Quintus Sertorius

On Escaping from Difficult Situations.

When Quintus Sertorius, in the Spanish campaign, desired to cross a river while the enemy were harassing him from the rear, he had his men construct a crescent-shaped rampart on the bank, pile it high with timber, and set fire to it.

When the enemy were thus cut off, he crossed the stream without hindrance.

In like manner Pelopidas the Theban, in the Thessalian war, sought to cross a certain stream.

When Lysander the Spartan was blockaded in the harbor of the Athenians with his entire fleet, since the ships of the enemy were sunk at the point where the sea flows in through a very narrow entrance, he commanded his men to disembark secretly.

Then placing his ships on wheels, he transported them to the neighboring harbor of Munychia.

When Utulius, lieutenant of Quintus Sertorius, was leading a few cohorts up a long narrow road in Spain between two precipitous mountains, and had learned that a large detachment of the enemy was approaching, he had a ditch dug across between the mountains, fenced it with a wooden rampart, set fire to this, and made his escape while the enemy were thus cut off from attacking him.

When Gaius Caesar led out his forces against Afranius in the civil war, and had no means of retreating without danger, he had the first and second lines of battle remain in arms, just as they were drawn up, while the third secretly applied itself to work in the rear, and dug a ditch fifteen feet deep within the line of which the soldiers under the arms withdrew at sunset.

And as good success had Themistocles in his of the fox and hedgehog.

What wise man's oration could ever have done so much with the people as Sertorius' invention of his white hind? Or his ridiculous emblem of pulling off a horse's tail hair by hair? Or as Lycurgus his example of his two whelps? To say nothing of Minos and Numa, both of which ruled their foolish multitudes with fabulous inventions, with which kind of toys that great and powerful beast, the people, are led away.

Again, what city ever received Plato's or Aristotle's laws, or Socrates' precepts? But, on the contrary, what made the Decii devote themselves to the infernal gods, or Q.

Curtius to leap into the gulf, but an empty vainglory, a most bewitching siren? And yet this strange it should be so condemned by those wise philosophers.

The Missouri stones comprise the only stone circle in Morocco.

This burial could be the same one shown to the Roman general Quintus Sartorius by the locals in 82 BC.

According to Greek-Roman biographer Lucius Plutarch, Sartorius found the body of Antaeus buried at the site.

This may not be true, but it does show how much North Africans revered their ancestors.

Sometimes the ambitious power of choice, mistaking proud spring-tide swellings for a regular sea, will settle on some British theme: some old romantic tale by Milton left unsung More often turning to some gentle place within the groves of chivalry, I pipe to shepherd swains, or, seated harp in hand amid reposing knights by a river side or fountain, listen to the grave reports of dire enchantments faced and overcome by the strong mind, and tales of warlike feats, where spear encountered spear, and sword with sword fought, as if conscious of the blazonry that the shield bore, so glorious was the strife: whence inspiration for a song that winds through ever-changing scenes of votive quest, wrongs to redress, harmonious tribute paid to patient courage and unblemished truth, to firm devotion, zeal unquenchable, and Christian meekness hallowing faithful loves.

Sometimes more sternly moved, I would relate how vanquished Mithridates northward passed, and, hidden in the cloud of years, became Odin, the father of a race by whom perished the Roman empire; how the friends and followers of Sertorius, out of Spain flying, found shelter in the Fortunate Isles, and left their usages, their arts and laws, to disappear by a slow gradual death, to dwindle and to perish one by one, starved in these narrow bounds: but not the soul of liberty, which fifteen hundred years survived, and when the European came with skill and power that might not be withstood, did, like a pestilence, maintain its hold, and wasted down by glorious death that race of natural heroes.

Or I would record how, in tyrannic times, some high-souled man, unnamed among the chronicles of kings, suffered in silence for truth's sake; or tell how that one Frenchman, through continued force of meditation on the inhuman deeds of those who conquered first the Indian Isles, went single in his ministry across the ocean, not to comfort the oppressed, but like a thirsty wind to roam about withering the oppressor: how Gustavus sought help at his need in Gallicalia's mines: how Wallace fought for Scotland, left the name of Wallace to be found like a wild flower all over his dear country, left the deeds of Wallace like a family of ghosts to people the steep rocks and river banks, her natural sanctuaries, with a local soul of independence and stern liberty.

