The news spread with the credulity born of danger. From one to another the story ran that the lookouts in the tower of Hercules had sighted a fleet bound for the port, and none asked who had brought the inspiring news to the breach in the walls. Everyone accepted it, adding by their own invention fresh details, and eyes shone with joy, blanched faces flushed, and even the wounded, dragging themselves over the rubbish heap, waved their arms exclaiming: "The Romans! The Romans are coming!" Suddenly, without command, by common instinct, as if impelled by an invisible force, they flung themselves through the breach, down the incline, falling like an avalanche upon the besiegers who were massed for the final assault. The unexpectedness of the shock, the force of the surprise, the cry of "The Romans! The Romans!" which the Saguntines raised with such conviction, wrought disruption among Hannibal's barbarian tribes. They defended themselves, but the whole city fell upon them; even the women and children fought as on that morning when Theron died, and Hannibal's soldiers, broken into scattered groups, neither seeing nor hearing their chiefs, fled precipitately toward their camp. Hannibal ran bellowing with rage, maddened at seeing that the besieged repelled his troops for the second time. Such was the blindness of his anger that he rushed in among the enemy, and several times came near falling beneath their blows. The day was almost ended. The Saguntine soldiers reached the vicinity of the camp, while the unarmored citizens scattering throughout the battle field dispatched the wounded and tried to set fire to the besieging engines. They would have destroyed them all had it not been for Maherbal, Hannibal's lieutenant, who came out of the camp with some cohorts of cavalry. The besieged, unable to resist the cavalry on open ground, began slowly to retire. When night closed in they reoccupied the breach, commenting with joyful shouts upon the victory which mitigated their disappointment over the non-appearance of the Romans. Actæon, with those Saguntines who had most distinguished themselves in the battles, set to work fortifying the city. He explained to the old men of the Senate how difficult it would be long to defend the opening. It was impossible to repeat the prodigy of that afternoon many times; and by the light of torches the people spent the whole night working behind the breach, throwing down tiled roofs and demolishing walls. Merchants and slaves, rich city dames and women from the suburbs, all mingled together, wielding pickaxes, rolling stones and carrying baskets of clay. Even the Ancients of the Senate took part in this titanic work, which lasted throughout the night and a great part of the following day.