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Title: A greater than Napoleon: Scipio Africanus
Author: Basil Henry Liddell Hart
Release date: January 14, 2026 [eBook #77699]
Language: English
Original publication: Edinburgh: William Blackwood & Sons, 1926
Credits: Tim Lindell, David King, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net. (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A GREATER THAN NAPOLEON: SCIPIO AFRICANUS ***
A Greater than Napoleon: Scipio Africanus
[Illustration: From the bust in the Capitoline Museum, supposed to be
Scipio Africanus.]
A GREATER THAN NAPOLEON
SCIPIO AFRICANUS
BY
Captain B. H. LIDDELL HART
_WITH FRONTISPIECE AND MAPS_
FOURTH IMPRESSION
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS LTD.
EDINBURGH AND LONDON
MCMXXX
_Printed in Great Britain_ _All Rights reserved_
_TO
THE MASTER, FELLOWS AND SCHOLARS
OF
CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE
CAMBRIDGE_
PREFACE.
The excuse for this book is that no recent biography of Scipio exists;
the first and last in English appeared in 1817, and is the work of a
country clergyman, who omits any study of Scipio as a soldier! The
reason for this book is that, apart from the romance of Scipio’s
personality and his political importance as the founder of Rome’s
world-dominion, his military work has a greater value to modern students
of war than that of any other great captain of the past. A bold claim,
and yet its truth will, I hope, be substantiated in the following pages.
For the study of tactical methods the campaigns of Napoleon or of 1870,
even of 1914-1918 perhaps, are as dead as those of the third century
B.C. But the art of generalship does not age, and it is because Scipio’s
battles are richer in stratagems and ruses—many still feasible
to-day—than those of any other commander in history that they are an
unfailing object-lesson to soldiers.
Strategically Scipio is still more “modern.” The present is a time of
disillusionment, when we are realising that slaughter is not synonymous
with victory, that the “destruction of the enemy’s main armed forces on
the battlefield” is at best but a means to the end, and not an end in
itself, as the purblind apostles of Clausewitz had deceived
themselves—and the world, unhappily. In the future, even more than in
the past, the need is to study and understand the interplay of the
military, economic, and political forces, which are inseparable in
strategy. Because Scipio more than any other great captain understood
and combined these forces in his strategy, despite the very “modern”
handicap of being the servant of a republic—not, like Alexander,
Frederick, Napoleon, a despot,—the study of his life is peculiarly
apposite to-day. Above all, because the moral objective was the aim of
all his plans, whether political, strategical, or tactical.
My grateful thanks are due to Sir Geoffrey Butler, K.B.E., M.P., Fellow
of Corpus Christi College, Cambridge; to Mr W. E. Heitland, M.A., Fellow
of St John’s College, Cambridge; and to Mr E. G. Hawke, M.A., Lecturer
at Queen’s College, London, for their kindness in reading the proofs and
for helpful comments.
B. H. L. H.
CONTENTS.
INTRODUCTION ... 1
I. HALF LIGHT ... 9
II. DAWN ... 20
III. THE STORM OF CARTAGENA ... 31
IV. THE BATTLE OF BÆCULA ... 44
V. THE BATTLE OF ILIPA ... 56
VI. THE SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN ... 67
VII. THE TRUE OBJECTIVE ... 88
VIII. A POLITICAL HITCH ... 106
IX. AFRICA ... 123
X. A VIOLATED PEACE ... 151
XI. ZAMA ... 164
XII. AFTER ZAMA ... 191
XIII. SIESTA ... 204
XIV. THE LAST LAP ... 222
XV. DUSK ... 238
XVI. ROME’S ZENITH ... 248
LIST OF MAPS.
BATTLE OF BÆCULA ... _Facing p._ 46
BATTLE OF ILIPA (SCIPIO’S MANŒUVRE) ... _Facing p._ 60
SPAIN (AT TIME OF 2ND PUNIC WAR) ... _Facing p._ 84
UTICA ... _Facing p._ 126
AFRICA (THE TERRITORY OF CARTHAGE) ... _Facing p._ 144
BATTLE OF ZAMA ... _Facing p._ 176
THE MEDITERRANEAN WORLD ... _Facing p._ 202
A GREATER THAN NAPOLEON
INTRODUCTION.
The road to failure is the road to fame—such apparently must be the
verdict on posterity’s estimate of the world’s greatest figures. The
flash of the meteor impresses the human imagination more than the
remoter splendour of the star, fixed immutably in the high heavens. Is
it that final swoop earthwards, the unearthly radiance ending in the
common dust, that, by its evidence of the tangible or the finite, gives
to the meteor a more human appeal? So with the luminaries of the human
system, provided that the ultimate fall has a dramatic note, the memory
of spectacular failure eclipses that of enduring success. Again, it may
be that the completeness of his course lends individual emphasis to the
great failure, throwing his work into clearer relief, whereas the man
whose efforts are crowned with permanent success builds a stepping-stone
by which others may advance still farther, and so merges his own fame in
that of his successors.
The theory at least finds ample confirmation in the realm of action. A
Napoleon and a Lee are enshrined in drama, in novel, and in memoir by
the hundred. A Wellington and a Grant are almost forgotten by the
writers of the nations they brought through peril intact and victorious.
Even a Lincoln may only have been saved from comparative oblivion by the
bullet of an assassin, a Nelson by death in the hour of victory, which
relieved by emotion-awakening tragedy the disrepute of a successful end.
It would seem likely that a century hence the name of Ludendorff will be
emblazoned as the heroic figure of the European War, while that of Foch
sinks into obscurity; there are signs already of this tendency to exalt
the defeated.
For permanence of reputation a man of action must appeal to emotion, not
merely to the mind; and since the living man himself no longer can
kindle the emotions of posterity, the dramatic human touch of ultimate
failure is essential. This truth would seem to hold in most branches of
human effort. Scott’s gallant but belated attempt to reach the South
Pole lives in the world’s memory, while the successful ventures of
Amundsen and Peary are fading. In sport, Dorando’s Marathon is an
enduring memory; but who among the general public could recall the name
of Hayes, the actual victor, or, indeed, that of any subsequent Marathon
winner.
For this irrational, this sentimental verdict, it is fashionable to fix
the blame on modern journalism, yet the barest survey of history shows
that its origins lie far back in the mists of time. On the historian, in
fact—who of all men should by training and outlook put his trust in
reason—falls the major responsibility for this eternal tendency—the
glorification of dramatic failure at the expense of enduring
achievement. The history of the ancient confirms that of the modern
world, and in no example more strikingly than that of Scipio Africanus,
the subject of this brief study, which is an attempt to redress the
“historical” balance by throwing further weights of knowledge and
military appreciation on Scipio’s side, not as commonly by detraction
from his rivals. Gradually, progressively, the belittlement of Scipio
has been pressed by historians anxious to enhance the fame of Hannibal.
It is the more unreasonable, the less excusable, because here there are
no mass of conflicting sources and contemporary opinions. The reliable
data on which to base a study and a judgment are practically limited to
the works of Polybius and Livy, with but a few grains from other, and
admittedly less trustworthy, ancient authorities. And of these two,
Polybius, the earlier, is almost contemporary with events, the friend of
Gaius Lælius, Scipio’s constant subordinate, from whom he could get
first-hand evidence and judgments. He had the family archives of the
Scipios at his disposal for research, and he had been over the actual
battlefields while many of the combatants were still alive. Thus he
gained an almost unique base upon which to form his estimate.
Further, being a Greek, his views are less suspect than those of Livy of
being coloured by Roman patriotic bias, while modern historical
criticism is unanimous in its tribute alike to his impartiality, his
thoroughness of research, and the soundness of his critical insight.
The verdict of Polybius is clear, and his facts still more so.
That there were divergent judgments of Scipio among the Romans of
succeeding generations is true; but Polybius explains the reasons so
convincingly, their truth borne out by the known facts of Scipio’s
strategical and tactical plans, that there is no vestige of excuse for
modern writers to regard as due to luck what superstition led the
ancients to ascribe to divine aid. “The fact that he was almost the most
famous man of all time makes every one desirous to know what sort of man
he was, and what were the natural gifts and the training which enabled
him to accomplish so many great actions. But none can help falling into
error and acquiring a mistaken impression of him, as the estimate of
those who have given us their views about him is very wide of the
truth.” “... They represent him as a man favoured by fortune ... such
men being, in their opinion, more divine and more worthy of admiration
than those who always act by calculation. They are not aware that the
one deserves praise and the other only congratulation, being common to
ordinary men, whereas what is praiseworthy belongs only to men of sound
judgment and mental ability, whom we should consider to be the most
divine and most beloved by the gods. To me it seems that the character
and principles of Scipio much resembled those of Lycurgus, the
Lacedæmonian legislator. For neither must we suppose that Lycurgus drew
up the constitution of Sparta under the influence of superstition and
solely prompted by the Pythia, nor that Scipio won such an empire for
his country by following the suggestion of dreams and omens. But since
both of them saw that most men neither readily accept anything
unfamiliar to them, nor venture on great risks without the hope of
divine help, Lycurgus made his own scheme more acceptable and more
easily believed in by invoking the oracles of the Pythia in support of
projects due to himself, while Scipio similarly made the men under his
command more sanguine and more ready to face perilous enterprises by
instilling into them the belief that his projects were divinely
inspired. But that he invariably acted on calculation and foresight, and
that the successful issue of his plans was always in accord with
rational expectation, will be evident.”
To the mind of to-day not only does such an explanation appear
inherently probable, but affords a key to the understanding of a man
whose triumphs, whether military, political, or diplomatic, were, above
all, due to his supreme insight into the psychology of men. Who,
moreover, applied this gift like the conductor of a great orchestra to
the production of a world harmony. In conducting policy, through war to
peace, he indeed attained a concord which aptly fulfilled the musical
definition: “A combination which both by its ... smoothness and by its
logical origin and purpose in the scheme can form a point of repose.” As
a conductor of the human orchestra he had, however, two weaknesses, one
inborn and one developing with years. He could not comprehend the low
notes—the narrowness and baseness to which men can descend,—and the
exaltation of spirit born of his power over men prevented him from
hearing the first warnings of that discord which was to impair the
glorious symphony so nearly completed.
CHAPTER I.
HALF LIGHT.
Publius Cornelius Scipio was born at Rome in the 517th year from the
city’s foundation—235 B.C. Though a member of one of the most
illustrious and ancient families, the Cornelii, of his early years and
education no record, not even an anecdote, has come down to us. Indeed,
not until he is chosen, through a combination of circumstances and his
own initiative, to command the army in Spain at the age of twenty-four,
does history give us more than an occasional fleeting glimpse of his
progress. Yet bare and brief as these are, each is significant. The
first is at the battle of the Ticinus, Hannibal’s initial encounter with
the Roman arms on Italian soil, after his famous passage of the Alps.
Here the youthful Scipio, a lad of seventeen, accompanied his father,
the Roman commander. If his first experience of battle was on the losing
side, he at least emerged with enviable distinction. Let the story be
told in Polybius’s words: “His father had placed him in command of a
picked troop of horse” (in reserve on a small hill) “in order to ensure
his safety; but when he caught sight of his father in the battle,
surrounded by the enemy and escorted only by two or three horsemen and
dangerously wounded, he at first endeavoured to urge those with him to
go to the rescue, but when they hung back for a time owing to the large
numbers of the enemy round them, he is said with reckless daring to have
charged the encircling force alone. Upon the rest being now forced to
attack, the enemy were terror-struck and broke up, and Publius Scipio,
thus unexpectedly rescued, was the first to salute his son as his
deliverer.” It is said that the consul ordered a civic crown, the Roman
V.C., to be presented to his son, who refused it, saying that “the
action was one that rewarded itself.” The exploit does credit to the
young Scipio’s gallantry, but the outcome, as emphasised by Polybius,
does still more credit to his psychological insight. “Having by this
service won a universally acknowledged reputation for bravery, he in
subsequent times refrained from exposing his person without sufficient
reason when his country reposed her hopes of success on him—conduct
characteristic not of a commander who relies on luck, but on one gifted
with intelligence.”
To the present generation, with personal experience of war, the point
may have greater force than to the closeted historians. To the former,
the higher commander who aspires to be a platoon leader, thrusting
himself into the fight at the expense of his proper duty of direction,
is not the heroic or inspired figure that he appears to the civilian. To
some too, not natural lovers of danger for its own sake—and these are
rare in any army,—the point will touch a chord of memory, reminding them
of how by the moral hold on their men given by one such exploit they
were thereafter enabled to take the personal precautions which better
befit the officer entrusted with the lives of others. The civilian at
home poured scorn on the German officer “leading” his men from behind;
not so the fighting soldier, for he knew that when the occasion called,
his officer enemy did not hesitate to risk, nay throw away his life, as
an example. The story still lives of the German officer who led a
forlorn hope mounted on a white horse.
The exploit, and the popular fame it brought, launched Scipio’s military
career so auspiciously as to earn him rapid advancement. For, less than
two years later, 216 B.C., Livy’s account speaks of him as one of the
military tribunes, from whom the commanders of the legions were
nominated, and in itself a post that made him one of the deputies or
staff officers of the legion commander. If a parallel is desired, the
nearest modern equivalent is a staff colonel.
This second glimpse of Scipio comes on the morrow of Cannæ, Rome’s
darkest hour, and it is curious that the future general, who, like
Marlborough, was never to fight a battle that he did not win, should in
his subordinate days have been witness of unrelieved disaster. There is
no record of Scipio’s share in the battle, but from Livy’s account it
seems clear that he was among the ten thousand survivors who escaped to
the greater Roman camp across the River Aufidus, and further, one of the
undaunted four thousand who, rather than surrender with their fellows,
quitted the camp after nightfall, and eluding the Carthaginian horse,
made their way to Canusium. Their situation was still perilous, for this
place lay only some four miles distant, and why Hannibal did not follow
up his success by the destruction of this remnant, isolated from
succour, remains one of the enigmas of history, to all appearance a
blemish on his generalship.
With the four thousand at Canusium were four military tribunes, and, as
Livy tells us, “by the consent of all, the supreme command was vested in
Publius Scipio, then a very young man, and Appius Claudius.” Once more
Scipio shines amid the darkness of defeat; once more a time of general
disaster is the opportunity of youth backed by character. Disruption, if
not mutiny, threatens. Word is brought that men are saying that Rome is
doomed, and that certain of the younger patricians, headed by Lucius
Cæcilius Metellus, are proposing to leave Rome to its fate and escape
overseas to seek service with some foreign king. These fresh tidings of
ill-fortune dismay and almost paralyse the assembled leaders. But while
the others urge that a council be called to deliberate upon the
situation, Scipio acts. He declares “that it is not a proper subject for
deliberation; that courage and action, and not deliberation, were
necessary in such a calamity. That those who desired the safety of the
state would attend him in arms forthwith; that in no place was the camp
of the enemy more truly than where such designs were meditated.” Then,
with only a few companions, he goes straight to the lodging of Metellus,
surprising the plotters in council. Drawing his sword, Scipio proclaims
his purpose: “I swear that I will neither desert the cause of Rome, nor
allow any other citizen of Rome to desert it. If knowingly I violate
this oath, may Jupiter visit with the most horrible perdition my house,
my family, and my fortune. I insist that you, Lucius Cæcilius, and the
rest of you present, take this oath; and let the man who demurs be
assured that this sword is drawn against him.” The upshot is that,
“terrified, as though they were beholding the victorious Hannibal, they
all take the oath, and surrender themselves to Scipio to be kept in
custody.”
This danger quelled, Scipio and Appius, hearing that Varro, the
surviving consul, had reached Venusia, sent a messenger there, placing
themselves under his orders.
Scipio’s next brief entry on the stage of history is in a different
scene. His elder brother, Lucius, was a candidate for the ædileship,[1]
and the younger Publius “for long did not venture to stand for the same
office as his brother. But on the approach of the election, judging from
the disposition of the people that his brother had a poor chance of
being elected, and seeing that he himself was exceedingly popular, he
came to the conclusion that the only means by which his brother would
attain his object would be by their coming to an agreement and both of
them making the attempt, and so he hit on the following plan. Seeing
that his mother was visiting the different temples and sacrificing to
the gods on behalf of his brother and generally showing great concern
about the result, he told her, as a fact, that he had twice had the same
dream. He had dreamt that both he and his brother had been elected to
the ædileship, and were going up from the Forum to their house when she
met them at the door and fell on their necks and kissed them. She was
affected by this, as a woman would be, and exclaimed, ‘Would I might see
that day,’ or something similar. ‘Then would you like us to try,
mother?’ he said. Upon her consenting, as she never dreamt he would
venture on it, but thought it was merely a casual joke—for he was
exceedingly young,—he begged her to get a white toga ready for him at
once, this being the dress that candidates are in the habit of wearing.
What she had said had entirely gone out of her head, and Scipio, waiting
until he received the white toga, appeared in the Forum while his mother
was still asleep. The people, owing to the unexpectedness of the sight,
and owing to his previous popularity, received him with enthusiastic
surprise; and afterwards, when he went on to the station appointed for
candidates and stood by his brother, they not only conferred the office
on Publius but on his brother too for his sake, and both appeared at
their home elected ædiles. When the news suddenly reached his mother’s
ears, she, overjoyed, met them at the door and embraced the young men
with deep emotion, so that from this circumstance all who had heard of
the dreams believed that Publius communed with the gods not only in his
sleep, but still more in reality and by day.”
“Now, it was not a matter of a dream at all; but as he was kind,
munificent, and agreeable in his address, he reckoned on his popularity
with the people, and so by cleverly adapting his action to the actual
sentiment of the people and of his mother, he not only attained his
object, but was believed to have acted under a sort of divine
inspiration. For those who are incapable of taking an accurate view of
opportunities, causes, and dispositions, attribute to the gods and to
fortune the causes of what is accomplished by shrewdness and with
calculation and foresight.”
To some the deception, even though for a worthy end, may seem out of
tune with the higher Roman virtues; and Livy, to whom as a Roman the
artifice would appear less admirable than to Polybius, a Greek, leaves
in doubt the origin of this habit of Scipio’s, developed in his after
career either by reason of its success or practice. Here is Livy’s
appreciation: “Scipio was undoubtedly the possessor of striking gifts;
but besides that he had from childhood studied the art of their
effective display. Whether there was some vein of superstition in his
own temperament, or whether it was with the aim of securing for his
commands the authority of inspired utterances, he rarely spoke in public
without pretending to some nocturnal vision or supernatural suggestion.”
Livy may exaggerate the frequency, for he wrote at a later date, and
legends grow round the characteristics of the great. Such supernatural
claims only appear occasionally in Scipio’s recorded utterances, and he,
a supreme artist in handling human nature, would realise the value of
reserving them for critical moments.
Livy continues: “In order to impress public opinion in this direction,
he had made a practice from the day he reached manhood of never engaging
in any business, public or private, without first paying a visit to the
Capitol. There he would enter the sanctuary and pass some time,
generally in solitude and seclusion. This habit ... made converts to a
belief, to which accident or design had given wide currency, that his
origin was other than human. There was a story once widely believed
about Alexander the Great, that his male parent had been a huge serpent,
often seen in his mother’s chamber, but vanishing directly men appeared.
This miracle was told again of Scipio ... but he himself never cast
ridicule upon it; indeed, he rather lent it countenance by the course
which he adopted of neither wholly disclaiming such tales nor openly
asserting their truth.” This last tale, incidentally, is repeated by
several of the ancient writers and enshrined in ‘Paradise Lost,’ where
Milton writes:—
“He with Olympias, this with her that bore
Scipio, the height of Rome.”
The view that this claim to divine inspiration had a religious and not
merely an intellectual basis gains some support from Scipio’s conduct in
the Syrian War of 190 B.C., when, because he was a member of the college
of the priests of Mars, known as Salian priests, he stayed behind the
army and indirectly kept it waiting at the Hellespont, as the rule bound
him to stay where he was until the month ended.
Again, modern psychologists may suggest that his dreams were true and
not invented, such is known to be the power of strong desire to fulfil
itself in dreams. Whatever the explanation and the source of his
“visions,” there can be no doubt as to the skill with which he turned
them to practical account. And it is a supreme moral tribute to Scipio
that this power was exerted by him purely to further his country’s good,
never his own. When trouble and accusation came in later days, and an
ungrateful State forgot its saviour, Scipio did not invoke any divine
vision in his defence. That he so refrained is the more definite and the
more significant, because, with other psychological means, he showed
himself still the supreme “organist” of the human instrument.
Scipio’s election to the ædileship is historically important, not only
because it illumines the sources of his success and influence over men,
but also for its light on the causes of his political decline, the
self-imposed exile from an ungrateful country, which saw a marvellously
brilliant career close in shadow. It is Livy who shows that his election
was not so unopposed as Polybius’s account would suggest; that the
tribunes of the people opposed his pretensions to the office because he
had not attained the legal age for candidature. Whereupon Scipio
retorted that “if the citizens in general are desirous of appointing me
ædile, I am old enough”—an appeal over the heads of the tribunes which
was instantly successful, but which by its triumphant defiance of
tradition and rule was likely to add resentment to the jealousy which
inevitably accompanies the precocious success of youth.
Footnote 1:
The ædileship was normally the first rung of the ladder to the higher
magistracy. Its functions were those of a civic “Home Office”—the care
of the city and the enforcement of the by-laws, the supervision of the
markets and of prices and measures, the superintendence and
organisation of the public games.
CHAPTER II.
DAWN.
These three episodes form the prologue to the real drama of Scipio’s
career. On this the curtain rises in 210 B.C., which, if not Rome’s
blackest hour in her life and death struggle with Carthage, was at least
the greyest. That conflict, which she had entered upon originally in 264
B.C., was the inevitable sequel to the supremacy of the Italian
peninsula won by her combination of political genius and military
vigour, for this supremacy could never be secure so long as an alien sea
power—Carthage—commanded the waters of the peninsula, a continual menace
to its seaboard and commerce. But when, after many hazards, the close of
the First Punic War in 241 B.C. yielded Rome this maritime security, the
vision and ambition of Hamilcar Barca not merely revived, but widened
the scope of the struggle between Rome and Carthage into one with world
power or downfall as the stakes. During the long interval of outward
peace this Carthaginian Bismarck prepared the mental and material means
for a stroke at the heart of the Roman power, educating his sons and
followers to conceive the conquest of Rome as their goal, and using
Spain as the training ground for the Barcine school of war, as well as
the base of their forthcoming military effort. In 218 B.C., Hannibal,
crossing the Alps, began his invasion of Italy to reap the harvest for
which his father had sown the seeds. His victories on the Ticinus, the
Trebia, at the Trasimene Lake, grew in scale until they reached their
apex on the battlefield of Cannæ. If Roman fortitude, the loyalty of
most of the Italian allies, and Hannibal’s strategic caution then gained
for Rome a reprieve, the passage of five years’ unceasing warfare so
drained her resources and exhausted her allies that by 211 B.C. Roman
power, internally if not superficially, was perhaps nearer than ever
before to a breakdown. A machine that is new and in good condition can
withstand repeated severe shocks, but when badly worn a jar may suffice
to cause its collapse. Such a jar came, for while Hannibal was
campaigning in Southern Italy, destroying Roman armies if apparently
drawing no nearer his object—the destruction of the Roman power,—the
Carthaginian arms in Spain had been crowned with a victory that
threatened Rome’s footing on the peninsula.
For several years Scipio’s father and uncle, Publius the elder and
Gnæus, had been in command of the Roman forces there, winning repeated
successes until, caught divided, the two brothers were defeated in turn,
both falling on the battlefield. The shattered remnants of the Roman
forces were driven north of the Ebro, and only a gallant rally by
Marcius prevented the Romans being driven out of Spain. Even so their
situation was precarious, for many of the Spanish tribes had forsaken
the Romans in their hour of adversity. Though the determination of Rome
itself, as before, was unbroken, and the disaster only spurred her to
retrieve it, the choice of a successor proved difficult. Finally, it was
decided to call an assembly of the people to elect a pro-consul for
Spain. But no candidates offered themselves for the dangerous honour.
“The people, at their wits’ end, came down to the Campus Martius on the
day of the election, where, turning towards the magistrate, they looked
round at the countenances of their most eminent men, who were earnestly
gazing at each other, and murmured bitterly that their affairs were in
so ruinous a state, and the condition of the commonwealth so desperate,
that no one dared undertake the command in Spain. When suddenly Publius
Cornelius, son of Publius who had fallen in Spain, who was about
twenty-four years of age, declared himself a candidate, and took his
station on an eminence by which he could be seen by all” (Livy). His
election was unanimous, not only by every century, but by every man
there present. “But after the business had been concluded, and the
ardour and impetuosity of their zeal had subsided, a sudden silence
ensued, and a secret reflection on what they had done—whether their
partiality had not got the better of their judgment. They chiefly
regretted his youth; but some were terrified at the fortune which
attended his house and his name, for while the two families to which he
belonged were in mourning, he was going into a province where he must
carry on his operations amid the tombs of his father and his uncle.”
Realising the prevalence of these second thoughts, these doubts, Scipio
sought to offset them by summoning an assembly, at which his sagacious
arguments did much to restore confidence. The secret of his sway,
extraordinary in one so young, over the crowd mind, especially in times
of crisis, was his profound self-confidence, which radiated an influence
to which the stories of his divine inspiration were but auxiliary.
Self-confidence is a term often used in a derogatory sense, but Scipio’s
was not only justified by results but essentially different, a spiritual
exaltation which is epitomised by Aulus Gellius as “conscientia sui
subnixus”—“lifted high on his consciousness of himself.”
To the remains of the army in Spain ten thousand foot and a thousand
horse were added, and taking these reinforcements, Scipio set sail with
a fleet of thirty quinqueremes from the mouth of the Tiber. Coasting
along the Gulf of Genoa, the Riviera shore, and the Gulf of Lions, he
landed his troops just inside the Spanish frontier, and then marched
overland to Tarraco—modern Tarragona. Here he received embassies from
the various Spanish allies. His appreciation of the moral factor and of
the value of personal observation, two vital elements in generalship,
was shown in his earliest steps. The rival forces were in winter
quarters, and before attempting to formulate any plan he visited the
States of his allies and every one of the various parts of his army,
seeking always by his attitude, even more than by his words, to rekindle
confidence and dissipate the influence of past defeat. His own moral
stature could not be better shown than by his treatment of Marcius, the
man who had partly retrieved the Roman disasters, and thus one whom an
ambitious general might well regard as a rival to his own position and
fame. But “Marcius he kept with him, and treated him with such respect
that it was perfectly clear that there was nothing he feared less than
lest any one should stand in the way of his own glory.” Napoleon’s
jealousy of Moreau, his deliberate overshadowing of his own marshals, is
in marked contrast with Scipio’s attitude, and one of the finest of
military tributes to him is the abiding affection felt for him by his
subordinate generals. “No man is a hero to his valet,” and but few
generals are heroes to their chief staff officers, who see them
intimately in their nude qualities beneath the trappings of authority
and public reputation. Loyal subordinates will maintain the fiction of
infallibility for the good of the army, and so long as is necessary, but
they know the man as he is, and in later years the truth leaks out. Thus
it is worth remembering that the verdict of Polybius is founded on
direct conversations with Gaius Lælius, Scipio’s coadjutor, and the one
man to whom he confided his military plans before operations.
To the soldiers suffering under defeat he made no reproaches, but aptly
mingled an appeal to their reason and to their spirit, reminding them
how often in Roman history early defeat had been the presage to ultimate
victory, how the sure tilting of the balance had already begun, the
initial disasters found their counterpoise, and in Italy and Sicily
everything was going prosperously. Then he pointed out that the
Carthaginian victories were not due to superior courage, but “to the
treachery of the Celtiberians and to rashness, the generals having been
cut off from each other owing to their trust in the alliance of that
people.” Next he showed how their disadvantages had shifted to the other
side, the Carthaginian armies “being encamped a long distance apart,”
their allies estranged by tactlessness and tyranny, and, above all,
personal ill-feeling between the enemy’s commanders would make them slow
to come to each other’s assistance. Finally, he kindled their enthusiasm
by touching their affection for their lost leaders: “I will soon bring
it to pass that, as you can now trace in me a likeness to my father and
uncle in my features, countenance, and figure, I will so restore a copy
of their genius, honour, and courage, that every man of you shall say
that his commander, Scipio, has either returned to life, or has been
born again.”
His first step was to restore and fortify the confidence of his own
troops and allies, his next to attack that of his enemies, to strike not
at their flesh but at their moral Achilles heel. His acute strategical
insight, in a day when strategy, as distinct from battle tactics, had
hardly been born, made him realise that Spain was the real key to the
whole struggle. Spain was Hannibal’s real base of operations; there he
had trained his armies, and thence he looked for his reinforcements.
Scipio’s first move was to apply his appreciation of the moral objective
within the Spanish theatre of war. While others urged him to attack one
of the Carthaginian armies, he decided to strike at their base, their
life-line. First, he concentrated all his troops at one place, leaving
one small but compact detachment of 3000 foot and 300 horse under Marcus
Silanus to secure his own essential pivot of operations—Tarraco. Then,
with all the rest, 25,000 foot and 2500 horse—here was true economy of
force,—he crossed the Ebro, “revealing his plan to no one.” “The fact
was that he had decided not to do any of the things he had publicly
announced, but to invest suddenly” New Carthage—modern Cartagena. To
this end “he gave secret orders to Gaius Lælius, who commanded the
fleet, who alone was aware of the project, to sail to that place, while
he himself with his land forces marched rapidly against it.” As Polybius
sagely emphasises, calculation marked this youth, for “he, in the first
place, took in hand a situation pronounced by most people as desperate
... and secondly, in dealing with it he put aside the measures obvious
to any one, and planned out and decided on a course which neither his
enemies nor his friends expected.” “On his arrival in Spain he ...
inquired from every one about the circumstances of the enemy, and learnt
that the Carthaginian forces were divided into three bodies,” Mago, near
the pillars of Hercules—Gibraltar; Hasdrubal, son of Gisco, near the
mouth of the Tagus; and Hasdrubal Barca besieging a city in Central
Spain not far from modern Madrid. None of them were within less than ten
days’ march from New Carthage; he himself, as the event proved, was
within seven days’ forced marches of it. The news of his attack must
take several days to reach them, and if he could take it by a surprise
_coup de main_ he would forestall any aid, and “in the event of failure
he could, since he was master of the sea, place his troops in a position
of safety.” Polybius further tells us how “during the winter he made
detailed inquiries from people acquainted with it.” “He learnt that it
stood almost alone among Spanish cities in possessing harbours fit for a
fleet and for naval forces, and also that it was for the Carthaginians
the direct sea crossing from Africa. Next he heard that the
Carthaginians kept the bulk of their money and their war material in
this city, as well as their hostages from the whole of Spain; and, what
was of most importance, that the trained soldiers who garrisoned the
citadel were only about a thousand strong, because no one dreamt that
while the Carthaginians were masters of nearly the whole of Spain it
would enter any one’s head to besiege the city, while the remaining
population was exceedingly large, but composed of artisans, tradesmen,
and sailors, men very far from having any military experience. This he
considered to be a thing that would tell against the city if he appeared
suddenly before it”—the moral calculation again. “Abandoning, therefore,
all other projects, he spent his time while in winter quarters in
preparing for this,” but “he concealed the plan from every one except
Gaius Lælius.” The account shows that he was master of two more
attributes of generalship—the power to keep his intentions secret until
their disclosure was necessary for the execution of the plan, and the
wisdom to realise that military success depends largely on the
thoroughness of the previous preparation.
Polybius’s assertion that Scipio’s move was due to masterly calculation,
and not to inspiration or fortune, is confirmed indirectly by the
reference to a letter of Scipio’s which he had seen, and directly by
Livy’s quotation of Scipio’s speech to the troops before the attack. One
phrase epitomises the strategic idea: “You will in actuality attack the
walls of a single city, but in that single city you will have made
yourselves masters of all Spain,” and he explains exactly how capture of
the hostages, the treasure, and the war stores will be turned to their
advantage and react to the enemy’s disadvantage, moral, economic, and
material. Even if Livy’s phrase was coined to meet Scipio’s fact, its
note is so exactly in accord with Scipio’s actions as to give it a ring
of basic truth.
CHAPTER III.
THE STORM OF CARTAGENA.
On the seventh day from the start of the march Scipio arrived before the
city and encamped, the fleet arriving simultaneously in the harbour,
thus cutting off communication on all sides. This harbour formed a
circular bottle, its mouth almost corked by an island, while Cartagena
itself was like a candle stuck in the bottom of the bottle, the city
standing on a narrow rocky spit of land protruding from the mainland.
This small peninsula bore a distinct resemblance to Gibraltar, and the
isthmus joining it to the mainland was only some four hundred yards
across. The city was guarded on two sides by the sea, and on the west by
a lagoon. Here was a hard nut to crack, seemingly impregnable to any
action save a blockade, and this, time prevented.
Scipio’s first step was to ensure his tactical security by defending the
outer side of his camp with a palisade and double trench stretching from
sea to sea. On the inner side, facing the isthmus, he erected no
defences, partly because the nature of the ground gave protection, and
partly in order not to hinder the free movement of his assaulting
troops. The Carthaginian commander, Mago, to oppose him armed two
thousand of the sturdiest citizens, and posted them by the landward gate
for a sortie. The rest he distributed to defend the walls to the best of
their power, while of his own regulars he disposed five hundred in the
citadel on the top of the peninsula, and five hundred on the eastern
hill.
Next day Scipio encircled the city with ships, throwing a constant
stream of missiles, and about the third hour[2] sent forward along the
isthmus two thousand picked men with the ladder-bearers, for its
narrowness prevented a stronger force being deployed. Appreciating the
handicap of their cramped position if counter-attacked by the yet
unshaken defenders, he astutely designed to turn this handicap to his
own advantage. The expected sortie came as soon as Scipio sounded the
bugle for assault, and a close-matched struggle ensued. “But as the
assistance sent to either side was not equal, the Carthaginians arriving
through a single gate and from a longer distance, the Romans from close
by and from several points, the battle for this reason was an unequal
one. For Scipio had purposely posted his men close to the camp itself in
order to entice the enemy as far out as possible” (Livy says the Roman
advanced troops retired according to orders on the reserves), “well
knowing that if he destroyed those who were, so to speak, the steel edge
of the population he would cause universal dejection, and none of those
inside would venture out of the gate again” (Polybius). This last point
was essential for the freedom of his decisive move.
By the skilful infusion of successive reserves into the combat, the
Carthaginian onset was first stemmed and then driven back in disorder,
the pursuit being pressed so promptly that the Romans nearly succeeded
in forcing an entrance on the heels of the fugitives. Even as it was,
the scaling ladders were able to be put up in full security, but the
great height of the walls hampered the escaladers, and the assault was
beaten off. Polybius gives a picture of the Roman commander during this
phase which reveals how he combined personal influence and control with
the duty of avoiding rash exposure: “Scipio took part in the battle, but
studied his safety as far as possible, for he had with him three men
carrying large shields, who, holding these close, covered the surface
exposed to the wall, and so afforded him protection.” “... Thus he could
both see what was going on, and being seen by all his men he inspired
the combatants with great spirit. The consequence was that nothing was
omitted which was necessary in the engagement, but the moment that
circumstances suggested any step to him, he set to work at once to do
what was necessary.”
In modern war no feature has told more heavily against decisive results
than the absence of the commander’s personal observation and control.
Scipio’s method, viewed in the light of modern science, may suggest a
way to revive this influence. Peradventure the commander of the future
will go aloft in an aeroplane, protected by a patrol of fighters, and in
communication by wireless telephony with his staff.
Scipio had achieved his first object of wearing down the defenders, and
checking the likelihood of further interference with his plans from
Carthaginian sorties. The way was thus paved for his next decisive move.
To develop this he was only waiting for the ebb of the tide, and this
design had been conceived by him long since at Tarraco, where, from
inquiries among fishermen who knew Cartagena, he had learnt that at low
water the lagoon was fordable.
For this project he assembled five hundred men with ladders on the shore
of the lagoon, and meanwhile reinforced his forces in the isthmus with
both men and ladders, enough to ensure that in the next direct assault
“the whole extent of the walls should be covered with escaladers”—an
early example of the modern tactical axiom that a “fixing” attack should
be on the broadest possible front in order to occupy the enemy’s
attention and prevent him turning to meet the decisive blow elsewhere.
