wove a wreath for his head, and cried,
"This is our Corinthian symbol of victory: it is the sacred herb with
which we decorate the victors at the Isthmian festival. Its coming
signifies success." With these encouraging words he restored the
spirits of the army, and led them on to the top of the hill overlooking
the Crimesus.

It was a misty May morning. Nothing could be seen; but from the valley a
loud noise and clatter arose. The Carthaginians were on the march, and
had begun to cross the stream. Soon the mist rose and the formidable
host was seen. A multitude of war-chariots, each drawn by four horses,
had already crossed. The ten thousand native Carthaginians, bearing
their white shields, were partly across. The main body of the host was
hastening in disorderly march to the rugged banks of the stream.

Fortune had favored Timoleon again. If he hoped for success this was the
moment to attack. The enemy was divided and in disorder. With cheery
words he bade his men to charge. The cavalry dashed on in front. Seizing
a shield, Timoleon sprang to the front and led on his footmen, rousing
them to activity by exultant words and bidding the trumpets to sound.
Rushing down the hill and through the line of chariots, the charging
mass poured on the Carthaginian infantry. These fought bravely and
defied the Grecian spears with the strength of their armor. The
assailants had to take to their swords, and try and hew their way
through the dense ranks of the foe.

The result was in serious doubt, when once more the gods--as it
seemed--came to Timoleon's aid. A violent storm suddenly arose. Darkness
shrouded the hill-tops. The wind blew a hurricane. Rain and hail poured
down in torrents, while the clouds flashed with lightning and roared
with thunder. And all this was on the backs of the Greeks; in the faces
of the Carthaginians. They could not hear the orders of their officers.
The ground became so muddy that many of them slipped and fell: and once
down their heavy armor would not let them rise again. The Greeks, driven
forward by the wind, attacked their foes with double energy. At length,
blinded by the driving storm, distracted by the furious assault, and
four hundred of their front ranks fallen, the white shield battalion
turned and fled.

But flight was not easy. They met their own troops coming up. The stream
had become suddenly swollen with the rain. In the confused flight
numbers were drowned. The panic spread from rank