In vain the besieged shot against the tower. Stones rebounded from its walls of logs with hollow clatter but without piercing them. It was bristling with arrows, moving like a monstrous elephant, insensible to wounds, and in vain the phalarics whistled through the air with their trail of sparks and smoke, for they could not set fire to the wet hides with which the upper part of the tower was covered. The more prudent fled from those places where the besiegers concentrated their efforts, and the more audacious took their places ignorant how to repel the enemy, but with the stubborn determination of dying before he should advance a step. Mopsus, the bowman, was the only one in the difficult situation who inflicted damage upon the Carthaginians. With drawn bow he thrust his head outside the merlons for an instant and shot, managing to send his arrows into the loopholes of the tower, scattering death among the soldiers who thought themselves secure. Erotion was at his side. Seeing his father in a place of danger he repelled Rhanto at the foot of the steps leading to the wall, paying no heed to her tears, and grasping his bow he tried to imitate the old archer, challenging the men in the tower. But with the imprudence of youth he exposed almost his entire body beyond the merlon, and when he managed to plunge an arrow into the tower he laughed, standing in the open crenel insulting the besiegers with his boisterous peals of boyish laughter. A stone from a catapult in the tower came whizzing and struck his head with a mournful crash. Blood and torn flesh spattered over those nearest him, and the boy, doubling up as if made of rags, rolled through the crenel and fell outside the wall. The arrows from his quiver struck roundabout his body with a metallic ring. "Mopsus! Mopsus!" shouted Actæon, striving to restrain the bowman. The old man had rushed out upon the wall, wholly unprotected, his eyes glassy, his gray beard quivering, impotent from grief and rage. Three times he tried to draw his bow to shoot at the platform in the tower which held the catapult, but in spite of his efforts he could not bend his weapon. Grief, surprise, despair, at being unable to exterminate his enemies with a single blow deprived him of his strength. While he stood struggling with the rigid bow which seemed to rebel against him, the enemy's projectiles were hissing around his head. Finding himself powerless, aged in an instant by grief, gazing down upon the mangled body of his son, and unable to avenge him, he uttered a moan, and summoning all the strength of his will he sprang outside the wall, and fell upon the corpse of Erotion. His head struck against the stones with a resounding thud, a stream of blood ran from it, and father and son formed a motionless pile a short distance from the assailants, who continued pounding with the battering-rams, and digging at the base of the wall.