He launched this assault simultaneously with a landing attack by the
fleet, and when it was at its height “the tide began to ebb and the
water gradually receded from the edge of the lagoon, a strong and deep
current setting in through the channel to the neighbourhood, so that to
those who were not prepared for the sight the thing appeared incredible.
But Scipio had his guides ready, and bade all the men told off for this
service enter the water and have no fear. He, indeed, possessed a
particular talent for inspiring confidence and sympathy in his troops
when he called upon them. Now when they obeyed and raced through the
shallow water, it struck the whole army that it was the work of some god
... and their courage was redoubled” (Polybius). Of this episode Livy
says: “Scipio, crediting this discovery, due to his own diligence and
penetration, to the gods and to miracle, which had turned the course of
the sea, withdrawn it from the lake, and opened ways never before
trodden by human feet to afford a passage to the Romans, ordered them to
follow Neptune as their guide.” But it is interesting to see that, while
exploiting the moral effect of this idea, he made practical use of less
divine guides. The five hundred passed without difficulty through the
lagoon, reached the wall, and mounted it without opposition, because all
the defenders “were engaged in bringing succour to that quarter in which
the danger appeared.” “The Romans having once taken the wall, at first
marched along it, sweeping the enemy off it.” They were clearly imbued
with the principle that a penetration must be promptly widened before it
is deepened—a principle which in the war of 1914-1918 was only learnt
after hard lessons, at Loos and elsewhere. Next they converged on the
landward gate, already assailed in front, and taking the defenders in
rear and by surprise, overpowered the resistance and opened the way for
the main body of the attackers. The walls thus captured, Scipio at once
exploited his success. For while the mass of those who had by now scaled
the walls set about the customary massacre of the townsmen, Scipio
himself took care to keep in regular formation those who entered by the
gate, and led them against the citadel. Here Mago, once he “saw that the
city had undoubtedly been captured,” surrendered.
If the massacre of the townspeople is revolting to modern ideas, it was
the normal custom then and for many centuries thereafter, and with the
Romans was a deliberate policy aimed at the moral factor rather than
mere insensate slaughter. The direct blow at the civil population, who
are the seat of the hostile will, may indeed be revived by the
potentialities of aircraft, which can jump, halmawise, over the armed
“men” who form the shield of the enemy nation. Such a course, if
militarily practicable, is the logical one, and ruthless logic usually
overcomes the humaner sentiments in a life and death struggle.
Proof of the discipline of Scipio’s troops is that the massacre ceased
on a signal after the citadel surrendered, and only then did the troops
begin pillaging. The massacre, however difficult for modern minds to
excuse, was a military measure, and the conduct of the action was not
impeded by the individual’s desire to obtain loot or “souvenirs”—an
undisciplined impulse which has affected even recent battles.
The massacre, moreover, was partly offset by Scipio’s generous, if
diplomatic, conduct to the vanquished, once the initial ruthlessness had
achieved its purpose of quenching the citizens’ will to resist. Of the
ten thousand male prisoners, he set free all who were citizens of New
Carthage, and restored their property. The artisans, to the number of
two thousand, he declared the property of Rome, but promised them their
freedom when the war was over if they “showed goodwill and industry in
their several crafts.” The pick of the remainder were taken for sea
service, thus enabling him to man the captured vessels and so increase
the size of his fleet; these also were promised their freedom after the
final defeat of Carthage. Even to Mago and the other Carthaginian
leaders he acted as became a chivalrous victor, ordering Lælius to pay
them due attention, until subsequently they were sent to Rome in the
latter’s charge, as a tangible evidence of victory which would revive
the Romans’ spirits, and lead them to redouble their efforts to support
him. Finally, he won new allies for himself by his kindness to the
Spanish hostages, for instead of retaining them in his custody as
unwilling guarantees, he sent them home to their own States.
Two incidents, related by both Livy and Polybius, throw Scipio’s
character into relief, and enhance his reputation as one of the most
humane and far-sighted of the great conquerors. “When one of the captive
women, the wife of Mandonius, who was brother to Andobales, King of the
Ilergetes, fell at his feet and entreated him with tears to treat them
with more proper consideration than the Carthaginians had done, he was
touched, and asked her what they stood in need of.... Upon her making no
reply, he sent for the officials appointed to attend on the women. When
they presented themselves, and assured him that they kept the women
generously supplied with all they required, she repeated her entreaty,
upon which Scipio was still more puzzled, and conceiving the idea that
the officials were neglecting their duty and had now made a false
statement, he bade the woman be of good cheer, saying that he would
himself appoint other attendants, who would see to it that they were in
want of nothing. The old lady, after some hesitation, said, ‘General,
you do not take me rightly if you think that our present petition is
about our food.’ Scipio then understood what she meant, and noticing the
youth and beauty of the daughters of Andobales and the other princes, he
was forced to tears, recognising in how few words she had pointed out to
him the danger to which they were exposed. So now he made it clear to
her that he understood, and grasping her hand bade her and the rest be
of good cheer, for he would look after them as if they were his own
sisters and children, and would appoint trustworthy men to attend on
them” (Polybius).
The second incident, as told by Polybius, was: “Some young Romans came
across a girl of surpassing bloom and beauty, and being aware that
Scipio was fond of women brought her to him ... saying that they wished
to make a present of the damsel to him. He was overcome and astonished
by her beauty, and he told them that had he been in a private position
no present would have been more welcome, but as he was the general it
would be the least welcome of any.... So he expressed his gratitude to
the young men, but called the girl’s father, and handing her over to
him, at once bade him give her in marriage to whomever of the citizens
he preferred. The self-restraint and moderation Scipio showed on this
occasion secured him the warm approbation of his troops.” Livy’s account
enlarges the picture, saying that she was previously betrothed to a
young chief of the Celtiberians, named Allucius, who was desperately
enamoured of her; that Scipio, hearing this, sent for Allucius and
presented her to him; and that when his parents pressed thank-offerings
upon him, he gave these to Allucius as a dowry from himself. This kindly
and tactful act not only spread his praises through the Spanish tribes,
but earned a more tangible reinforcement, for Allucius reappeared a few
days later with fourteen hundred horsemen to join Scipio.
With his own troops also his blend of generosity and wisdom was no less
noticeable. The booty was scrupulously divided according to the Roman
custom, which ensured that all was pooled; and as he had so cleverly
used every art to inspire them beforehand, so now he appreciated the
moral value of praise and distinctive reward for feats achieved. Better
still was his haste to make the victory secure against any unforeseen
slip or enemy counter-stroke. He had led back the legions to their
entrenched camp on the same day as the city’s capture, leaving Lælius
with the marines to guard the city. Then, after one day’s rest, he began
a course of military exercises to keep the troops up to concert-pitch.
On the first day the soldiers had to double three and a half miles in
their armour, and the legions carried out various drill movements; the
second day they had to polish up, repair, and examine their arms; the
third day they rested; and the fourth day they carried out weapon
training, “some of them sword-fighting with wooden swords covered with
leather and with a button on the point, while others practised javelin
throwing, the javelins also having a button on the point”; on the fifth
day they began the course again, and continued during their stay at
Cartagena. “The rowers and marines, pushing out to sea when the weather
was calm, made trial of the manœuvring of their ships in mock
sea-fights.” “The general went round to all the works with equal
attention. At one time he was employed in the dockyard with his fleet,
at another he exercised with the legions; sometimes he would devote
himself to the inspection of the works, which every day were carried out
with the greatest eagerness by a multitude of artificers, both in the
workshops and in the armoury and docks” (Livy).
Then, when the walls had been repaired, he left adequate detachments to
hold the city, and set out for Tarraco with the army and the fleet.
In summing up this first brilliant exploit in command, the first tribute
is due to the strategic vision and judgment shown in the choice of
Cartagena as his objective. Those who exalt the main armed forces of the
enemy as the primary objective are apt to lose sight of the fact that
the destruction of these is only a means to the end, which is the
subjugation of the hostile will. In many cases this means is
essential—the only safe one, in fact; but in other cases the opportunity
for a direct and secure blow at the enemy’s base may offer itself, and
of its possibility and value this master-stroke of Scipio’s is an
example, which deserves the reflection of modern students of war.
In the sphere of tactics there is a lesson in his consummate blending of
the principles of surprise and security, first in the way he secured
every offensive move from possible interference or mischance, second in
the way he “fixed” the enemy before, and during, his decisive manœuvre.
To strike at an enemy who preserves his freedom of action is to risk
hitting the air and being caught off one’s balance. It is to gamble on
chances, and the least mischance is liable to upset the whole plan. Yet
how often in war, and even in peace-time manœuvres, have commanders
initiated some superficially brilliant manœuvre only to find that the
enemy have slipped away from the would-be knock-out, because the
assailant forgot the need of “fixing.” And the tactical formula of
_fixing plus decisive manœuvre_ is, after all, but the domestic proverb,
“First catch your hare, then cook it.” Precept, however, is simpler than
practice, and not least of Scipio’s merits is his superb calculation of
the time factor in his execution of the formula.
Footnote 2:
The Roman day began at sunrise.
CHAPTER IV.
THE BATTLE OF BÆCULA.
With Cartagena in his grip, Scipio had gained the strategical
initiative, which is by no means identical with the offensive. To attack
the Carthaginian field armies while he was still markedly inferior in
numbers would be to throw away this advantage and imperil all that he
had gained. On the other hand, he held the key to any possible
Carthaginian move. If they moved to regain Cartagena, itself impregnable
if adequately garrisoned, and still more so when the defender had
command of the sea, he lay on their flank with his main striking force.
If they moved against him, he would have the advantage of choosing his
own ground, and, in addition, Cartagena would threaten their rear, for
his command of the sea would enable him to transfer forces there. If
they remained passive, and this inaction proved their choice, they would
suffer the handicap due to the loss of their base, depot, and main line
of communication with Carthage. Nothing could have suited Scipio better,
for the respite allowed the moral effect of Cartagena’s capture to sink
into the minds of the Spanish, and allowed him also time to win over
fresh allies to offset his numerical handicap. The result proved the
soundness of his calculations, for during the next winter Edeco,
Andobales, and Mandonius, three of the most powerful chieftains in
Spain, came over to him, and most of the Iberian tribes followed their
example. As Polybius justly says, “Those who have won victories are far
more numerous than those who have used them to advantage,” and Scipio,
more than any other great captain, seems to have grasped the truth that
the fruits of victory lie in the after years of peace—a truth hardly
realised even to-day, despite the lessons of Versailles.
The outcome was that Hasdrubal Barca, faced with this shifting of the
balance, felt forced to take the offensive. This gage Scipio, thus
reinforced, was not loth to accept, for it promised him the chance to
deal with one hostile army before the others had joined it. But with the
principle of security impressed on his mind, he still further
strengthened his forces, to meet the possibility that he might be forced
to fight more than one army at once. This he did by the ingenious
measure of hauling his ships on shore at Tarraco and adding their crews
to his army, a course which was feasible because the Carthaginian ships
had been swept from the sea, and because he was about to advance into
the interior. His foresight in exploiting the workshop resources of
Cartagena gave him an ample reserve of weapons from which to arm them.
While Hasdrubal was still preparing, Scipio moved. On his advance from
his winter quarters he was joined by Andobales and Mandonius with their
forces, handing over to them their daughters, whom he had apparently
retained—because of their key importance,—unlike the other hostages
taken at Cartagena. Next day he made a treaty with them, of which the
essential part was that they should follow the Roman commanders and obey
their orders. Scipio evidently appreciated the importance of unity of
command. The army of Hasdrubal lay in the district of Castalon, near the
town of Bæcula on the upper reaches of the Bætis, to-day called the
Guadalquiver. On the approach of the Romans he shifted his camp to an
admirable defensive position—a small but high plateau, deep enough for
security, and wide enough to deploy his troops, difficult of access on
the flanks, and with a river protecting its rear. The formation of this
plateau, moreover, was in two “steps,” and on the lower Hasdrubal posted
his screen of light troops, Numidian horse and Balearic slingers, while
on the higher ridge behind he entrenched his camp.
[Illustration: Battle of Baecula. The map shows the town of Baecula to
the northwest, Scipio’s camp to the southeast, and Hasdrubal’s camp
mid-way between. The Carthaginian main body is stretched
southwest-to-northeast, in front of their camp, while the Roman main
body, in two halves, moves to flank the ends of the Carthaginian line.]
Scipio for a moment was at a loss how to tackle such a strong position,
but not daring to wait lest the two other Carthaginian armies should
come up, he devised a plan. He sent the velites and other light troops
to scale the first “step” of the enemy’s position, and despite the rocky
ascent and the shower of darts and stones, their determination and
practice in using cover enabled them to gain the crest. Once a footing
was secured, their better weapons and training for close combat
prevailed over skirmishers trained for missile action with ample space
for a running fight. Thus the Carthaginian light troops were driven back
in disorder on the higher ridge.
Scipio, who had the rest of his army ready but inside their camp, “now
despatched the whole of his light troops with orders to support the
frontal attack,” while, dividing his heavy foot into two bodies, he
himself led one half round the left flank of the enemy’s position, and
sent Lælius with the other to skirt the opposite flank of the ridge
until he could find a good line of ascent. Making the shorter circuit,
Scipio’s men climbed the ridge first, and fell on the Carthaginians’
flank before they had properly deployed, as Hasdrubal, relying on the
strength of his position, had delayed leading his main forces out of the
camp. Thus trapped before they had formed up and while still on the
move, the Carthaginians were thrown into disorder, and during the
confusion Lælius came up and charged their other flank. It may be
mentioned that Livy, in contradiction to Polybius, says that Scipio led
the left wing and Lælius the right, a divergence obviously due to
whether the position is considered from the attackers’ or the defenders’
side.
Polybius states that Hasdrubal’s original intention in case of a reverse
had been to retreat to Gaul, and after recruiting as many of the natives
as possible, to join his brother Hannibal in Italy. Whether this be
surmise or fact, as soon as Hasdrubal realised the battle was lost he
hurried from the hill with his treasure and his elephants, and
collecting in his retreat as many of the fugitives as he could, retired
up the river Tagus in the direction of the Pyrenees. But Scipio’s double
envelopment, and still more his foresight in sending beforehand two
cohorts to block two of the main lines of retreat, caught as in a net
the bulk of the Carthaginian troops. Eight thousand were slain, twelve
thousand taken prisoners. While the African prisoners were sold as
slaves, Scipio once more showed his political sagacity by sending home
the Spanish prisoners without ransom.
Polybius says, “Scipio did not think it advisable to follow Hasdrubal,
as he was afraid of being attacked by the other generals,” and to a
military critic the reason is convincing. It would have been foolhardy
to press farther into the mountainous interior with two more hostile
armies, superior in strength, able to converge on him or to cut him off
from his base. A bare statement of the military problem is ample answer
to those, mainly civil historians, who decry Scipio on the score that he
allowed Hasdrubal to quit Spain and move into Italy on his ill-fated
attempt to join Hannibal. It is interesting to note that Hasdrubal
followed the route of Wellington after Vittoria, making his way to the
northern coast of Spain, and crossing by modern San Sebastian and the
western gap where the Pyrenees slope down to the sea.
To pretend that Scipio, had he remained on the defensive, could have
barred this passage is absurd, based as he was on the eastern coast.
Either of the other Carthaginian armies could have contained him while
Hasdrubal slipped through one of the numerous western passes, or again,
if he attempted so distant a move through wild and mountainous country,
not only would he have exposed his base but have invited disaster. But
for Scipio’s offensive and victory at Bæcula, Hasdrubal could have
entered Gaul in force, and thus have avoided the two years’ delay—so
fatal to the Carthaginian cause—enforced by his need to recruit and
reorganise his army in Gaul before passing on.
The aftermath of Bæcula, like that of Cartagena, contains two incidents
which illumine Scipio’s character. The first was when the Spanish
allies, old and new, all saluted him as king. Edeco and Andobales had
done so when joining him on the outward march, and he had then paid
little attention, but when the title was re-echoed so universally he
took action. Summoning them to an assembly, he “told them that he wished
to be called kingly by them and actually to be kingly, but that he did
not wish to be king or to be called so by any one. After saying this he
ordered them to call him general” (Polybius). Livy, relating this
incident in other words, adds, “Even barbarians were sensible of the
greatness of mind which from such an elevation could despise a name, at
the greatness of which the rest of mankind was overawed.” It is
assuredly the clearest indication of Scipio’s mental stature that in the
first flush of triumph this youthful conqueror could preserve such
self-command and balance of mind. Weighed solely by his character, apart
from his achievements, Scipio has claims to be considered the highest
embodiment of the Roman virtues, humanised and broadened by the culture
of Greece, yet proof against its degenerate tendencies.
The second incident, whether it be due solely to the sympathetic insight
which peculiarly distinguished him or to the diplomatic foresight which
made this gift of such inestimable value to his country, is equally
significant. The quæstor selling the African prisoners came upon a
handsome boy, and learning that he was of royal blood, sent him to
Scipio. In answer to the latter’s questions, the boy said that he was a
Numidian, his name Massiva, and that he had come to Spain with his uncle
Masinissa, who had raised a force of cavalry to assist the
Carthaginians. That, disobeying his uncle, who considered him too young
to be in battle, “he had clandestinely taken a horse and arms, and,
without his uncle’s knowledge, gone on the field, where, his horse
falling, he was thrown and taken prisoner.” Scipio asked him whether he
wished to return to Masinissa, and on his assenting with tears of joy,
presented the youth with “a gold ring, a vest with broad purple border,
a Spanish cloak with gold clasp, and a horse completely caparisoned, and
then released him, ordering a party of horse to escort him as far as he
chose.”
Scipio then fell back on his base, and spent the remainder of the summer
in exploiting the effect of the victory by securing the alliance of most
of the Spanish States. His wisdom in not following up Hasdrubal was
justified by the fact that within a few days after the battle of Bæcula,
Hasdrubal, son of Gisco, and Mago arrived to join Hasdrubal Barca. This
arrival, too late to save the last-named from defeat, served to bring
about a conference to settle their future plans. Realising that Scipio
by his diplomacy and his victories had gained the sympathies of almost
all Spain, they decided that Mago should transfer his forces to
Hasdrubal Barca, and go to the Balearic Isles to raise fresh
auxiliaries; that Hasdrubal Barca should move into Gaul as soon as
possible before his remaining Spanish troops deserted, and then march on
into Italy; that Hasdrubal, son of Gisco, should retire into the
remotest part of Lusitania, near Gades—modern Cadiz,—where alone the
Carthaginians might hope for Spanish aid. Finally, Masinissa, with a
body of three thousand horse, was to have a roving commission, his
object being to harass and ravage the lands of the Romans and of their
Spanish allies.
The chronology of these years is somewhat difficult to determine, but
the victory at Bæcula seems to have been in 208 B.C. The next year
Scipio’s hold on the country was threatened afresh. A new general,
Hanno, had come with a fresh army from Carthage to replace Hasdrubal
Barca. Mago also had returned from the Balearic Isles, and after arming
native levies in Celtiberia, which embraced parts of modern Arragon and
Old Castile, was joined by Hanno. Nor was the threat only from one
direction, for Hasdrubal, son of Gisco, had advanced from Gades into
Bætica (Andalusia). If Scipio moved into the interior against Hanno and
Mago he might find Hasdrubal across his rear. Therefore he detached his
lieutenant, Silanus, with ten thousand foot and five hundred horse, to
attack the former, while he himself apparently kept watch and check on
Hasdrubal.
Silanus marched so fast, despite the rugged defiles and thick woods on
his route, that he came on the Carthaginians before any messengers or
even rumours had warned them of his approach. The advantage of surprise
offset his inferior strength, and falling first on the Celtiberian camp,
where no proper watch or guard was kept, he had routed them before the
Carthaginians had come up to their aid. Mago with almost all the cavalry
and two thousand foot fled from the field as soon as the verdict was
clear, and retreated towards the province of Gades. But Hanno and those
of the Carthaginians who arrived on the field when the battle was
decided were taken prisoners, and the Celtiberian levies so thoroughly
dispersed as to nip in the bud the danger that other tribes might copy
their example and join the Carthaginians.
It is characteristic of Scipio that he was unstinting in his praise of
Silanus. Having thus ensured the security of his flank for an advance
southward, he moved against Hasdrubal, whereupon the latter not only
fell back in indecent haste, but lest his united army should attract
Scipio on to him, he broke it up to form small garrisons for the various
walled towns.
Scipio, seeing the enemy thus abandon himself to a passive defensive,
decided that there was no object in conducting a series of petty sieges
likely to drain his own force without adequate advantage. However, he
sent his brother Lucius to storm one town, Orinx, which served Hasdrubal
as a strategical pivot from which to make incursions into the inland
States. This task Lucius carried out successfully, and Scipio’s nature
is again instanced in the record that he commended Lucius with the
highest praise, representing the capture of Orinx as equal in importance
to his own feat at Cartagena. As winter was by now approaching he
dismissed the legions to winter quarters, and sent his brother with
Hanno and other distinguished prisoners to Rome.
CHAPTER V.
THE BATTLE OF ILIPA.
In the spring of 206 B.C. the Carthaginians made their last great
effort. Hasdrubal, encouraged by Mago, Hannibal’s brother, raised and
armed fresh levies, and with an army of seventy thousand foot, four
thousand horse, and thirty-two elephants moved north to Ilipa (or
Silpia), which was not far from where Seville stands to-day. Scipio
advanced south from Tarraco to meet the Carthaginians, collecting
auxiliaries at Bæcula on his way. When he drew near the Bætis and got
fuller information of the opposing force, he appreciated the formidable
nature of the problem. He felt convinced that with the Roman legions
only he would not be a match for so large an enemy army, yet to use a
large proportion of allies and rely on their support was to risk the
fate of his father and uncle, whose downfall was due to the sudden
desertion of their allies. Therefore he decided to use them for the
purpose of impressing and misleading the enemy “by an imposing show,”
but leave the main fighting rôle to his own legions. He had learnt, like
Wellington two thousand years later, that it was wiser not to place
reliance on the co-operation of his Spanish allies. The French in
Morocco have imbibed it afresh. Advancing towards Ilipa with a total
force, Romans and allies, of forty-five thousand foot and three thousand
horse, he came in sight of the Carthaginians, and encamped on certain
low hills opposite them. It deserves notice that his advance was on a
line which, in the event of victory, would cut them off from the nearest
road to Gades, this road running along the south bank of the Bætis
river.
Mago, thinking this a favourable chance for a sudden disorganising blow,
took most of his cavalry as well as Masinissa with his Numidian horse,
and attacked those engaged in forming the camp. But Scipio, as usual,
imbued with the principle of security, had foreseen such a possibility,
and had posted his own cavalry ready in concealment under shelter of a
hill. These charged the forward part of the Carthaginian horse in flank
and threw them into disorder, and though the rear echelons, coming up to
reinforce the attack, restored the balance for a time, the issue was
settled by the sortie of a large body of legionaries from the Roman
camp. At first the Carthaginians fell back in good order; but as the
pursuit was vigorously pressed, they broke up and fled to the shelter of
their own camp. The result gave Scipio an initial moral advantage.
The two camps lay facing each other across a valley between the two low
ridges. For several successive days Hasdrubal led his army out and
offered battle. On each occasion Scipio waited until the Carthaginians
were moving out before he followed suit. Neither side, however, began
the attack, and towards sundown the two armies, weary of standing,
retired to their camps—the Carthaginians always first. One cannot doubt,
in view of the upshot, that on Scipio’s side the delay had a special
motive. On each occasion also the legions were placed in the Roman
centre opposite to the Carthaginian and African regulars, with the
Spanish allies on the wings of each army. It became common talk in the
camps that this order of battle was definite, and Scipio waited until
this belief had taken firm hold.
Then he acted. He had observed that the Carthaginians made their daily
advance at a late hour, and had himself purposely waited still later, to
fix this habit on his opponent’s mind. Late in the evening he sent
orders through the camp that the troops should be fed and armed before
daylight, and the cavalry have their horses saddled. Then, while it was
scarcely yet daylight, he sent on the cavalry and light troops to attack
the enemy’s outposts, and himself followed with the legions. This was
the first surprise change, and its effect was that the Carthaginians,
caught napping by the onset of the Roman cavalry and light troops, had
to arm themselves and sally forth without a meal. It further ensured
that Hasdrubal would have no time to alter his normal dispositions, even
should the idea occur to him. For the second surprise change was that
Scipio reversed his former order of battle, and placed the Spanish in
his centre and the legions on the wings.
The Roman infantry made no attempt to advance for some hours, the reason
for this being Scipio’s desire and design to let his hungry opponents
feel the effects of their lost breakfast. There was no risk to his other
surprise change by so doing, for once drawn up in order of battle the
Carthaginians dared not alter their array in face of a watchful and
ready opponent. The skirmishing fight between the opposing cavalry and
light troops remained indecisive, each when hard-pressed able to take
shelter behind their own infantry. Eventually, when Scipio judged the
time ripe, he sounded a retreat, and received his skirmishers back
through the intervals between the cohorts, then placing them in reserve
behind each wing, the velites behind the heavy infantry and the cavalry
behind the velites.
[Illustration: Map of the Battle of Ilipa. Hasdrubal has lines of
Africans flanked by Spanish, faced by the Roman Spanish Allies in the
center, flanked by regular Roman foot. The map shows the Roman horse
swing to left and right to flank the ends of the Spanish lines.]
It was about the seventh hour[3] when he ordered the line to advance,
but the Spanish centre only at a slow pace. On arriving within eight
hundred yards of the enemy, Scipio, with the right wing, turned to the
right and, wheeling left, made an oblique advance outwards by successive
cohorts—in column. He had previously sent a messenger to Silanus and
Marcius, commanding the left wing, to manœuvre similarly. Advancing
rapidly, so that the slow moving centre was well _refused_, the Roman
infantry cohorts wheeled successively inwards into line as they neared
the enemy, and fell directly on the enemy’s flanks, which but for this
manœuvre would have overlapped them. While the heavy infantry thus
pressed the enemy’s wings in front, the cavalry and the velites, under
orders, wheeled outwards, and sweeping round the enemy’s flanks took
them in enfilade. This convergent blow on each wing, sufficiently
disruptive because it forced the defenders to face attack from two
directions simultaneously, was made more decisive in that it fell on the
Spanish irregulars. To add to Hasdrubal’s troubles the cavalry flank
attacks drove his elephants, mad with fright, in upon the Carthaginian
centre, spreading confusion.
All this time the Carthaginian centre was standing helplessly inactive,
unable to help the wings for fear of attack by Scipio’s Spaniards, who
threatened it without coming to close quarters. Scipio’s calculation had
enabled him to “fix” the enemy’s centre with a minimum expenditure of
force, and thus to effect the maximum concentration for his decisive
double manœuvre.
Hasdrubal’s wings destroyed, the centre, worn out by hunger and fatigue,
fell back, at first in good order, but gradually under relentless
pressure they broke up, fleeing to their entrenched camp. A drenching
downpour, churning the ground in mud under the soldiers’ feet, gave them
a temporary respite, and prevented the Romans storming the camp on their
heels. During the night Hasdrubal evacuated his camp, but as Scipio’s
strategic advance had placed the Romans across the line of retreat to
Gades, he was forced to retire down the western bank towards the
Atlantic. Nearly all his Spanish Allies deserted him.
Scipio’s light troops were evidently alive to the duty of maintaining
contact with the enemy, for he got word from them as soon as it was
light of Hasdrubal’s departure. He at once followed them up, sending the
cavalry ahead, and so rapid was the pursuit that, despite being misled
by guides in attempting a short cut to get across Hasdrubal’s new line
of retreat, the cavalry and velites caught him up. Harassing him
continuously, by attacks in flank or in rear, they forced such frequent
halts that the legions were able to come up. “After this it was no
longer a fight, but a butchering as of cattle,” till only Hasdrubal and
six thousand half-armed men escaped to the neighbouring hills, out of
seventy odd thousand who had fought at Ilipa. The Carthaginians hastily
fortified a camp on the highest summit, but though its inaccessibility
hindered assault, lack of food caused a constant stream of deserters. At
last Hasdrubal left his troops by night, and reaching the sea, not far
distant, took ship to Gades, and Mago soon followed him.
Scipio thereupon left Silanus with a force to await the inevitable
surrender of the camp, and returned to Tarraco.
Military history contains no more classic example of generalship than
this battle of Ilipa. Rarely has so complete a victory been gained by a
weaker over a stronger force, and this result was due to a perfect
application of the principles of _surprise_ and _concentration_, that is
in essence an example for all time. How crude does Frederick’s famed
oblique order appear beside Scipio’s double oblique manœuvre and
envelopment, which effected a crushing concentration _du fort au faible_
while the enemy’s centre was surely fixed. Scipio left the enemy no
chance for the change of front which cost Frederick so dear at Kolin.
Masterly as were his battle tactics, still more remarkable perhaps were
the decisiveness and rapidity of their exploitation, which found no
parallel in military history until Napoleon came to develop the pursuit
as the vital complement of battle, and one of the supreme tests of
generalship. To Scipio no cavalry leader could have complained as
Maharbal, whether justly or not, to Hannibal, “You know, indeed, how to
win a victory, Hannibal, but you know not how to use one!”
But Scipio, in whom the idea of strategic exploitation was as inborn as
the tactical, was not content to rest on his laurels. Already he was
looking to the future, directing his view on Africa. As he had seen that
Cartagena was the key to Spain, that Spain was the key to the situation
in Italy, so he saw that Africa was the key to the whole struggle.
Strike at Africa, and he would not only relieve Italy of Hannibal’s
ever-menacing presence—a menace which he had already reduced by
paralysing Hannibal’s source of reinforcement,—but would undermine the
foundations of Carthaginian power, until the edifice itself collapsed in
ruin.
To the congratulations of his friends, who entreated him to take a rest,
he replied “that he had now to consider how he should begin the war
against Carthage; for up to now the Carthaginians had been making war on
the Romans, but now fortune had given the Romans the opportunity of
making war on the Carthaginians.”
Although it must still be some time before he could convert the Roman
Senate to his strategy, he set about preparing the ground. Masinissa,
after the defeat at Ilipa, had come over to the Roman side, and was
despatched to Africa to induce the Numidians to follow his lead.
Further, Scipio sent Lælius on an embassy to sound Syphax, King of the
Massæsylians, whose territory embraced most of what is to-day Algeria.
Syphax, while expressing his willingness to break with Carthage, refused
to ratify any treaty except with Scipio in person.
Though promised a safe conduct, the hazard of such a journey was
immense. Diplomatic privileges were then in infancy, and an envoy ran
risks, and not infrequently suffered a fate that was enough to chill the
stoutest heart. How much greater, too, when the envoy was Rome’s one
victorious leader, the man whose existence was an ever-growing menace to
Carthage and her allies, and who was now asked to entrust himself, far
from his army, to the care of a dubious neutral. Yet this risk Scipio,
calculating the risk against the prize, took, considering that the
winning over of Syphax was an essential step to the further development
of his policy. After making the necessary dispositions for the
protection of Spain, he sailed from Cartagena with two quinqueremes. The
risk, as it proved, was even greater than he calculated. Indeed, it may
be that the history of the ancient world turned on a puff of wind. For
he arrived off the harbour just after Hasdrubal, driven out of Spain,
had cast anchor there on his way back to Carthage. Hasdrubal had with
him seven triremes, and sighting the approach of what were obviously
Roman ships, he hurriedly attempted to prepare his own ships and weigh
anchor, in order to overpower the two quinqueremes before they could
enter the neutral harbour. But a freshening breeze helped the Roman
ships to enter before Hasdrubal’s fleet could sail forth, and once
Scipio was inside the harbour the Carthaginians did not dare to
interfere.
Hasdrubal and Scipio both then sought audience of Syphax, who was much
flattered by this recognition of his importance. He invited them both to
be his guests, and after some demur they overcame their scruples, and
supped together at Syphax’s table. In such a delicate situation,
Scipio’s personal charm and diplomatic gifts effected a brilliant coup.
Not only Syphax but Hasdrubal succumbed to his charm, the Carthaginian
openly avowing that Scipio “appeared to him more to be admired for the
qualities he displayed on a personal interview with him than for his
exploits in war, and that he had no doubt that Syphax and his kingdom
were already at the disposal of the Romans, such was the knack that man
possessed for gaining the esteem of others.” Hasdrubal was a true
prophet, for Scipio sailed back with the treaty ratified.
Footnote 3:
The Roman day began at sunrise.
CHAPTER VI.
THE SUBJUGATION OF SPAIN.
Scipio had ploughed the ground and sown the seeds for his African
campaign. The time for reaping its fruits was not yet, however. He had
first to complete the subjugation of Spain, and to deal out punishment
to those tribes who had forsaken Rome in her hour of crisis on the
Peninsula, after the death of the elder Scipios. Their heir had been too
shrewd a diplomatist to show his hand earlier while the scales still
hung in the balance, but now, with the Carthaginian power finally
broken, it was essential for the future security of the Roman power that
such treachery should not pass without retribution. The two chief
offenders were Illiturgis and Castulo, cities in the neighbourhood of
the battlefield of Bæcula, on the upper reaches of the Bætis
(Guadalquiver). Sending a third of his forces under Marcius to deal with
Castulo, he himself moved with the remainder on Illiturgis. A guilty
conscience is an alert sentinel, and Scipio arrived to find that the
Illiturgi had made every preparation for defence without awaiting any
declaration of hostilities. He thereupon prepared to assault, dividing
his army into two parts, giving command of one to Lælius, in order that
they might “attack the city in two places simultaneously, thus creating
an alarm in two quarters at the same time” (Livy). Here again it is
interesting to note how consistently Scipio executes a convergent
assault—his force divided into independently manœuvring parts to effect
surprise and strain the enemy’s defence, yet combining on a common
objective. How strongly does his appreciation of this, the essential
formula of tactics, contrast with its rarity in ancient warfare, in
modern also, for how often do commanders wreck their plan either on the
Scylla of a divided objective or on the Charybdis of a feint or
“holding” attack to divert the enemy’s attention and reserves from their
main blow.
His plan made, Scipio, realising the soldiers’ inherently lesser ardour
against mere insurgents, strove to stimulate their determination by
playing on their feelings for their betrayed comrades. He reminded them
that the need for a salutary vengeance ought to make them fight more
fiercely than against the Carthaginians. “For with the latter the
struggle was for empire and glory almost without any exasperation, while
they had now to punish perfidy and cruelty.” Such an urge was needful,
for the men of Illiturgis, fighting with the courage of despair, with no
hope but to sell their lives as dearly as possible, repulsed assault
after assault. Indeed, because of the circumstances that Scipio had
evidently foreseen, the previously victorious army “showed such a want
of resolution as was not very honourable to it.” At this crisis, Scipio,
like Napoleon at the bridge of Lodi, did not hesitate to stake his own
life. “Considering it incumbent upon him to exert himself in person and
share the danger, he reproved his soldiers for their cowardice, and
ordered the scaling ladders to be brought up again, threatening to mount
the wall himself since the rest hesitated.” “He had now advanced near
the walls with no small danger, when a shout was raised from all sides
by the soldiers, alarmed at the danger to which their leader was
exposed, and the scaling ladders were raised in several places at once.”
This fresh impulse, coinciding with Lælius’s pressure elsewhere, turned
the scales, and the walls were captured. During the resultant confusion
the citadel, too, fell to an assault on a side where it was thought
impregnable.
The treachery of Illiturgis was then avenged in a manner so drastic as
to be an object-lesson of its requital, the inhabitants put to the
sword, and the city itself razed to the ground. Here apparently Scipio
made no attempt to restrain the fury of the troops, though, as he was to
show on the morrow of Zama, he could be generous beyond comparison to an
open foe. In all his acts he evidently envisaged the future, and even in
allowing the obliteration of Illiturgis he had a direct purpose. For the
news so shook the defenders of Castulo, an obstacle made the more
formidable because the garrison had been reinforced by the remains of
the Carthaginian forces, that the Spanish commander, throwing over his
allies, secretly capitulated. The moral purpose of the Illiturgis sack
thus accomplished, Castulo escaped more lightly.
Then, sending Marcius to clear up the few remaining centres of
disaffection, Scipio returned to Cartagena to pay his vows to the gods,
and to give a gladiatorial show in memory of his father and uncle. This
deserves passing mention, for whether due to chance or, as seems more
likely, to Scipio’s taste, its nature was different from the normal
contest. Instead of the gladiators being slaves or captives, doomed to
fight “to make a Roman holiday,” they were all voluntary and unpaid,
either picked representatives of tribes or soldiers anxious to show
their prowess in compliment to their general or for desire of glory. Nor
were they all of obscure position, but included several men of
distinction, so that these games at Cartagena might be considered the
birthplace of the mediæval tourney. Some, too, used it as a means to
settle personal disputes, forecasting that still later development, the
duel.