Sometimes it suits me better to invent a tale from my own heart, more near akin to my own passions and habitual thoughts: some variegated story, in the main lofty, but the unsubstantial structure melts before the very sun that brightens it, mist into air dissolving.

It's not...

I think it's Pisistratus' sons, or is it Pisistratus, where he finds a tall Athenian woman and he puts her in a chariot and drives her as a way of going, Athena clearly supports me, you know, in that sort of propaganda strategy of like, well, clearly, you know, and Sertorius has a white... heart, a deer, that he says is, you know, giving him secrets from the gods, whispering to him, a deer whisperer.

All of those sorts of clearly fake ideas of like, wow, yeah.

But they're stratagems because people are duped by them and they are convinced by the propaganda aspect of them.

And as good success had Themistocles in his of the fox and hedgehog.

What wise man's oration could ever have done so much with the people as Sertorius' invention of his white hind? Or his ridiculous emblem of pulling off a horse's tail hair by hair? Or as Lycurgus his example of his two whelps? To say nothing of Minos and Numa, both of which ruled their foolish multitudes with fabulous inventions, with which kind of toys that great and powerful beast, the people, are led away.

Again, what city ever received Plato's or Aristotle's laws or Socrates' precepts? But on the contrary, what made the Decii devote themselves to the infernal gods or cue Curtius to leap into the gulf but an empty vainglory, a most bewitching siren? And yet this strange it should be so condemned by those wise philosophers.

For what is more foolish, say they, than for a suppliant suitor to flatter the people, to buy their favour with gifts, to court the applauses of so many fools, to please himself with their acclamations, to be carried on the people's shoulders as in triumph and have a brazen statue in the marketplace? Add to this the adoption of names and surnames, those divine honours given to a man of no reputation and the deification of the most wicked tyrants with public ceremonies.

So in 77 BC, Rome sent him to Spain.

Sertorius had been fighting there since 80 BC.

a Roman rebel holding Spain with the help of native tribes, and he was beating every general Rome sent at him.

Pompey demanded the command even though he still wasn't old enough for high office.

He'd never held a praetorship, and he threatened to keep his army if they refused him, so they gave it to him, which made it one more exception.

He fought Sertorius for years, and it was ugly.

A slow war.

And in the end, Sertorius was only stopped when his own lieutenant, Paperna murdered him around 72 BC.

Sometimes the ambitious power of choice, Mistaking proud spring-tide swellings for A regular sea, will settle on Some British theme, some old romantic tale By Milton left unsung; more often turning To some gentle place within the groves Of chivalry, I pipe to shepherd swains; Or, seated, harp in hand, amid reposing knights By a river-side or fountain, listen to The grave reports of dire enchantments, Faced and overcome by the strong mind, and tales Of warlike feats, where spear encountered spear, And sword with sword fought, as if conscious of The blazonry that the shield bore, so glorious Was the strife: whence inspiration for a song That winds through ever-changing scenes of votive quest, Wrongs to redress, harmonious tribute paid To patient courage and unblemished truth Firm devotion, zeal unquenchable, and Christian meekness hallowing faithful loves.

Sometimes more sternly moved, I would relate how vanquished Mithridates northward passed, and, hidden in the cloud of years, became Odin, the father of a race by whom perished the Roman Empire: how the friends and followers of Sertorius, out of Spain flying, found shelter in the Fortunate Isles, and left their usages, their arts and laws, to disappear by a slow gradual death, to dwindle and to perish one by one, starved in these narrow bounds.

But not the soul of liberty, which fifteen hundred years survived, and when the European came with skill and power that might not be withstood, did, like a pestilence, maintain its hold, and wasted down by glorious death that race of natural heroes.

Or I would record how, in tyrannic times, some high-souled man, unnamed among the chronicles of kings, suffered in silence for truth's sake.