TALES OF THE ROMANS
And that happened. Pompey's cavalry recoiled from the shower of javelins, and they fled in panic. Before the day was out the army of Cæsar was rushing, like a mighty tide, upon the scattered troops of the man who had been called Pompey the Great.
Hurrying from the dreadful place of defeat, Pompey rode to a far valley, where he was glad to kneel by a brook and quench his thirst. Then he rode on—Cæsar and death were in pursuit. The blue sea came in view. On the shore, in a poor fisherman's cabin, the beaten general slept at night. At gray dawn he set off in a small riverboat, and was rowed along the coast till a friendly galley took him on board.
Cornelia, his wife, heard of his ruin. She lay a long time on the ground, without saying one word. His ship—he had but this one—lay in the harbor. At length she rose and went down to the sea. Pompey hastened to meet her on the beach. She hung upon his neck, exclaiming:
“Alas, my dear husband, that I should see you reduced to one poor galley. There was a time when you commanded five hundred vessels.”
“Cornelia,” he answered, “we have fallen from great things to this wretched condition; but we may also rise again to great things.”
A number of his ships now sailed to his aid, and some of his followers had rejoined him. They
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