It was shortly after this that deserters arrived at Cartagena from
Gades, offering to betray to Scipio this last stronghold of the
Carthaginian power in Spain, where Mago had collected ships, fugitive
troops from outlying garrisons in Spain, and auxiliaries from the
African coast across the straits. The opportunity was one not to be
missed by Scipio, and he at once despatched Marcius “with the light
cohorts” and Lælius “with seven triremes and one quinquereme, in order
that they might act in concert by land and sea” (Livy). Apart from the
light these few words shed on Scipio’s grasp of the advantage of
combined land and sea operations, already made evident at Cartagena, the
specific mention of “light cohorts” would seem to have a significance.
From Cartagena to Gades is a full four hundred miles. To detach light
troops, purely, for a move of this range—a landmark in military
evolution—suggests Scipio’s appreciation not only of the time factor,
but also of the advantage of a highly mobile striking force in
situations where rapidity was the coping-stone on opportunity.
The likelihood also is that he intended to follow with his legions; but
if so, this and his plans in general were upset by a severe illness,
which laid him low. Exaggerated by rumour, reports that he was dead soon
spread throughout the land, causing such commotion that “neither did the
allies keep their allegiance nor the army their duty.”
Mandonius and Andobales, dissatisfied because after the expulsion of the
Carthaginians the Romans had not obligingly walked out and left them in
possession, raised the standard of revolt, and began harassing the
territory of the tribes faithful to the Roman alliance. As so often in
history, the disappearance of the oppressor was the signal for
dependencies to find the presence of their protector irksome. Mandonius
and Andobales were but the forerunners of the American colonists and the
modern Egyptians. There is no bond so irksome as that of gratitude.
But the menace of the situation was made more acute through the mutiny
of the Roman troops themselves at Sucro, midway on the line of
communication between Cartagena and Tarraco. It is a truism that line of
communication troops are ever the least reliable, the most prone to
discontent and disorder. Lack of employment, lack of plunder, were
aggravated in this case by lack of pay, which had fallen into arrears.
Beginning at first with mere disregard of orders and neglect of duty,
the men soon broke out into open mutiny, and, driving the tribunes out
of the camp, set up in command two common soldiers, Albius and Atrius,
who had been the chief instigators of the trouble.
The mutineers had anticipated that with the general disturbance
resulting from Scipio’s death, they would be able to plunder and exact
tribute at will, while escaping notice to a large extent. But when the
rumour of Scipio’s death was refuted, the movement was, if not quenched,
at least damped down. They were in this more subdued frame of mind when
seven military tribunes arrived, sent by Scipio. These, evidently under
instructions, took a mild line, inquiring as to their grievances instead
of upbraiding them, and speaking to them by groups rather than
attempting to address an assembly, where the mob spirit has full play at
the expense of reason.
Polybius, and Livy clearly following him, tells us that Scipio,
experienced as he was in war but not in dealing with sedition, felt
great anxiety and perplexity. If this be so, his course of action does
not suggest it. For a novice, or, indeed, for a veteran commander, his
handling of the situation was a masterpiece of blended judgment, tact,
and decision. He had sent collectors round to gather in the
contributions levied on the various cities for the army’s maintenance,
and took care to let it be known that this was to adjust the arrears of
pay. Then he issued a proclamation that the soldiers should come to
Cartagena to receive their pay, in a body or in detached parties as they
wished. At the same time he ordered the army at Cartagena to prepare to
march against Mandonius and Andobales. These chiefs, incidentally, had
withdrawn within their own borders on hearing that Scipio was definitely
alive. Thus the mutineers on the one hand felt themselves stripped of
possible allies, and on the other, were emboldened to venture to
Cartagena by the prospect of pay and, still more, of the army’s
departure. They took the precaution, however, to come in a body.
The seven tribunes who had inquired into their grievances were sent to
meet them, with secret instructions to single out the ringleaders, and
invite them to their own quarters to sup. The mutineers arrived at
Cartagena at sunset, and while encouraged by the sight of the army’s
preparations to march, their suspicions were also lulled by their
reception, being greeted as if they made a timely arrival to relieve the
departing troops. These marched out, according to orders, at daybreak
with their baggage, but on reaching the gate were halted and their
baggage dumped. Then, promptly, guards were told off to bar all the
exits from the camp, and the rest of the troops to surround the
mutineers. Meanwhile the latter had been summoned to an assembly, a
summons which they obeyed the more readily because they imagined that
the camp, and, indeed, the general himself, were at their mercy.
Their first shock was when they saw their general vigorous and full of
health, far from the sick man they had supposed, and their second
followed when, after a disconcerting silence, he addressed them in a
manner strangely inconsistent with the apparent insecurity of his
position. Livy purports to give this speech word for word and at great
length, and in his rendering it is a masterpiece of oratory and of
style. Polybius’s is shorter and crisper, more natural too, and is
prefaced by the remark that Scipio “began to speak somewhat as follows.”
The lover of literature will prefer Livy’s version; but the historian,
weighing the evidence of date and circumstance, will prefer to accept
Polybius’s version, and that as giving the general sense rather than the
exact words of Scipio.
Despite these doubts, we will quote Livy for the opening phrases,
because they are so telling, and because it is not unlikely that such a
beginning might have been recorded with some exactitude. Saying that he
was at a loss how to address them, he proceeded: “Can I call you
countrymen, who have revolted from your country? Or soldiers, who have
rejected the command and authority of your general, and violated your
solemn oath? Can I call you enemies? I recognise the persons, faces, and
dress, and mien of fellow-countrymen; but I perceive the actions,
expressions, and intentions of enemies. For what have you wished and
hoped for, but what the Illitergi and Lacetani did?” Next he expresses
wonderment as to what grievance or what expectations had led them to
revolt. If it is simply a grievance over delays of pay, caused by his
illness, is such action—jeopardising their country—justified, especially
as they have always been paid in full since he assumed command?
“Mercenary troops may, indeed, sometimes be pardoned for revolting
against their employers, but no pardon can be extended to those who are
fighting for themselves and their wives and children. For that is just
as if a man who said he had been wronged by his own father over money
matters were to take up arms to kill him who was the author of his life”
(Polybius). If the cause is not merely a grievance, is it because they
hoped for more profit and plunder by taking service with the enemy? If
so, who would be their possible allies? Men like Andobales and
Mandonius; a fine thing to put their trust in such repeated turncoats!
Then he turns his scorn on the leaders they have chosen, ignorant and
baseborn, parodying their names, Atrius and Albius—“Blackie” and
“Whitie,”—and so appealing to their sense of the ridiculous and their
superstition. He throws in a grim reminder of the legion which revolted
at Rhegium, and for it suffered beheading to the last man. But even
these put themselves under command of a military tribune. What hope of
successful revolt could they have entertained? Even had the rumour of
his death been correct, did they imagine that such tried leaders as
Silanus, Lælius, or Scipio’s brother could have failed to avenge the
insult to Rome?
When he has shattered their confidence and stimulated their fears by
such telling arguments, the way is paved for him to detach them from the
instigators of the revolt and to win back their loyalty. Changing his
tone from harshness to gentleness, he continues: “I will plead for you
to Rome and to myself, using a plea universally acknowledged among
men—that all multitudes are easily misled and easily impelled to
excesses, so that a multitude is ever liable to the same changes as the
sea. For as the sea is by its own nature harmless to voyagers and quiet,
yet when agitated by winds it appears of the same turbulent character as
the winds, so a multitude ever appears to be and actually is of the same
character as the leaders and counsellors it happens to have.” In Livy’s
version he makes also a deftly sympathetic comparison, well calculated
to touch their hearts, between his own recent sickness of body and their
sickness of mind. “Therefore I, too, on the present occasion ... consent
to be reconciled to you, and grant you an amnesty. But with the guilty
instigators of revolt we refuse to be reconciled, and have decided to
punish for their offences....” As he finished speaking, the loyal
troops, who had encircled the assembly, clashed their swords on their
shields to strike terror into the mutineers; the herald’s voice was
heard citing by name the condemned agitators; and these offenders were
brought bound and naked into the midst of the assembly, and then
executed in the sight of all. It was a perfectly timed and concerted
plan, and the mutineers were too cowed to raise a hand or utter a
protest. The punishment carried out, the mass received assurance of
forgiveness, and took a fresh oath of loyalty to the tribunes. By a
characteristic touch of Scipio’s, each man received his full demand of
pay as he answered his name.
This masterly handling of a gravely menacing situation has more than a
reminder of Pétain’s methods in quelling the mutinies of 1917—had the
great Frenchman perchance studied the mutiny of Sucro?—not only in its
blend of severity to ringleaders with the just rectification of
grievances, but in the way the moral health of the body military was
restored with the least possible use of the knife. This was true economy
of force, for it meant that the eight thousand became not merely
unwilling reinforcements, cowed into acquiescence with orders, but loyal
supporters.
But the suppression of this mutiny was only one step towards restoring
the situation caused by Scipio’s illness. The expedition against Gades
had been abortive, primarily because the plot had been discovered by the
Carthaginian commander, and the conspirators arrested. Though they won
local successes, Lælius and Marcius found Gades prepared, and so, forced
to abandon their project, returned to Cartagena.
There Scipio was about to march against the Spanish rebels. In ten days
he reached the Ebro, a full three hundred miles, and four days later
pitched his camp within sight of the enemy. A circular valley lay
between the two camps, and into this he drove some cattle protected only
by light troops, to “excite the rapacity of the barbarians.” At the same
time he placed Lælius with the cavalry in concealment behind a spur. The
bait succeeded, and while the rival skirmishers were merrily engaged,
Lælius emerged from cover, part of his cavalry charging the Spanish in
front, and the other part riding round the foot of the hill to cut them
off from their camp. The consequent reverse so irritated the Spanish
that next morning at daybreak their army marched out to offer battle.
This suited Scipio excellently, for the valley was so confined that the
Spanish by this act committed themselves to a cramped close quarter
combat on the level, where the peculiar aptitude of the Romans in
hand-to-hand fighting gave them an initial advantage over troops more
adapted to hill fighting at longer ranges. And, furthermore, in order to
find room for their horse they were forced to leave one-third of their
foot out of the battle, stationed on the slope behind.
The conditions suggested a fresh expedient to Scipio. The valley was so
narrow that the Spanish could not post their cavalry on the flanks of
the infantry line, which took up the whole space. Seeing this, Scipio
realised that his own infantry flanks were automatically secured, and
accordingly sent Lælius with the cavalry round by the hills in a wide
turning movement. Then, ever alive to the vital importance of securing
his intended manœuvre by a vigorous fixing attack, he himself advanced
into the valley with his infantry, with four cohorts in front, this
being the most he could effectively deploy on the narrow front. This
thrust, as he intended, occupied the attention of the Spanish, and
prevented them from observing the cavalry manœuvre until the blow fell,
and they heard the noise of the cavalry engagement in their rear. Thus
the Spanish were forced to fight two separate battles, their cavalry
neither able to aid their infantry, nor the infantry their cavalry, and
each doomed to the demoralising sound of conflict in their rear, so that
each action had a moral reaction on the other.
Cramped and assailed by skilled close-quarter fighters, whose formation
gave them the advantage of depth for successive blows, the Spanish
infantry were cut to pieces. Then the Spanish cavalry, surrounded,
suffering the pressure of the fugitives, the direct attack of the Roman
infantry, and the rear attack of the Roman cavalry, could not use their
mobility, and, forced to a standing fight, were slain to the last man
after a gallant but hopeless resistance. It is a testimony to the
fierceness of the fight and to the quality of the Spanish resistance,
when hope had gone, that the Roman losses were twelve hundred killed and
over three thousand wounded. Of the Spanish the only survivors were the
light-armed third of their force who had remained on the hill, idle
spectators of the tragedy in the valley. These, along with their chiefs,
fled in time.
This decisive triumph was a fitting conclusion to Scipio’s Spanish
campaigns—campaigns which for all their long neglect by military
students reveal a profound grasp of strategy—at a time when strategy had
hardly been born,—and of its intimate relation to policy. But, above
all, they deserve to be immortalised for their richness of tactical
achievement. Military history hardly contains such another series of
ingenious and inspired battle manœuvres, surpassing on balance even
those of Hannibal in Italy. If Scipio profited by Hannibal’s unintended
course of instruction on the battlefields of Italy, the pupil surpassed
even the master. Nor does such a probability diminish Scipio’s credit,
for the highest part of the art of war is inborn, not acquired, or why
did not later captains, ancient and modern, profit more by Scipio’s
demonstrations. Wonderful as was Hannibal’s fertility of plan, there
appears in Scipio’s record a still richer variety, a still more complete
calculation, and in three directions a definite superiority. The attack
on a fortified place was admittedly in Hannibal a weakness; in Scipio
the reverse, for Cartagena is a landmark in history. The pursuit after
Ilipa marks a new advance in warfare, also as the wide concealed turning
movement in this last battle against Andobales, a development clearly
beyond the narrow outflanking manœuvres which had hitherto been the
high-water mark of tactical skill.
Scipio’s military motto would seem to have been “every time a new
stratagem.” Has ever a general been so fertile an artist of war? Beside
him most of the celebrated captains of history appear mere dabblers in
the art, showing in their whole career but one or two variations of
orthodox practice. And be it remembered that with one exception Scipio’s
triumphs were won over first-class opponents; not, like Alexander, over
Asiatic mobs; like Cæsar, over tribal hordes; or like Frederick and
Napoleon, over the courtier-generals and senile pedants of an atrophied
military system.
[Illustration: Spain at the time of the 2nd Punic War.]
This victory over Andobales and Mandonius proved to be the coping-stone
not only on his military career in Spain, but on the political conquest
of the country. So decisive had it been that Andobales realised the
futility of further resistance, and sent his brother Mandonius to sue
for peace unconditionally. One imagines that Mandonius must have felt
some pessimism as to his reception and as to his tenure of life. It
would have been natural to have dealt out to these twice-repeated rebels
a dire vengeance. But Scipio knew human nature, including Spanish
nature. No vengeance could improve his military or political position,
now unchallenged, whereas, on the other hand, it would merely sow the
seeds of future trouble, convert the survivors into embittered foes,
biding their time for a fresh outbreak. Little as he counted on their
fidelity, generosity was the one course which might secure it.
Therefore, after upbraiding Mandonius, and through him, Andobales,
driving home the helplessness of their position and the rightful
forfeiture of their lives, he made a peace as generous as it was
diplomatically foresighted. To show how little he feared them, he did
not demand the surrender of their arms and all their possessions, as was
the custom, nor even the required hostages, saying that “should they
revolt, he would not take vengeance on their unoffending hostages, but
upon themselves, inflicting punishment not upon defenceless but on armed
enemies” (Livy). The wisdom of this policy found its justification in
the fact that from this juncture Spain disappears from the history of
the Punic War, whether as a base of recruitment and supply for the
Carthaginian armies or as a distraction from Scipio’s concentration on
his new objective—Carthage itself. True, revolts broke out at intervals,
the first avowedly from the contempt felt by the Spanish for the
generals who succeeded Scipio, and recurred for centuries. But they were
isolated and spasmodic outbursts, and limited to the hill tribes, in
whose blood fighting was a malarial fever.
Scipio’s mission in Spain was accomplished. Only Gades held out as the
last fragment of the Carthaginian power, and this, being then an island
fortress, was impregnable save through possible betrayal by its
defenders. By some historians Mago’s escape from Gades is made an
imputation on Scipio’s generalship, yet from a comparison of the
authorities it would seem probable that Mago left there, under orders
from Carthage, while Scipio was occupied with the far more pressing
menace of the mutiny and Andobales’s revolt. Mago, too, was not such a
redoubtable personality that his departure, with a handful of troops,
for other fields was in itself a menace to the general situation, even
if it could have been prevented, which militarily was impossible.
Actually, on his voyage from Gades, he attempted a surprise assault on
Cartagena in the absence of Scipio, and was so easily repulsed and so
strongly counter-attacked, that the ships cut their anchors in order to
avoid being boarded, leaving many of the defeated soldiers to drown or
be slain. Forced to return to Gades to recruit afresh, he was refused
entry to the city by the inhabitants, who shortly surrendered to the
Romans, and had to retrace his course to the island of Pityusa (modern
Iviça), the westernmost of the Balearic Isles, which was inhabited by
Carthaginians. After receiving recruits and supplies, he attempted a
landing on Majorca, but was repulsed by the natives, famous as slingers,
and had to choose the less advantageous site of Minorca as his winter
quarters, there hauling his ships on shore.
With regard to the chronology of this last phase, in Livy’s account the
suppression of Andobales’s rebellion is followed by the story of a
meeting between Scipio and Masinissa, and then by the details of Mago’s
departure from Gades, from which it would appear that this happened
while Scipio was still in Spain. But for accuracy of historical sequence
Livy is a less reliable guide than Polybius, and the latter’s narrative
definitely states that directly after the subjugation of Andobales
Scipio returned to Tarraco, and then, “anxious not to arrive in Rome too
late for the consular elections,” sailed for Rome, after handing over
the army to Silanus and Marcius, and arranging for the administration of
the province.
The meeting with Masinissa, whenever it occurred, is worth notice, for
here the seeds of Scipio’s generous treatment of Masinissa’s nephew
years before bore fruit in the exchange of pledges of an alliance, which
was to be one of Scipio’s master-tools in undermining the Carthaginian
power at its base in Africa.
CHAPTER VII.
THE TRUE OBJECTIVE.
On arrival at Rome Scipio obtained an audience of the Senate outside the
city, at the temple of Bellona, and there gave them a formal report of
his campaigns. “On account of these services he rather tried his
prospect of a triumph than pressed it pertinaciously,” for the honour
had never been given except to those whose services were rendered when
holders of a magistracy. His tact was wise, for the astonishing success
of youth had already inspired envy among his seniors. The Senate did not
break with precedent, and at the close of the audience he entered the
city in the ordinary way. His reward, however, came without delay. At
the assembly for the election of the two consuls for the coming year he
was named by all the centuries. The popularity of his election was shown
not only by the enthusiasm which greeted it, but by the gathering of a
larger number of voters than at any time during the Punic War, crowds
swarming to his house and to the Capitol full of curiosity to see the
victor of the Spanish wars.
But on the morrow of this personal triumph, compensation for the formal
“triumph” denied him by a hidebound Senate, the first shoots appeared of
that undergrowth of narrow-minded conservatism, reinforced by envy,
which was to choke the personal fruits of his work, though happily not
before he had garnered for Rome the first-fruits—Hannibal’s overthrow.
Hitherto in Spain he had enjoyed a free hand unfettered by jealous
politicians or the compromising counsels of government by committee. If
he had to rely on his own local resources, he was at least too far
distant for his essential freedom of action to be controlled by any
many-headed guardian of national policy. But from now on he was to
suffer, like Marlborough and Wellington some two thousand years later,
the curb of political faction and jealousy, and finally, like
Marlborough, end his days in embittered retirement. The report got about
that he was saying that he had been declared consul not merely to
prosecute, but to finish the war; that for this object it was essential
for him to move with his army into Africa; and that if the Senate
opposed this plan he would carry it through with the people’s backing,
overriding the Senate. Perhaps his friends were indiscreet; perhaps
Scipio himself, so old beyond his years in other ways, allowed youthful
confidence to outride his discretion; perhaps, most probable of all, he
knew the Senate’s innate narrowness of vision and had been sounding the
people’s opinion.
The upshot was, that when the question was raised in the Senate, Fabius
Cunctator voiced the conservative view. The man who had worthily won his
name by inaction, his natural caution reinforced by an old man’s
jealousy, cleverly if spitefully criticises the plan of a young man
whose action threatens to eclipse his fame. First, he points out that
neither had the Senate voted nor the people ordered that Africa should
be constituted a consul’s province this year, insinuating that if the
consul came before them with his mind already made up, such conduct is
an insult to them. Next, Fabius seeks to parry any imputation of
jealousy by dwelling on his own past achievements as if they were too
exalted for any possible feats of Scipio to threaten comparison. How
characteristic, too, of age the remark, “What rivalry can there exist
between myself and a man who is not equal in years even to my son?” He
urges that Scipio’s duty is to attack Hannibal in Italy. “Why do you not
apply yourself to this, and carry the war in a straightforward manner to
the place where Hannibal is, rather than pursue that roundabout course,
according to which you expect that when you have crossed into Africa
Hannibal will follow you thither.” How vivid is the reminder here of
Eastern _v._ Western controversy in the war of 1914-1918. “What if
Hannibal should advance against Rome?” How familiar to modern ears is
this argument employed against any military heretic who questions the
doctrine of Clausewitz that the enemy’s main army is the primary
military objective.
Fabius then insinuates that Scipio’s head has been turned by his
successes in Spain. These Fabius damns with faint praise and covert
sneers—sneers which Mommsen and other modern historians seem to have
accepted as literal truth, forgetting how decisively all Fabius’s
arguments were refuted by Scipio’s actions. How different, Fabius
contends, is the problem Scipio will have to face if he ventures to
Africa. Not a harbour open, not even a foothold already secured, not an
ally. Does Scipio trust his hold over Masinissa when he could not trust
even his own soldiers?—a jibe at the Sucro mutiny. Land in Africa, and
he will rally the whole land against him, all internal disputes
forgotten in face of the foreign foe. Even in the unlikely event of
forcing Hannibal’s return, how much worse will it be to face him near
Carthage, supported by all Africa, instead of with a remnant in Southern
Italy? “What sort of policy is that of yours, to prefer fighting where
your own forces will be diminished by one-half, and the enemy’s greatly
augmented?”
Fabius finishes with a scathing comparison of Scipio with his father,
who, setting out for Spain, returned to Italy to meet Hannibal, “while
you are going to leave Italy when Hannibal is there, not because you
consider such a course beneficial to the State, but because you think it
will redound to your honour and glory ... the armies were enlisted for
the protection of the city and of Italy, and not for the consuls, like
kings, to carry into whatever part of the world they please from motives
of vanity.”
This speech makes a strong impression on the Senators, “especially those
advanced in years,” and when Scipio rises to reply the majority are
clearly against him. His opening is an apt counter-thrust: “Even Quintus
Fabius himself has observed ... that in the opinion he gave a feeling of
jealousy might be suspected. And though I dare not myself charge so
great a man with harbouring that feeling, yet, whether it is owing to a
defect in his phrasing, or to the fact, that suspicion has certainly not
been removed. For he has so magnified his own honours and the fame of
his exploits, to do away with the imputation of envy, that it would
appear I am in danger of being rivalled by every obscure person, but not
by himself, because he enjoys an eminence above everybody else....” “He
has represented himself as an old man, and as one who has gone through
every gradation of honour, and me as below the age even of his son, as
if he supposed that the desire of glory did not exceed the span of life,
and as if its chief part had no respect to memory and future ages.”
Then, with gentle sarcasm Scipio refers to Fabius’s expressed solicitude
for his safety, and not only for the army and the State, should he cross
over to Africa. Whence has this concern so suddenly sprung? When his
father and uncle were slain, when Spain lay beneath the heel of four
victorious Carthaginian armies, when no one except himself would offer
themselves for such a forlorn venture, “why was it that no one at that
time made any mention of my age, of the strength of the enemy, of the
difficulties, of the recent fate of my father and uncle?” “Are there now
larger armies in Africa, more and better generals, than were then in
Spain? Was my age then more mature for conducting a war than now...?”
“After having routed four Carthaginian armies ... after having regained
possession of the whole of Spain, so that no trace of war remains, it is
an easy matter to make light of my services; just as easy as it would
be, should I return from Africa, to make light of those very conditions
which are now magnified for the purpose of detaining me here.” Then,
after demolishing the historical examples which Fabius had quoted as
warnings, Scipio makes this appeal to history recoil against Fabius by
adducing Hannibal’s example in support of his plan. “He who brings
danger upon another has more spirit than he who repels it. Add to this,
that the terror excited by the unexpected is increased thereby. When you
have entered the territory of an enemy you obtain a near view of his
strong and weak points.” After pointing out the moral “soft spots” in
Africa, Scipio continues: “Provided no impediment is caused here, you
will hear at once that I have landed, and that Africa is blazing with
war; that Hannibal is preparing to depart from this country.” “... Many
things which are not now apparent at this distance will develop; and it
is the part of a general not to be wanting when opportunity arises, and
to bend its events to his designs. I shall, Quintus Fabius, have the
opponent you assign me, Hannibal, but I shall rather draw him after me
than be kept here by him.” As for the danger of a move by Hannibal on
Rome, it is a poor compliment to Crassus, the other consul, to suppose
that he will not be able to keep Hannibal’s reduced and shaken forces in
check, when Fabius did so with Hannibal at the height of his power and
success—an unanswerable master-thrust this!
After emphasising that now is the time and the opportunity to turn the
tables on Carthage, to do to Africa what Hannibal did to Italy, Scipio
ends on a characteristic note of restraint and exaltation combined:
“Though Fabius has depreciated my services in Spain, I will not attempt
to turn his glory into ridicule and magnify my own. If in nothing else,
though a young man, I will show my superiority over this old man in
modesty and in the government of my tongue. Such has been my life, and
such the services I have performed, that I can rest content in silence
with that opinion which you have spontaneously formed of me.”
The Senate, however, were more concerned with the preservation of their
own privileges than with the military arguments, and demanded to know if
Scipio would leave the decision with them, or, if they refused, appeal,
over their heads, to the people’s verdict. They refused to give a
decision until they had an assurance that he would abide by it. After a
consultation with his colleague, Scipio gave way to this demand.
Thereupon the Senate, a typical committee, effected a compromise by
which the consul to whose lot Sicily fell might have permission to cross
into Africa if he judged it to be for the advantage of the State.
Curiously, Sicily fell to Scipio!
He took with him thirty warships, which by great energy he had built and
launched within forty-five days of the timber being taken from the
woods; of these twenty were quinqueremes and ten quadriremes. On board
he embarked seven thousand volunteers, as the Senate, afraid to block
him but keen to obstruct him, had refused him leave to levy troops.
The story of how, beset with difficulties and hampered by those he was
aiming to save, he took this unorganised band of volunteers and trained
it to be the nucleus of an effective expeditionary force finds a notable
parallel in our own history. Sicily was to be Scipio’s Shorncliffe Camp,
the place where he forged the weapon that was to be thrust at the heart
of Carthage. But Scipio, unlike Sir John Moore in the Napoleonic War,
was himself to handle the weapon his genius had created, and with it to
strike the death-blow at Hannibal’s power. His vision penetrating the
distant future, a quality in which he perhaps surpasses all other great
commanders, enabled him to realise that the tactical key to victory lay
in the possession of a superior mobile arm of decision—cavalry. It is
not the least tribute to his genius that to appreciate this he had to
break loose from the fetters of a great tradition, for Rome’s military
greatness was essentially built on the power of her legionary infantry.
The long and splendid annals of Roman history are the testimony to its
effectiveness, and only in Scipio’s brief passage across the stage do we
find a real break with this tradition, a balance between the two arms by
which the power of the one for fixing and of the other for decisive
manœuvre are proportioned and combined. It is an object-lesson to modern
general staffs, shivering on the brink of mechanicalisation, fearful of
the plunge despite the proved ineffectiveness of the older arms in their
present form, for no military tradition has been a tithe so enduring and
so resplendent as that of the legion. From his arrival in Sicily onwards
Scipio bent his energies to developing a superior cavalry, and Zama,
where Hannibal’s decisive weapon was turned against himself, is Scipio’s
justification.
How unattainable must this goal have seemed when he landed in Sicily
with a mere seven thousand heterogeneous volunteers. Yet within a few
days the first progress was recorded. At once organising his volunteers
into cohorts and centuries, Scipio kept aside three hundred of the pick.
One can imagine their perplexed wonder at being left without arms and
not told off to centuries like their comrades.
Next he nominated three hundred of the noblest born Sicilian youths to
accompany him to Africa, and appointed a day on which they were to
present themselves equipped with horses and arms. The honour of
nomination for such a hazardous venture affrighted both them and their
parents, and they paraded most reluctantly. Addressing them, Scipio
remarked that he had heard rumours of their aversion to this arduous
service, and rather than take unwilling comrades he would prefer that
they would openly avow their feelings. One of them immediately seized
this loophole of escape, and Scipio thereupon released him from service
and promised to provide a substitute on condition that he handed over
his horse and arms and trained his substitute in their handling. The
Sicilian joyfully accepted, and the rest, seeing that the general did
not take his action amiss, promptly followed his example. By this means
Scipio obtained a nucleus of picked Roman cavalry “at no expense to the
State.”
His next measures show not only how his every step tended towards his
ultimate object, but also how alive he was to the importance of
foresight in securing his future action. He sent Lælius on an advance
reconnoitring expedition to Africa, and in order not to impair the
resources he was building up repaired his old ships for this expedition,
hauling his new ones upon shore for the winter at Panormus, as they had
been hastily and inevitably built of unseasoned timber. Further, after
distributing his army through the towns, he ordered the Sicilian States
to furnish corn for the troops, saving up the corn which he had brought
with him from Italy—economy of force even in the details of supply.
Scipio knew that strategy depends on supply, that without security of
food the most dazzling manœuvres may come to nought.
Furthermore, an offensive, whether strategical or tactical, must operate
from a secure base—this is one of the cardinal axioms of war. “Basis”
would perhaps be a better term, for “base” is apt to be construed too
narrowly, whereas truly it comprises security to the geographical base,
both internal and external, as well as security of supply and of
movement. Napoleon in 1814, the Germans in 1918, both suffered the
dislocation of their offensive action through the insecurity of their
base internally. It is thus interesting to note how Scipio sought among
his preparatory measures to ensure this security. He found Sicily, and
especially Syracuse, suffering from internal discontent and disorder
which had arisen out of the war. The property of the Syracusans had been
seized after the famous siege by covetous Romans and Italians, and
despite the decrees of the Senate for its restitution, had never been
handed back. Scipio took an early opportunity of going to Syracuse, and
“deeming it of the first importance to maintain trust in Rome’s plighted
word,” restored their property to the citizens, by proclamation and even
by direct action against those who still clung fast to the plundered
property. This act of justice had a wide effect throughout Sicily, and
not only ensured the tranquillity of his base but won the active support
of the Sicilians in furnishing his forces for the expedition.
Meanwhile Lælius had landed at Hippo Regius (modern Bona), about 150
miles distant from Carthage. According to Livy the news threw Carthage
into a panic, the citizens believing that Scipio himself had landed with
his army, and anticipating an immediate march on Carthage. To ward this
off seemed hopeless, as their own people were untrained for war, their
mercenary troops of doubtful loyalty, and among the African chiefs
Syphax was alienated from them since his conference with Scipio, and
Masinissa a declared enemy. The panic did not abate until news came that
the invader was Lælius, not Scipio, and that his forces were only strong
enough for a raid. Livy further tells us that the Carthaginians took
advantage of the respite to send embassies to Syphax and others of the
African chiefs for the purpose of strengthening their alliance, and
envoys were also sent to Hannibal and Mago to urge them to keep Scipio
at home by playing on the fears of the Romans. Mago had, earlier, landed
at Genoa, but was too weak to act effectively, and to encourage him to
move towards Rome and join Hannibal, the Carthaginian Senate sent him
seven thousand troops and also money to hire auxiliaries.
If these facts be true, they would on the surface suggest that Scipio
lost an opportunity and was unwise to put the Carthaginians on their
guard by this raid of Lælius’s, and this impression is strengthened by
the words ascribed to Masinissa. For Livy says that Masinissa came, with
a small body of horse, to meet Lælius, and complained that “Scipio had
not acted with promptness, in that he had not already passed his army
over into Africa, while the Carthaginians were in consternation, and
while Syphax was entangled in wars with neighbouring States, and in
doubt as to the side he should take; that if Syphax was allowed time to
settle his own affairs, he would not keep faith with the Romans.”
Masinissa then begged that Lælius would urge Scipio not to delay,
promising that he, though driven from his kingdom, would join Scipio
with a force of horse and foot.
When, however, we appreciate the situation from a military angle it
appears in a different light. Lælius landed at the port which was
nearest to Numidia, and which was not only 150 miles distant from
Carthage, but with a wide belt of hill country intervening. When Scipio
himself landed it was at a spot only some twenty-five miles distant.
Hence Lælius’s expedition can have been in no sense a reconnaissance
against Carthage, and the clear deduction is that it was a
reconnaissance to discover the state and feeling of the African States
where Scipio hoped to find allies, and in particular to get in touch
with Masinissa. As we have shown, Scipio had realised that a superiority
in the cavalry arm was the key to victory over the Carthaginians, and he
looked to the Numidian chief for his main source. His appreciation of
the latter’s brilliant cavalry leadership on the battlefields of Spain
had inspired him to win Masinissa over. Thus the inherent probability is
that Lælius’s mission was primarily to discover if the Numidian would
actually hold to his new alliance when Roman troops landed on African
soil, and if so, what were the resources he could contribute. If the
Carthaginians were really panic-stricken at a raid so distant, the fact
but helped to confirm Scipio’s view of the moral advantage to be gained
from a thrust at Carthage. As for the warning thus given, the danger of
putting the Carthaginians on their guard, this had already been given by
Scipio’s speeches in the Senate and his preparations. Where consent for
his expedition had to be wrung from a reluctant Senate, where the forces
and resources for it had to be raised without State help, strategic
surprise was out of the question from the outset. Here were exemplified
the chronic drawbacks of a constitutional system of government for
conducting war. It is one of Scipio’s supreme merits that he obtained
completely decisive results, though lacking the tremendous asset of
political control. He, the servant of a republic, is the one exception
to the rule that throughout the history of war the most successful of
the great captains have been despots or autocrats. Countless historians
have lavished sympathy on Hannibal for the handicap he suffered through
lack of support from home, and laid all his set-backs at the door of the
Carthaginian Senate. None seem to have stressed Scipio’s similar
handicap. Yet to Rome there was none of the physical difficulty in
sending reinforcements that Carthage could plead as an excuse. In this
lack of support—nay worse, the active opposition—from the Roman Senate
lies unquestionably the reason of Scipio’s delay of a year in Sicily to
prepare for the expedition. He had to find unaided his own resources in
Sicily and Africa. How groundless as well as irrational was Masinissa’s
complaint, if he made it, is shown by the fact that when, in 204 B.C.,
Scipio landed in Africa, the “landless prince,” to quote Mommsen,
“brought in the first instance nothing beyond his personal ability to
the aid of the Romans.” Few generals have been so bold as Scipio when
boldness was the right policy, but he was too imbued with the principle
of security to strike before he had armed himself and tempered his
weapon by training. The wonder is not at Scipio’s delay of a year, but
that he moved so soon, and with a force that in numbers if not in
training was still so puny for the scope of his task. But this seeming
audacity was made secure by his strategy after the landing, and Zama was
its justification. It is an ironical comment on the value of their
judgments that the same historians who criticise Scipio for his
tardiness in 205 B.C., tax him with rashness for the smallness of the
force with which he sailed in 204 B.C.! One of these, Dodge, when
dealing with the first year, remarks that “Scipio does not seem to have
been very expeditious about the business. In this he resembled
McClellan, as well as in his popularity.” Later, dealing with Scipio’s
embarkation, Dodge says: “Some generals would have declared these means
insufficient; but Scipio possessed an abundance of self-confidence which
supplemented material strength in all but severe tests.” Such criticism
is a boomerang recoiling on the critic.
CHAPTER VIII.
A POLITICAL HITCH.
The interval between the return of Lælius and the embarkation for Africa
is occupied, apart from material preparation, by two episodes of
significance. The first is Scipio’s apparent “sideshow” at Locri; the
second, the political imbroglio which for a time threatened his ruin and
that of his plans. Both deserve study for the light they shed on his
character as a commander and a man.
Locri lay on the underpart of the toe of Italy (near modern Gerace), and
was in Hannibal’s possession. After his brother Hasdrubal’s defeat at
the Metaurus, Hannibal had fallen back on Bruttium, the southernmost
province of Italy, and here he held at bay the consular armies, who
dared not advance to seek out the scarred but indomitable lion in his
mountain fastnesses.
