VERCINGETORIX, THE HERO PATRIOT

Two thousand years ago no one had ever heard the word “France,” for the country that we call by that name was then known as “Gaul.” It was larger than the France of to-day, for it extended to the Alps and the Rhine River.

On the sunny plains and in the pleasant valleys there were many little villages, mere groups of round huts made of poles bound together at the top, and probably plastered with clay to keep out the wind and cold. On the hills, however, there were often towns with streets of houses framed of stout timbers. There were workshops, too, and in these the Gauls made pottery, different sorts of weapons, and beautifully enameled jewelry.

The Gauls wore tunics of bright-colored plaids and, what seemed queerest to the Romans, they also wore trousers instead of the loosely draped robes or togas of Rome. The Romans actually spoke of the part of Gaul nearest to their own country as “the province that wears trousers.” They were an enterprising people, these Gauls. They built roads from town to town, they laid bridges across the rivers, their heavily laden barges floated down the streams, and the largest vessels on the Mediterranean Sea belonged to Gallic owners. They had valuable mines, and they knew how to work them. They knew a good horse when they saw one, and whenever there was a well-bred steed for sale, there was always a Gaul ready to pay a high price for him.

Many different tribes lived in Gaul, and often there was warfare among them. Then the warriors put on their chain armor, their golden rings and armlets, and their helmets, each made in the shape of the head of some wild beast. They seized their pikes and swords and shields, mounted their prancing horses, and galloped off to battle, great plumes nodding over their helmets as they dashed onward.

In Italy, southeast of Gaul, lived the Romans, the most powerful nation of the age. They ruled nearly all the countries bordering on the Mediterranean Sea. Their capital city was Rome, and there, as in many more of their cities, they had handsome buildings, statues, gardens, robes of silk and the finest wool, jeweled cups, and all sorts of luxuries. Powerful as they were, the Romans felt uneasy when they thought of their Gallic neighbors. Three hundred years earlier, the Gauls had dashed down upon them and had burned their capital. The invaders had finally been driven away, but there was no knowing when they might come again. The Romans already controlled part of Gaul--including the province that wore trousers--and if they could only rule the whole country, they would sleep better nights.

In 58 B. C. the Romans were feeling especially uneasy, because the Germans, who lived on the shores of the Baltic and the North Seas, were breaking into Gaul, killing and destroying wherever they went. If they should succeed in overrunning this country, they would next attack Rome. Just at this time a tribe living in Switzerland decided to cross Gaul and settle near the Atlantic coast. The Gauls begged the Romans to prevent this. It was an excellent opportunity for the Romans, and Julius Cæsar was sent to Gaul with an army.

Cæsar soon obliged the Swiss to return to their old homes; and then he set out to make it clear to the Germans that they would not be allowed to remain in Gaul. He sent to the German chief Ariovistus and asked him to name a place for a parley. The independent young man sent back the message, “If I wanted anything of you, I should go where you were; and if you want anything of me, you must come where I am.” “I am ready to be a good friend to you,” returned Cæsar, “but you may be sure that I shall not overlook any injury to the people of Gaul.” “If you want to fight,” declared Ariovistus, “choose your own time and come on.” Cæsar did “come on,” and he drove the Germans back over the Rhine.

Now the Gauls were bright people, keen and wide-awake. They began to suspect that Cæsar meant not only to drive away the Germans, but to conquer Gaul, and they had no idea of giving up their freedom. Year after year the struggle between Cæsar and the Gauls went on. At length Gaul seemed to be completely subdued, and Cæsar ventured to return to Rome for a short time. This was just the moment for a revolt, and a young chief called Vercingetorix aroused the other chiefs to unite against the invaders. These chiefs chose him to be their leader. Then they stacked their standards and took a solemn oath to be true to their country and to one another.

But when Cæsar returned they soon found out that they could not withstand him in open battle. “We must starve him out,” declared Vercingetorix to his people. “There are a few towns that we can defend, but every other town and even every village that contains any store of grain must be burned to the ground. This is not an easy thing for you to do, but would it be easier to give up your own lives and have your wives and children sold as slaves?” “No, no,” the people shouted, and before the sun had set, twenty villages were already smouldering in their ruins. “Let them burn!” cried the Gauls; “we shall soon have better ones.”

But the people of the town Avaricum begged that their city might be spared. “It is one of the finest towns in all Gaul,” they pleaded, “and there is a marsh on three sides which will serve us well in defense.” Vercingetorix yielded, though unwillingly, and Avaricum was not destroyed.

It was not long before the Romans appeared at the end of a causeway which led across the marsh nearly to Avaricum. They continued this causeway by adding a strong wooden terrace, 330 feet wide and 80 feet high; and on this they built stout sheds of heavy logs, their roofs covered with clay, and also built a high fence or screen. Both sheds and fence were on rollers and were pushed nearer and nearer to the town as the work progressed. They began also a high tower from which the slingers and archers could shoot.

The Gauls, too, had been building towers, and these stood, well filled with soldiers, all along the wall of the town. This wall was too strong for any battering ram to make a hole in it, and as it was built chiefly of stones, it could not be set on fire. Therefore the Romans clutched the great stones with stout hooks and pulled them down; that is, they tried to pull them down, but the Gauls had a discouraging fashion of letting down nooses to catch the hooks, and then pulling them up over the wall. They had another custom which was even more disagreeable, for they poured streams of boiling pitch down upon the heads of their enemies. Nevertheless, the Romans kept hard at work till the tower was nearly finished. Suddenly, a slender thread of smoke was seen, then there was a tongue of fire, and then the woodwork of the terrace burst into flames, for some of the Gauls had been burrowing under it and had set it afire.

