uch
conviction, wrought disruption among Hannibal's barbarian tribes. They
defended themselves, but the whole city fell upon them; even the women
and children fought as on that morning when Theron died, and Hannibal's
soldiers, broken into scattered groups, neither seeing nor hearing their
chiefs, fled precipitately toward their camp.

Hannibal ran bellowing with rage, maddened at seeing that the besieged
repelled his troops for the second time. Such was the blindness of his
anger that he rushed in among the enemy, and several times came near
falling beneath their blows.

The day was almost ended. The Saguntine soldiers reached the vicinity of
the camp, while the unarmored citizens scattering throughout the battle
field dispatched the wounded and tried to set fire to the besieging
engines. They would have destroyed them all had it not been for
Maherbal, Hannibal's lieutenant, who came out of the camp with some
cohorts of cavalry. The besieged, unable to resist the cavalry on open
ground, began slowly to retire. When night closed in they reoccupied the
breach, commenting with joyful shouts upon the victory which mitigated
their disappointment over the non-appearance of the Romans.

Actaeon, with those Saguntines who had most distinguished themselves in
the battles, set to work fortifying the city. He explained to the old
men of the Senate how difficult it would be long to defend the opening.
It was impossible to repeat the prodigy of that afternoon many times;
and by the light of torches the people spent the whole night working
behind the breach, throwing down tiled roofs and demolishing walls.

Merchants and slaves, rich city dames and women from the suburbs, all
mingled together, wielding pickaxes, rolling stones and carrying baskets
of clay. Even the Ancients of the Senate took part in this titanic work,
which lasted throughout the night and a great part of the following day.

Euphobias the philosopher, who remained idle in spite of the insults of
those who worked, ironically recalled the memory of the primitive
founders of the city, the Cyclopes who moved stones as big as mountains
and had thrown up the base of the Acropolis.

The labor was not finished until the next afternoon, and at the same
moment the besieging army began to stir. It marched solidly to the
assault, silently, sullenly, revealing the fixed determination of taking
possession at the first onset of that breach which had put them to shame
the day