Some Locrians who had gone outside the walls were captured by a Roman
raiding party, and taken to Rhegium—the port adjacent to Sicily,—where
they were recognised by the pro-Roman Locrian nobles, who had found
sanctuary there when their town fell into Carthaginian hands. Certain of
the prisoners, who were skilled artisans and had been in the employment
and trust of the Carthaginians, suggested that, if ransomed, they would
be willing to betray the citadel at Locri. The nobles, eager to regain
their town, at once ransomed the artisans, and after concerting a plan
and signals, sent them back to Locri. Then, going to Scipio at Syracuse,
they told him of the scheme. He saw the opportunity, and despatched on
the venture a detachment of three thousand men under two military
tribunes. Exchanging signals with the conspirators inside, ladders were
let down about midnight, and the attackers swarmed up the walls.
Surprise magnified their strength, and the Carthaginians in confusion
fled from the citadel to a second citadel on the farther side of the
town. For several days encounters occurred between the two parties
without decisive result. Alive to the danger to his garrison, and to the
threatened loss of an important point, Hannibal moved to the rescue,
sending a messenger ahead with orders to the garrison to make a sortie
at daybreak as a cloak to what he hoped would be his surprise assault.
He had not, however, brought scaling ladders with him, and so was forced
to postpone his attack a day while he was preparing these and other
materials for storming the walls.
Scipio, who was at Messana, received word of Hannibal’s move, and
planned a counter-surprise. Leaving his brother in command at Messana,
he embarked a force, and, setting sail on the next tide, arrived in the
harbour of Locri shortly before nightfall. The troops were hidden in the
town during the night, a concealment made possible by the townspeople
favouring, though not openly taking, the side of the Romans. Next
morning Hannibal launched his assault in conjunction with the sortie
from the Carthaginians’ citadel. As the scaling ladders were being
brought forward, Scipio sallied out from one of the town gates and
attacked the Carthaginians in flank and rear. The shock of the surprise
dislocated and disorganised the Carthaginians, and, his plan upset,
Hannibal fell back on his own camp. Realising that the Romans, because
of their grip on the town, were masters of the situation, he withdrew
during the night, sending word to his garrison in the citadel to make
their way out as best they could and rejoin him.
For Scipio this “side-show” was a very real asset. Apart from the
personal prestige he gained from his success in this first encounter
with the dreaded Hannibal, scoring a trick even off the master of ruses,
he had helped the Roman campaign in Italy by curtailing Hannibal’s
remaining foothold in that country—and without any diminution of his own
force. But, beyond these personal and indirect gains, his success had an
important bearing on his own future plan of operations. For he had
“blooded” his troops against Hannibal, and by this successful enterprise
given them a moral tonic, which would be of immense value in the crucial
days to come. It is unfortunate that for this episode, as for Lælius’s
reconnaissance in Africa, we have no Polybius to reveal to us the
motives and calculations which inspired Scipio’s moves. The loss of
Polybius’s books on this period must be replaced by deduction from the
facts, and from the knowledge already gained of Scipio’s mind. To those
who have followed his constant and farsighted exploitation of the moral
element during his Spanish campaigns, there can be little doubt that he
seized on the Locri expedition as a heaven-sent chance not only to test
and sharpen his weapon for the day of trial, but to dispel in his troops
the impression of Hannibalic invincibility.
The second episode arose out of the subsequent administration of
recaptured Locri. When Scipio had sent the original force to seize the
town, he had instructed Quintus Pleminius, the proprætor at Rhegium, to
assist the tribunes, and when the place was captured Pleminius, by
virtue of his seniority, assumed the command until Scipio arrived. After
the repulse of Hannibal’s relieving force, Scipio returned to Sicily,
and Pleminius was naturally left in chief command of the town and its
defence, though the detachment from Sicily remained under the direct
command of the tribunes.
How Pleminius abused his trust is one of the most sordid pages in Roman
history. The wretched inhabitants suffered worse from his tyranny and
lust than ever they had from the Carthaginians—an ill-requital of their
aid to the Romans in regaining the town. The example of their leader
infected the troops, and their greed for loot not only harassed the
townspeople but inevitably led to disorder among themselves. It would
seem that the tribunes strove to check this growing license, and to
uphold the true standards of military discipline. One of Pleminius’s
men, running away with a silver cup that he had stolen from a house and
pursued by its owners, met the tribunes in his flight. They stopped him
and had the cup taken away, whereat his comrades showered abuse on the
tribunes, and the disturbance soon ended in a free fight between the
soldiers of the tribunes and those of Pleminius. The latter were worsted
and invoked the aid of their commander, inciting him by tales of the
reproaches cast upon his behaviour and control. Pleminius thereupon
ordered the tribunes to be brought before him, stripped, and beaten.
During the short delay while the rods were being brought and themselves
stripped, the tribunes called upon their men for aid. The latter,
hastily gathering from all quarters, were so inflamed at the sight that,
breaking loose from the habits of discipline, they vented their rage on
Pleminius. Cutting him off from his party, they mutilated his nose and
ears, and left him almost lifeless.
When word of the disturbance reached Scipio, he sailed immediately for
Locri and held a court of inquiry. Of the evidence and of the reasons
for his judgment we know nothing. All that is handed down is the fact
that he acquitted Pleminius, restored him to command, and pronouncing
the tribunes guilty, ordered them to be thrown into chains and sent back
to Rome for the Senate to deal with. He then returned to Sicily.
The verdict appears somewhat astonishing, the one serious blemish, in
fact, on Scipio’s judgment. The motives which inspired it are difficult
to surmise. Perhaps it was partly pity for the mutilated Pleminius,
combined with anger that his own men should have shown such gross
insubordination and committed such an atrocity. It is a natural instinct
with the best type of commander to be more severe on the misconduct of
his own direct subordinates than on those who are only attached to him,
and in case of dispute between the two such a man may err because of his
very scrupulousness to hold the balance fairly, and to avoid partiality
towards his own. It was said of one of the finest British commanders in
the war of 1914-18 that if he had a personal dislike or distrust of a
subordinate he invariably gave the latter more rope than the others,
knowing that if his distrust was justified the man would assuredly use
this rope to hang himself. Similar may have been the motives underlying
Scipio’s outwardly inexplicable verdict. In criticising it the historian
must consider not only the gaps in our knowledge of the case, but view
the incident in the general light of all Scipio’s recorded acts as a
commander. The whole weight of evidence, as we have seen, goes to show
that two qualities which especially distinguished Scipio were the
acuteness of his understanding of men, and his humanity to the
conquered. Trust in a Pleminius or condonation of brutality were the
last things to be expected of him, and so, lacking evidence as to the
facts on which his decision was based, it would be rash to pass adverse
judgment on his action.
We need to remember also that Locri was in Italy, and therefore outside
his province, and a close attention to its administration could only be
at the expense of his primary object—preparation for the expedition to
Africa.
The importance of the Locri incident is not as a light on Scipio’s
character, but as a political rock on which his military plans nearly
foundered. How this came about can be briefly told. After Scipio’s
departure, Pleminius, who thought that the injury he had sustained had
been treated too lightly by Scipio, disobeyed the latter’s instructions.
He had the tribunes dragged before him and tortured to death, refusing
even to allow their mangled bodies to be buried. His injuries still
rankling, he then sought to avenge himself by multiplying the burdens
put on the Locrians. In despair, they sent a deputation to the Roman
Senate. Their envoys arrived soon after the consular elections, which
had marked the end of Scipio’s term of office, though he was continued
in command of the troops in Sicily. Their tale of misery raised a storm
of popular indignation at Rome, and Scipio’s senatorial opponents were
not slow to divert this on to the head of the man nominally responsible.
It is no surprise to find that Fabius initiated this by asking if they
had carried their complaints to Scipio. The envoys replied, according to
Livy, that “deputies were sent to him, but he was occupied with the
preparations for the war, and had either already crossed over into
Africa, or was on the point of doing so.” They added that his previous
decision between Pleminius and the tribunes had given them the
impression that the former was in favour with Scipio.
Fabius had got the answer he wanted, and after the envoys had withdrawn,
hastened to condemn Scipio unheard, declaring “that he was born for the
corruption of military discipline. In Spain he almost lost more men in
consequence of the mutiny than in the war. That, after the manner of
foreigners and kings, he indulged the licentiousness of the soldiers,
and then punished them with cruelty.” This envenomed speech Fabius
followed up with “a resolution equally harsh.” It was “that Pleminius
should be conveyed to Rome in chains, and in chains plead his cause;
that, if the complaints of the Locrians were founded in truth, he should
be put to death in prison, and his effects confiscated. That Publius
Scipio should be recalled for having quitted his province without the
permission of the Senate.”
A hot debate followed, in which, “besides the atrocious conduct of
Pleminius, much was said about the dress of the general himself, as
being not only un-Roman, but even unsoldierly.” His critics complained
that “he walked about the gymnasium in a cloak and slippers, and that he
gave his whole time to light books and the palæstra. That his whole
staff were enjoying the delights which Syracuse afforded, with the same
indolence and effeminacy. That Carthage and Hannibal had dropped out of
his memory”—somewhat inconsistent on the part of the people who were
proposing to recall him because he had been fighting with Hannibal. How
petty, but how true to human nature! The real grievance of his crusted
seniors was not his leniency with Pleminius, but his Greek refinement
and studies.
But wiser counsels prevailed. Metellus pointed out how inconsistent it
would be for the State now to recall, condemned in his absence and
without a hearing, the very man whom they had commissioned to finish the
war, and to do so in the face of the Locrians’ evidence that none of
their tribulations occurred while Scipio was there. On the motion of
Metellus a commission of inquiry was appointed to visit Scipio in
Sicily, or even in Africa had he departed thither, with power to deprive
him of his command if they found that the acts at Locri had been
committed at his command or with his concurrence. This commission was
also to investigate the charges brought against his military régime,
whether his own alleged indolency or the relaxation of discipline among
the troops. These charges were brought by Cato, who, besides being an
adherent of Fabius, conceived it his special mission in life to oppose
the new Hellenic culture and to effect cheese-paring economies. It is
related that to save money he sold his slaves as soon as they were too
old for work, that he esteemed his wife no more than his slaves, and
that he left behind in Spain his faithful charger rather than incur the
charge of transporting it to Italy. As quæstor under Scipio in Sicily he
reproached his general with his liberality to the troops, until Scipio
dispensed with his services, whereupon Cato returned disgruntled to
Italy to join Fabius in an anti-waste campaign in the Senate.
The commission went first to Locri. Pleminius had already been thrown
into prison at Rhegium, according to some accounts by Scipio, who had
sent a _legatus_ with a guard to seize him and his principal coadjutors.
At Locri restitution of their property and civic privileges was made to
the citizens, and they willingly agreed to send deputies to give
evidence against Pleminius at Rome. But though invited to bring
complaints against Scipio, the citizens declined, saying that they were
convinced that the injuries inflicted on them were neither by his orders
nor with his approval.
The commission, relieved of the duty of investigating such charges,
nevertheless went on to Syracuse, to see for themselves the military
condition of his command. There are parallels in history to such a
political investigation on the eve of a great military venture—the
Nivelle affair is the most recent,—and often they have reacted
disastrously both on the confidence of the commander and the confidence
of his subordinates in him. But Scipio survived the test. “While they
were on their way to Syracuse, Scipio prepared to clear himself, not by
words but by facts. He ordered all his troops to assemble there, and the
fleet to be got in readiness, as though a battle had to be fought that
day with the Carthaginians by sea and land. On the day of their arrival
he entertained them hospitably, and on the next day presented to their
view his land and sea forces, not only drawn up in order, but the former
carrying out field operations, while the fleet fought a mock naval
battle in the harbour. The prætor and the deputies were then conducted
round to view the armouries, the granaries, and other preparations for
the war. And so great was the admiration aroused in them of each
particular, and the whole together, that they formed the conviction that
under the conduct of that general, and with that army, the Carthaginians
would be vanquished, or by none other. They bid him with the blessing of
the gods, cross over....” (Livy).
These deputies were not, as the “frocks” of 1914-18, remarkable only for
their ignorance of matters military. Like most Romans they were men of
military training and experience, and no “eye-wash” would have deceived
them. In face of such a verdict it is surprising that a historian of the
reputation of Mommsen should here again swallow Fabius’s spiteful
charges, and repeat as his own the opinion that Scipio failed to
maintain discipline. Only a lay historian, militarily ignorant, could
imagine that an army which had been allowed to run to seed could carry
out the complex Roman battle drill and develop its preparations to a
pitch of efficiency that not only gained the approval but aroused the
enthusiasm of this expert commission.
On their return to Rome the warmth of their praise induced the Senate to
vote that Scipio should cross to Africa, and that he should be given
permission to select himself, _out of those forces which were in
Sicily_, the troops which he wanted to accompany him. The irony of this
grudging and tardy permission lies in the clause in italics. He was
given their blessing, and that was all. For a venture of such magnitude,
he was worse supported by the Senate than even Hannibal by Carthage. Of
Roman troops, apart from his own volunteers, he had in Sicily only the
5th and 6th Legions, the remnant of those who had fought at Cannæ, and
who in punishment for the defeat had been sentenced to serve in exile in
Sicily. A less understanding commander might well have hesitated to rely
on troops suffering such a degradation. But “Scipio was very far from
feeling contempt for such soldiers, inasmuch as he knew that the defeat
at Cannæ was not attributable to their cowardice, and that there were no
soldiers in the Roman army who had served so long, or were so
experienced in the various types of combat.” They on their side were
burning to wipe off the unjust stigma of disgrace, and when he declared
that he would take them with him he could feel sure that by this proof
of his trust and generosity he had won their utter devotion. He
inspected them “man by man,” and putting aside those unfit for service
he filled up their places with his own men, bringing the strength of
each Legion up to 6200 infantry and 300 horse.
Roman accounts differ widely as to the total strength of the force that
embarked, and even in Livy’s time the uncertainty was such that he
preferred not to give an opinion. The smallest estimate is 10,000 foot
and 200 horse; a second is 16,000 infantry and 1600 horse; the third,
and largest, is a total of 35,000, including horse and foot. The first
is disproved by the previous facts, and these seem rather to point to
the second as the correct estimate. In any case it was slender indeed
for the object aimed at.
There is a striking parallel between the situation and numbers of Scipio
in 204 B.C. and those of Gustavus Adolphus in 1630 A.D., when the
Swedish King crossed the Baltic to strike at the seat of the Imperial
power. And each force, small as it was, had been welded by the training
genius and personal magnetism of its leader into a superb instrument of
war—a cadre or framework for later expansion. How purely this expedition
and its triumphant success was the plan and the work of Scipio can be
aptly shown by quoting Mommsen, a far from friendly witness: “It was
evident that the Senate did not appoint the expedition, but merely
allowed it: Scipio did not obtain half the resources which had formerly
been placed at the command of Regulus, and he got that very corps which
for years had been subjected by the Senate to intentional degradation.
The African army was, in the view of the majority of the Senate, a
forlorn hope of disrated companies and volunteers, whose loss in any
event the State had no great occasion to regret.” And yet many
historians assert that Rome’s victory in the Punic War was due to the
generous support she gave to her generals, the failure of Carthage to
the reverse cause!
Not only were Scipio’s means slender, but the African situation had
changed for the worse during the year’s delay forced on him by the need
to raise and train his expeditionary force, in default of Rome’s aid, a
delay still further protracted by the Locri inquiry. Hasdrubal, son of
Gisco, on his return from Spain had checkmated Scipio’s newly won
influence over Syphax, by giving the king his daughter Sophonisba in
marriage, and in return got Syphax to renew his pledge of alliance with
Carthage. Still afraid that Syphax would adhere to his old pledges to
Scipio, Hasdrubal “took advantage of the Numidian while under the
influence of the first transports of love, and calling to his aid the
caresses of the bride, prevailed upon him to send envoys into Sicily to
Scipio, and by them to warn him ‘not to cross over into Africa in
reliance on his former promise.’” The message begged Scipio to carry on
the war elsewhere, so that Syphax might maintain his neutrality, adding
that if the Romans came he would be compelled to fight against them.
Passion had beaten diplomacy. One can imagine what a blow the message
proved to Scipio. Yet he determined to carry through his plan, and
merely sought to counteract the moral harm which might accrue if
Syphax’s defection became known. He sent the envoys back as quickly as
possible, with a stern reminder to Syphax of his treaty obligations.
Further, realising that the envoys had been seen by many, and that if he
maintained silence about their visit rumours would spread, Scipio
announced to the troops that the envoys had come, like Masinissa earlier
to Lælius, to urge him to hasten his invasion of Africa. It was a shrewd
ruse, for the truth might have caused grave moral depression at the
critical time. Scipio, wiser than the military authorities of 1914,
understood crowd psychology, and knew that the led put the worst
construction on the silence of the leaders, that they assume no news to
be bad news, despite all the proverbs.
CHAPTER IX.
AFRICA.
Thus in the spring of 204 B.C. Scipio embarked his army at Lilybæum
(modern Marsala), and sailed for Africa. His fleet is said to have
comprised forty warships and four hundred transports, and on board was
carried water and rations for fifty-five days, of which fifteen days’
supply was cooked. Complete dispositions were made for the protection of
the convoy by the warships, and each class of vessel was distinguished
by lights at night—the transports one, the warships two, and his own
flagship three. It is worth notice that he personally supervised the
embarkation of the troops.
A huge crowd gathered to witness the departure, not only the inhabitants
of Lilybæum, but all the deputies from Sicily—as a compliment to
Scipio,—and the troops who were being left behind. At daybreak Scipio
delivered a farewell oration and prayer, and then by a trumpet gave the
signal to weigh anchor. Favoured by a strong wind the fleet made a quick
passage, and next morning when the sun rose they were in sight of land,
and could discern the promontory of Mercury (now Cape Bon). Scipio
ordered the pilot to make for a landing farther west, but a dense fog
coming on later forced the fleet to cast anchor. Next morning, the wind
rising, dispelled the fog, and the army disembarked at the Fair
promontory (now Cape Farina), a few miles from the important city of
Utica. The security of the landing was at once ensured by entrenching a
camp on the nearest rising ground.
These two promontories formed the horns, pointing towards Sicily, of the
territory of Carthage, that bull’s head of land projecting into the
Mediterranean which is to-day known as Tunisia. The horns, some
thirty-five miles apart, enclosed a vast semicircular bay in the centre
of which stood Carthage, on a small peninsula pointing east. Utica lay
just below and inside the tip of the western horn, and a few miles east
of the city was the Bagradas river, whose rich and fertile valley was
the main source of supplies for Carthage. Another strategic point was
Tunis, at the junction of the Carthage peninsula with the
mainland—geographically south-west of Carthage but militarily east,
because it lay across the landward approaches from that flank.
Although the Carthaginians had long been expecting the blow, and had
watch-towers on every cape, the news created feverish excitement and
alarm, stimulated by the stream of fugitives from the country districts.
At Carthage, emergency defensive measures were taken as if Scipio was
already at the gates. The Roman’s first step was clearly to gain a
secure base of operations, and with this aim his preliminary move was
against Utica. His fleet was despatched there forthwith while the army
marched overland, his advanced guard cavalry encountering a body of five
hundred Carthaginian horse who had been sent to reconnoitre and
interrupt the landing. After a sharp engagement these were put to
flight. A still better omen was the arrival of Masinissa, true to his
word, to join Scipio. Livy states that the earlier sources from which he
compiled his history differed as to the strength of Masinissa’s
reinforcement, some saying that he brought two hundred horse, and some
two thousand. Livy accepts the smaller estimate, for the very sound
reason that Masinissa after his return from Spain had been driven out of
his father’s kingdom by the joint efforts of Syphax and the
Carthaginians, and for the past year and more had been eluding pursuit
by repeated changes of quarter. An exile, who had escaped from the last
battle with only sixty horsemen, it is unlikely that he could have
raised his band of followers to any large proportions.
Meanwhile, the Carthaginians despatched a further body of four thousand
horse, mainly Numidians, to oppose Scipio’s advance and gain time for
Syphax and Hasdrubal to come to their aid. To their ally and to their
chief general in Africa the most urgent messages had been sent. Hanno
with the four thousand cavalry occupied a town, Salæca, about fifteen
miles from the Roman camp near Utica, and it is said by Livy that
Scipio, on hearing of this, remarked, “What, cavalry lodging in houses
during the summer! Let there be even more in number while they have such
a leader.” “Concluding that the more dilatory they were in their
operations, the more active he ought to be, he sent Masinissa forward
with the cavalry, directing him to ride up to the gates of the enemy and
draw them out to battle, and when their whole force had poured out and
committed themselves thoroughly to the attack, then to retire by
degrees.” Scipio himself waited for what he judged sufficient time for
Masinissa’s advanced party to draw out the enemy, and then followed with
the Roman cavalry, “proceeding without being seen, under cover of some
rising ground.” He took up a position near the so-called Tower of
Agathocles, on the northern slope of a saddle between two ridges.
[Illustration: Battle of Utica.]
Masinissa, following Scipio’s plan, made repeated advances and
retirements. At first he drew out small skirmishing parties, then
counterattacked them so that Hanno was forced to reinforce them, lured
them on again by a simulated retreat and repeated the process. At last
Hanno, irritated by these tactical tricks—so typical of the Parthians
and the Mongols later,—sallied forth with his main body, whereupon
Masinissa retired slowly, drawing the Carthaginians along the southern
side of the ridges and past the saddle which concealed the Roman
cavalry. When the moment was ripe, Scipio’s cavalry emerged and
encircled the flank and rear of Hanno’s cavalry, while Masinissa,
turning about, attacked them in front. The first line of a thousand were
surrounded and slain, and of the remainder two thousand were captured or
killed in a vigorous pursuit.
Scipio followed up this success by a seven days’ circuit through the
countryside, clearing it of cattle and supplies, and creating a wide
devastated zone as a barrier against attack. Security, both in supply
and protection, thus effected, he concentrated his efforts on the siege
of Utica, which he wanted for his base of operations. Utica, however,
was not destined to be a second Cartagena. Although he combined attack
from the sea by the marines with the land assault, the fortress defied
all his efforts and ruses.
Hasdrubal by this time had collected a force of thirty thousand foot and
three thousand horse, but with painful recollections of the maulings he
had suffered in Spain, did not venture to move to Utica’s relief until
reinforced by Syphax. When the latter at last came, with an army stated
to have been fifty thousand foot and ten thousand horse, the menace
compelled Scipio to raise the siege—after forty days. Faced with such a
concentration of hostile force, Scipio’s situation must have been
hazardous, but he extricated himself without mishap and fortified a camp
for the winter on a small peninsula, connected to the mainland by a
narrow isthmus. This lay on the eastern, or Carthage, side of Utica,
thus lying on the flank of any relieving force, and was later known as
Castra Cornelia. The enemy then encamped some seven miles farther east,
covering the approaches to the River Bagradas.
If there is a parallel between Scipio’s landing in Africa and Gustavus’s
landing in Germany, there is a still more striking parallel between
their action during the first season on hostile soil. Both campaigns to
the unmilitary critic appear limited in scope compared with the avowed
object with which they had set forth. Both generals have been criticised
for over-caution, if not hesitation. And both were justified not only by
the result, but by the science of war. Scipio and Gustavus alike, unable
for reasons outside their control to adjust the means to the end,
displayed that rare strategical quality—of adjusting the end to the
means. Their strategy foreshadowed Napoleon’s maxim that “the whole art
of war consists in a well ordered and prudent defensive, followed by a
bold and rapid offensive.” Both sought first to lay the foundations for
the offensive which followed by gaining a secure base of operations
where they could build up their means to a strength adequate to ensure
the attainment of the end.
Gustavus is known to have been a great student of the classics: was his
strategy in 1630 perhaps a conscious application of Scipio’s method? Nor
is this campaign of Gustavus’s the only military parallel with Scipio’s
that history records. For the action of Wellington in fortifying and
retiring behind the lines of Torres Vedras in 1810 to checkmate the
French superior concentration of force has a vivid reminder, both
topographical and strategical, of Scipio’s action in face of the
concentration of Syphax and Hasdrubal.
In this secure retreat Scipio devoted the winter to build up his
strength and supplies for the next spring’s campaign. Besides the corn
he had collected in his preliminary foraging march, he obtained a vast
quantity from Sardinia, and also fresh stores of clothing and arms from
Sicily. The success of his landing, his sharp punishment of the
Carthaginian attempts to meet him in battle, and, above all, the fact
that he had dissipated the terrors of the unknown, had falsified all the
fears of the wiseacres, by holding his own, small though his force, on
the dreaded soil of Africa, almost at the gates of Carthage—all these
factors combined to turn the current of opinion and arouse the State to
give him adequate support. Reliefs were sent to Sicily so that he could
reinforce his strength with the troops at first left behind for local
defence.
But, as usual, while seeking to develop his own strength, he did not
overlook the value of subtracting from the enemy’s. He reopened
negotiations with Syphax, “whose passion for his bride he thought might
now perhaps have become satiated from unlimited enjoyment.” In these he
was disappointed, for while Syphax went so far as to suggest terms of
peace by which the Carthaginians should quit Italy in return for a Roman
evacuation of Africa, he did not hold out any hope that he would abandon
the Carthaginian cause if the war continued. For such terms Scipio had
no use, but he only rejected them in a qualified manner, in order to
maintain a pretext for his emissaries to visit the hostile camp. The
reason was that he had conceived a plan whereby to weaken the enemy and
anticipate the attack that he feared owing to the enemy’s heavy
superiority of numbers. Some of his earlier messengers to Syphax had
reported that the Carthaginians’ winter huts were built almost entirely
of wood, and those of the Numidians of interwoven reeds and matting,
disposed without order or proper intervals, and that a number even lay
outside the ramparts of the camps. This news suggested to Scipio the
idea of setting fire to the enemy’s camp and striking a surprise blow in
the confusion.
Therefore in his later embassies Scipio sent certain expert scouts and
picked centurions dressed as officers’ servants. While the conferences
were in progress, these rambled through the camps, both that of Syphax
and of Hasdrubal, noting their approaches and entrances and studying the
general plan of the camps, the distance between them, the times and
methods of stationing guards and outposts. With each embassy, too, a
different lot of observers were sent, so that as large a number as
possible should familiarise themselves with the lie of the enemy camps.
As a result of their reports Scipio ascertained that Syphax’s camp was
the more inflammable and the easier to attack.
He then sent further envoys to Syphax, who was hoping for peace, with
instructions not to return until they received a decisive answer on the
proposed terms, saying that it was time that either an agreement was
settled or the war vigorously prosecuted. After consultation between
Syphax and Hasdrubal, they apparently decided to accept, whereupon
Scipio made further stipulations, as a suitable way of terminating the
truce, which he did next day, informing Syphax that while he himself
desired peace, the rest of his council were opposed to it. By this means
he gained freedom to carry out his plan without breaking his faith,
though he undoubtedly went as close to the border between strategical
ruse and deliberate craft as was possible without overstepping it.
Syphax, much vexed at this breakdown of negotiations, at once conferred
with Hasdrubal, and it was decided to take the offensive and challenge
Scipio to battle, on level ground if possible. But Scipio was ready to
strike, his preparations complete. Even in his final preparations, he
sought to mystify and mislead the enemy in order to make his surprise
more effective. The orders issued to the troops spoke of the surprise
being aimed at Utica; he launched his ships and mounted on board siege
machines as if he was about to assault Utica from the sea, and he
despatched two thousand infantry to seize a hill which commanded the
town. This move had a dual purpose—to convince the enemy that his plan
was directed against Utica, and to occupy the city garrison to prevent
them making a sortie against his camp when he marched out to attack the
hostile camps. Thus he was able to achieve economy of force, by
concentrating the bulk of his troops for the decisive blow, and leaving
only a slight force to guard the camp, and thus once more he did not
lose sight of the principle of security in carrying out that of
surprise. He had fixed the enemy’s attention in the wrong direction.
About mid-day he summoned a conference of his ablest and most trusted
tribunes and disclosed his plan. To this conference he summoned the
officers who had been to the enemy’s camp. “He questioned them closely
and compared the accounts they gave of the approaches and entrances of
the camp, letting Masinissa decide, and following his advice owing to
his personal knowledge of the ground.” Then he ordered the tribunes to
give the troops their evening meal early, and lead the legions out of
the camp after “Retreat” had been sounded as usual. On this point
Polybius adds the interesting note that “it is the custom among the
Romans at supper-time for the trumpeters to sound their instruments
outside the general’s tent as a signal that it is time to set the
night-watches at their several posts.”
About the first watch the troops were formed up in march order and moved
off on their seven-mile march, and about midnight arrived in the
vicinity of the hostile camps, which were just over a mile apart.
Thereupon Scipio divided his force, placing all the Numidians and half
his legionaries under Lælius and Masinissa with orders to attack
Syphax’s camp. The two commanders he first took aside and urged on them
the need for caution, emphasising that “the more the darkness in night
attacks hinders and impedes the sight, the more must one supply the
place of actual vision by skill and care.” He further instructed them
that he would wait to launch his attack on Hasdrubal’s camp until Lælius
had set fire to the other camp, and with this purpose marched his own
men at a slow pace.
Lælius and Masinissa, dividing their force, attacked the camp from two
directions simultaneously—a convergent manœuvre,—and Masinissa also
posted his Numidians, because of their knowledge of the camp, to cut off
the various exits of escape. As had been foreseen, once the leading
Romans had set the fire alight, it spread rapidly along the first row of
huts, and in a brief while the whole camp was aflame, because of the
closeness of the huts and the lack of proper intervals between rows.
Fully imagining that it was an accidental conflagration, Syphax’s men
rushed out of their huts unarmed, and in a disorderly flight. Many
perished in their huts while half asleep, many were trampled to death in
the frenzied rush for the exits, while those who escaped the flames were
cut down unawares by the Numidians posted at the gates of the camp.
Meanwhile in the Carthaginian camp the soldiers, aroused by the
sentries’ report of the fire in the other camp, and seeing how vast was
the volume of flame, rushed out of their own camp to assist in
extinguishing the fire, they also imagining it an accident and Scipio
seven miles distant. This was as Scipio had hoped and anticipated, and
he at once fell on the rabble, giving orders not to let a man escape to
give warning to the troops still in the camp. Instantly he followed up
this by launching his attack on the gates of the camp, which were
unguarded as a result of the confusion.
By the cleverness of his plan in attacking Syphax’s camp first, he had
turned to advantage the fact that a number of the latter’s huts were
outside the ramparts and so easily accessible, and had created the
opportunity to force the gates of the better protected Carthaginian
camp.
The first troops inside set fire to the nearest huts, and soon the whole
camp was aflame, the same scenes of confusion and destruction being here
repeated, and those who escaped through the gates meeting their fate at
the hands of Roman parties posted for the purpose. “Hasdrubal at once
desisted from any attempt to extinguish the fire, as he knew now from
what had befallen him that the calamity which had overtaken the
Numidians also was not, as they had supposed, the result of chance, but
was due to the initiative and daring of the enemy.” He therefore forced
his way out and escaped, along with only two thousand foot and five
hundred horsemen, half-armed and many wounded or scorched. With this
small force he took refuge in a near-by town, but when Scipio’s pursuing
troops came up, and seeing that the inhabitants were disaffected, he
resumed his flight to Carthage. Syphax who had also escaped, probably
with a larger proportion, retired to a fortified position at Abba, a
town quite close.
The armies of Sennacherib had not suffered a swifter, more unexpected,
or more complete fate than those of Hasdrubal and Syphax. According to
Livy forty thousand men were either slain or destroyed by the flames,
and about five thousand were captured, including many Carthaginian
nobles. As a spectacle of disaster it surpasses any in history.
Polybius, who presumably got his information from Lælius and other
eye-witnesses, thus describes it: “The whole place was filled with
wailing and confused cries, panic, fear, strange noises, and above all
raging fire and flames that overbore all resistance, things any one of
which would be sufficient to strike terror into a human heart, and how
much more this extraordinary combination of them all. It is not possible
to find any other disaster which however magnified could be compared
with this, so much did it exceed in horror all previous events.
Therefore of all the brilliant exploits performed by Scipio this seems
to me the most brilliant and most adventurous....”
In Carthage the news caused great alarm and anxiety—Hasdrubal’s purpose
in retreating there had been to allay the panic and forestall any
capitulation. His presence and his resolute spirit was needed. The
Carthaginians had expected with the spring campaign to find their armies
shutting in Scipio on the cape near Utica, cutting him off by land and
sea. Finding the tables so dramatically turned, they swung from
confidence to extreme despondency. At an emergency debate in the Senate
three different opinions were put forward: to send envoys to Scipio to
treat for peace; to recall Hannibal; to raise fresh levies and urge
Syphax to renew the struggle in co-operation with them. The influence of
Hasdrubal, combined with that of all the Barcine party, carried the day,
and the last policy was adopted. It is worth a passing note, in view of
the charge of ultra-Roman prejudice often made against Livy, that he
speaks with obvious admiration of this third motion which “breathed the
spirit of Roman constancy in adversity.”
Syphax and his Numidians had at first decided to continue their retreat
and, abandoning the war, retire to their own country, but three
influences caused them to change their minds. These were the pleadings
of Sophonisba to Syphax not to desert her father and his people, the
prompt arrival of the envoys from Carthage, and the arrival of a body of
over four thousand Celtiberian mercenaries from Spain—whose numbers were
exaggerated by popular rumour, doubtless inspired by the war party, to
ten thousand. Accordingly Syphax gave the envoys a message that he would
co-operate with Hasdrubal, and showed them the first reinforcement of
fresh Numidian levies who had arrived. By energetic recruiting Hasdrubal
and Syphax were able to take the field again within thirty days, joining
forces, and entrenched a camp on the Great Plain. Their strength is put
as between thirty and thirty-five thousand fighting men.
Scipio, after his dispersion of the enemy’s field forces in the recent
surprise, had turned his attention to the siege of Utica, in order to
gain the secure base which he wanted as a prelude to further operations.
It is evident that he intentionally refrained from pressing the retreat
of Syphax, for such pressure by forcing the latter to fight would tend
to pour fresh fuel on a fire that was flickering out of itself. The
ground for such a hope we have already shown, as also the factors which
caused its disappointment. Polybius gives us a valuable sidelight at
this juncture on Scipio’s care and forethought for his troops—“He also
at the same time distributed the booty, but expelled the merchants who
were making too good an affair of it; for as their recent success had
made them form a rosy picture of the future, the soldiers attached no
value to their actual booty, and were very ready to dispose of it for a
song to the merchants.”
When the news reached Scipio of the junction of the Carthaginian and
Numidian forces and of their approach, he acted promptly. Leaving only a
small detachment to keep up the appearance of a siege by land and sea,
he set out to meet the enemy, his whole force being in light marching
order—he evidently judged that rapidity was the key to this fresh
menace, to strike before they could weld their new force into a strong
weapon. On the fifth day he reached the Great Plain, and fortified a
camp on a hill some three and a half miles distant from the enemy’s
camp. The two following days he advanced his forces, harassing the
enemy’s outposts, in order to tempt them out to battle. The bait
succeeded on the third day, and the enemy’s combined army came out of
their camp and drew up in order of battle. They placed the Celtiberians,
their picked troops, in the centre, the Numidians on the left, and the
Carthaginians on the right. “Scipio simply followed the usual Roman
practice of placing the maniples of _hastati_ in front, behind them the
_principes_, and hindmost of all the _triarii_.” He disposed his Italian
cavalry on his right, facing Syphax’s Numidians, and Masinissa’s
Numidians on his left, facing the Carthaginian horse. At the first
encounter the enemy’s wings were broken by the Italian and Masinissa’s
cavalry. Scipio’s rapidity of march and foresight in striking before
Hasdrubal and Syphax had consolidated their raw levies was abundantly
justified. Moreover, on one side moral was heightened by recent success,
and on the other lowered by recent disaster.
In the centre the Celtiberians fought staunchly, knowing that flight was
useless, because of their ignorance of the country, and that surrender
was futile, because of their treason in coming from Spain to take
service against the Romans. It would appear that Scipio used his second
and third lines—the _principes_ and _triarii_—as a mobile reserve to
attack the Celtiberians’ flanks, instead of to reinforce the _hastati_
directly, as was the normal custom. Thus surrounded on all sides the
Celtiberians were cut to pieces where they stood, though only after an
obstinate resistance, which enabled the commanders, Hasdrubal and
Syphax, as well as a good number of the fugitives, to make their escape.
Hasdrubal with his Carthaginian survivors found shelter in Carthage, and
Syphax with his cavalry retreated home to his own capital, Cirta.