Now the Gauls poured out of the gates. A fierce battle was waged, and Avaricum was taken. The Gauls, old men, women, and children, were cut down without mercy. Out of more than forty thousand, only eight hundred escaped. These managed to make their way to the camp of Vercingetorix, a few miles distant. “Keep your courage,” the wise young leader pleaded. “No one can expect to have success always. If Gaul is only united, the whole world cannot overcome her.” The men shouted and clashed their arms in applause, and Vercingetorix set out at once to persuade as many tribes as possible to unite with him against the Roman invaders.

The Gauls fought savagely for their freedom, but at length the time came when they had to withdraw to the hill town of Alesia. Vercingetorix had foreseen that this might be necessary, and therefore he had fortified the town and stored it with provisions, so that if the worst came to the worst, he could retreat to it for a last stand.

On the day after the Gallic leader took possession of Alesia, the watchman on the walls reported, “Cæsar and his troops are encamped before the town. They are digging trenches and heaping up great mounds of earth for the archers.” The Romans worked by day, and by night, too, when the moon was up. They tapped rivers and filled some of the trenches with water. They hid sharp-pointed logs and barbed spikes in low brushwood, and they made a ring of camps nearly around the town. Soon the brave defenders would be entirely shut in.

Vercingetorix now called his cavalry apart. “The Roman works will soon be completed,” he said, “and if we are ever to get help, now is our chance. Do you steal out of the city to-night, and go, every one of you, to his home town. Tell your people that they must stand by us, and when you come back, bring with you every man that can wield a sword. I will do my best to make the food last a month longer. Go.” That night the Gauls slipped out silently from the town and stole up the valleys into the darkness, each going the shortest way to his home town.

The days passed, and little food remained. Vercingetorix watched anxiously for the return of the cavalry. But they had gone on a difficult errand. Some of the tribes were jealous; some were defending themselves from the Germans in their own home towns; some had already yielded to Rome; one tribe declared that they intended to attack Cæsar by themselves, and had no idea of putting themselves under any one’s command. There was much delay, but at length Vercingetorix saw a cloud of dust, and as the sun fell on it, the glitter of pikes. It was the cavalry with many thousands of helpers. Now was the time for a sortie. Vercingetorix had thought of everything. He had made movable huts to shelter his men as they moved forward. He had provided fascines to fill up the trenches. A fierce battle was fought, but the Gauls were at last driven back to Alesia.

Cæsar, then, was besieging Alesia, and beyond his ring of camps was a ring of Gauls who were besieging him. The fresh troops in the ring of Gauls stole silently out of their camp at midnight and drew closer to the Roman works. A sudden blare from their trumpets aroused their friends in the town. Fascines were tossed into the moats, stones flew from the slings, scaling ladders were thrown up, grappling hooks to pull down the ramparts were set to work. But the pointed logs and the spikes and the heavy pikes hurled down upon them by the Romans were more than they could meet, and again the Gauls had to withdraw.

But they did not give up. Once more they dashed upon the Roman forces from the rear, and Vercingetorix, coming down from the town rushed upon them from the front. The Gauls were more in number, but the Romans were more perfectly trained as soldiers. It began to grow dark, and the Gallic newcomers fled into the night. “Back to the town!” commanded Vercingetorix, for the fight was lost, his last struggle for the freedom of Gaul had been made. In the morning he called his chiefs together. “I have fought for my country,” he said, “not for myself, but for all of you. We have lost, but it may be that my death will appease these angry Romans. Kill me if you think best, or give me up alive to Cæsar as a prisoner. Perhaps he will then spare you.”

The other chiefs were men of less noble strain. They talked the matter over. “Vercingetorix will be slain in any case,” they said. “To die with him would be of no good to us or to him. We may as well let his death save our own lives.” So they sent messengers to Cæsar. “We yield,” they said, “and we are ready to surrender to you Vercingetorix, the man who has been our leader in the revolt.”

“Give up your arms,” commanded Cæsar, “and let the under-chiefs come forth.” Then the under-chiefs came out to Cæsar and bowed humbly before him as he sat on a tribunal or raised seat built on a fragment of the wall in front of his camp, and every chief said, “I promise to be faithful to you and to serve you.” Then a trampling of hoofs was heard, and a handsome horse, splendidly caparisoned, galloped through the gateway of the city. On his back was Vercingetorix. Three times he rode around the tribunal; then he sprang lightly to the ground, took off his armor and laid it together with his sword on the ground before Cæsar, bowing himself at the feet of his conqueror. There he knelt, silently begging mercy for his people. Cæsar gazed at him for some moments, then ordered the guards to lead him away.

For six long years the noble Gallic patriot was kept in a dungeon at Rome. Then came the time of Cæsar’s triumphal procession in honor of his victories. The great general rode in a superb chariot drawn by white horses. He wore a robe heavily embroidered with palm leaves, and on his head was a crown of laurel. An ivory scepter was in his hand. The senators of Rome formed his escort and conducted him through the city gates, through the streets, and up to the capitol. Before him were many wagons bearing the spoils of his warfare--gold, silver, precious stones, jewelry and other products, and handiwork of the conquered countries. Then came great models of the cities that had been captured, then long lines of captives, who had now become slaves of the Romans. Behind them walked the leaders whom Cæsar had subdued; and last of them all was the noble Vercingetorix, the man who loved his country better than himself, and who had given himself gladly in the struggle to win her freedom. Even the years in a Roman dungeon had not broken his spirit, and, loaded with chains as he was, he held himself proudly erect. Between him and his conqueror marched the legions of Roman soldiers, singing songs of victory. They were praised and rewarded; but the Gallic patriot was led back to his prison and put to death.