The Macedonian now felt for the first time, that his hitherto untarnished glory might be dimmed,—his future pathway might be clouded,—for to abandon the Siege would instantly destroy his reputation for invincibility. Even his Generals were at a loss for means to conceal their mortification, or of resources of invention, whereby the reduction of the Capital could be accomplished. They, however, suggested to Alexander, that his already brilliant fame would not be clouded, by passing on to other victories obtainable upon the land; for it was not originally intended in his present advance, to attack a strongly-fortified Island, surrounded by the broad waters of the Mediterranean, and with high walls based upon the very waves of that Sea; and then the distance of the Isle from the mainland, placed the besieged out of the reach of either fear or danger; and especially in the absence of his fleet. These and similar arguments were of no avail; for every suggestion of a present, or of a future difficulty, only increased Alexander's resolution to conquer.
The Prince in his early youth had Nature for his guide,—and that great Monitress then led him to accomplish his first victory: for the untameable horse, Bucephalus,—the Mazeppa-charger of Macedonia,—was not subdued from merely having the Lord of Wit or Wisdom by his side, but because he exercised the high gift for which he had been so justly named.[12] He, therefore, did turn the head of the proud animal "towards the East;" and in paying this supposed tribute to Apollo, he compelled the fiery steed to gaze upon the dazzling Sun!—and while thus partially blinded by the brilliant rays, the dauntless rider mounted him, and the noble animal, feeling for the first time the weight of man,—the lash and the deep-wounding spur,—forth he bounded like an earthly Pegasus,—clouds of sand and dust rising from beneath his earth-spurning, and indignant hoofs, concealed from the royal Father's sight the form of his princely Son, and the now maddened steed:—yet on he flew, like a Sirocco blast before the hurricane—his eyes still towards, and in, the dazzling Sunlight:—but, ere Apollo had reached the zenith, the horse and rider returned to the royal presence, the latter triumphant, and the former for the first time subdued, and gazing upon his shadow! Thus by Nature, and her laws, did he tame the fiery spirit!
It was a similar thought that led him to conceive the means for subduing the apparently unconquerable spirit of the proud Tyrian, safe within his untouched Island-Citadel,—as that which led him upon the plain of Macedon, to master the white steed Bucephalus—who now stood prancing upon the moonlit shore of ancient Tyrus, with his Princely Master upon his gracefully-curved back as upon a throne of ivory:—from this regal seat,—while the noble steed gazed upon the phosphoric sparkles of the radiant sea, as the waves cast them at his feet,—the pupil of Aristotle contemplated the apparently hopeless Siege of the commercial emporium of the World! That contemplation placed before him the fact, that Nature was to be subdued before the successful appliances of Art could be brought to bear upon and support his resolution. It forced upon him the conclusion that he had not only to war against Island walls, and Patriot hearts within,—but against another kingdom over which the trident monarch—Neptune—reigned, guarding with safety and with honour the renowned "Queen of the Sea,"—that he must drive back that victorious ally before he could even hope to capture her coronet of freedom! He remembered, too, that both the Babylonian and the Persian had retired, leaving their victories imperfect by not subduing the Island;—this was an additional reason why he resolved to conquer, that his military glory should, in the estimation of posterity, be beyond any predecessor.
While many of the principal Officers held a midnight council of war,—the towers and engines standing tenant-less and unmanned, from their inutility,—Alexander, upon his snowy steed, pacing the wave-washed shore, and ruminating upon his new conception,—Hephæstion and Parmenio upon their war-chargers, and as the attendants for the night, gazing upon the movements of their chief with that military anxiety which the warrior only knows or can feel,—and the soldiers of Macedonia murmuring within the camp at inactivity;—while this picture was presented of the invaders, the inhabitants of the metropolis had almost ceased to think that war and danger were near, and from their walls, as the Moon arose, they expressed every joy to their Goddess,—Astartē,—for the safety that she now witnessed and smiled upon. Alexander arousing himself from his visioned victory,—but more from the derisionary laughter of the foe, who had now discerned him, instantly dashed with his proud Bucephalus into the moonlit waters of the Mediterranean, and so toward the walls,—as if to commence in person the first assault upon the domain of Neptune! Hephæstion and Parmenio—as at the passage of the Granicus—instantly followed their Prince to cover his safe return to the shore; for a clouded shadow passed swift as a meteor over the waters towards the noble group,—a whizzing like a sudden blast was heard,—then a cutting in the waves like the swift fins of the shark,—and a rattling as of hail upon armour;—it was a flight of arrows from the walls, but they failed to reach the unpanoplied body of the chief, guarded as he was by the devotional shields and helms of his companions,—who had seen the action of the besieged, and had watched the speeding of the surcharged deadly cloud! Refreshed from the plunge, and aroused to a sense of his own danger, by that of his friends, Alexander returned to the shore, and with speed to the royal pavilion,—where, springing from his seat, he may be imagined to have thus addressed his noble steed:
"Brave companion of my youth! you have commenced the attack upon the Tyrian moat,—we will pass it,—Victory shall be ours!"
That night the fate of Tyrus was written!—for Alexander had conceived the idea, and commanded that a Causeway, or military mole, should be constructed from the Shore to the Island! The ruins of which extraordinary work are seen even at this day!
The Tyrian sentinel at early dawn gave intelligence of a new movement in the army of the invaders,—the rampart walls were instantly crowded with citizens, to watch the motion upon the point, forming the nearest distance between themselves and the shore. They beheld the removing of the several war-engines and towers,—and thereupon gave a wild shout of joy at the supposed retreat of the Macedonians! Fatal error! That loud shout which had aroused even the mangered horses of the foe, at once proclaimed their present triumph, and their future doom!
The new orders of Alexander were received in the camp with pride and gladness; and with alacrity were collected every kind of material;—timbers from the captured houses on shore, and new-felled trees for piles and outward dams,—old vessels, and decayed merchant-galleys, left upon the beach by the Tyrians as useless, were filled with stone, and sunk for the foundation, upon which the superstructure was to be erected,—the sunken galleys, also, arrested the progress of the sea-sand in its passage between the Island and the beach, and thus aided the formation of the base. The different portions of the army were then engaged in bringing thousands, and tens of thousands, of sacks and loads of earth and stone,—every activity and energy were manifested by men and officers, encouraged as they were by the personal presence of the Princely Engineer.
At first the bold attempt only excited the increased derision and laughter of the haughty Tyrians; but that mockery of the lip, was gradually changed to a clouded brow, as the Mole advanced, though with slow degrees, towards the Island. At every foot of progressive movement the difficulty of the Macedonian was increased; for, as the passage narrowed, the waters doubled their rapid rate, and nearly destroyed the advancing work. The People of the Metropolis, with the King and Nobles, viewed from the walls the first month's labour with doubts and fears,—a second and a third month passed, when the causeway reached arrow-distance from the Island. At this point of advance, Alexander, still anxious to obtain his rich prize unharmed, and believing that the Tyrians were now convinced of his resolution to conquer, despatched in a royal barge several Envoys to propose terms of capitulation. As the boat advanced to the edge of the walls, and was approaching a port-gate, and when directly beneath the overhanging parapet of a watch-tower,—a ponderous mass of stone was suddenly hurled from the rampart, upon the unsuspecting victims beneath,—a crush was heard,—the shriek of Life at the approach of sudden Death,—the splash and gurgling of the waters,—and all had ceased. Envoys and attendants had sunk, never to rise until that Day, when even "the Sea shall give up its dead!"