Night had put a stop to the scene of carnage, and next day Scipio sent
Masinissa and Lælius in pursuit of Syphax, while he himself cleared the
surrounding country, and occupied its strong places, as a preliminary to
a move on Carthage. Here fresh alarm had been caused, but the people
were more staunch in the hour of trial than is the tendency to regard
them. Few voices were raised in favour of peace, and energetic measures
were taken for resistance. The city was provisioned for a long siege,
and the work of strengthening and enlarging the fortifications was
pushed on. At the same time the Senate decided to send the fleet to
attack the Roman ships at Utica and attempt to raise the siege, and as a
further step the recall of Hannibal was decided on.
Scipio, lightening his transport by the despatch of the booty to his
camp near Utica, had already reached and occupied Tunis, with little
opposition despite the strength of the place. Tunis was only some
fifteen miles from Carthage and could be clearly seen, and as Polybius
tells us of Scipio, “this he thought would be a most effective means of
striking the Carthaginians with terror and dismay”—the moral objective
again.
Hardly had he completed this “bound,” however, before his sentries
sighted the Carthaginian fleet sailing past the place. He realised what
their plan was and also the danger, knowing that his own ships, burdened
with siege machines or converted into transports, were unprepared for a
naval battle. Unhesitatingly, he made his decision to stave off the
threat, and made a forced march back to Utica. There was no time to
clear his ships for action, and so he hit on the plan of anchoring the
warships close inshore, and protecting them by a four-deep row of
transports lashed together as a floating wall. He also laid planks from
one to the other, to enable the free movement of troops, leaving narrow
intervals for small patrol-boats to pass in and out under these bridges.
He then put on board the transports a thousand picked men with a very
high proportion of weapons, particularly missiles—an interesting point
in foreshadowing the modern doctrine of using increased fire-power in
defence to replace man-power.
These emergency measures were completed before the enemy’s attack came,
thanks first to the slow sailing of the Carthaginian fleet, and their
further delay in offering battle in the open sea. Thus they were forced
to sail in against the Romans’ unexpected type of formation, like ships
attacking a wall. Their weight of numbers, too, was partly discounted by
the fact of the transports being higher out of the water, so that the
Carthaginians had to throw their weapons upwards, and the Romans,
conversely, gained additional impetus and better aim through casting
their missiles from a superior height. But the device of sending
patrol-boats and light craft out through the intervals to harass the
Carthaginian ships—a device obviously adapted by Scipio from military
tactics—failed of its effect, and proved an actual handicap to the
defence. For when they went out to harass the approaching warships they
were run down by the mere momentum and bulk of the latter, and in the
later stages became so intermingled with the Carthaginian ships as to
mask the fire of the troops on the transports.
Beaten off in their direct assaults, the Carthaginians tried a new
measure, throwing long beams with iron hooks at the end on to the Roman
transports, these beams being secured by chains to their own vessels. By
this means the fastenings were broken, and a number of transports
dragged away, the troops manning them having barely time to leap on to
the second line of ships. Only one line had been broken, and the
opposition had been so severe that the Carthaginians contented
themselves with this limited success, and sailed back to Carthage. They
towed away six captured transports, though doubtless more were broken
adrift and lost by the Romans.
[Illustration: Africa: The Territory of Carthage.]
Baulked in this quarter, the Carthaginians’ hopes were shattered in
another, for the pursuing force sent by Scipio after Syphax had
fulfilled its object and finally cut away this prop of Carthaginian
power in Africa. The success went still further, as it gained for Scipio
that Numidian source of man-power which he had so long schemed for, and
which he needed to build up his forces to an adequate strength for his
decisive blow.
Following up Syphax, Lælius and Masinissa arrived in Massylia
(Masinissa’s hereditary kingdom from which he had been driven) after a
fifteen days’ march, and there expelled the garrisons left by Syphax.
The latter had fallen back farther east to his own dominions,
Massæsylia—modern Algeria,—and there, spurred on by his wife, raised a
fresh force from the abundant resources of his kingdom. He proceeded to
organise them on the Roman model, imagining, like so many military
copyists in history, that imitation of externals gave him the secret of
the Roman success. His force was large enough—as large, in fact, as his
original strength,—but it was utterly raw and undisciplined. With this
he advanced to meet Lælius and Masinissa. At the first encounter between
the opposing cavalry, numerical superiority told, but the advantage was
lost when the Roman infantry reinforced the intervals of their cavalry,
and before long the raw troops broke and fled. The victory was
essentially one due to superior training and discipline, and not to any
subtle manœuvre such as appears in all Scipio’s battles. This is worth
note in view of the fact that some historians lose no opportunity of
hinting that Scipio’s success was due more to his able lieutenants than
to himself.
Syphax, seeing his force crumbling, sought to shame his men into
resistance by riding forward and exposing himself to danger. In this
gallant attempt he was unhorsed, made prisoner, and dragged into the
presence of Lælius. As Livy remarks, this was “a spectacle calculated to
afford peculiar satisfaction to Masinissa.” The latter showed fine
military spirit as well as judgment after the battle, when he declared
to Lælius that, much as he would like to visit his regained kingdom, “it
was not proper in prosperity any more than in adversity to lose time.”
He therefore asked permission to push on with the cavalry to Cirta,
Syphax’s capital, while Lælius followed with the infantry. Having won
Lælius’s assent, Masinissa advanced, taking Syphax with him. On arrival
in front of Cirta, he summoned the principal inhabitants to appear, but
they refused until he showed them Syphax in chains, whereupon the
faint-hearted threw open the gates. Masinissa, posting guards, galloped
off to seize the palace, and was met by Sophonisba. This woman, almost
as famous as Helen or Cleopatra for her beauty and for her disastrous
influence, made such a clever appeal to his pride, his pity, and his
passion, that she not only won his pledge not to hand her over to the
Romans, but “as the Numidians are an excessively amorous race, he became
the slave of his captive.” When she had withdrawn, and he had to face
the problem of how to reconcile his duty with his pledge, his passion
suggested to him a loophole—to marry her himself that very day. When
Lælius came up he was so annoyed that at first he was on the point of
having her dragged from the marriage-bed and sent with the other
captives to the Utica camp, but afterwards relented, agreeing to leave
the decision to Scipio. The two then set to work on the reduction of the
remaining towns in Numidia, which were still garrisoned by the troops of
Syphax.
When the captives arrived at Scipio’s camp, Syphax himself in chains at
their head, the troops poured out to see the spectacle. What a contrast
with a few years back! Now, a captive in chains; then, a powerful ruler
who held the balance of power, for whose friendship Scipio and Hasdrubal
vied on their simultaneous visits, both placing themselves in his power,
so highly did they assess the prize at stake.
This thought evidently passed through Scipio’s mind, the recollection,
too, of their quondam friendship, and moved him to sympathy. He
questioned Syphax as to the motives that had led him to break his pledge
of alliance with the Romans and make war on them unprovoked. Syphax,
gaining confidence from Scipio’s manner, replied that he had been mad to
do so, but that taking up arms was only the consummation of his frenzy,
and not its beginning, which dated from his marriage to Sophonisba.
“That fury and pest” had fascinated and blinded him to his undoing. But
ruined and fallen as he was, he declared that he gained some consolation
from seeing her fatal lures transferred to his greatest enemy.
These words caused Scipio great anxiety, for he appreciated both her
influence and the menace to the Roman plans from Masinissa’s hasty
wedding. She had detached one passionate Numidian; she might well lead
astray another. When Lælius and Masinissa arrived shortly after, Scipio
showed no signs of his feelings in his public greeting, praising both in
the highest terms for their work. But as soon as possible he took
Masinissa aside privately. His talk with the delinquent was a
masterpiece of tact and psychological appeal. “I suppose, Masinissa,
that it was because you saw in me some good qualities that you first
came to me when in Spain for the purpose of forming a friendship with
me, and that afterwards in Africa you committed yourself and all your
hopes to my protection. But of all those virtues, which made me seem
worthy of your regard, there is none of which I am so proud as
temperance and control of my passions.” Then pointing out the dangers
caused by want of self-control, he continued: “I have mentioned with
delight, and I remember with pleasure, the instances of fortitude and
courage you displayed in my absence. As to other matters, I would rather
that you should reflect on them in private, than that I should cause you
to blush by reciting them.” Then, with a final call to Masinissa’s sense
of duty, he dismissed him. Where reproaches might have stiffened
Masinissa, such a friendly appeal broke him down, and bursting into
tears, he retired to his own tent. Here, after a prolonged inward
struggle, he sent for a confidential servant, and ordered him to mix
some poison in a cup and carry it to Sophonisba, with the message that
“Masinissa would gladly have fulfilled the first obligation which as a
husband he owed to her, his wife; but as those who had the power had
deprived him of the exercise of those rights, he now performed his
second promise—that she should not come alive into the power of the
Romans.” When the servant came to Sophonisba she said, “I accept this
nuptial present; nor is it an unwelcome one, if my husband can render me
no better service. Tell him, however, that I should have died with
greater satisfaction had I not married so near on my death.” Then,
calmly and without a quiver, she took and drained the cup.
As soon as Scipio heard the news, fearing that the high-spirited young
man, when so distraught, might take some desperate step, “he immediately
sent for him, and at one time endeavoured to solace him, at another
gently rebuked him for trying to expiate one rash act with another, and
making the affair more tragical than was necessary.”
Next day Scipio sought to erase this grief from Masinissa’s mind by a
well-calculated appeal to his ambition and pride. Summoning an assembly,
he first saluted Masinissa by the title of king, speaking in the highest
terms of his achievements, and then presented him with a golden goblet,
an ivory sceptre, a curule chair, and other symbols of honour. “He
increased the honour by observing that among the Romans there was
nothing more magnificent than a ‘triumph,’ and that those who received
the reward of a ‘triumph’ were not invested with more splendid ornaments
than those of which the Roman people considered Masinissa alone, of all
foreigners, worthy.” This action, and the encouragement to his dreams of
becoming master of all Numidia, had the desired effect, and Masinissa
speedily forgot his private sorrows in his public distinction. Lælius,
whom Scipio had been careful to praise similarly and reward, was then
sent with Syphax and the other captives back to Rome.
CHAPTER X.
A VIOLATED PEACE.
His political base in Africa secured, Scipio moved back to Tunis, and
this time the moral threat, strengthened by recent events, was
successful. It tilted the scales against the war party, and the
Carthaginians sent thirty of their principal elders—the Council of
Elders being superior even to the Senate—to beg for terms of peace.
According to Livy, they prostrated themselves in Eastern manner on
entering Scipio’s presence, and their pleas showed equal humility. They
implored pardon for their State, saying that it had been twice brought
to the brink of ruin by the rashness of its citizens, and they hoped it
would again owe its safety to the indulgence of its enemies. This hope
was based on their knowledge that the Roman people’s aim was dominion,
and not destruction, and they declared that they would accept whatever
terms he saw fit to grant. Scipio replied “that he had come to Africa
with the hope, which had been increased by his success, that he should
carry home victory and not terms of peace. Still, though he had victory
in a manner within his grasp, he would not refuse accommodation, that
all the nations might know that the Roman people both undertake and
conclude wars with justice.”
The terms which he laid down were: the restoration of all prisoners and
deserters, the withdrawal of the Carthaginian armies from Italy and Gaul
and all the Mediterranean islands, the giving up of all claim to Spain,
the surrender of all their warships except twenty. A considerable, but
not heavy, indemnity in grain and money was also demanded. He gave them
three days’ grace to decide whether to accept these terms, adding that
if they accepted they were to make a truce with him and send envoys to
the Senate at Rome.
The moderation of these terms is remarkable, especially considering
the completeness of Scipio’s military success. It is a testimony not
only to Scipio’s greatness of soul, but to his transcendent political
vision. Viewed in conjunction with his similar moderation after Zama,
it is not too much to say that Scipio had a clear grasp of what is
just dawning on the mind of the world to-day—that the true national
object in war, as in peace, is a more perfect peace. War is the result
of a menace to this policy, and is undertaken in order to remove the
menace, and by the subjugation of the will of the hostile State “to
change this adverse will into a compliance with our own policy, and
the sooner and more cheaply in lives and in money we can do this, the
better chance is there of a continuance of national prosperity in the
widest sense. The aim of a nation in war is, therefore, to subdue the
enemy’s will to resist with the least possible human and economic loss
to itself.”[4] The lesson of history, of very recent history moreover,
enables us to deduce this axiom, that “A military victory is not in
itself equivalent to success in war.”[5] Further, as regards the peace
terms, “the contract must be reasonable; for to compel a beaten foe to
agree to terms which cannot be fulfilled is to sow the seeds of a war
which one day will be declared in order to cancel the contract.”[6]
There is only one alternative—annihilation. Mommsen’s comment on
Scipio’s moderation over these terms is that they “seemed so
singularly favourable to Carthage, that the question obtrudes itself
whether they were offered by Scipio more in his own interest or in
that of Rome.” A self-centred seeker after popularity would surely
have prolonged the war to end it with a spectacular military decision,
rather than accept the paler glory of a peace by agreement. But
Mommsen’s insinuation, as also his judgment, is contradicted by
Scipio’s similar moderation after Zama, despite the extreme
provocation of a broken treaty.
These terms the Carthaginians accepted, and complied with the first
provision by sending envoys to Scipio to conclude a truce and also to
Rome to ask for peace, the latter taking with them a few prisoners and
deserters, as a diplomatic promissory note. But the war party had again
prevailed, and though ready to accept the peace negotiations as a cloak
and a means of gaining time, they sent an urgent summons to Hannibal and
Mago to return to Africa. The latter was not destined to see his
homeland, for wounded just previously in an indecisive battle, he died
of his injuries as his fleet of transports was passing Sardinia.
Hannibal, anticipating such a recall, had already prepared ships and
withdrawn the main strength of his army to the port, keeping only his
worst troops as garrisons for the Bruttian towns. It is said that no
exile leaving his own land ever showed deeper sorrow than Hannibal on
quitting the land of his enemies, and that he cursed himself that he had
not led his troops on Rome when fresh from the victory of Cannæ.
“Scipio,” he said, “who had not looked at a Carthaginian enemy in Italy,
had dared to go and attack Carthage, while he, after slaying a hundred
thousand men at Trasimene and Cannæ, had suffered his strength to wear
away around Casilinum, Cannæ, and Nola.”
The news of his departure was received in Rome with mingled joy and
apprehension, for the commanders in southern Italy had been ordered by
the Senate to keep Hannibal in play, and so fix him while Scipio was
securing the decision in Africa. Now, they felt that his presence in
Carthage might rekindle the dying embers of the war and endanger Scipio,
on whose single army the whole weight of the war would fall.
On the arrival of Lælius in Rome, amid uproarious scenes of jubilation,
the Senate had decided that he should remain there until the
Carthaginians’ envoys arrived. With the envoys of Masinissa mutual
congratulations were exchanged, and the Senate not only confirmed him in
the title of King conferred by Scipio, but presented him by proxy with
further presents of honour and the military trappings usually provided
for a consul. They also acceded to his request to release their Numidian
captives, a politic step by which he hoped to strengthen his hold on his
countrymen.
When the envoys from Carthage arrived, they addressed the Senate in
terms similar to those they had used to Scipio, putting the whole blame
on Hannibal, and arguing that so far as Carthage was concerned the peace
which closed the First Punic War remained unbroken. This being so they
craved to continue the same peace terms. A debate followed in the
Senate, which revealed a wide conflict of opinion, some advocating that
no decision should be taken without the advice of Scipio, others that
the war should at once be renewed, as Hannibal’s departure suggested
that the request for peace was a subterfuge. Lælius, called on for his
opinion, said that Scipio had grounded his hopes of effecting a peace on
the assurance that Hannibal and Mago would not be recalled from Italy.
The Senate failed to come to a definite decision, and the debate was
adjourned, though it would appear from Polybius that it was renewed
later, and a settlement reached.
Meanwhile, however, the war had already restarted in Africa by a
violation of the truce. While the embassy was on its way to Rome, fresh
reinforcements and stores had been sent from Sardinia and Sicily to
Scipio. The former arrived safely, but the convoy of two hundred
transports from Sicily encountered a freshening gale when almost within
sight of Africa, and though the warships struggled into harbour, the
transports were blown towards Carthage; the greater part to the island
of Ægimurus—thirty miles distant at the mouth of the Bay of
Carthage,—and the rest were driven on to the shore near the city. The
sight caused great popular excitement, the people clamouring that such
immense booty should not be missed. At a hasty assembly, into which the
mob penetrated, it was agreed that Hasdrubal should cross over to
Ægimurus with a fleet and seize the transports. After they had been
brought in, those that had been driven ashore near Carthage were
refloated and brought into harbour.
Directly Scipio heard of this breach of the truce he despatched three
envoys to Carthage to take up the question of this incident, and also to
inform the Carthaginians that the Roman people had ratified the treaty;
for despatches had just arrived for Scipio with this news. The envoys,
after a strong speech of protest, delivered the message that while “the
Romans would be justified in inflicting punishment, they entreated them
in the name of the common fortune of mankind not to push the matter to
an issue, but rather let their folly afford a proof of the generosity of
the Romans.” The envoys then retired for the Senate to debate.
Resentment at the bold language of the envoys, reluctance to give up the
ships and their supplies, new confidence from Hannibal’s imminent help,
combined to turn the scales against the peace party. It was decided
simply to dismiss the envoys without a reply. The latter, who had barely
escaped from mob violence on arrival, requested an escort on their
return journey, and two triremes were assigned them. This fact gave some
of the leaders of the war party an idea whereby to detonate a fresh
explosion which should make the breach irreparable. They sent to
Hasdrubal, whose fleet was then anchored off the coast near Utica, to
have some ships lying in wait near the Roman camp to attack and sink the
envoys’ ship. Under orders, the commanders of the escort quitted the
Roman quinquereme when within sight of the Roman camp. Before it could
make the harbour it was attacked by three Carthaginian quadriremes
despatched for the purpose. The attempt to board her was beaten off, but
the crew, or rather the survivors, only saved themselves by running the
ship ashore.
This dastardly action drove Scipio to renew operations for the final
trial of strength. An immediate move direct on Carthage was impossible,
for this would have meant a long siege, and to settle down to siege
operations in face of the imminent arrival of Hannibal, who might menace
his rear and cut his communications, would have been madness. Nor was
his own situation pleasant, for not only had he suffered the heavy loss
of the supplies and reinforcements from Sicily, but Masinissa was absent
with his own and part of the Roman force—ten cohorts. Immediately on the
conclusion of the provisional treaty Masinissa had set out for Numidia
to recover his own kingdom, and, with the assistance of the Romans, add
that of Syphax to it.
When the truce was broken, Scipio sent urgent and repeated messages to
Masinissa, telling him to raise as strong a force as possible and rejoin
him with all speed. Then, having taken measures for the security of his
fleet, he deputed the command of the Roman base to his legate Bæbius,
and started on a march up the valley of the Bagradas, aiming to isolate
Carthage, and by cutting off all supplies and reinforcements from the
interior undermine its strength as a preliminary to its direct
subjugation—the principle of security once more. On his march, he no
longer consented to receive the submission of towns which offered to
surrender, but took them all by assault, and sold the inhabitants as
slaves—to show his anger and impress the moral of the Carthaginians’
violation of the treaty.
During this “approach” march—for such it was in fact if not in
semblance—the envoys returning from Rome reached the naval camp. Bæbius
at once despatched the Roman envoys to Scipio, but detained the
Carthaginians, who, hearing of what had befallen, were naturally
distressed as to their own fate. But Scipio, to his credit, refused to
avenge on them the maltreatment of his own envoys. “For, aware as he was
of the value attached by his own nation to keeping faith with
ambassadors, he took into consideration not so much the deserts of the
Carthaginians as the duty of the Romans. Therefore restraining his own
anger and the bitter resentment he felt, he did his best to preserve
‘the glorious record of our fathers,’ as the saying is.” He sent orders
to Bæbius to treat the Carthaginian envoys with all courtesy and send
them home. “The consequence was that he humiliated all the people of
Carthage and Hannibal himself, by thus requiting in ampler measure their
baseness by his generosity.” (Polybius.)
In this act Scipio revealed his understanding of the ethical object in
war, and of its value. Chivalry governed by reason is an asset both in
war and in view of its sequel—peace. Sensible chivalry should not be
confounded with the quixotism of declining to use a strategical or
tactical advantage, of discarding the supreme moral weapon of surprise,
of treating war as if it were a match on the tennis court—such quixotism
as is typified by the burlesque of Fontenoy, “Gentlemen of France, fire
first.” This is merely stupid. So also is the traditional tendency to
regard the use of a new weapon as “hitting below the belt,” regardless
of whether it is inhuman or not in comparison with existing weapons. So
the Germans called the use of tanks an atrocity, and so did we term
gas—so also the mediæval knight spoke of firearms when they came to
interfere with his safe slaughter of unarmoured peasants. Yet the
proportion of combatants slain in any battle decreased as much when
firearms superseded the battleaxe and sword as when gas came to replace
shell and the bullet. This antagonism to new weapons is mere
conservatism, not chivalry.
But chivalry, as in this example of Scipio’s, is both rational and
far-sighted, for it endows the side which shows it with a sense of
superiority, and the side which falls short with a sense of inferiority.
The advantage in the moral sphere reacts on the physical.
If this chivalrous act of Scipio’s was partly the fruit of such
psychological calculation, it was clearly in accord also with his
natural character, for his attitude earlier in Spain shows that it was
no single theatrical gesture. Just as in war we cannot separate the
moral from the mental or physical spheres, so also in assessing
character. We cannot separate the nobility of Scipio’s moral conduct,
throughout his career, from the transcendent clearness of his mental
vision—they blended to form not only a great general but a great man.
Some time before this, probably during the episode which broke the
truce, Hannibal had landed at Leptis—in what to-day is the Gulf of
Hammamet—with twenty-four thousand men, and had moved to Hadrumetum.
Stopping here[7] to refresh his troops, he sent an urgent appeal to the
Numidian chief Tychæus, who “was thought to have the best cavalry in
Africa,” to join him in saving the situation. He sought to play on the
fears of Tychæus, who was a relative of Syphax, by the argument that if
the Romans won he would risk losing his dominion, and his life too,
through Masinissa’s greed of power. As a result, Tychæus responded, and
came with a body of two thousand horse. This was a welcome accession,
for Hannibal had lost his old superiority in cavalry, his master-weapon.
In addition Hannibal could expect, and shortly received, the twelve
thousand troops of Mago’s force from Liguria, composed of Gauls who had
shown their fine quality in the last battle before the recall; also a
large body of new levies raised in Africa, whose quality would be less
assuring. Further—according to Livy,—four thousand Macedonians had
recently come to the aid of Carthage, sent by King Philip.
Let this force once reach Carthage and be able to base its operations on
such a fortress, and source of reinforcement, and the situation would
turn strongly in favour of Hannibal. In contrast, Scipio had been robbed
of the bulk of his supplies and reinforcements, he was isolated on
hostile soil, part of his force was detached with Masinissa, and the
strength the latter could recruit was still uncertain.
It is well to weigh these conditions, for they correct common but false
historical impressions. At this moment the odds were with Hannibal, and
the feeling in the rival capitals, as recorded by Livy and Polybius, is
a true reflection of the fact.
Footnote 4:
‘Paris, or the Future of War,’ by Captain B. H. Liddell Hart. 1925.
Footnote 5:
‘The Foundations of the Science of War,’ by Colonel J. F. C. Fuller.
1926.
Footnote 6:
Ibid.
Footnote 7:
Livy says for a few days only, and Polybius is obscure on the point,
but the known factors suggest a longer stay, because of the inevitable
time required for the arrival of Tychæus’s cavalry, and the junction
with him of the other Carthaginian forces.
CHAPTER XI.
ZAMA.
Even at this critical juncture, jealousy of Scipio was rife in the Roman
Senate. His backing, as all through, came from the people, not from his
military rivals in the Senate. The consuls had done nothing to assist
Scipio’s campaign through fixing Hannibal in Italy, save that Servilius
advanced to the shore after Hannibal was safely away. But at the
beginning of the year when the allocation of the various provinces was
decided, according to custom, both consuls pressed for the province of
Africa, eager to reap the fruits of Scipio’s success and thus earn glory
cheaply. Metellus again tried to play the part of protecting deity. As a
result the consuls were ordered to make application to the tribunes for
the question to be put to the people to decide whom they wished to
conduct the war in Africa. All the tribes thereupon nominated Scipio.
Despite this emphatic popular verdict, the consuls drew lots for the
province of Africa, having persuaded the Senate to make a decree to this
effect. The lot fell to Tiberius Claudius, who was given an equal
command with Scipio, and an armada of fifty quinqueremes for his
expedition. Happily for Scipio, this jealousy-inspired move failed to
prevent him putting the coping-stone on his own work, for Claudius was
slow over his preparations, and when he eventually set out was caught in
a storm and driven to Sardinia. Thus he never reached Africa.
Soon, too, as news of the changed situation in Africa filtered through,
Scipio’s detractors combined with the habitual pessimists in the
distillation of gloom. They recalled that “Quintus Fabius, recently
deceased, who had foretold how arduous the contest would be, had been
accustomed to predict that Hannibal would prove a more formidable enemy
in his own country than he had been in a foreign one; and that Scipio
would have to encounter not Syphax, a king of undisciplined barbarians
...; nor his father-in-law Hasdrubal, that most fugacious general”—a
Fabian libel on a man of undaunted spirit; “nor tumultuary armies
hastily collected out of a crowd of half-armed rustics, but Hannibal ...
who, having grown old in victory, had filled Spain, Gaul, and Italy with
monuments of his vast achievements; who commanded troops of equal length
of service; troops hardened by superhuman endurance; stained a thousand
times with Roman blood....” The tension in Rome was increased by the
past years of indecisive warfare, carried on languidly and apparently
endless, whereas now Scipio and Hannibal had stimulated the minds of all
as generals prepared for a final death-clinch.
In Carthage the scales of public opinion appear to have been evenly
balanced, on the one hand gaining confidence from Hannibal’s
achievements and invincibility, on the other depressed by reflection on
Scipio’s repeated victories, and on the fact that through his sole
efforts they had lost their hold on Spain and Italy—as if he had been “a
general marked out by destiny, and born, for their destruction.”
On the threshold of this final phase, the support, moral and material,
given to Hannibal by his country seems to have been, on balance, more
than that accorded to Scipio—one more nail in the coffin of a common
historical error.
His situation, already discussed, was one to test the moral fibre of a
commander. Security lies often in calculated audacity, and an analysis
of the military problems makes it highly probable that his march inland
up the Bagradas valley was aimed, by its menace to the rich interior on
which Carthage depended for supplies, to force Hannibal to push west to
meet him instead of north to Carthage. By this clever move he threatened
the economic base of Carthage and protected his own, also luring
Hannibal away from his military base—Carthage.
A complementary purpose was that this line of movement brought him
progressively nearer to Numidia, shortening the distance which Masinissa
would have to traverse with his expected reinforcement of strength. The
more one studies and reflects on this manœuvre, the more masterly does
it appear as a subtly blended fulfilment of the principles of war.
It had the intended effect, for the Carthaginians sent urgent appeals to
Hannibal to advance towards Scipio and bring him to battle, and although
Hannibal replied that he would judge his own time, within a few days he
marched west from Hadrumetum, and arrived by forced marches at Zama. He
then sent out scouts to discover the Roman camp and its dispositions for
defence—it lay some miles farther west. Three of the scouts, or spies,
were captured, and when they were brought before Scipio he adopted a
highly novel method of treatment. “Scipio was so far from punishing
them, as is the usual practice, that on the contrary he ordered a
tribune to attend them and point out clearly to them the exact
arrangement of the camp. After this had been done he asked them if the
officer had explained everything to their satisfaction. When they
answered that he had done so, Scipio furnished them with provisions and
an escort, and told them to report carefully to Hannibal what had
happened to them” (Polybius). This superb insolence of Scipio’s was a
shrewd blow at the moral objective, calculated to impress on Hannibal
and his troops the utter confidence of the Romans, and correspondingly
give rise to doubts among themselves. This effect must have been still
further increased by the arrival next day of Masinissa with six thousand
foot and four thousand horse. Livy makes their arrival coincide with the
visit of the Carthaginian spies, and remarks that Hannibal received this
information, like the rest, with no feelings of joy.
The sequel to this incident of the scouts has a human interest of an
unusual kind. “On their return, Hannibal was so much struck with
admiration of Scipio’s magnanimity and daring, that he conceived ... a
strong desire to meet him and converse with him. Having decided on this
he sent a herald saying that he desired to discuss the whole situation
with him, and Scipio, on receiving the herald’s message, accepted and
said that he would send to Hannibal, fixing a place and hour for the
interview. He then broke up his camp and moved to a fresh site not far
from the town of Narragara, his position being well chosen tactically,
and having water ‘within a javelin’s throw.’ He then sent to Hannibal a
message that he was now ready for the meeting. Hannibal also moved his
camp forward to meet him, occupying a hill safe and convenient in every
respect except that he was rather too far away from water, and his men
suffered considerable hardship as a result.” It looks as if Scipio had
scored the first trick in the battle of wits between the rival captains!
The second trick also, because he ensured a battle in the open plain,
where his advantage in cavalry could gain its full value. He was ready
to trump Hannibal’s master-card.
On the following day both generals came out of their camps with a small
armed escort, and then, leaving these behind at an equal distance, met
each other alone, except that each was attended by one interpreter. Livy
prefaces the account of the interview with the remark that here met “the
greatest generals not only of their own times, but of any to be found in
the records of preceding ages ...”—a verdict with which many students of
military history will be inclined to agree, and even to extend the scope
of the judgment another two thousand years.
Hannibal first saluted Scipio and opened the conversation. The accounts
of his speech, as of Scipio’s, must be regarded as only giving its
general sense, and for this reason as also the slight divergences
between the different authorities may best be paraphrased, except for
some of the more striking phrases. Hannibal’s main point was the
uncertainty of fortune—which, after so often having victory almost
within his reach, now found him coming voluntarily to sue for peace. How
strange, too, the coincidence that it should have been Scipio’s father
whom he met in his first battle, and now he came to solicit peace from
the son! “Would that neither the Romans had ever coveted possessions
outside Italy, nor the Carthaginians outside Africa, for both had
suffered grievously.” However, the past could not be mended, the future
remained. Rome had seen the arms of an enemy at her very gates; now the
turn of Carthage had come. Could they not come to terms, rather than
fight it out to the bitter end? “I myself am ready to do so, as I have
learnt by actual experience how fickle Fortune is, and how by a slight
turn of the scale either way she brings about changes of the greatest
moment, as if she were sporting with little children. But I fear that
you, Publius, both because you are very young, and because success has
constantly attended you both in Spain and in Africa, and you have never
up to now at least fallen into the counter-current of Fortune, will not
be convinced by my words, however worthy of credit they may be.” Let
Scipio take warning by Hannibal’s own example. “What I was at Trasimene
and at Cannæ, that you are this day.” “And now here am I in Africa on
the point of negotiating with you, a Roman, for the safety of myself and
my country. Consider this, I beg you, and be not over-proud.” “... What
man of sense, I ask, would rush into such danger as confronts you now?”
The chance of a single hour might blot out all that Scipio had
achieved—let him remember the fate of Regulus, from whom likewise the
Carthaginians had sought peace on African soil. Hannibal then outlined
his peace proposals—that Sicily, Sardinia, and Spain should be
definitely given up to Rome, and Carthage confine her ambitions to
Africa. In conclusion he said that if Scipio felt a natural doubt as to
the sincerity of the proposals, after his recent experience, he should
remember that these came from Hannibal himself, the real power, who
would guarantee so to exert himself that no one should regret the peace.
Hannibal later was to prove both his sincerity and the truth of this
guarantee. But in the circumstances of the moment and of the past,
Scipio had good ground for doubt.
To Hannibal’s overture he pointed out that it was easy to express regret
that the two powers had gone to war—but who had begun it? Had Hannibal
even proposed them before the Romans crossed to Africa, and voluntarily
retired from Italy, his proposals would almost certainly have been
accepted. Yet in spite of the utterly changed position, with the Romans
“in command of the open country,” Hannibal now proposed easier terms
than Carthage had already accepted in the broken treaty. All he offered,
in fact, was to give up territory which was already in Roman possession,
and had been for a long time. It was futile for him to submit such empty
concessions to Rome. If Hannibal would agree to the conditions of the
original treaty, and add compensation for the seizure of the transports
during the truce, and for the violence offered to the envoys, then he
would have something to lay before his council. Otherwise, “the question
must be decided by arms.” This brief speech is a gem of clear and
logical reasoning. Hannibal apparently made no advance on his former
proposals, and the conference therefore came to an end, the rival
commanders returning to their camps.
Both sides recognised the issues that hung upon the morrow—“the
Carthaginians fighting for their own safety and the dominion of Africa,
and the Romans for the empire of the world. Is there any one who can
remain unmoved in reading the narrative of such an encounter? For it
would be impossible to find more valiant soldiers, or generals who had
been more successful and were more thoroughly experienced in the art of
war, nor indeed had Fortune ever offered to contending armies a more
splendid prize of victory” (Polybius). If the prize was great, so was
the price of defeat. For the Romans if beaten were isolated in the
interior of a foreign land, while the collapse of Carthage must follow
if the army that formed her last bulwark was beaten. These crucial
factors were stressed by the opposing commanders when next morning at
daybreak they led out their troops for the supreme trial, and had made
their dispositions.
Scipio rode along the lines and addressed his men in a few appropriate
words. Polybius’s account, though necessarily but the substance and not
an exact record, is so in tune with Scipio’s character as to be worth
giving. “Bear in mind your past battles and fight like brave men worthy
of yourselves and of your country. Keep it before your eyes that if you
overcome your enemies not only will you be unquestioned masters of
Africa, but you will gain for yourselves and your country the undisputed
command and sovereignty of the rest of the world. But if the result of
the battle be otherwise, those who have fallen bravely in the fight will
be for ever shrouded in the glory of dying thus for their country, while
those who save themselves by flight will spend the remainder of their
lives in misery and disgrace. For no place in Africa will afford you
safety, and if you fall into the hands of the Carthaginians it is plain
enough to those who reflect what fate awaits you. May none of you, I
pray, live to experience that fate, now that Fortune offers us the most
glorious of prizes; how utterly craven, nay, how foolish shall we be, if
we reject the greatest of goods and choose the greatest of evils from
mere love of life. Go, therefore, to meet the foe with two objects
before you, either victory or death. For men animated by such a spirit
must always overcome their adversaries, since they go into battle ready
to throw their lives away.” Of this address Livy says “he delivered
these remarks with a body so erect, and with a countenance so full of
exultation, that one would have supposed that he had already conquered.”
On the other side Hannibal ordered each commander of the foreign
mercenaries to address his own men, appealing to their greed for booty,
and bidding them be sure of victory from his presence and that of the
forces he had brought back. With the Carthaginian levies he ordered
their commanders to dwell on the sufferings of their wives and children
should the Romans conquer. Then to his own men he spoke personally,
reminding them of their seventeen years’ comradeship and invincibility,
of the victory of Trebia won over the father of the present Roman
general, of Trasimene and Cannæ—“battles with which the action in which
we are about to engage is not worthy of comparison.” Speaking thus, he
bade them cast their eyes on the opposing army and see for themselves
that the Romans were fewer in numbers, and further, only a fraction of
the forces they had conquered in Italy.
The dispositions made by the rival leaders have several features of
note. Scipio placed his heavy Roman foot—he had probably two legions—in
the centre; Lælius with the Italian cavalry on the left wing, and on the
right wing Masinissa with the whole of the Numidians, horse and foot,
the latter presumably prolonging the centre and the cavalry on their
outer flank.
The heavy infantry were drawn up in the normal three lines, first the
_hastati_, then the _principes_, and finally the _triarii_. But instead
of adopting the usual chequer formation, with the maniples of the second
line opposite to and covering the intervals between the maniples of the
first line, he ranged the maniples forming the rear lines directly
behind the respective maniples of the first line. Thus he formed wide
lanes between each cohort—which was primarily composed of one maniple of
_hastati_, one of _principes_, and one of _triarii_.
[Illustration: Battle of Zama, with Hannibal’s forces facing northwest
and Scipio’s facing southeast.]
