Even the reËnforcements of Saturninus's troops could not have changed the result of the battle around the ships and the camp on the lake-shore: the die had fallen long before, nay, almost at the moment the conflict began; for the surprise here had been almost more complete than in the assault upon the Idisenhang.

In spite of the chill of the September night, the brave Commander, Nannienus, had had his couch prepared on the high quarter-deck, above the second bank of oars of his bireme; a very simple bed, consisting of a woolen blanket spread over the planks, a coil of rope under his neck and his Breton cloak for a coverlet. In reply to the warning of the colonist from Arbor, who now relieved the helmsman, against the nocturnal coolness of the lake, he had said, smiling:

"Oh, how often I have crossed at night, no more warmly wrapped, between Britain and Gaul! Is the German ocean to be shamed by this fresh water pond? There is no better sleeping potion than the rocking ship beneath me and the stars above! Unfortunately, tonight there is no moon and there are few stars. Strange, this constant calling of the swans. I never supposed there could be so many!"

While thinking of the swan notes, he fell asleep, but they haunted his dreams. He saw countless white, brown, and black swans coming from both sides of the marshy forest against his squadron, raising their wings threateningly as if to strike.

After a long sleep he awoke: gradually, as is natural after healthy slumber, not all at once, his thoughts began to clear. Was he still dreaming? It seemed as if the calling and singing of the swans on both sides actually came nearer, accompanied by a peculiar low whistling, humming, rippling, with now and then a louder splash in the water. Still half asleep he asked the man at the helm: "What is that humming among the rushes?"

"The swans, my lord, the wild swans," replied the helmsman, the old Roman colonist from Arbor. He was a retired member of the Twenty-second Legion, faithful to the CÆsar. "I know it well! I have often seen them at sunset going by thousands to the marshy forests of this lake. They are preparing to migrate."

"No," cried the Breton starting up. "Those are no water birds, the splashing is too loud." Lifting the helmet from his head, he gazed out keenly.

"The night is black as pitch, but look, something is swimming out from the rushes yonder: Swans? No, no!" He tore his sword from its sheath.--"Those are boats! To arms! Raise the anchor! The foe!"

At the same moment a bright light flamed on the Idisenhang, red torches blazed in the camp on the shore; a bundle of burning straw flew over Nannienus's helmet into the half-reefed sail, remained there caught by the folds, while tongues of fire, fanned by the north wind, crept up the sail, the rigging, the mast. Already dark forms were climbing up the sides of the galley from all directions, and wild cries from men, attacked and mortally wounded while sleeping, rang from all the ships and the camp on the lake shore.

Nannienus sprang with flashing sword toward the first man who boarded the galley. But the desperate fellow did not seem to care for his own life. Without heeding or attempting to parry the blow, which came within a hair's breadth of his unprotected head, he thrust a sort of harpoon (that is, a spear eight feet long with a sharp point and a hook curving backward, such as the men threw through holes in the ice on the lake in winter to catch the largest sheatfish) into the Roman's bronze belt, jerked him forward with tremendous force and hurled him overboard.

Nannienus fell into one of the boats of the Alemanni, at the starboard side of his bireme, and striking his head against a thwart, lay stunned for a considerable time. The skiff was empty, all its occupants had boarded the galley. When he regained consciousness, he saw his own ship and most of the other vessels in flames; while his camp on the shore, and even that of Saturninus, high up on the Idisenhang, were burning. Then he perceived that all was lost. Everywhere the remnant of his armada which had escaped the flames was in full flight, pursued by the Barbarians.

He resolved to make his escape to Arbor, and hastily unbuckled the Roman armor that would have betrayed him; his helmet he had lost in his fall. Then, seeing a German mantle lying among the rubbish in the boat, he threw it on, placed himself at the helm (these boats were rowed and steered standing), trimmed the coarse square sail to catch the wind, and was soon flying, unnoticed by the Germans, who recognized the boat as one of their own, across the lake toward Arbor.

Once only, the utmost peril threatened him. He had overtaken a lofty Roman ship whose sails were partly burned, but the fire was evidently being extinguished by the crew. He was on the point of hailing it and ordering the men to take him on board when, to his horror, he perceived that the galley was filled with Alemanni. As he had taken possession of the German boat, they were pursuing on the captured bireme other Roman ships that were flying to Arbor.

He hastily rowed the skiff away from the great vessel, and now perceived that in Arbor, too, a terrible conflagration was rising toward heaven. It was the funeral pyre of Roman rule in the fortress on the lake. Nannienus saw it with terror, turned his boat west southwest, and tried to gain, instead of the lost Arbor, the distant but safe harbor citadel of Constantia.