[1] Having thus pinned the
Romans in, they slung red-hot balls and flung darts carrying lighted straw
over the ramparts of the camp on the thatched roofs of the soldiers' huts.
The wind was high, the fire spread, and amidst the smoke and the blaze the
Gauls again rushed on from all sides to the assault. Roman discipline was
never more severely tried, and never showed its excellence more signally.
The houses and stores of the soldiers were in flames behind them. The
enemy were pressing on the walls in front, covered by a storm of javelins
and stones and arrows, but not a man left his post to save his property or
to extinguish the fire. They fought as they stood, striking down rank
after rank of the Gauls, who still crowded on, trampling on the bodies of
their companions, as the foremost lines fell dead into the ditch. Such as
reached the wall never left it alive, for they were driven forward by the
throng behind on the swords of the legionaries. Thousands of them had
fallen, before, in desperation, they drew back at last.
But Cicero's situation was almost desperate too. The huts were destroyed.
The majority of the men were wounded, and those able to bear arms were
daily growing weaker in number. Caesar was 120 miles distant, and no word
had reached him of the danger. Messengers were again sent off, but they
were caught one after another, and were tortured to death in front of the
ramparts, and the boldest men shrank from risking their lives on so
hopeless an enterprise.
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