His object was twofold: on the one hand, to provide an antidote to the
menace of Hannibal’s war elephants and to guard against the danger that
their onset might throw his ranks into disorder; on the other, to oil
the working of his own machine by facilitating the sallies and
retirements of his skirmishers. These _velites_ he placed in the
intervals in the first line, ordering them to open the action, and if
they were forced back by the charge of the elephants, to retire. Even
this withdrawal he governed by special instructions, ordering those who
had time to fall back by the straight passages and pass right to the
rear of the army, and those who were overtaken to turn right or left as
soon as they passed the first line, and make their way along the lateral
lanes between the lines. This wise provision economised life, ensured
smooth functioning, and increased the offensive power—a true fulfilment
of economy of force. It may even be termed the origin of modern extended
order, for its object was the same—to negative the effect of the enemy’s
projectiles by creating empty intervals, a reduction of the target by
dispersion, the only difference being that Hannibal’s projectiles were
animal, not mineral.
The Carthaginian had eighty elephants, more than in any previous battle,
and in order to terrify the enemy he placed them in front of his line.
Supporting them, in the first line, were the Ligurian and Gallic
mercenaries intermixed with Balearic and Moorish light troops. These
were the troops with whom Mago had sailed home, about twelve thousand in
number, and it is a common historical mistake to regard the whole force
as composed of light troops.
In the second line Hannibal placed the Carthaginian and African levies
as well as the Macedonian force, their combined strength probably
exceeding that of the first line. Finally Hannibal’s own troops formed
the third line, held back more than two hundred yards distant from the
others, in order evidently to keep it as an intact reserve, and lessen
the risk of it becoming entangled in the mêlée before the commander
intended. On the wings Hannibal disposed his cavalry, the Numidian
allies on the left and the Carthaginian horse on the right. His total
force was probably in excess of fifty thousand, perhaps fifty-five
thousand. The Roman strength is less certain, but if we assume that each
of Scipio’s two legions was duplicated by an equal body of Italian
allies, and add Masinissa’s ten thousand, the complete strength would be
about thirty-six thousand if the legions were at full strength. It was
probably less, because some wastage must have occurred during the
earlier operations since quitting his base.
_The First Phase._—The battle opened, after preliminary skirmishing
between the Numidian horse, with Hannibal’s orders to the drivers of the
elephants to charge the Roman line. Scipio promptly trumped his
opponent’s ace, by a tremendous blare of trumpets and cornets along the
whole line. The strident clamour so startled and terrified the elephants
that many of them at once turned tail and rushed back on their own
troops. This was especially the case on the left wing, where they threw
the Numidians, Hannibal’s best cavalry wing, into disorder just as they
were advancing to the attack. Masinissa seized this golden opportunity
to launch a counter-stroke, which inevitably overthrew the disorganised
opponents. With Masinissa in hot pursuit, they were driven from the
field, and so left the Carthaginian left wing exposed.
The remainder of the elephants wrought much havoc among Scipio’s
_velites_, caught by their charge in front of the Roman line. But the
foresight that had provided the “lanes” and laid down the method of
withdrawal was justified by its results. For the elephants took the line
of least resistance, penetrating into the lanes rather than face the
firm-knit ranks of the heavy infantry maniples. Once in these lanes the
_velites_ who had retired into the lateral passages, between the fines,
bombarded them with darts from both sides. Their reception was far too
warm for them to linger when the door of escape was held wide open.
While some of the elephants rushed right through, harmlessly, and out to
the open in rear of the Roman army, others were driven back out of the
lanes and fled towards the Carthaginian right wing. Here the Roman
cavalry received them with a shower of javelins, while the Carthaginian
cavalry could not follow suit, so that the elephants naturally trended
towards the least unpleasant side. “It was at this moment that Lælius,
availing himself of the disturbance created by the elephants, charged
the Carthaginian cavalry and forced them to headlong flight. He pressed
the pursuit closely, as likewise did Masinissa.” Both Hannibal’s flanks
were thus stripped bare. The decisive manœuvre of Cannæ was repeated,
but reversed.
Scipio was certainly an artist in tactical “boomerangs,” as at Ilipa so
now at Zama his foresight and art turned the enemy’s best weapon back
upon themselves. How decisive might have been the charge of the
elephants is shown by the havoc they wrought at the outset among the
_velites_.
_The Second Phase._—In the meantime the infantry of both armies had
“slowly and in imposing array advanced on each other,” except that
Hannibal kept his own troops back in their original position. Raising
the Roman war-cry on one side, polyglot shouts on the other—this vocal
discord was a moral drawback,—the lines met. At first the Gauls and
Ligurians had the balance of advantage, through their personal skill in
skirmishing and more rapid movement. But the Roman line remained
unbroken, and the weight of their compact formation pushed the enemy
back despite losses. Another factor told, for while the leading Romans
were encouraged by the shouts from the rear lines, coming on to back
them up, Hannibal’s second line—the Carthaginians—failed to support the
Gauls, but hung back in order to keep their ranks firm. Forced steadily
back, and feeling they had been left in the lurch by their own side, the
Gauls turned about and fled. When they tried to seek shelter in the
second line, they were repulsed by the Carthaginians, who, with
apparently sound yet perhaps unwise military instinct, deemed it
essential to avoid any disarray which might enable the Romans to
penetrate their line. Exasperated and now demoralised, many of the Gauls
tried to force an opening in the Carthaginian ranks, but the latter
showed that their courage was not deficient and drove them off. In a
short time the relics of the first line had dispersed completely, or
disappeared round the flanks of the second line. The latter confirmed
their fighting quality by thrusting back the Roman first line—the
_hastati_—also. In this they were helped by a human obstacle, the ground
encumbered with corpses and slippery with blood, which disordered the
ranks of the attacking Romans. Even the _principes_ had begun to waver
when they saw the first line driven back so decisively, but their
officers rallied them and led them forward in the nick of time to
restore the situation. This reinforcement was decisive. Hemmed in,
because the Roman formation produced a longer frontage and so overlapped
the Carthaginian line, the latter was steadily cut to pieces. The
survivors fled back on the relatively distant third line, but Hannibal
continued his policy of refusing to allow the fugitives to mix with and
disturb an ordered line. He ordered the foremost ranks of his “Old
Guard” to lower their spears as a barrier against them, and they were
forced to retreat towards the flanks and the open ground beyond.
_The Third Phase._—The curtain now rose on what was practically a fresh
battle. The Romans “had penetrated to their real antagonists, men equal
to them in the nature of their arms, in their experience of war, in the
fame of their achievements....” Livy’s tribute is borne out by the
fierceness and the for long uncertain issue of the subsequent conflict,
which gives the lie to those who pretend that Hannibal’s “Old Guard” was
but a shadow of its former power in the days of Trasimene and Cannæ.
The Romans had the moral advantage of having routed two successive
lines, as well as the cavalry and elephants, but they had now to face a
compact and fresh body of twenty-four thousand veterans, under the
direct inspiration of Hannibal. And no man in history has shown a more
dynamic personality in infusing his own determination in his troops.
The Romans, too, had at last a numerical advantage, not large,
however—Polybius says that the forces were “nearly equal in
numbers,”—and in reality still less than it appeared. For, while all
Hannibal’s third line were fresh, on Scipio’s side only the _triarii_
had not been engaged, and these represented but half the strength of the
_hastati_ or _principes_. Further, the _velites_ had been so badly
mauled that they had to be relegated to the reserve, and the cavalry
were off the field, engaged in the pursuit. Thus it is improbable that
Scipio had at his disposal for this final blow more than eighteen or
twenty thousand infantry, less the casualties these had already
suffered.
His next step is characteristic of the man—of his cool calculation even
in the heart of a battle crisis. Confronted by this gigantic human
wall—such the Carthaginians would appear in phalanx,—he sounds the
recall to his leading troops, and it is a testimony to their discipline
that they respond like a well-trained pack of hounds. Then in face of an
enemy hardly more than a bow-shot distant he not only reorganises his
troops but reconstructs his dispositions! His problem was this—against
the first two enemy lines the Roman formation, shallower than the
Carthaginian phalanx and with intervals, had occupied a wider frontage
and so enabled him to overlap theirs. Now, against a body double the
strength, his frontage was no longer, and perhaps less than Hannibal’s.
His appreciation evidently took in this factor, and with it two others.
First, that in order to concentrate his missile shock power for the
final effort it would be wise to make his line as solid as possible, and
this could be done because there was no longer need or advantage for
retaining intervals between the maniples. Second, that as his cavalry
would be returning any moment, there was no advantage in keeping the
orthodox formation in depth and using the _principes_ and _triarii_ as a
direct support and reinforcement to his front line. The blow should be
as concentrated as possible in time and as wide as possible in striking
force, rather than a series of efforts. We see him, therefore, making
his _hastati_ close up to form a compact centre without intervals. Then
similarly he closes each half of his _principes_ and _triarii_ outwards,
and advances them to extend the flank on either wing. The order from
right to left of his now continuous line would thus be half the
_triarii_, half the _principes_, the _hastati_, the other half of the
_principes_, the other half of the _triarii_. He now once more overlaps
the hostile front. To British readers this novel formation of Scipio’s,
inspired by a flash of genius in the middle of a momentous conflict,
should have a special interest. For here is born the “line” which the
Peninsular War and Waterloo have made immortal, here Scipio anticipated
Wellington by two thousand years in revealing the truth that the long
shallow line is the formation which allows of the greatest volume of
fire, which fulfils the law of economy of force by bringing into play
the fire—whether bullets or javelins—of the greatest possible proportion
of the force. The rôle of Scipio’s infantry in the final phase was to
fix Hannibal’s force ready for the decisive manœuvre to be delivered by
the cavalry. For this rôle violence and wideness of onslaught was more
important than sustenance. Scipio made his redistribution deliberately
and unhurriedly—the longer he could delay the final tussle the more time
he gained for the return of his cavalry. It is not unlikely that
Masinissa and Lælius pressed the pursuit rather too far, and so caused
an unnecessary strain on the Roman infantry and on Scipio’s plan. For
Polybius tells us that when the rival infantries met “the contest was
for long doubtful, the men falling where they stood out of
determination, until Masinissa and Lælius arrived providentially at the
proper moment.” Their charge, in the enemy’s rear, clinched the
decision, and though most of Hannibal’s men fought grimly to the end,
they were cut down in their ranks. Of those who took to flight few
escaped, nor did the earlier fugitives fare any better, for Scipio’s
cavalry swept the whole plain, and because of the wide expanse of level
country, found no obstacle to their searching pursuit.
Polybius and Livy agree in putting the loss of the Carthaginians and
their allies at twenty thousand slain and almost as many captured. On
the other side, Polybius says that “more than fifteen hundred Romans
fell,” and Livy, that “of the victors as many as two thousand fell.” The
discrepancy is explained by the word “Romans,” for Livy’s total clearly
includes the allied troops. It is a common idea among historians that
these figures are an underestimate, and that in ancient battles the
tallies given always minimise the losses of the victor. Ardant du Picq,
a profound and experienced thinker, has shown the fallacy of these
cloistered historians. Even in battle to-day the defeated side suffers
its heaviest loss after the issue is decided, in what is practically the
massacre of unresisting or disorganised men. How much more must this
disproportion have occurred when bullets, still less machine-guns, did
not exist to take their initial toll of the victors. So long as
formations remained unbroken the loss of life was relatively small, but
when they were isolated or dissolved the massacre began.
“Hannibal, slipping off during the confusion with a few horsemen, came
to Hadrumetum, not quitting the field till he had tried every expedient
both in the battle and before the engagement; having, according to the
admission of Scipio, acquired the fame of having handled his troops on
that day with singular judgment” (Livy). Polybius’s tribute is equally
ungrudging: “For, firstly, he had by his conference with Scipio
attempted to end the dispute by himself alone; showing thus that while
conscious of his former successes he mistrusted Fortune, and was fully
aware of the part that the unexpected plays in war. In the next place,
when he offered battle, he so managed matters that it was impossible for
any commander to make better dispositions for a contest against the
Romans than Hannibal did on that occasion. The order of a Roman force in
battle makes it very difficult to break through, for without any change
it enables every man individually and in common with his fellows to
present a front in any direction, the maniples which are nearest to the
danger turning themselves by a single movement to face it. Their arms
also give the men both protection and confidence, owing to the size of
the shield and owing to the sword being strong enough to endure repeated
blows.... But nevertheless to meet each of these assets Hannibal had
shown supreme skill in adopting ... all such measures as were in his
power and could reasonably be expected to succeed. For he had hastily
collected that large number of elephants, and had placed them in front
on the day of the battle in order to throw the enemy into confusion and
break his ranks. He had placed the mercenaries in advance with the
Carthaginians behind them, in order that the Romans before the final
engagement might be fatigued by their exertions, and that their swords
might lose their edge ... and also in order to compel the Carthaginians
thus hemmed in front and rear to stand fast and fight, in the words of
Homer: ‘That e’en the unwilling might be forced to fight.’
“The most efficient and steadfast of his troops he had held in rear at
an unusual distance in order that, anticipating and observing from afar
the course of the battle, they might with undiminished strength and
spirit influence the battle at the right moment. If he, who had never
yet suffered defeat, after taking every possible step to ensure victory,
yet failed to do so, we must pardon him. For there are times when
Fortune counteracts the plans of valiant men, and again at times, as the
proverb says, ‘A brave man meets another braver still,’ as we may say
happened in the case of Hannibal.”
Using this proverb in the sense that Polybius clearly meant it, here in
a brief phrase is our verdict on the battle—a master of war had met a
greater master. Hannibal had no Flaminius or Varro to face. No longer
was a complacent target offered him by a Roman general, conservative and
ignorant of the “sublime part of war” like those who first met Hannibal
in Italy, unwilling recipients of his instructional course. At Zama he
faced a man whose vision had told him that in a cavalry superiority lay
the master-card of battle; whose diplomatic genius had led him long
since to convert, in spirit and in effect, Hannibal’s source of cavalry
to his own use; whose strategic skill had lured the enemy to a
battle-ground where this newly gained power could have full scope and
offset his own numerical weakness in the other arms.
Rarely has any commander so ably illustrated the meaning of that
hackneyed phrase “gaining and retaining the initiative.” From the day
when Scipio had defied the opinion of Fabius, monument of orthodoxy, and
moved on Carthage instead of on the “main armed forces of the enemy,”[8]
he had kept the enemy dancing to his tune. Master in the mental sphere,
he had compassed their moral disintegration to pave the way for the
final act—their overthrow in the physical sphere. That this followed is
less remarkable than the manner of its execution. Scipio is almost
unique in that as a tactician he was as consummate an artist as in his
strategy. Of few of the great captains can it be said that their
tactical rivalled their strategical skill, or the reverse. Napoleon is
an illustration. But in battle as in the wider field Scipio achieved
that balance and blend of the mental, moral, and physical sphere which
distinguishes him in the roll of history. Thus it came about that on the
battlefield of Zama Scipio not only proved capable of countering each of
Hannibal’s points, but turned the latter’s own weapon back upon himself
to his mortal injury. Scan the records of time and we cannot find
another decisive battle where two great generals gave of their best.
Arbela, Cannæ, Pharsalus, Breitenfeld, Blenheim, Leuthen, Austerlitz,
Jena, Waterloo, Sedan—all were marred by fumbling or ignorance on one
side or the other.
Footnote 8:
Two thousand years later this is still the unshakable dogma of
orthodox military opinion, despite the hard lessons of 1914-18, when
the armies battered out their brains against the enemy’s strongest
bulwark.
CHAPTER XII.
AFTER ZAMA.
The completeness of the victory left no room for a strategic pursuit,
but Scipio did not linger in developing the moral exploitation of his
victory. “Concluding that he ought to bring before Carthage everything
which could increase the consternation already existing there ... he
ordered Gneius Octavius to conduct the legions thither by land; and
setting out himself from Utica with the fresh fleet of Lentulus added to
his former one, made for the harbour of Carthage” (Livy). The immediate
move achieved its object, a bloodless capitulation, thus crowning his
eight years’ fulfilment of the law of economy of force by saving the
costly necessity of a siege.
A short distance from the harbour of Carthage he was met by a ship
decked with fillets and branches of olive. “There were ten deputies, the
leading men in the State, sent at the instance of Hannibal to solicit
peace, to whom, when they had come up to the stern of the general’s
ship, holding out the badges of suppliants and entreating the protection
and compassion of Scipio, the only answer given was that they must come
to Tunis, whither he would move his camp. After taking a view of
Carthage, not with any particular object of acquainting himself of it,
but to dispirit the enemy, he returned to Tunis, and also recalled
Octavius there” (Livy). The army on its way had received word that
Vermina, the son of Syphax, was on his way to the succour of Carthage
with a large force. But Octavius, employing a part of the infantry and
all the cavalry, intercepted their march and routed them with heavy
loss, his cavalry blocking all the routes of escape.
As soon as the camp at Tunis was pitched, thirty envoys arrived from
Carthage, and to play on their fears they were kept waiting a day
without an answer. At the renewed audience next day Scipio began by
stating briefly that the Romans had no call to treat them with leniency,
in view not only of their admission that they had begun the war, but of
their recent treachery in violating a written agreement they had sworn
to observe.
“But for our own sake and in consideration of the fortune of war and of
the common ties of humanity we have decided to be clement and
magnanimous. This will be evident to you also, if you estimate the
situation rightly. For you should not regard it as strange if we impose
hard obligations on you or if we demand sacrifices of you, but rather it
should surprise you if we grant you any favours, since Fortune owing to
your own misconduct has deprived you of any right to pity or pardon, and
placed you at the mercy of your enemies.” Then he stated first the
indulgences, and next the conditions of peace—from that day onward the
Romans would abstain from devastation or plunder; the Carthaginians were
to retain their own laws and customs, and to receive no garrison;
Carthage was to be restored all the territory in Africa that had been
hers before the war, to keep all her flocks, herds, slaves, and other
property. The conditions were—that reparation was to be made to the
Romans for the injuries inflicted during the truce; the transports and
cargoes then seized were to be given up; all prisoners and deserters
were to be handed over. The Carthaginians were to surrender all their
warships except ten triremes, all their elephants, and not to tame any
more—Scipio evidently held these in more respect than some modern
military historians do. The Carthaginians were not to make war at all on
any nation outside Africa, and on no nation in Africa without consulting
Rome. They were to restore to Masinissa, within boundaries that should
subsequently be settled, all the territory and property that had
belonged to him or his forbears. They were to furnish the Roman army
with sufficient corn for three months, and pay the troops until the
peace mission had returned from Rome. They were to pay an indemnity of
ten thousand talents of silver, in equal annual instalments spread over
fifty years. Finally, they were to give as surety a hundred hostages, to
be chosen by Scipio from their young men between fourteen and thirty
years. The restoration of the transports was to be an immediate
condition of a truce, “otherwise they would have no truce, nor any hope
of peace.”
202 B.C.—1919 A.D.! What moderation compared with the conditions of
Versailles. Here was true grand strategy—the object a better peace, a
peace of security and prosperity. Here were sown no seeds of revenge.
The necessary guarantees of security were obtained by the surrender of
the Carthaginian fleet, by the hostages, and by placing a strong and
loyal watchdog in Masinissa next door to Carthage. But they were kept
down to the minimum both of cost to the conqueror and hardship to the
conquered. This cheaply afforded security paved the way for the future
prosperity of Rome, and at the same time made possible, justly, the
revival of Carthage’s prosperity.
The vindication of Scipio’s generous and foresighted moderation lies in
the fifty years of peace, unspotted on the Carthaginian side, which
followed Zama. And had the Roman politicians been as wise and
dispassionate as Scipio this peace would of a certainty have endured,
with Carthage a prosperous and placid satellite of Rome, and the
immortal phrase, _Delenda est Carthago_, instead of being translated
into dreadful fact, would have been no more than the transitory
hobby-horse of a senile “die-hard,” a jest for a generation and then
forgotten. Moreover, had the execution of the treaty terms been left
with Scipio, there would not have been that malignant distortion of its
clauses whereby constant complaints, but no more, were wrung from a
long-suffering State. Even as it was, despite these constant petty
inflictions, Carthage became as prosperous and populous as in the height
of its power, and only by deliberate and outrageous provocation—the
order to the citizens to destroy their own city—could these patient
traders be forced into the revolt that afforded the desired pretext for
their obliteration.
Let it be added that the moderation of Scipio called forth the response
of Hannibal, and the true peace initiated by the former was being
faithfully fulfilled by the latter, until the unrelenting hatred of the
Roman Senate drove him into exile from the country whose peaceful
prosperity he was rebuilding. Not for the last time in history, the
vision and humanity of two great rival soldiers gave a shining example
of true policy to revengeful and narrow-minded politicians. Yet for this
constructive wisdom Hannibal paid by exile and forced suicide, Scipio by
ending his days in voluntary exile from a State that had long since
“dropped the pilot.” His envious and narrow political rivals in the
Senate could not refuse to ratify his peace terms in face of his
influence over the people, and were for the moment too conscious of
relief in this happy ending of a ruinous and prolonged struggle. But as
the memory of danger passed, and also of how narrowly they had escaped,
these checks on their hatred waned, and they could not forgive “the man
who had disdained to punish more thoroughly the crime of having made
Romans tremble.”
When Scipio had announced the terms of peace to the envoys from
Carthage, they carried them at once to their Senate. His moderation did
not evoke an instant echo in an assembly that was coincidently
“indisposed for peace and unfit for war.” One of the Senators was about
to oppose the acceptance of the terms, and had begun his speech when
Hannibal came forward and pulled him down from the tribune. The other
members became irate at this breach of senatorial usage, whereupon
Hannibal rose again, and, admitting that he had been hasty, asked their
pardon for this “unparliamentary” conduct, saying, that as they knew, he
had left at nine years of age, and returned after thirty-six years’
absence on more practical debating. He asked them to dwell rather on his
patriotism, for it was due to this that he had offended against
senatorial usage. “It seems to me astounding and quite incomprehensible,
that any man who is a citizen of Carthage, and is conscious of the
designs that we all individually and as a body have entertained against
Rome, does not bless his stars that now he is at the mercy of the Romans
he has obtained such lenient terms. If you had been asked but a few days
ago what you expected your country to suffer in the event of a Roman
victory, you would not have been able even to voice your fears, so
extreme were the calamities then in prospect. So now I beg you not to
argue the question, but to agree unanimously to the terms, and to pray,
all of you, that the Roman people may ratify the treaty.”[9] This
dust-dispelling breeze of common-sense so cleared their minds that they
voted to accept the terms, and the Senate at once sent envoys with
instructions to agree to them.
They had some difficulty in complying with the preliminary conditions
for the truce, as although they could find the transports they could not
return their cargoes, because much of the property was still in the
hands of the irreconcilables. The envoys were forced to ask Scipio to
accept a monetary compensation, and as he put no obstacles in the way, a
three months’ truce was settled and granted.
The envoys sent to Rome were chosen from the first men in the State—for
the Romans had made it a ground of complaint that the former embassy
lacked age and authority,—and they were further recommended to the Roman
Senate by the inclusion of Hasdrubal Hædus, a consistent peace advocate
and longstanding opponent of the Barcine party. This good impression he,
as spokesman, developed by a speech that subtly flattered their
dispassionate justice, and while tactfully admitting guilt, toned down
its blackness.
The majority of the Senate were clearly in favour of peace, but
Lentulus, who had succeeded to Claudius’s consulship and also his
ambition for cheap glory, protested against the decision of the Senate,
as he had been canvassing to be allotted Africa as his province, and
hoped that if he could keep alive the dying embers of the war he might
attain his ambition. But this was promptly snuffed out, for when the
question was put to the assembly of the people, they unanimously voted
that the Senate should make peace, that Scipio should be empowered to
grant it, and that he alone should conduct the army home. The Senate
therefore agreed accordingly, and on the return of the Carthaginian
envoys peace was concluded on the terms set forth by Scipio. The terms
were punctually fulfilled, and Scipio ordered the warships, five hundred
in number, to be towed out to the open sea and there set on fire—the
funeral pyre of Carthaginian supremacy.
Scipio’s enemies used in later years to insinuate that the moderation of
his terms was due to his fear that harsher conditions might, by
prolonging the war, force him to share his glory with a successor. As
this vulgar motive has also been hinted at by some historians, it is
worth while to stress two facts which utterly demolish the slander.
First, the helplessness and passivity of Carthage from that time onward;
second, the way the Roman people squashed all attempts to supersede him
during this last phase. After Zama, when all Rome was wild with
enthusiasm, no usurper, however pushful, would have stood the least
chance of success.
Before leaving Africa, he first saw Masinissa established in his
kingdom, and presented him with the lands of Syphax, delaying his own
triumph in order to ensure the reward of his loyal assistants. Then at
last, his task accomplished, he withdrew his army of occupation, and
embarked them for Sicily. On arriving there he sent the bulk of his
troops on by sea while he proceeded overland through Italy, one long
triumphal procession, for not only did the people of every town turn out
to do him honour, but the country folk thronged the roads. On arriving
in Rome he “entered the city in a ‘triumph’ of unparalleled splendour,
and afterwards distributed to each of his soldiers four hundred _asses_
out of the spoils.” At this time, too, was born his surname of
Africanus, “the first general who was distinguished by a name derived
from the country which he had conquered.” Whether this was bestowed by
his soldiers, by his friends, or as a popular nickname is uncertain.
The enthusiasm of the people was so great that he could have obtained a
title far more definite than any nickname, however distinguished. We
know from a speech of Tiberius Gracchus, years later in the darkest hour
of Scipio’s career, that the people clamoured to make him perpetual
consul and dictator, and that he severely rebuked them for striving to
exalt him to what would have been, in reality if not in name, regal
power. The authenticity of the fact is the more assured because Gracchus
was then charging him with disregarding the authority of the tribunes.
From this speech we also learn that Scipio “hindered statues being
erected to him in the comitium, in the rostrum, in the Senate house, in
the Capitol, in the chapel of Jupiter’s temple, and that he prevented a
decree being passed that his image, in a triumphal habit, should be
brought in procession out of the temple of Jupiter.... Such particulars
as these, which even an enemy acknowledged while censuring him ... would
demonstrate an uncommon greatness of mind, in limiting his honours
conformably with his position as a citizen” (Livy).
Is there any other man in all history who has put aside so great a prize
when it was not only within his reach but pressed upon him? The incident
of Cincinnatus returning to his farm after accomplishing his mission as
dictator is immortal, yet Scipio’s not only paralleled but eclipsed it.
Which was the greater test—for a simple tribesman to conform to the
traditions of a primitive State, or for a highly cultured and ambitious
man of the world to eschew the virtual kingship of a supreme civilised
power? Compare, again, Scipio’s action with the picture of Cæsar
reluctantly refusing, in face of the groans of the multitude, the royal
diadem which was offered by pre-arrangement with his supporters. In
assessing the world’s great figures, other than the definitely
religious, we have tended to base our estimate mainly on concrete
achievement and mental calibre, overlooking the moral values—the same
lack of balance between the three spheres which has been remarked in the
conduct of policy in peace and war. Even this test of achievement has
been based on quantity rather than quality. That Cæsar’s work is known
universally, and Scipio little more than a name to the ordinary educated
man, is a curious reflection on our historical standards, for the one
inaugurated the world dominion of Roman civilisation, the other paved
the way for its decay.
[Illustration: The Mediterranean World.]
Extraordinary as is the nobility of mind which led Scipio to this
self-abnegation, it becomes yet more so in view of his age. It is
conceivable that a man in the last lap of life might have gained a
philosophical outlook on the prizes of ambition, and spurned them from
experience of their meretricious glitter. But that a man who at the
early age of thirty-five had scaled the Himalayan peaks of achievement
and fame should do so is a miracle of human nature. Little wonder that
his countrymen gradually turned from adulation to petty criticism;
little wonder that historians have forgotten him, for such loftiness of
mind is beyond the comprehension of ordinary men—and ordinary men hate
what they cannot understand.
Footnote 9:
While this is a Roman version of Hannibal’s speech, the comments
ascribed to him are justified by the peace terms, and it is unlikely
that the Romans would give him undue credit for a pacific influence.
CHAPTER XIII.
SIESTA.
After being for eight of the most critical years of Rome’s life the
central figure, Scipio, for the remainder of his life, comes only at
intervals into the limelight of history. He had saved Rome physically,
and now by retiring into private citizenship he sought to save her
morally. If a man who had attained such unapproachable heights of fame
could sink his own ambition and interests, and show that the State was
greater than the individual, the example might influence later
generations. Supreme self-sacrifice has been one of the greatest moral
forces in the civilisation of the world. But the force of Scipio’s
example was unhappily to be submerged by the self-seeking of such men as
Marius, Sulla, and Cæsar.
To trace the latter and longer part of his career is difficult—the
curtain is raised only on a series of brief scenes. We hear of him
concerned with the resettlement of his soldiers; to each of his Spanish
and African veterans is allotted land in the proportion of two acres for
every year’s active service. Then three years after Zama he was elected
censor, an office which was not only one of the higher magistracies, but
regarded as the crown of a political career. As the title implies, the
censors, two in number, conducted the census, which was not merely a
registration but an occasion for checking the condition of public and
private life. It was then that the censors issued edicts concerning the
moral rules they intended to enforce, then that they punished
irregularities of conduct, and then that they chose fresh members of the
Senate. The censors were immune from responsibility for their acts, and
the only limitation was that re-election was forbidden, and that no act
was valid without the assent of both censors. Scipio’s period of office
seems to have been marked by unusual harmony, and a clean sheet as
regards punishments.
We have to wait until 192 B.C. before we hear of him again, and once
more the incident is an illuminating example of his generosity and
breadth of view. In the seven years since the peace after Zama, Hannibal
had been turning his genius into new channels—the restoration of
Carthage’s prosperity and the improvement of its administration. But in
this labour he incurred the hostility of many of his own countrymen. In
his efforts to safeguard the liberty of the people he stopped the abuse
of the judicial power—an abuse which recalls the worst days of Venice.
Similarly, finding that the revenue could not raise the annual payment
to Rome without fresh taxation, he made an investigation into the
embezzlement which lay at the root of this faulty administration. Those
who had been plundering the public combined with the order of judges to
instigate the Romans against Hannibal. The Romans, whose fear of the
great Carthaginian had not faded, had been watching with envy and
distrust the commercial revival of Carthage. They eagerly seized on such
a pretext for intervention. From Livy, however, we learn that “a
strenuous opposition was for long made to this by Scipio Africanus, who
thought it highly unbecoming the dignity of the Roman people to make
themselves a party to the animosities and charges against Hannibal; to
interpose the public authority in the faction strife of the
Carthaginians, not deeming it sufficient to have conquered that
commander in the field, but to become as it were his prosecutors in a
judicial process....” Scipio’s opposition delayed but it could not stop
the lust for revenge of smaller men—Cato was consul,—and an embassy was
sent to Carthage to arraign Hannibal. He, realising the futility of
standing his trial, decided to escape before it was too late, and sailed
for Tyre, lamenting the misfortunes of his country oftener than his own.
At the beginning of the next year Scipio was elected consul for the
second time, and his election along with Tiberius Longus afforded a
coincidence in that their fathers had been consuls together in the first
year of the Hannibalic war. Scipio’s second consulship was comparatively
uneventful, at least in a military sense, for the Senate decided that as
there was no immediate foreign danger both consuls should remain in
Italy. To this decision Scipio was strongly opposed, though he bowed to
it, and once again history was to confirm his foresight and rebuke the
“wait and see” policy of the near-sighted Roman Senators.
During the interval between Zama and his second consulship, Rome had
been engaged in a struggle in Greece. The freedom of action which Zama
conferred had combined with certain earlier factors to re-orient, or
more literally to orient, her foreign policy. Ever since the repulse of
Pyrrhus, Rome had been driving towards an inevitable contact with the
Near East. Here the three great powers were the empires into which after
Alexander the Great’s death his vast dominion had been divided—Macedon,
Egypt, and Syria, or, as it was then termed, Asia.
With Egypt, Rome had made an alliance eighty years before, and this
alliance had been cemented by commercial ties. But Philip V. of Macedon
had allied himself with Hannibal, and though his help was verbal rather
than practical, the threat of an attack on Italy had driven the Romans
to take the offensive against him, with the aid of a coalition of the
Greek States. The drain on her resources elsewhere made Rome seize the
first chance, in 205 B.C., for an indecisive peace. Taking advantage of
her preoccupation with Hannibal, Philip made a compact with Antiochus of
Syria to seize on and share the dominions of Egypt.
But after Zama, Rome was free to respond to the appeal of her ally, and
eager also to take revenge for Philip’s unneutral act in sending four
thousand Macedonians to aid Hannibal in the final battle. The Senate,
however, could only persuade the assembly of the people—anxious to enjoy
the fruits of peace—by pretending that Philip was on the point of
invading Italy. At Cynoscephalæ the legion conquered the phalanx, and
Philip was forced to accept terms which reduced him to a second-rate
power—like Carthage, stripped of his foreign possessions, and forbidden
to make war without the consent of Rome.
The Roman Senate did not realise, however, that this removal of the
Macedonian danger made war inevitable with Antiochus of Syria, for the
tide of Roman dominion clearly threatened his own submersion sooner or
later. Rome had in effect swallowed first Carthage and then Macedon, and
Antiochus had no liking for the rôle of Jonah. The Mediterranean world
was too small to hold them both. Antiochus, inflated with his own
grandiloquent title of “King of Kings,” decided to take the initiative
and enlarge his own dominions while the opportunity was good. In 197-196
B.C. he overran the whole of Asia Minor, and even crossed into Thrace.
Greece was obviously his next objective, but the Romans could not see
this, though Scipio did. In a prophetic speech he declared “that there
was every reason to apprehend a dangerous war with Antiochus, for he had
already, of his own accord, come into Europe; and how did they suppose
he would act in future, when he should be encouraged to a war, on one
hand by the Ætolians, avowed enemies of Rome, and stimulated, on the
other, by Hannibal, a general famous for his victories over the
Romans?”—for Hannibal had recently moved to the court of Antiochus. But
the Senate, acting like the proverbial ostrich, rejected this advice,
and decided that not only should no new army be sent to Macedonia, but
that the one which was there should be brought home and disbanded. Had
Scipio been allotted Macedonia as his province, the danger from
Antiochus might have been nipped in the bud and the subsequent invasion
of Greece prevented.
Politically, the main feature of his year of office was a wide extension
of the policy of settling colonies of Roman citizens throughout Italy—a
safeguard against such a dangerous revolt of the Italian States as had
followed the invasion of Hannibal. Scipio himself enjoyed the honour of
being nominated by the censors as prince of the Senate, an office which
apart from its honour had greater influence than that of president,
which it had replaced. For the president’s functions were limited to
those of the modern “Speaker,” whereas the prince of the Senate could
express his opinions as well as presiding.
The only serious hostilities during this year were in north-western
Italy, where the Insubrian and Ligurian Gauls and the Boii had made one
of their periodical risings. Longus, the other consul, whose province it
was, moved against the Boii. Finding how strong and determined were
their forces, he sent post-haste to Scipio, asking him, if he thought
proper, to join him. The Gauls, however, seeing the consul’s defensive
attitude and guessing the reason, attacked at once before Scipio could
arrive. It is evident that the Romans narrowly escaped a disaster, but
the battle was sufficiently indecisive for them to retire unmolested to
Placentia on the Po, while the Gauls withdrew to their own country.
The sequel is obscure, though some writers say that Scipio, after he had
joined forces with his colleague, overran the country of the Boii and
Ligurians as far as the woods and marshes allowed him to proceed. In any
case he went there, for it is stated that he returned from Gaul to hold
the elections. One other incident of his term of office was that, on his
proposal, the Senators were for the first time allotted reserved and
separate seats at the Roman games. While many held that this was an
honour which ought to have been accorded long before, others opposed it
vehemently, contending that “every addition made to the grandeur of the
Senate was a diminution of the dignity of the people,” that it distilled
class feeling, and if the ordinary seats had been good enough for five
hundred and thirty-eight years, why should a change be made now. “It is
said that even Africanus himself at last became sorry for having
proposed that matter in his consulship: so difficult is it to bring
people to approve of any alteration of long-standing customs” (Livy).
All very petty; and yet Scipio’s good-natured consideration for the
comfort and dignity of others—it could not enhance his own—may have
contributed to weaken his old influence with the people, who had been
his support against the short-sighted Senators.
