Caesar
ordered up his third line, which had not yet been engaged; and at once on
all sides Pompey's great army gave way, and fled. Pompey himself, the
shadow of his old name, long harasssd out of self-respect by his
senatorial directors, a commander only in appearance, had left the field
in the beginning of the action. He had lost heart on the defeat of the
cavalry, and had retired to his tent to wait the issue of the day.
The stream of fugitives pouring in told him too surely what the issue had
been. He sprang upon his horse and rode off in despair. His legions were
rushing back in confusion. Caesar, swift always at the right moment, gave
the enemy no leisure to re-form, and fell at once upon the camp. It was
noon, and the morning had been sultry; but heat and weariness were
forgotten in the enthusiasm of a triumph which all then believed must
conclude the war. A few companies of Thracians, who had been left on
guard, made a brief resistance, but they were soon borne down. The beaten
army, which a few hours before were sharing in imagination the lands and
offices of their conquerors, fled out through the opposite gates, throwing
away their arms, flinging down their standards, and racing, officers and
men, for the rocky hills which at a mile's distance promised them shelter.
The camp itself was a singular picture.
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