scout is the signal for embarkation, and on the morning of August 26, in the year 55 B.C., anchors are weighed and the galleys stream out of the harbour. By ten o’clock they are under the cliffs of the British shore, and then they perceive that no easy victory awaits them. Heavy fighting must be done ere the legions form up on the British shore. The cliffs are black with warriors, chariots, and horsemen ready to oppose their landing.
With a favouring breeze and the tide in his favour, Cæsar skirts the shore eastward, until a shelving strand somewhere near Romney Marsh promises him convenient landing. As his galleys move eastward, the British on the cliffs move eastward too. There is a long pause; the transports containing the cavalry are still miles away. They have not appeared at three in the afternoon; the day is wearing on, and Cæsar determines to attempt a landing without them.
With difficulty his ships approach the shallow shore, only to find the full force of the island-army, with horsemen and chariots, drawn up in battle-array to receive him. The British horsemen spur their steeds into the waves; and many a half-naked footman, with sharp javelin, heavy club, or rough-hewn war-hatchet, presses on towards the galleys. For a few minutes the Roman soldiers are dismayed and dare not leap from their ships. Then Cæsar orders up his warships and stations them on the flank of the enemy. Slings and catapults open fire, and the Britons, assailed as they have never been assailed before, draw back in confusion. Still the Romans hesitate, but the situation is saved by the standard-bearer of the famous Tenth Legion. “Leap, fellow-soldiers,” he cries, “unless you wish to betray your Eagle to the enemy. I at least will do my duty to the Republic and to my general.” Roused by his example, the Romans leap from their ships, and immediately a fierce fight rages in the water.