After the election of his successors, Scipio retired once more into
private life, instead of taking a foreign province, as retiring consuls
so often did. This circumstance has led one or two of the latter Roman
historians to search for a motive. Thus Cornelius Nepos, the biographer
of Cato, says that Scipio wanted to remove Cato from his province of
Spain and become his successor, and that failing to obtain the Senate’s
assent, Scipio, to show his displeasure, retired into private life when
his consulship was ended. Plutarch also, in his life of Cato,
contradicts this, and says that Scipio actually succeeded Cato in Spain.
Apart from the known historical inaccuracies of both these later
writers, such pettiness would be inconsistent with all the assured facts
of Scipio’s character. We know that Cato and Scipio were always at
variance, but the animosity, so far as speeches are recorded, was all on
the side of Cato, to whom Scipio’s Greek culture was as a red rag to a
bull, and not less his moderation towards Carthage. The man whose parrot
cry was _Delenda est Carthago_—fit ancestry of the Yellow Press—could
not brook the man whose loftier soul and reputation stood in his way,
nor his narrow spirit rest until he had brought about the destruction
both of Carthage and Scipio. Their quarrel, if one-sided spite can be so
called, dated from Zama, when Cato—serving as quæstor under Scipio, and
already hating his Greek habits so much that he would not live in the
same quarters—took violent exception to his general’s lavish generosity
to the soldiers in the distribution of the spoil.
Fortunately there are external facts which demolish the statements of
both Nepos and Plutarch on this matter. A decision to disband Cato’s
army in Spain was made by the Senate at the same time as they refused
Scipio’s request to allot Macedonia as his consular province, and
disbanded that army also. Cato accordingly returned, and received a
triumph at the outset of Scipio’s consulship. As there was no army there
was obviously no post for a proconsul, which shows the futility of the
statement that Scipio desired to go to Spain at the end of his
consulship.
His real motive, however, in staying at Rome instead of seeking some
other foreign province is not difficult to guess. He had predicted the
danger from Antiochus, and as the Senate’s refusal to anticipate it made
a struggle inevitable, Scipio would wish to be on hand, ready for the
call that he felt sure would come. He was right, for Hannibal was even
then proposing to Antiochus an expedition against Italy, maintaining as
ever that a campaign in Italy was the only key to Rome’s defeat, because
such invasion crippled the full output of Rome’s man-power and
resources. As a preliminary Hannibal proposed that he should be given a
force to land in Africa and raise the Carthaginians, while Antiochus
moved into Greece and stood by, ready for a spring across to Italy when
the moment was ripe.
An envoy of Hannibal’s, a Tyrian called Aristo, was denounced by the
anti-Hannibalic party at Carthage. Aristo escaped, but the discovery
caused such internal dissension that Masinissa thought the moment ripe
to encroach on their territory.
The Carthaginians sent to Rome to complain, and he also to justify
himself. The embassy of the former aroused uneasiness by their account
of Aristo’s mission and escape, and the envoys of Masinissa fanned this
flame of suspicion. The Senate decided to send a commission to
investigate, and Scipio was nominated one of the three, but after making
an inquiry “left everything in suspense, their opinions inclining
neither to one side or the other.” This failure to give a verdict is
hardly to the credit of Scipio, who had the knowledge and the influence
with both parties to have settled the controversy on the spot. But Livy
hints that the commissioners may have been acting on instructions from
the Senate to abstain from a settlement, and adds that in view of the
general situation “it was highly expedient to leave the dispute
undecided.” By this he presumably means that as Hannibal was meditating
an invasion it was policy to keep the Carthaginians too occupied to
support him.
At the end of the year an incident occurred that sheds a significant
light—rather twilight—on Scipio’s career. The two candidates for the
patrician vacancy as consul were Lucius Quinctius Flamininus, brother of
the victor of Cynoscephalæ, and Publius Cornelius Scipio, namesake and
half-brother to Africanus.
The upshot is aptly told by Livy: “Above everything else, the brothers
of the candidates, the two most illustrious generals of the age,
increased the violence of the struggle. Scipio’s fame was the more
splendid, and in proportion to its greater splendour, the more obnoxious
to envy. That of Quinctius was the most recent, as he had received a
‘triumph’ that same year. Besides, the former had now for almost two
years been continually in people’s sight; which circumstance, by the
mere effect of satiety, causes great characters to be less revered.”
“All Quinctius’s claims to the favour of the public were fresh and new;
since his triumph, he had neither asked nor received anything from the
people; ‘he solicited votes,’ he said, ‘in favour of his own brother,
not of a half-brother; in favour of his _legatus_ and partner in the
conduct of the war’”—his brother having commanded the fleet against
Philip of Macedon. “By these arguments he carried his point.” Lucius
Quinctius was elected, and Scipio Africanus received a further rebuff
when Lælius, his old comrade and lieutenant, failed to secure election
as plebeian consul despite Scipio’s canvassing. The crowd, eternally
fickle and forgetful, preferred the rising star to the setting sun.
Meantime the war clouds were gathering in the East. Antiochus had
safeguarded his rear by marrying his daughter to Ptolemy, King of Egypt.
He then advanced to Ephesus, but lost time by waging a local campaign
with the Pisidians. Across the Ægean, the Ætolians were labouring hard
to stir up war against the Romans, and to find allies for Antiochus.
Rome, on the contrary, was weary and exhausted with years of struggle,
and sought by every means to postpone or avert a conflict with
Antiochus. To this end the Senate sent an embassy to him, and Livy
states that, according to the history written in Greek by Acilius,
Scipio Africanus was employed on this mission. The envoys went to
Ephesus, and while halting there on their way “took pains to procure
frequent interviews with Hannibal, in order to sound his intentions, and
to remove his fears of danger threatening him from the Romans.” These
meetings had the accidental and indirect but important consequence that
the report of them made Antiochus suspicious of Hannibal.
But the main interest to us of these interviews, assuming that Acilius’s
witness is reliable, is the account of one of the conversations between
Scipio and Hannibal. In it Scipio asked Hannibal, “Whom he thought the
greatest captain?” The latter answered, “Alexander ... because with a
small force he defeated armies whose numbers were beyond reckoning, and
because he had overrun the remotest regions, merely to visit which was a
thing above human aspirations.” Scipio then asked, “To whom he gave the
second place?” and Hannibal replied, “To Pyrrhus, for he first taught
the method of encamping, and besides no one ever showed such exquisite
judgment in choosing his ground and disposing his posts; while he also
possessed the art of conciliating mankind to himself to such a degree
that the natives of Italy wished him, though a foreign prince, to hold
the sovereignty among them, rather than the Roman people....” On Scipio
proceeding to ask, “Whom he esteemed the third?” Hannibal replied,
“Myself, beyond doubt.” On this Scipio laughed, and added, “What would
you have said if you had conquered me?” “Then I would have placed
Hannibal not only before Alexander and Pyrrhus, but before all other
commanders.”
“This answer, turned with Punic dexterity, and conveying an unexpected
kind of flattery, was highly grateful to Scipio, as it set him apart
from the crowd of commanders, as one of incomparable eminence.”
From Antiochus this embassy gained no direct result, for the “king of
kings” was too swollen with pride on account of his Asiatic successes,
too sure of his own strength, to profit by the examples of Carthage and
Macedon. His standards of military measurement were strictly
quantitative.
Realising at last that war was inevitable and imminent, the Roman Senate
set about the preparations for this fresh struggle. As a first step they
pre-dated the consular election so as to be ready for the coming year;
the new consuls were Publius Scipio, the rejected of the previous year,
and Manius Acilius. Next, Bæbius was ordered to cross over with his army
from Brundisium (Brindisi) into Epirus, and envoys were sent to all the
allied cities to counteract Ætolian propaganda. The Ætolians,
nevertheless, gained some success by a mixture of diplomacy and force,
and besides causing general commotion throughout Greece, did their best
to hasten the arrival of Antiochus. Had his energy approximated to his
confidence, he might well have gained command of Greece before the
Romans were able to thwart him. Further, to his own undoing, he
abandoned Hannibal’s plan and the expedition to Africa, from a jealousy
inspired fear that if Hannibal were given an executive rôle public
opinion would regard him as the real commander. Even when he made his
belated landing in Greece, with inadequate forces, he missed such
opportunity as was left by frittering away his strength and time in
petty attacks against the Thessalian towns, and in idle pleasure at
Chalcis.
Meantime, at Rome the consuls cast lots for their provinces; Greece fell
to Acilius, and the expeditionary force which he was to take assembled
at Brundisium. For its supply, commissaries had been sent to Carthage
and Numidia to purchase corn. It is a tribute alike to the spirit in
which the Carthaginians were seeking to fulfil their treaty with Rome,
and to Scipio’s wise policy after Zama, that they not only offered the
corn as a present, but offered to fit out a fleet at their own expense,
and to pay in a lump sum the annual tribute money for many years ahead.
The Romans, however, whether from proud self-reliance or dislike of
being under an obligation to Carthage, refused the fleet and the money,
and insisted on paying for the corn.
In face of all these preparations, Antiochus awoke to his danger too
late. His allies, the Ætolians, provided only four thousand men, his own
troops delayed in Asia, and in addition he had alienated Philip of
Macedon, who stood firm on the Roman side. With a force only ten
thousand strong he took up his position at the pass of Thermopylæ, but
failed to repeat the heroic resistance of the immortal Spartans, and was
routed. Thereupon, forsaking his Ætolian allies to their fate, Antiochus
sailed back across the Ægean.
Rome, however, was unwilling to rest content with this decision. She
realised that in Greece her army had defeated only the advanced guard
and not the main body of Antiochus’s armed strength, and that unless he
was subdued he would be a perpetual menace. Further, so long as he
dominated Asia Minor from Ephesus, her loyal allies, the Pergamenes and
Rhodians, and the Greek cities on the Asiatic side of the Ægean, were at
his mercy. All these motives impelled Rome to counter-invasion.
Once more Hannibal’s grand strategical vision proved right, for he
declared that “he rather wondered the Romans were not already in Asia,
than had doubts of their coming.” This time Antiochus took heed of his
great adviser, and strengthened his garrisons as well as maintaining a
constant patrol of the coast.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE LAST LAP.
Rome, faced with a great emergency—second only to that of the Hannibalic
War,—looked for its new saviour in its old. If the danger was less, and
less close, the risk at least must have seemed greater, for her armies
were venturing into the unknown. The first great trial of strength
between Rome and Asiatic civilisation was about to be staged, and the
theatre of war was alarmingly distant, connected with the homeland by
long and insecure lines of communication. The spur of emergency quickens
the memory, and Rome in her fresh hour of trial remembered the man who
had saved her in the last, and who had been standing by for several
years ready for the occasion which he had prophesied to deaf ears. Yet
Scipio Africanus did not himself stand for the consulship—why it is
difficult to guess. It may have been that he deemed the forces of
jealousy too strong, and wanted to take no risks, or that affection and
sympathy for his brother Lucius, a defeated candidate the year before,
inspired Africanus to give the latter his chance. Africanus had glory
enough, and all through his career he had been ready to share his glory
with his assistants. He left envy of others’ fame to lesser men. His aim
was service, and in any case he knew that if Lucius was consul, he
himself would exercise the real power—Lucius was welcome to the nominal
triumph.
His brother’s election was secured, and with him, as plebeian consul,
was elected Gaius Lælius, the old assistant of Africanus. It may be that
Scipio worked for this, in order to ensure that to whichever Greece fell
as a province he would be able to exercise an influence on the
operations. As it happened, however, the double election put him in the
unpleasant position of having to support his brother against his friend.
For both consuls naturally desired Greece, which meant the command
against Antiochus. Lælius, who had a powerful interest with the Senate,
asked the Senate to decide—drawing lots was too uncertain for his taste.
Lucius Scipio thereupon asked time to seek advice, and consulted
Africanus, “who desired him to leave it unhesitatingly to the Senate.”
Then, when a prolonged debate was anticipated, Africanus arose in the
Senate and said that “if they decreed that province to his brother,
Lucius Scipio, he would go along with him as his lieutenant.” This
proposal “being received with almost universal approbation,” settled the
dispute and was carried by an almost unanimous vote.
Though it is clear that Africanus planned this result, the fact does not
lessen our appreciation of the nobility of a man who, after being the
most illustrious commander in Rome’s history, would stoop to take a
subordinate position. If the means was diplomatic, the motive was of the
purest—to save his country, leaving to another the reward. Apart from
blood ties, he doubtless felt more sure of real control through his
brother than through Lælius—though Lucius’s obstinacy with the Ætolians
refutes Mommsen’s verdict that he was “a man of straw.” Two good leaders
in the same command are not a good combination. It says much for both
Scipio Africanus and Lælius that this act did not break down their
friendship, and it is a proof of the latter’s generous nature, if also
of the former’s transcendent qualities, that in later years Lælius gave
Polybius such testimony of Scipio’s greatness.
In addition to the two legions which he was to take over in Greece from
Acilius, the consul was given three thousand Roman foot and one hundred
horse, and another five thousand foot and two hundred horse from the
Latin confederates. Further, directly it was known that Africanus was
going, four thousand veterans of the Hannibalic War volunteered in order
to serve again “under their beloved leader.”
The expedition set forth in March (the Roman July), 190 B.C., but the
advance into Asia was to be delayed because of the Senate’s obstinacy in
refusing to grant reasonable peace terms to the Ætolians, so driving
them to take up arms anew and maintain a stubborn warfare in their
mountain strongholds. It is curious that Scipio, who had always
contributed to his military object by the moderation of his political
demands, should now be blocked by others’ immoderation.
When the Scipios landed in Epirus they found their destined army
thoroughly embroiled by Acilius in this guerilla warfare. Africanus went
ahead while his brother followed with his main body. On arrival at
Amphissa, Athenian envoys met them, who, addressing first Africanus and
afterwards the consul, pleaded for leniency to the Ætolians. “They
received a milder answer from Africanus, who, wishing for an honourable
pretext for finishing the Ætolian war, was directing his view towards
Asia and King Antiochus.” Apparently Africanus, with his habitual
foresight, had actually inspired this mission of the Athenians, and
another to the Ætolians. Scipio could have given points even to Colonel
House as an ambassador of peace as a means to victory. As a result of
Athenian persuasion, the Ætolians sent a large embassy to the Roman
camp, and from Africanus received a most encouraging reply. But when the
decision was referred to the consul, as was necessary, his reply was
uncompromising—he put his fist through the web his brother had so
delicately woven. A second embassy met with the same obstinate refusal.
Then the principal Athenian envoy advised the Ætolians to ask simply for
a six months’ armistice in order that they might send an embassy to
Rome. The real source of this advice is too obvious to require any
guess. Accordingly the Ætolian envoys came back, and “making their first
application to Publius Scipio, obtained, through him, from the consul a
suspension of arms for the time they desired.”
Thus by diplomacy Africanus secured his lines of communication and
released his army; the determination with which he sought a peaceful
solution, and avoided being embroiled in a sideshow, is an object-lesson
in economy of force and the maintenance of the true objective.
The consul, having taken over the army from Acilius, decided to lead his
troops into Asia through Macedonia and Thrace—taking the long land
instead of the short sea route, because Antiochus had one fleet at
Ephesus and another being raised by Hannibal in Phœnicia specially to
prevent their crossing by sea. Africanus, while approving of this route,
told his brother that everything depended on the attitude of Philip of
Macedon; “for if he be faithful to our Government he will afford us a
passage, and all provisions and material necessary for an army on a long
march. But if he should fail you in this, you will find no safety in any
part of Thrace. In my opinion, therefore, the King’s dispositions ought
to be ascertained first of all. He will best be tested if whoever is
sent comes suddenly upon him, instead of by prearrangement.”
Acting on this advice, as instinct with security as with psychology,
Tiberius Gracchus, a specially active young man, was sent, riding by
relays of horses, and so fast that he travelled from Amphissa to
Pella—from the Gulf of Corinth almost to Salonika—in under three days,
and caught Philip in the middle of a banquet—“far gone in his cups.”
This helped to remove suspicion that he was planning any countermove,
and next day Gracchus saw provision dumps prepared, bridges made over
rivers, and hill roads buttressed—ready for the coming of the Roman
army.
He then rode back to meet the army, which was thus able to move through
Macedonia with confidence. On their passage through his domains Philip
met and accompanied them, and Livy relates that “much geniality and good
humour appeared in him, which recommended him much to Africanus, a man
who, as he was unparalleled in other respects, was not averse to
courteousness unaccompanied by luxury.” The army then pushed on through
Thrace to the Hellespont—the Dardanelles,—taking the same route
apparently as Xerxes, in an opposite direction.
Their crossing of the Dardanelles had been smoothed for them as much by
the mistakes of Antiochus as by the action of their own fleet. Livius,
the Roman naval commander, had sailed for the Dardanelles, in accordance
with instructions, in order to seize the fortress which guarded the
passage of the Narrows. Sestos—modern Maidos—was already occupied, and
Abydos—now Chanak—parleying for surrender, when news reached Livius of
the surprise and defeat of the allied Rhodian fleet at Samos. He
abandoned his primary object—an action which might have upset Scipio’s
plans—and sailed south to restore the naval situation in the Ægean.
However, after some rather aimless operations, the arrival of Hannibal’s
fleet and its defeat—in his first and last sea battle—cleared the
situation in the Mediterranean. A second victory in August, this time
over Antiochus’s Ægean fleet, ensured for the Romans command of the sea.
With Antiochus, the loss of it led him into a move, intended for safety,
that was actually the reverse. Despairing of being able to defend his
possessions across the Dardanelles, he ordered the garrison to retire
from Lysimachia, “lest it should there be cut off by the Romans.” Now
Lysimachia stood close to where Bulair stands to-day, and there is no
need to emphasise how difficult it would have been to force those
ancient Bulair Lines, commanding the isthmus of the Gallipoli peninsula.
The garrison might well have held out till winter. Perhaps another
factor, apart from the naval defeat, was his failure to gain the
alliance of Prusias, King of Bithynia—a country whose sea coast lay
partly on the Black Sea and partly on the Sea of Marmora. Antiochus sent
to play on his fears of being swallowed by Rome, but once again Scipio’s
grand strategical vision had led him to foresee this move and take steps
to checkmate it. Months before he reached Gallipoli, Scipio had written
a letter to Prusias to dispel any such fears. “The petty chieftains in
Spain,” he wrote, “who had become allies, he had left kings. Masinissa
he had not only re-established in his father’s kingdom, but had put him
in possession of that of Syphax”—a clever hint!
The double news of the naval victory and the evacuation of Lysimachia
reached the Scipios on arrival at Ænos (Enos), and, considerably
relieved, they pressed forward and occupied the city. After a few days’
halt, to allow the baggage and sick to overtake them, they marched down
the Chersonese—the Gallipoli peninsula,—arrived at the Narrows, and made
an unopposed crossing. They crossed, however, without Africanus, who was
detained behind by his religious duties as one of the Salian priests.
The rules of his order compelled him during this festival of the Sacred
Shields to remain wherever he was until the month was out—and without
Africanus the army had lost its dynamo, so that “he himself was a source
of delay, until he overtook the rest of the army.” Unnecessary delay was
far from one of his military characteristics, so that the incident
serves to suggest that his piety was genuine and not merely a
psychological tool to inspire his troops. While the army was waiting for
him, an envoy came to the camp from Antiochus, and as he had been
ordered by the king to address Africanus first, he also waited for him
before discussing his mission!
“In him he had the greatest hope, besides that his greatness of soul,
and the fulness of his glory, tended very much to make him inclined to
peace, and it was known to all nations what sort of a conqueror he had
been, both in Spain and afterwards in Africa; and also because his son
was then a prisoner with Antiochus” (Livy). How the son was captured is
uncertain, whether in a distant cavalry reconnaissance, or earlier at
sea, as Appian suggests.
At a full council the Syrian envoy put forward a basis for peace—that
Antiochus would give up the Greek cities in Asia Minor allied to Rome,
as he had already evacuated Europe, and would pay the Romans half the
expenses of the war. The council regarded these concessions as
inadequate, contending that Antiochus should give up all the Greek
seaboard on the Ægean, and, in order to establish a wide and secure
neutral zone, relinquish possession of all Asia Minor west of the Taurus
mountains. Further, he ought to pay all the expense of the war, as he
had caused and initiated it.
Thus rebuffed, the envoy sought a private interview with Africanus,
according to his orders. “First of all he told him that the King would
restore his son without a ransom; and then, as ignorant of the
disposition of Scipio as he was of Roman manners, he promised an immense
weight of gold, and, save for the title of king, an absolute partnership
in the sovereignty—if through his means Antiochus should obtain peace.”
To these advances Scipio replied, “I am the less surprised that you are
ignorant of the Romans in general, and of me, to whom you have been
sent, when I see that you do not realise the military situation of the
person from whom you come. You ought to have kept Lysimachia to prevent
our entering the Chersonese (Gallipoli), or to have opposed us at the
Hellespont to hinder our passing into Asia, if you meant to ask peace as
from people anxious as to the issue of the war. But after leaving the
passage into Asia open, and receiving not only a bridle but a yoke,[10]
what negotiation on equal terms is left to you, when you must submit to
orders? I shall consider my son as a very great gift from the generosity
of the King. I pray to the gods that my circumstances may never require
others; my mind certainly never will require any. For such an act of
generosity to me he shall find me grateful, if for a personal favour he
will accept a personal return of gratitude. In my public capacity, I
will neither accept from him nor give anything. All that I can give at
present is sincere advice. Go, then, and desire him in my name to cease
hostilities, and to refuse no terms of peace” (Livy). Polybius’s version
of the last sentence is a shade different: “In return for his promise in
regard to my son, I will give him a hint which is well worth the favour
he offers me—make any concession, do anything, rather than fight with
the Romans.”
This advice had no effect on Antiochus, and he decided to push on his
military preparations, which were already well in hand. The consular
army then advanced south-east, by way of Troy, towards Lydia. “They
encamped near the source of the Caicus river, preparing provisions for a
rapid march against Antiochus, in order to crush him before winter
should prevent operations.” Antiochus faced them at Thyatira—modern
Akhissar. At this moment, just as the curtain was about to rise on the
final act, and Scipio reap the reward of his strategy, fate stepped in.
He was laid low by sickness, and had to be conveyed to Elæa on the
coast. Hearing of this, Antiochus sent an escort to take back his son to
him. This unexpected return of his son was so great a relief to Scipio’s
mind as to hasten his recovery from the illness. To the escort he said,
“Tell the King that I return him thanks, that at present I can make him
no other return but my advice; which is, not to come to an engagement
until he hears that I have rejoined the army”—by this Scipio evidently
meant that if he was in charge Antiochus’s life at least was safe.
Although the king had a vast army of sixty-two thousand foot and more
than twelve thousand horse, he deemed this advice sufficiently sound to
fall back behind the Hermus river, and there at Magnesia—modern
Minissa—fortify a strong camp. The consul, however, followed him, and
seeing that he refused battle called a council of war. Though the Romans
only counted two legions, the equivalent of two allied legions, and some
local detachments—about thirty thousand all told,—their verdict was
unanimous. “The Romans never despised any enemy so much.” However, they
did not have to storm his camp, for on the third day, fearing the effect
of inaction on the moral of his troops, Antiochus came out to offer
battle.
Though the Roman victory was ultimately decisive, they clearly missed
the tactical mastery of Africanus, and were even in trouble, if not in
jeopardy, for a time. For while the Romans were driving in the enemy’s
centre, and the mass of their cavalry were attacking the enemy’s left
flank, Antiochus himself with his right wing cavalry crossed the
river—left almost unguarded—and fell on the consul’s left flank. The
troops there were routed and fled to the camp, and only the resolution
of the tribune left in charge rallied them and staved off the danger
until reinforcements came. Foiled here and seeing a heavy concentration
developing against him, Antiochus fled to Sardis, and the survivors of
his broken army followed. Further resistance was hopeless, his western
dominions crumbling all around him, and the subject States making their
peace with Rome. He therefore retired to Apamea, and from there sent a
peace mission to the Consul at Sardis, whither Africanus came from Elæa
as soon as he was fit to travel.
Before the mission arrived the terms had been decided on, and it was
agreed that Africanus should deliver them. “Scipio began by saying that
victory never made the Romans more severe than before.” The conditions
were the same as had been offered before Magnesia, when the issue was
still open; not a whit augmented because of Antiochus’s present
helplessness. Antiochus was to retire to the other side of the Taurus
range; to pay fifteen thousand Euboic talents towards the expenses of
the war, part at once and the rest in twelve annual instalments, and to
hand over twenty selected hostages as pledge of his good faith. In
addition Antiochus was to give up Hannibal, as it was “clear that the
Romans could never hope to enjoy peace wherever he was,” and certain
other notorious instigators of the war. Hannibal, however, getting news
of this clause, took refuge in Crete.
The notable feature of these terms, as of those in Africa and Greece,
was that the Romans sought security and prosperity merely. So long as
Scipio guided Rome’s policy, annexation, with all its dangers and
troubles, is eschewed. His object is simply to ensure the peaceful
predominance of Roman interests and influence, and to secure them
against external dangers. It was true grand strategy which, instead of
attempting any annexation of Antiochus’s normal domains, simply
compelled him to retire behind an ideal strategic boundary—the Taurus
mountains, and built up a series of sovereign buffer States as a second
line of defence between the Taurus range and the Ægean Sea. These were
definitely the allies of Rome and not her subjects, and Asia Minor was
organised for security by strengthening and rewarding the allies who had
been faithful throughout the war. How might the course of history have
been changed had not Scipio’s successors reversed his policy and entered
upon the fateful path of annexation? When the barbarian invasions came
they found the Mediterranean world composed of States so thoroughly
Romanised that they had long since forgotten the feel of their fetters,
yet from this one fact so atrophied as to be a drain and a weakness to
Rome. Instead of the ring of virile outposts planned by Scipio, a ring
of political eunuchs.
It is an amusing last comment on the settlement with Antiochus, and the
removal of the last danger to Rome in the Mediterranean, that on Lucius
Scipio’s return to Rome “he chose to be called Asiaticus, that he might
not be inferior to his brother in point of a surname.” He also took
steps to ensure that his “triumph” was more splendid in display than
that of Africanus over Carthage. The only reward of Africanus was that
for a third time he was nominated Prince of the Senate.
Footnote 10:
Polybius’s version is, “having not only submitted to the bridle, but
allowed the rider to mount”—and while less graphic it sounds more to
the point, and more probable.
CHAPTER XV.
DUSK.
The moderation and far-sighted policy of Scipio, which had undermined
his influence in the years succeeding Zama, was now to cause his
political ruin. The sequence of events is somewhat hazy, but their
outline is clear. The narrow-minded party, led by Cato, who could not be
content with the disarming of the enemy but demanded their destruction,
were so chagrined at this fresh peace of mercy and wisdom that they
vented their anger on its author. Unable to revoke the peace, they
schemed to compass the downfall of Scipio, and fastened on the
suggestion of bribery as the most plausible charge. Perhaps, quite
honestly, men like Cato could conceive no other cause for generosity to
a vanquished foe. However, they seem to have been clever enough not to
assail the stronger brother first, but rather, aiming at weakness
instead of strength, to strike at Africanus indirectly through his
brother.
The first move seems to have been the prosecution of Lucius for
misappropriation of the indemnity paid by Antiochus. Africanus was so
indignant at the charge that, when his brother was in the act of
producing his account books, he took them from him, tore them in pieces,
and threw them on the floor of the Senate house. This action was unwise,
but very human. Let any one put himself in the place of a man who by
unparalleled services had rescued Rome from a deadly menace on her very
hearth, and raised her to be the unchallenged and unchallengeable
mistress of the world, and then, as he said indignantly, to be called on
to account for four million sesterces when through him the treasury had
been enriched by two hundred million. We must remember, too, that Scipio
was a man suffering from an illness, soon to cause his death, and sick
men are inclined to be irritable. Doubtless, too, that supreme
self-confidence which marked him developed in later and sickness-ridden
years into something approaching arrogance. Thus Polybius tells us that
on one occasion, whether this or at the trial later, he bitingly
retorted that, “It ill became the Roman people to listen to accusations
against Publius Cornelius Scipio, to whom his accusers owed it that they
had the power of speech at all.” He had refused regal power when it had
been thrust upon him, and been content to remain a private citizen, but
he expected some measure of special consideration for his supreme
services.
The defiant act, however, gave his enemies the opportunity they had
longed for. Two tribunes, the Petilii, instigated by Cato, began a
prosecution against him for taking a bribe from Antiochus in return for
the moderation of his peace terms. The news set all Rome aflame with
excitement and discussion. “Men construed this according to their
different dispositions; some did not blame the plebeian tribunes, but
the public in general that could suffer such a process to be carried on”
(Livy). A frequent remark was that “the two greatest States in the world
proved, nearly at the same time, ungrateful to their chief commanders;
but Rome the more ungrateful of the two, because Carthage was subdued
when she sent the vanquished Hannibal into exile, whereas Rome, when
victorious, was for banishing the conqueror Africanus.”
The opposing party argued that no citizen should stand so high as not to
be answerable for his conduct, and that it was a salutary tonic that the
most powerful should be brought to trial.
When the day appointed for the hearing came, “never was either any other
person, or Scipio himself—when consul or censor,—escorted to the Forum
by a larger multitude than he was on that day when he appeared to answer
the charge against him.” The case opened, the plebeian tribunes sought
to offset their lack of any definite evidence by raking up the old
imputations about his luxurious Greek habits when in winter quarters in
Sicily and about the Locri episode. The voices were those of the
Petilii, but the words were clearly Cato’s. For Cato had not only been
the disciple of Fabius, but himself in Sicily had made the unfounded
allegations which the commission of inquiry had refuted. Then after this
verbal smoke-cloud, they discharged the poison gas. For want of evidence
they pointed to the restoration of his son without ransom, and to the
way Antiochus had addressed his peace proposals to Scipio. “He had acted
towards the consul, in his province, as dictator, and not as lieutenant.
Nor had he gone thither with any other view than it might appear to
Greece and Asia, as had long since been the settled conviction of Spain,
Gaul, Sicily, and Africa, that he alone was the head and pillar of the
Roman power; that a State which was mistress of the world lay sheltered
under the shade of Scipio; and that his nods were equivalent to decrees
of the Senate and orders of the people.”
A cloud of words have rarely covered a poorer case, their purpose, as
Livy remarks, to “attack by envy, as much as they can, him out of the
reach of dishonour.” The pleading having lasted until dusk, the trial
was adjourned until next day.
Next morning when the tribunes took their seat and the accused was
summoned to reply, the answer was characteristic of the man. No proof
was possible either way, and besides being too proud to enter into
explanations, he knew they would be wasted on his enemies as on his
friends. Therefore, with the last psychological counter-stroke of his
career, he achieves a dramatic triumph.
“Tribunes of the people, and you, Romans, on the anniversary of this day
I fought a pitched battle in Africa against Hannibal and the
Carthaginians, with good fortune and success. As, therefore, it is but
decent that a stop be put for this day to litigation and wrangling, I am
going straightway to the Capitol, there to return my acknowledgments to
Jupiter the supremely great and good, to Juno, Minerva, and the other
deities presiding over the Capitol and citadel, and will give them
thanks for having, on this day, and at many other times, endowed me both
with the will and ability to perform extraordinary services to the
commonwealth. Such of you also, Romans, who choose, come with me and
beseech the gods that you may have commanders like myself. Since from my
seventeenth year until old age, you have always anticipated my years
with honour, and I your honours with services.”
Thereupon he went up towards the Capitol, and the whole assembly
followed; at last, even the clerks and messengers, so that his accusers
were left in a deserted forum. “This day was almost more famous owing to
the favour of the Romans towards him, and their high estimation of his
real greatness, than that on which he rode through Rome in triumph over
Syphax and the Carthaginians.” “It was, however, the last day that shone
with lustre on Publius Scipio. For, as he could foresee nothing but the
prosecutions of envy, and continual dispute with the tribunes, the trial
being adjourned to a future day, he retired to his estate at Liternum,
with a fixed determination not to attend the trial. His spirit was by
nature too lofty, and habituated to such an elevated course of fortune,
that he did not know how to act the part of an accused person, or stoop
to the humble deportment of men pleading their cause” (Livy).
When the adjourned trial took place, and his name was called, Lucius
Scipio put forward sickness as the cause for his brother’s absence. The
prosecuting tribunes refused to admit this, contending that it was
merely his habitual disregard of the laws, and reproached the people for
following him to the Capitol and for their lack of determination now:
“We had resolution enough, when he was at the head of an army and a
fleet, to send into Sicily ... to bring him home, yet we dare not now
send to compel him, though a private citizen, to come from his country
seat to stand his trial.” They failed, however, to carry their point. On
Lucius appealing to the other tribunes of the commons, the latter moved
that, as the excuse of sickness was pleaded, this should be admitted,
and the trial again adjourned. One, however, Tiberius Gracchus,
dissented, and the assembly, knowing that there had been friction
between him and Scipio, expected a more severe decision. Instead he
declared that, “Inasmuch as Lucius Scipio had pleaded sickness in excuse
for his brother, that plea appeared to him sufficient; that he would not
suffer Publius Scipio to be accused until he returned to Rome, and even
then, if Scipio appealed to him, he would support him in refusing to
stand his trial. That Publius Scipio, by his great achievements, by the
honours received from the Roman people, by the joint consent of gods and
men, had risen to such a height of dignity that, were he to stand as a
criminal under the rostrum and afford a hearing to the insults of young
men, it would reflect more disgrace on the Romans than on him.”
Livy adds that Gracchus followed up his decree by a speech of
indignation: “Shall Scipio, the famous conqueror of Africa, stand at
your feet—tribunes? Was it for this he defeated and routed in Spain four
of the most distinguished generals of Carthage and their four armies?
Was it for this he took Syphax prisoner, conquered Hannibal, made
Carthage tributary to you, and removed Antiochus beyond the Taurus
mountains—that he should crouch under two Petilii? That you should gain
the palm of victory over Publius Africanus?” This speech, as well as his
decree, made so strong an impression that the Senate called a special
meeting and bestowed the warmest praise on Gracchus “for having
consulted the public good in preference to private animosity.” The
prosecutors met with general hostility, and the prosecution was dropped.
“After that there was silence concerning Africanus. He passed the
remainder of his life at Liternum, without a wish to revisit the city,
and it is said that when he was dying he ordered his body to be buried
there ... that even his obsequies might not be performed in his
ungrateful country.”
That he died in voluntary exile at Liternum, probably in 183 B.C., seems
assured, but his burial-place is less certain, and monuments of him
existed both at Liternum and Rome. At the time of his death he was only
fifty-two years of age. By a fitting coincidence his great rival,
Hannibal, also died about the same time, and probably in the same
year—at the age of sixty-seven. He had escaped, after Magnesia, to
Crete, and then taken refuge with Prusias of Bithynia. The Roman Senate
had the good sense to realise that it was beneath their dignity to harry
him from his last refuge, but the local commander, Flaminius, thought to
gain distinction by instigating Prusias to murder his trusting guest.
Hannibal thereupon defeated the assassins by taking poison.
Even after Scipio’s death, his enemies could not rest. It rather
“increased the courage of his enemies, the chief of whom was Marcus
Porcius Cato, who even during his life was accustomed to sneer at his
splendid character.” Instigated by Cato, the demand was pressed for an
inquiry into the disposal of Antiochus’s tribute. Lucius was now the
direct target, though his brother’s memory was still the indirect.
Lucius and several of his lieutenants and staff were arraigned. Judgment
was made against them, and when Lucius declared that all the money
received by him was in the treasury, and therefore refused to give
security for repayment, he was ordered to prison. His cousin, Publius
Scipio Nasica, made a strong and convincing protest, but the prætor
declared that he had no option, in view of the judgment, so long as
Lucius refused repayment. Gracchus again intervened to save his personal
enemies from disgrace. Using his tribunitiary authority, he ordered
Lucius’s discharge on account of his services to Rome, and decreed
instead that the prætor should levy the sum due from Lucius’s property.
The prætor thereupon sent to take possession of it, “and not only did no
trace appear of money received from Antiochus, but the sum realised by
the sale of his property did not even equal the amount of the fine”
(Livy). This convincing proof of the Scipios’ innocence caused a
revulsion of public feeling, “and the public hatred which had been
directed against the Scipios recoiled on the prætor, his advisers, and
the accusers.”
That his name should have been cleared after death was, however, no
consolation to the last years of Africanus. “Ingratitude towards their
great men is the mark of strong peoples”—so the proverb runs. Little
wonder that Rome attained the sovereignty of the ancient world.
