The interior of the tower presented at this moment a scene of excitement. At every window of every story were seen soldiers repelling the attack, some by discharging javelins at the casters of the fiery darts, others by pouring water upon the hissing flames, which as fast as they died out in one part leaped to life in another. Crispus, moving from story to story, directed the operations. “Water, here!” he cried, on seeing a dense volume of smoke ascending from one side of the tower. “The supply has run out,” replied the decurion in charge of the water department. Had Crispus not left his pagan days behind him he would have run the fellow through for his supposed negligence. “With six water-carts, and the Serpent’s Pool but a furlong distant, you dare to say----?” “The Serpent’s Pool hath been so well drawn upon by us and by others that it has become exhausted.” “Ha! sayest thou so?” exclaimed Crispus, relenting somewhat at this explanation. “Well, since water be denied us, hang out the raw hides,” he cried, for every tower carried a supply of these to be used as a protection against fire. “And bring up sand and earth to drop upon the flames.” By these means Crispus contrived, not indeed to quench the fire, but to keep it somewhat under control. As soon as the giant tower had been pushed to a point sufficiently near for the lowering of the drawbridge, the toiling troops, letting go the beams, grasped their weapons; and, losing for the moment something of their Roman discipline, scrambled pell-mell into the tower, all eager to be foremost in the attack, for among the Romans the soldier that was first to mount the ramparts of an enemy’s city received--if he survived--the gift of a Mural Crown, a prize that shed a glory over the recipient to the end of his days. The way out upon the drawbridge, when it should be lowered, led from the fifth story; it was into this chamber, therefore, that the storming-party was now crowding. The drawbridge, standing bolt upright before the doorway, acted as a screen, but when it fell they would be facing a storm of arrows and javelins. It was almost certain death to the men who should be foremost to run out upon the drawbridge; yet, despite the peril, each soldier was striving with his fellow for the honor of being second, the first place being claimed by Crispus himself. “A Cestius lost the city; a Cestius shall recover it,” said he. “Stand by me,” he continued, addressing the aquilifer, “we’ll plant the eagle on the ramparts, or die in the attempt.” For the eagle, though no longer an object of worship with Crispus, was still sacred in his eyes as the emblem of a glorious empire. It was a thrilling moment. As they stood there in a mass so dense that each could scarce lift his arms, they could hear the never-ceasing thud-thud of the fiery darts falling upon the outer walls.