Laris'sa. 11. As for Pompey, who had formerly shown such instances of courage and conduct, when he saw his cavalry routed, on which he had placed his sole dependence, he absolutely lost his reason. 12. Instead of thinking how to remedy this disorder by rallying such troops as fled, or by opposing fresh forces to stop the progress of the conqueror, being totally amazed by this first blow, he returned to the camp, and in his tent waited the issue of an event which it was his duty to have directed, not to follow. There he remained for some moments speechless, till being told that the camp was attacked--"What!" says he, "are we pursued to our very intrenchments?" when, immediately quitting his armour for a habit more suited to his circumstances, he fled on horseback to Laris'sa: thence, perceiving that he was not pursued, he slackened his pace, giving way to all the agonizing reflections which his deplorable situation must naturally suggest. 13. In this melancholy manner he passed along the vale of Tempe, and pursuing the course of the river Pe'neus, at last arrived at a fisherman's hut; here he passed the night, and then went on board a little bark, keeping along the sea-shore, till he descried a ship of some burden, which seemed preparing to sail. In this he embarked; the master of the vessel still paying him that homage which was due to his former station. 14. From the mouth of the river Pe'neus he sailed to Amphip'olis, where, finding his affairs desperate, he steered to Les'bos, to take with him his wife Corne'lia, whom he had left there, at a distance from the dangers and distresses of war. 15. She, who had long flattered herself with the hopes of victory, now felt the agonizing reverse of fortune: she was desired by the messenger, whose tears more than his words proclaimed her unspeakable misfortunes, to hasten away if she expected to see Pompey, who had but one ship, and even that not his own. 16. Her grief, which before was violent, became now insupportable: she fainted, and lay without signs of life. At length recovering, and reflecting that it was no time for vain lamentations, she fled through the city to the seaside. 17. Pompey received and embraced her, and in silent despair supported her in his arms. "Alas!" said Corne'lia, "you who, before our marriage, appeared in these seas as the commander of five hundred sail, are now reduced to make your escape in a single vessel. Why come you in search of an unfortunate woman? Why was I not left to a fate which now you are under the necessity of sharing with me? Happy for me had I executed, long since, my design of quitting this life! But fatally have I been reserved to add to Pompey's sorrows." [Illustration: Death of Pompey.]