CHAPTER XVI.
ROME’S ZENITH.
There is perhaps no military dictum so universally quoted as Napoleon’s
“Read and reread the campaigns of Alexander, Hannibal, Cæsar, Gustavus
Adolphus, Turenne, Eugène, and Frederick; take them for your model, that
is the only way of becoming a great captain, to obtain the secrets of
the art of war.” In another of his maxims he said, “Knowledge of the
great operations of war can only be acquired by experience and by the
applied study of all the great captains. Gustavus, Turenne, and
Frederick, as well as Alexander, Hannibal, and Cæsar, have all acted on
the same principles.”
Here Napoleon appears to single out a list of six, or possibly seven,
commanders who stand out as supreme in the history of warfare. Whether
consciously or unconsciously, there has been a general tendency among
students of war to accept Napoleon’s list as a standard classification
of merit—not merely a haphazard mention—when completed by the addition
of his own name. True, some have felt the absurdity of counting Eugène
as worthy to the exclusion of Marlborough, and others have dropped
Turenne because of a perhaps mistaken idea that greatness is synonymous
with vastness of destruction, or for the rather better reason that his
record lacked the decisive results gained by his compeers. In this way
one finds that not a few commentators have arrived at a list of three
ancient commanders—Alexander, Hannibal, and Cæsar—and three
modern—Gustavus, Frederick, and Napoleon—as the Himalayan peaks of
military history. That Frederick, with his gross blunders and most
unoriginal “oblique order,” should receive preference over such
consummate artists as Turenne and Marlborough must remain one of the
mysteries of military criticism. This is not the place to deal with the
fallacy. Here we are concerned with the great captains of the ancient
world, and so far as we desire a comparison with the modern, Napoleon
himself affords it, since his supremacy is hardly questioned.
Let us therefore compare Scipio with these three ancient great captains,
by a threefold study and test—as general, as man, and as statesman. Any
such comparison must be based on the conditions these men had to deal
with, and on the skill with which they turned these conditions to their
advantage.
Alexander, and to a hardly less degree Cæsar, enjoyed the immense asset
of having autocratic power, complete control over the forces and
resources available. Even Hannibal, if poorly supported, was immune from
the petty interference with his operations against which Scipio, like
Marlborough later, had to contend.
Alexander’s victories were won over Asiatic hordes, whose lack of
tactical order and method offset their numerical superiority, and as
Napoleon demonstrated in his well-known comment on the Mamelukes, the
defects of Asiatic troops increased in ratio with their numbers. No
critic places Clive in the first rank of great captains, and but for the
clear brilliance of his manœuvres and the scale of his conquests
Alexander would suffer a like discount. Cæsar, also, was hardly more
than an able “sepoy general” until Ilerda and Pharsalus, and, as he
himself is said to have remarked, he went “to Spain to fight an army
without a general, and thence to the East to fight a general without an
army.” And even so, Cæsar found himself, owing to an unwise dispersion
of force, twice forced to fight under the handicap of inferior strength.
In the first, at Dyrrhacium, he suffered defeat, and though he atoned
for it at Pharsalus, this single first-class victory is a slender base
on which to build a claim to supreme generalship.
But if we are to accept Napoleon’s dictum that “in war it is not men but
the man who counts,” the most significant fact is that both Alexander
and Cæsar had their path smoothed for them by the feebleness and
ignorance of the commanders who opposed them. Only Hannibal, like
Scipio, fought consistently against trained generals, and even as
between these the advantage of conditions is on Hannibal’s side. For his
three decisive victories—the Trebia, Trasimene, and Cannæ—were won over
generals not only headstrong and rash, but foolishly disdainful of any
tactics which savoured of craft rather than of honest bludgeon work.
Hannibal knew this well—witness his remark to the troops who were to lie
concealed for the flank attack at the Trebia, “You have an enemy blind
to such arts of war.” Flaminius and Varro were mental Beefeaters, and
their names are instinctively bracketed in history with those of
Tallard, Daun, Beaulieu, and MacMahon. Hannibal taught the Romans the
art, as distinct from the mechanism, of war, and once they had profited
by his instruction his successes were limited. Marcellus and Nero were
capable of winning tricks off him, and if they could not take a rubber
neither could Hannibal. But in surveying Scipio’s record, not only do we
find his tactical success unchequered, but that his opponents from the
outset were generals trained in the Barcine school, and all the evidence
goes to show that Hannibal’s brothers, Hasdrubal and Mago, were no mean
commanders. And the apex of Scipio’s career, Zama, is unique in history
as the only battle where one acknowledged great captain has, on his own,
defeated another decisively.
Thus if conditions, and the extent to which they are not only met but
turned to advantage, be the test, Scipio’s pre-eminence is clear.
If the quality of a general’s art be the test, universal opinion
concedes that Hannibal excelled Alexander and Cæsar. Alexander’s
victories were rather triumphs of method, calculations working out with
straightforward precision, but unmarked by any subtle variations and
traps for the enemy. In Alexander, for all his greatness, still lingered
traces of the Homeric hero, the glorification of the physical elements
at the expense of the mental. It was this knight-errantry which led him
to stake his life so often in the forefront of the battle, needlessly
risking thereby the collapse of his plans and the lives of his army. To
him might well be applied the rebuke made by Timotheus to Chares, when
the former remarked: “How greatly ashamed I was at the siege of Samos
when a bolt fell near me; I felt I was behaving more like an impetuous
youth than like a general in command of so large a force.” This mistaken
Bayardism, too, explains the absence of the subtler artistry in his
battles—it is epitomised in his rejection of Parmenio’s proposal to
attack Darius by night at Arbela, on the ground that he would not “steal
a victory.” Cæsar’s plans were assuredly more difficult to guess, but he
did not “mystify, mislead, and surprise” to anything like the degree
that Hannibal attained. So general is the recognition of Hannibal’s
genius in this battle art that he is commonly termed the supreme
tactician of history. Yet in ruse and strategem the record of Scipio’s
battles is even richer. Recall the unfortified front, the timing of the
direct assault, and the lagoon manœuvre at Cartagena; the double
envelopment and reversal of adverse ground conditions at Bæcula. The
change of hour and of dispositions, the refused centre, the double
oblique, and the double convergent flank blows at Ilipa. As Colonel
Denison notes in his ‘History of Cavalry,’ Ilipa is “generally
considered to be the highest development of tactical skill in the
history of Roman arms.” I would suggest that the student of war, if he
considers it as a whole—from the mental opening moves to the physical
end of the pursuit,—cannot but regard it as without a peer in all
history. Continuing, observe the use of ground first to counter his
enemy’s numbers and then to force him to fight separated battles, as
well as the wide turning movement, against Andobales. Watch Scipio
luring on his enemy into the ambush at Salæca; study his masterpiece in
firing the Bagradas camps—the feint at Utica, the sounding of the
evening call, the timing of and distinction between the two attacks, and
the subtlety with which he gains possession of the main obstacle, the
gates of the Carthaginian camp, without a struggle. Note, later, his
novel use of his second and third lines as a mobile reserve for
envelopment at the Great Plains, and the chameleon-like quickness with
which he translates his art into the naval realm when he frustrates the
attack on his fleet. Finally, at Zama, where he is confronted with an
opponent proof against the more obvious if more brilliant stratagems, we
see his transcendent psychological and tactical judgment in his more
careful but subtly effective moves—the “lanes” in his formation, and the
synchronised trumpet blast to counter the elephants; the deliberate
“calling off” of the _hastati_; the calculated change of dispositions by
which he overlaps Hannibal’s third, and main, line; the pause by which
he gains time for the return of his cavalry, and their decisive blow in
Hannibal’s rear.
Is there such another collection of gems of military art in all history?
Can even Hannibal show such originality and variety of surprise?
Moreover, if Hannibal’s “collection” in open battle is somewhat less
full than Scipio’s, in two other essentials it is bare. Even his devoted
biographers admit that siegecraft, as with Frederick, was his weakness,
and he has nothing to set off against Scipio’s storm of Cartagena,
which, weighed by its difficulties, its calculated daring and skill, and
its celerity, has no parallel ancient or modern.
The other and more serious void in Hannibal’s record is his failure to
complete and exploit his victories by pursuit. Nowhere does he show a
strategic pursuit, and the lack of even a tactical pursuit after the
Trebia and Cannæ is almost unaccountable. In contrast we have Scipio’s
swift and relentless pursuit after Ilipa, and hardly less after the
battle on the Great Plains—which alike for range and decisiveness are
unapproached until Napoleon, if then. In ancient times Scipio has but
one possible rival, Alexander, and in his case there was repeatedly an
interregnum between the tactical and the strategic pursuit, which caused
a distinct debit against his economy of force. For his turning aside
after Issus a strategic argument can be made out, but for his delay
after Granicus and Arbela there appears no cogent reason save possibly
that of distance—the fact at least remains that his campaigns offer no
pursuit so sustained and complete as that down the Bætis, or
Guadalquiver. It may be suggested that Scipio did not always pursue as
after the two battles cited. But an examination of his other battles
show that pursuit was usually either rash or unnecessary—rash after
Bæcula, where he had two fresh armies converging on him, and unnecessary
after Zama, where there was no enemy left to be a danger.
From tactics we pass to strategy, and here a preliminary demarcation and
definition may simplify the task of forming a judgment. Strategy is too
often considered to comprise merely military factors, to the
overshadowing of the political and economic, with which it is
interwoven. The fallacy has been responsible for incalculable damage to
the fabric of warring nations. When such critics speak of strategy, they
are thinking almost solely of logistical strategy—the combination in
time, space, and force of the military pieces on the chessboard of war.
Between logistical strategy and chess there is a distinct analogy. But
on a higher plane, and with a far wider scope, is grand strategy, which
has been defined as “the transmission of power in all its forms in order
to maintain policy.” “While strategy is more particularly concerned with
the movement of armed masses, grand strategy, including these movements,
embraces the motive forces which lie behind them, material and
psychological.... The grand strategist we see is, consequently, also a
politician and a diplomatist.”[11]
As a logistical strategist Napoleon is unrivalled in history—save
possibly by the Mongol, Subutai, from what we can piece together of the
scanty records of his campaigns. The ancients suffer, in common with the
modern precursors of Napoleon, the handicap that the organisation of
armies in their day did not permit of the manifold combinations that he
effected, a handicap which persisted until the divisional system was
born in the late eighteenth century, beginning with De Broglie.
Previously we find detachments, or occasionally, as in Nero’s classic
move to the Metaurus against Hasdrubal, a two-army combination, but the
scope and variation of such combination were inevitably narrow until
armies came to be organised in self-contained and independent strategic
parts—the modern division or army corps—just in time for the genius of
Napoleon to exploit these new possibilities. But within the inherent
limitations of pre-Napoleonic times, Scipio develops a range of
strategical moves which, it may be fairly claimed, is unequalled in the
ancient world. The hawk-like swoop on Cartagena, so calculated that none
of the three Carthaginian armies could succour their base in time. The
hardly less bold and calculated blow at Hasdrubal Barca before either
Hasdrubal Gisco or Mago could effect a junction—how closely the margin
of time worked out we know from Polybius. Nor is there any doubt whether
these strategic moves were deliberate, as in many ascribed to ancient
commanders on supposition by military critics who view old theatres of
war through modern spectacles. Polybius and Livy both tell us that these
calculations were in Scipio’s mind. Again, the way in which Scipio stood
guard over Hasdrubal Gisco while his detachment under Silanus moved and
fell on Hanno and Mago before they had word of his approach. Swift as
the march, as thorough was the defeat.
Next, the master move leading to Ilipa, whereby his direction of advance
cut Hasdrubal and Mago off from their line of communication with Gades,
which in the event of their defeat meant that retreat to their fortified
base was barred by the river Bætis (Guadalquiver). The upshot showed
both the truth of his calculation and the proof of the fact—the result
was the annihilation of the Carthaginian armies. This seems the first
clear example in history of a blow against the strategic flank. Here is
born the truth which Napoleon was to crystallise in his cardinal maxim
that “the important secret of war is to make oneself master of the
communications.” Its initiation is sometimes claimed for Issus, but at
best Alexander’s manœuvre was on the battlefield, not in strategic
approach, while the simple explanation is that the sea prevented a move
on the other flank and that the bend in the river Pinarus dictated the
direction of it.
Admittedly Scipio’s strategic intention at Ilipa is a hypothesis, and
not definitely stated in Livy or Polybius; but the established facts of
the advance, and still more of its sequel, form a chain of indirect
evidence that could not be firmer. Even Dodge, one of Scipio’s
consistent detractors, emphasises this threat to the strategic flank.
Before passing on to his African campaigns, we may note Scipio’s
anticipation of, and trap for Hannibal at Locri. Then note how, on
landing in Africa, his first care is to gain a secure base of
operations, fulfilling the principle of security before he passes to the
offensive. See him baulk the enemy’s superior concentration of strength
by the “Torres Vedras” lines near Utica. Note the rapidity with which he
strikes at Hasdrubal and Syphax at the Great Plain, before their new
levies can be organised and consolidated, and how in the sequel he once
more stands guard, this time over Carthage, while his detachment under
Lælius and Masinissa knocks Syphax out of the war. Finally, there is his
move up the Bagradas Valley by which he simultaneously compels Hannibal
to follow, and facilitates his own junction with Masinissa’s
reinforcement from Numidia. So complete is his mastery on the
strategical chessboard that he even selects the battlefield most
favourable to the qualities of his own tactical instrument. Then, Zama
decided, he pounces on Carthage before the citizens can rally from the
moral shock.
What, if any, mistakes can be set down on the debit side of his
strategy? A study of military commentaries shows that his critics
advance but three—that Hasdrubal Barca and Mago in turn escaped from
Spain, and that Scipio did not lay siege to Carthage immediately on
landing in Africa. The obvious reply is to ask how many times did
Darius, a far more vital personal factor, escape Alexander, why Cæsar
let slip Pompey after Pharsalus, or Hannibal fail to move on Rome after
Trasimene or Cannæ—there were far less adequate reasons. But apart from
the extreme difficulty of catching an individual without an army, it is
hoped that the earlier chapters may have disposed of these empty
criticisms. Even after Bæcula, Scipio was still markedly inferior in
strength to the Carthaginian forces in Spain, and further, Hasdrubal was
only able to elude Scipio’s watch and cross the Pyrenees with so weak a
contingent that he was forced to recruit in Gaul for two years before he
could advance on Italy. Mago’s escape was still more an individualistic
effort. As for the question of an immediate advance on Carthage, Scipio
would have been an impetuous fool, not a general, if he had laid siege
to so vast a fortified city as Carthage with the small original force
that he carried into Africa. The clearest proof of his wisdom in first
seeking a secure base of operations lies in the overwhelming enemy
concentration from which he only escaped by his foresight in forming his
“Torres Vedras” lines.
In Alexander’s record even his modern biographers do not suggest any
notable examples of logistical strategy, apart from certain swift
marches such as that from Pelium on Thebes. There are no combinations or
checks to enemy combination. His strength lies in his grand strategy, of
which we shall speak later.
With Hannibal, too, his logistical strategy is mainly a matter of direct
marches and of admirable care to secure his communications, apart from
the very disputable purpose of his move on the line of the Po which, in
effect, separated the elder Scipio from Sempronius, his fellow-consul;
and secondly, his feint at Rome in the attempt to relieve the pressure
on his allies at Capua, which, though clearly intended, was abortive.
Against these must be set, first, the fact that the advantage of his
hazardous march over the Alps was foiled of its purpose by the elder
Scipio’s quicker return from the Rhone by the Riviera route; second, the
fact that he failed to prevent the junction of Sempronius with Scipio on
the Trebia. Later, there are, among other indisputable failures, the
neglect to exploit Cannæ even by the seizure of Canusium, let alone a
thrust at Rome; the times his moves were parried by Fabius and
Marcellus; Nero’s brilliant deception by which Hannibal remained
stationary and in the dark, while his brother was being crushed on the
Metaurus. Finally, we see him outmanœuvred by Scipio in the preliminary
moves before Zama. Outstandingly great as a tactician, Hannibal is not
impressive as a strategist; less so, indeed, than several of Scipio’s
forerunners among the Roman generals.
Cæsar, in contrast, stands out more in logistical strategy than in
tactics. But classic as are many of his moves in Gaul one has to
remember that they were made against barbarians, not trained generals
such as those with whom Scipio, Hannibal, Nero, and Marcellus had to
contend. Against Pompey’s lieutenants in Spain he extricated himself
with surpassing skill from a critical position, into which perhaps he
should not have got. Then in Greece he threw away his superiority of
force by dispersion, and suffered a severe defeat at Dyrrhacium, nearly
disastrous as he confessed when he said: “To-day the victory had been
the enemy’s, had there been any one among them to gain it.” His retreat
was a masterly feat, if we overlook the quality of his opponents, but
later he failed in his attempt to prevent the junction of Pompey and
Scipio Nasica, and had to fight at Pharsalus without his detachments
against a concentrated force. That his tactics turned the balance does
not affect the reflection on his strategy.
If Scipio, then, may be given the palm for logistical strategy among the
ancients, how does he compare with Napoleon? We could adopt the
historical argument that a man must be judged by the conditions and
tools of his time, pointing out not only the indivisible organisation
with which Scipio had to work, but that he was a pioneer where Napoleon
had the experience of ages to build on. But we prefer rather to abandon
this sound and normal test, which inevitably negatives true comparison,
and admit frankly Napoleon’s supremacy in this sphere. The scales are
amply balanced by Scipio’s superiority as a tactician. By wellnigh
universal opinion Napoleon’s tactics were below his strategical level,
and it is this compensating factor which has led military criticism to
bracket Hannibal with Napoleon among the great captains—a factor which
we suggest applies still more in Scipio’s favour compared with Napoleon.
From logistical strategy we come to grand strategy. This lies in the
domain of peace as much as in war, and hence for simplicity it may be
well to deal with the grand strategy which contributed to the winning of
wars, and reserve for our study of Scipio as statesman that part of his
grand strategy which had its goal in the subsequent peace.
If our examination of the years 210-190 B.C. has achieved its historical
purpose, it should be clear that Scipio showed an understanding of war
in its three spheres—mental, moral, and physical, and of their
interplay, such as is just dawning on the most progressive
politico-military thought of to-day. Further, he translated this
understanding into effective action in a way that we may possibly
achieve in the next great war—more probably, we shall be fortunate to
get out of the physical rut by 2000 A.D.
For proof of this claim look at the progressive and co-ordinated steps
by which, starting from the valley in Rome’s darkest hour, he climbs
steadily and surely upwards to the summit of his aims, and plants Rome’s
flag on the sunlit peaks of earthly power. Scipio is a mountaineer, not
a mere athlete of war. The vision that selects his line of approach, and
the diplomatic gifts which enable him to surmount obstacles, are for him
what rock-craft is to a climber. His realisation of the importance of
securing his base for each fresh advance is his snow-craft, and his
employment of military force his ice-axe.
Watch him, on arrival in Spain, make wide inquiries about the position
of the Carthaginian forces, and the importance and topography of
Cartagena. His genius tells him that here is the base and pivot of the
Carthaginian power in Spain, and shows him the feasibility, the way, and
the effect of such a stroke—at the moral and economic rather than the
purely military objective.
Cartagena gained, note the wisdom which by conciliating the citizens
secures his acquisition against internal treachery, and further enables
him to economise the garrison by converting the citizens into active
partners in the defence. What a diplomatic coup is the prompt release
and care of the Spanish hostages. If Napoleon’s presence was worth an
army corps, Scipio’s diplomacy was literally worth two. It converted
allies of the enemy into allies of his own.
There was grand strategy, too, in his wise restraint from a further
advance, in order to allow the moral and political effect of Cartagena
and its sequel to develop. Thus Hasdrubal Barca, seeing the Spanish sand
trickling fast from his end of the hour-glass to Scipio’s, was drawn
into the offensive move which enabled Scipio to beat him before the
other Carthaginian armies came up. Once more victory paves the way for
diplomacy, as that in turn will pave the way for further victories. He
sends home the Spanish captives without ransom, and, still more
shrewdly, returns Masinissa’s nephew loaded with presents—surely never
in history has the money invested in presents brought a greater ultimate
dividend.
Next, note the rapidity with which Scipio nips in the bud the incipient
threat from Hanno, and in contrast the constraint by which he avoids
wasting his force on a number of petty sieges which could bring no
commensurate profit. The wider effect of Scipio’s action in Spain also
deserves notice, for Livy tells us that this year Hannibal in Italy was
for the first time reduced to inaction, because he received no supplies
from home owing to Carthage being more anxious about the retention of
Spain.
Scipio’s grand strategy was from now onwards to lift the pressure off
Rome in ever-increasing degree. His success in Spain compelled the
Carthaginians to invest there the forces that might have been decisive
in Italy, and at Ilipa he wipes them off the military balance-sheet.
The instant that victory in Spain is sure, and before turning to the
mere clearing operations, his grand strategical eye focusses itself on
Africa. His daring visit to Syphax, his meeting with and despatch of
Masinissa to Numidia—here are two strings to a bow which shall soon
loose a shaft at the heart of Carthage. For an object-lesson in the
selection of the true objective, and its unswerving maintenance in face
of all obstacles and perils, the next few years are a beacon light for
all time. He schemes, he prepares, he works unceasingly towards the
goal. The military interference of the enemy is almost the least of his
difficulties. Sexual passion frustrates one of his shrewdest diplomatic
moves, but his plan is too flexible, too well conceived, for even this
blow to have more than a transient effect. Jealous rivals, short-sighted
politicians, military “die-hards” do their best, or worst, to block his
plan, and failing in this, to obstruct him and curtail his strength. He
builds and trains a fresh army out of adventurers and disgraced troops.
Yet he never makes a rash or a false move, mindful always of the
principle of security. By diplomacy again he creates in Sicily a sure
source of supply. He sends a reconnoitring expedition to clear up the
African situation, and appreciating Masinissa’s material weakness,
refuses to be rushed into a move before his own weapon is forged. When
he lands, his first efforts are directed to gain a secure base of
operations. And gauging exactly the strength and weakness of Carthage
and of his own position, he adapts consummately his immediate end to his
existing means. Each successive move is so directed as to subtract from
the military and political credit of Carthage and transfer the balance
to his own account. His restraint when this ultimate goal is so close in
mileage, though not in reality, is almost miraculous in a commander so
youthful and so early successful. But he has long realised that Syphax
and Masinissa are the two props of the Carthaginian power in Africa, and
before he attempts to turn this power out of its seat his first aim is
to upset its stability, by taking away one prop and knocking away the
other. Just as he has gained this end, passion once more intervenes to
threaten his military achievement as it previously thwarted his
diplomacy, but the psychological master-move by which he foils
Sophonisba’s wiles averts the danger.
Now assured of security he aims at Carthage itself, and
characteristically pauses in sight of Carthage to achieve, if possible,
the supreme economy of force of a moral victory instead of the drain of
a physical siege. The move succeeds, and Carthage capitulates with
Hannibal still across the seas, helpless to aid. And when by a gross
breach of faith the treaty is violated, Scipio is not caught off his
guard. By a fresh and rapid series of moves, a perfect combination of
military, economic, and psychological pieces, he achieves the checkmate
in a brief span of time. Is there anything in history which for
continuity of policy, combination of forces—material and moral,—and
completeness of attainment can compare with it? Scipio is the embodiment
of grand strategy, as his campaigns are the supreme example in history
of its meaning.
Alexander certainly preceded Scipio as the first grand strategist, but
without arguing the question how far his moral and economic action was
fortuitous rather than marked by the exquisite calculation of Scipio’s,
his task was much simpler, and as a despot he had none of Scipio’s
internal obstacles to surmount. It is, above all, because of the close
parallel with modern conditions, political and organic, that Scipio’s
grand strategy is so living a study for us to-day.
Alexander’s achievements may have excelled Scipio’s in scale—not really
so much, for if Alexander established for himself an empire from the
Danube to the Indus, which collapsed on his death, Scipio built for Rome
an empire which stretched from the Atlantic to the Black Sea and the
Taurus mountains—an empire which endured and increased. And whereas
Alexander built on the foundations laid by Philip, Scipio came on the
scene at a moment when the very foundations of Roman power in Italy were
shaken by a foreign foe. There are grave blemishes, too, on Alexander’s
strategy—while he was consolidating his offensive base in Asia Minor, he
was in acute danger of losing his home base in Europe. By the
disbandment of his fleet he exposed the European coasts to the superior
Persian fleet, and Darius’s one able commander, Memnon, seized the
chance to raise Greece, where the embers of discontent smouldered in
Alexander’s rear. Only Memnon’s death saved Alexander from disaster, and
gained time for him to carry out his plan of crippling Persian sea power
by land attack on their naval bases. Again, by lack of strategical
reconnaissance, Alexander blundered past the army of Darius, lying in
wait in northern Syria, which moved down and cut his communications, a
danger from which he only saved himself, facing about, by tactical
victory at Issus. It is well to contrast this with Scipio’s thorough
strategical reconnaissance and search for information before every move.
If Alexander’s grand strategy has a narrow advantage by the test of
quantity, Scipio’s is clearly superior in quality.
In the comparison of Scipio with Napoleon, if the latter’s superiority
in logistical strategy is recognised, we have to set against this both
his tactical and his grand strategical inferiority. As a grand
strategist Napoleon’s claims are marred not only by his failure to
realise the aim of grand strategy—a prosperous and secure peace,—but by
his several blunders over the psychology of his opponents, over the
political and economic effects of his actions, and in the extravagant
later use of his forces and resources.
Finally, let us point out that while Alexander had the military
foundations laid by Philip to build on, while Hannibal built on
Hamilcar, Cæsar on Marius, Napoleon on Carnot—Scipio had to rebuild on
disaster.
From the comparison of generalship we pass to the comparison of
character. Here, to enumerate at length the qualities which
distinguished Scipio as a man would be wearisome. His moderation, his
self-control, his human sympathy, his charm of manner, his magnetic
influence over troops—shared by all the greatest captains,—his
exaltation of spirit, these have shone through his deeds and speeches.
Of his private life we know little save by inference. He married Æmilia,
daughter of the consul Æmilius Paullus who fell at Cannæ, the marriage
apparently taking place after his return from Spain and before his
departure for Africa.
From the solitary anecdote or two which survive, the marriage seems to
have been a happy one, and Scipio to have shown more deference to his
wife’s opinion than was common at the time. That she had tastes too
expensive for Cato’s liking seems assured; she was probably one of those
leaders of Roman female society against whom he directed his
complaints—that by wearing “a garment of various colours, or riding in a
carriage drawn by horses” in the towns, they would undermine the social
fabric and create discontent. The indulgence shown by Scipio to his
wife, and his breach with tradition in treating her better than his
slave, was certainly one of the factors which rankled in Cato’s mind. Of
the moral influence distilled in the Scipio family life, the best proof
is an indirect one. Their daughter Cornelia was given in marriage to
Tiberius Gracchus, apparently after he had so generously defended
Scipio’s reputation, and was the mother of the Gracchi. The way in which
she carried out their education, and the principles with which she
inspired these future reformers, make one of history’s noblest pages.
Outside the domestic sphere, Scipio’s influence on social history rests
on his love for and introduction of Greek literature and philosophy. “A
man of great intellectual culture,” he could speak and write Greek as
well as he could Latin—he is said to have written his own memoirs in
Greek. To his Greek studies he clearly owed that philosophy of life
which permeates all his recorded acts and sayings. He seems to have
taken the best elements from Greece and Rome, and to have blended
them—refining the crudeness and narrowness of early republican Rome
without diminishing its virility. So marked was his influence that he
may, with some justice, be termed the founder of Roman _civilisation_.
“To him is attributed the rise of manners, the origin of their taste for
propriety, and of their love of letters.” A rather touching instance of
his own love of letters is enshrined in his friendship and admiration
for the poet Ennius, a regard so profound that he left orders that after
his death a bust of the poet should be placed with his in the tomb of
the Scipios. Yet it was this very influence as an apostle of
civilisation and of the humanities that earned him the bitter animosity,
as it stimulated the fear, of Romans of the old school. Cato and his
kind might have forgiven his military success and his self-confidence,
but nothing but his downfall could atone for his crime in introducing
Greek customs, philosophy, and literature. It is not unlikely that this
damaged him, and undermined his influence even more than his contempt
for pettier minds and his moderation to conquered foes. These are the
only charges which his enemies could bring against his character, and in
this fact lies perhaps the strongest proof of his superior moral
nobility. For the malice of an enemy will fasten on any conceivable
weakness, and thus the charges levied against a great man form a
standard of moral measure which is one of the best of comparisons.
From this test Scipio alone of the great captains of antiquity emerges
scatheless of any charge that suggests a definite moral blemish. It is
true that we can discount most of the charges brought against
Hannibal—impiety, avarice, perfidy, and cruelty beyond the customs of
his day. But Alexander, whatever allowance we make in other accusations,
stands convicted of want of self-control, violent outbursts of temper
and prejudice, cruel injustice as to Parmenio, ambitious egotism verging
on megalomania, and ruffianism in his cups. Alexander was tarred with
the brush of Achilles.
Similarly, Cæsar’s many great qualities cannot disguise his sexual
license, his political corruption and intrigue, and the predominantly
selfish motives which inspired his work and achievements. There are
interesting parallels between the careers of Cæsar and Scipio. Compare
Cæsar gaining the province of Gaul by intrigue and threat, Scipio the
province of Spain at the call of his country in the hour of adversity.
Compare Cæsar forming and training an army for the conquest of Rome,
Scipio for the salvation of Rome from her foreign foes. Compare Cæsar
crossing the Rubicon, Scipio the Bagradas—and their objects. Compare
Cæsar receiving the honour of a triumph over fellow-Romans, Scipio over
Syphax and Hannibal. Lastly, if it be true that “a man can be known by
the friends he keeps,” compare Catiline with Lælius and Ennius.
Napoleon’s saying that “Laurels are no longer so when covered with the
blood of citizens,” comes curiously from his lips. For Napoleon’s
ambition drained the blood of France as surely as Cæsar’s spilt the
blood of Rome. It would suffice to strip the laurels from the brows of
both, and enhance the contrast with Scipio, the supreme economist of
blood and of force in the selfless service of his country. It is not
difficult to guess why Napoleon should ignore Scipio in his list of
military models!
By any moral test Scipio is unique among the greater captains,
possessing a greatness and purity of soul which we might anticipate, not
necessarily find, among the leaders of philosophy or religion, but
hardly among the world’s supreme men of action. The clergyman who, a
century ago, was Scipio’s one English biographer, and whose work suffers
by its brevity, its historical slips and the omission of all study of
Scipio as a soldier, had yet one flash of rare insight and epigrammatic
genius when he said that Scipio was “greater than the greatest of bad
men, and better than the reputed best of good ones.”
Last of all we turn to Scipio as statesman—that part of his grand
strategy which lies definitely in the state of peace. The Abbé Seran de
la Tour, who compiled a life of Scipio in 1739, dedicated it to Louis
XV., and in his dedication wrote: “A king has only to take for his model
the greatest man by far in the whole of Roman history, Scipio Africanus.
Heaven itself seems to have formed this particular hero to mark out to
the rulers of this world the art of governing with justice.” The lesson,
we are afraid, was lost on Louis XV., a man who at the council table
“opened his mouth, said little, and thought not at all,” whose life is
as full of vulgar vice as it is bare of higher aims. We suspect the Abbé
of a capacity for subtle sarcasm.
When Scipio came on the stage of history, Rome’s power did not even
extend over the whole of Italy and Sicily, and this narrow territorial
sway was gravely menaced by the encroachments, and still more the
presence, of Hannibal. At Scipio’s death Rome was the unchallenged
mistress of the whole Mediterranean world, without a single possible
rival on the horizon. This period saw by far the greatest expansion in
the whole of Roman history, and it was due either directly to Scipio’s
action, or made possible by him. But if territorially he stands out as
the founder of the Roman Empire, politically his aim was not the
absorption but the control of other Mediterranean races. He followed,
but enlarged, the old Roman policy, his purpose not to establish a
centralised, a despotic empire, but a confederation with a head, in
which Rome should have the political and commercial supremacy, and over
which her will should be paramount. Here lies the close parallel with
modern conditions, which gives to the study of his policy a peculiar and
vital interest. Cæsar’s work paved the way for the decline and fall of
Roman power. Scipio’s work made possible a world community of virile
States, acknowledging the overlordship of Rome, but retaining the
independent internal organs necessary for the nourishment and continued
life of the body politic. Had his successors possessed but a tithe of
the wisdom and vision of Scipio, the Roman Empire might have taken a
course analogous to that of the modern British Empire, and by the
creation of a ring of semi-independent and healthy buffer States around
the heart of Roman power, the barbarian invasions might have been
thwarted, the course of history changed, and the progress of
civilisation have escaped a thousand years of coma and nearly as much of
convalescence.
His peace terms alone would place Scipio on a pinnacle among the world’s
great conquerors—his entire absence of vindictiveness, his masterly
insurance of military security with a minimum of hardship to the
conquered, his strict avoidance of annexation of any civilised State.
They left no festering sores of revenge or injury, and so prepared the
way for the conversion of enemies into real allies, effective props of
the Roman power. In the meaning of Scipio’s name—a “staff”—was
epitomised his grand strategy in war and peace.
The character of his policy was in tune with his character as a man,
disdaining the tinsel glory of annexation as of kingship, for the solid
gold of beneficent leadership. Scipio laboured for the good and
greatness of Rome, but he was no narrow patriot, instead a true world
statesman. The distinction between Scipio and Cæsar has been
crystallised in the phrase, “Zama gave the world to Rome, Pharsalus gave
it to Cæsar,” but even this does not render Scipio full justice, for he
could look beyond the greatness of Rome’s glory to the greatness of her
services to humanity. Not an internationalist, he was a
supra-nationalist in the widest and best sense.
Attila was called the “scourge of the world,” and with a difference only
in degree most of the great captains, from Hannibal to Napoleon, have
had no higher objective conception than to thrash their enemies, or at
best their country’s enemies, into submission. Thus this fallacy paved
the way for a reaction equally shortsighted, which led Green, in his
‘History of the English People,’ to write: “It is a reproach of
historians that they have turned history into a mere history of the
butchery of men by their fellow-men,” and to follow this up by the
absurd declaration that “war plays a small part in the real story of
European nations.” So arose a very large modern school of historians who
sought, irrationally, to write history without mentioning, let alone
studying, war. To ignore the influence of war as a world-force is to
divorce history from science, and to turn it into a fairy tale. The
grand strategy of Scipio is a signpost pointing the true path of
historical study. Scipio could administer military beatings at least as
effectively and brilliantly as any other of the greater captains, but he
saw beyond the beating to its object. His genius revealed to him that
peace and war are the two wheels on which the world runs, and he
supplied a pole or axle which should link and control the two to ensure
an onward and co-ordinated progress. Scipio’s claim to eternal fame is
that he was the staff, not the whip, of Rome and of the world.
Footnote 11:
‘Reformation of War,’ by J. F. C. Fuller.
BIBLIOGRAPHY.
After due reflection and discussion with others, I have decided not to
litter the actual pages of the book with footnote references, but to
list the various historical sources in this bibliographical appendix.
The modern fashion tends to treat an historical study as a literary
card-index rather than as a book to be read, and in many instances this
tendency is carried so far that the footnotes swamp the text. Experience
suggests that even the barest footnote reference is a distraction to the
reader’s eye, and momentarily dams the flow of the narrative through his
mind. For this reason I have omitted references from the actual pages
except where they could be woven into the text, and if some readers hold
that I err in this decision, I can at least plead that I do so in good
company.
The ancient sources—all of which, except Polybius, require to be treated
with critical caution—have been:—
Polybius, X. 2-20, 34-40; XI. 20-33; XIV. 1-10; XV. 1-19; XVI. 23;
XXI. 4-25; XXIII. 14.
Livy, XXI.-XXII., XXV.-XXXIX.
Appian, _Punica_, _Hisp._, _Hann._, _Syr._
Aulus Gellius, IV. 18.
Cornelius Nepos, XXXI.-XXXII.; _Cato_; _Hannibal_.
Plutarch, _Cato_; _Æmilius Paullus_; _Tib. Gracchus_.
Valerius Maximus, III. 7.
_Printed in Great Britain by_
WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS LTD.
● Transcriber’s Notes:
○ Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
○ Footnotes have been moved to follow the chapters in which they are
referenced.
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