same instant Achillas and the others drew their swords. Pompey saw that
all was lost. He did not speak, and he uttered no cry of alarm, though
Cornelia's dreadful shriek was so loud and piercing that it was heard
upon the shore. From the suffering victim himself nothing was heard but
an inarticulate groan extorted by his agony. He gathered his mantle over
his face, and sank down and died.

[Sidenote: Cornelia.]
[Sidenote: The funeral pile.]
[Sidenote: Pompey's ashes sent to Cornelia.]

Of course, all was now excitement and confusion. As soon as the deed was
done, the perpetrators of it retired from the scene, taking the head of
their unhappy victim with them, to offer to Caesar as proof that his
enemy was really no more. The officers who remained in the fleet which
had brought Pompey to the coast made all haste to sail away, bearing the
wretched Cornelia with them, utterly distracted with grief and despair,
while Philip and his fellow-servant remained upon the beach, standing
bewildered and stupefied over the headless body of their beloved master.
Crowds of spectators came in succession to look upon the hideous
spectacle a moment in silence, and then to turn, shocked and repelled,
away. At length, when the first impulse of excitement had in some
measure spent its force, Philip and his comrades so far recovered their
composure as to begin to turn their thoughts to the only consolation
that was now left to them, that of performing the solemn duties of
sepulture. They found the wreck of a fishing boat upon the strand, from
which they obtained wood enough for a rude funeral pile. They burned
what remained of the mutilated body, and, gathering up the ashes, they
put them in an urn and sent them to Cornelia, who afterward buried them
at Alba with many bitter tears.