torious troops, the Emperor was driven
back in a splendidly equipped chariot, which was surrounded by a number of
pretended captives of rank, some noble Parthian hostages being utilised
for the occasion. At the centre of the bridge the procession halted, and
the crazy prince next indulged in an absurd bombastic harangue, wherein he
congratulated his soldiers on their glorious campaign just concluded, and
declared to them that the famous feats of Xerxes and Darius had at length
been surpassed. Finally, he invited his troops to a magnificent banquet
upon this bridge of boats, an entertainment which lasted till far into the
night and was accompanied by lavish illuminations by land and sea. As
might only have been expected, the feast soon degenerated into a drunken
orgy, wherein every guest from the Master of the Roman world to his
meanest soldier became intoxicated, whilst many persons in their cups lost
their balance and fell into the waters, so that the sounds of music and
revelry throughout the midnight hours were mingled with groans and cries
of drowning men close at hand.

Apart from its senseless extravagance and innate folly, the story of the
bridging of the Baiaean Gulf, of this harnessing of old Ocean, affects us
moderns with astonishment at the extraordinary thoroughness of all the
ancient Roman feats of engineering; had this high road across the Bay been
intended to serve any useful purpose, instead of merely to satisfy the
passing whim of a selfish tyrant, we could have had no choice but to
admire the marvellous speed of the artificers and the completeness of the
scheme undertaken.

Quarter of a century later, and the Mole of Puteoli was destined to become
the scene of another event in the world's history, which has left a far
more enduring impression on mankind than the so-called miracle of
Caligula. In the early spring of the year 62 A.D. there dropped anchor in
the port a certain Alexandrian corn-ship, the _Castor __and__ Pollux_,
coming from Malta after touching at Syracuse and Rhegium (Reggio) on her
way northward. Unnoticed amidst the vast phalanx of shipping that lined
the Mole and filled the broad harbour of Puteoli, the vessel emptied her
cargo on the quay, whilst there also disembarked from her hold a number of
prisoners of no great social consequence, who were on their way to Rome
under the guardianship of a kindly old centurion, named Julius, belonging
to the cohort _Prima Augusta Italica_. Amongst