Every minute there was some engagement,
some fresh alarm; the towers were burning, the Eaters of Uncleanness
were leaping across the palisades; their hands would be struck off with
axes; others would hasten up; an iron hail would fall upon the tents.
Galleries of rushen hurdles were raised as a protection against the
projectiles. The Carthaginians shut themselves up within them and
stirred out no more.
Every day the sun coming over the hill used, after the early hours, to
forsake the bottom of the gorge and leave them in the shade. The grey
slopes of the ground, covered with flints spotted with scanty lichen,
ascended in front and in the rear, and above their summits stretched the
sky in its perpetual purity, smoother and colder to the eye than a metal
cupola. Hamilcar was so indignant with Carthage that he felt inclined to
throw himself among the Barbarians and lead them against her. Moreover,
the porters, sutlers, and slaves were beginning to murmur, while neither
people, nor Great Council, nor any one sent as much as a hope. The
situation was intolerable, especially owing to the thought that it would
become worse.
At the news of the disaster Carthage had leaped, as it were, with anger
and hate; the Suffet would have been less execrated if he had allowed
himself to be conquered from the first.
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