This, then, is the eve of battle. Porus, wrapped in a false security, puffed up with the sight of the host of dependents around him, awaits, unconscious of danger, expecting the enemy will cross the river on the morrow. The vigilant and active Greeks once more on the level plain, await the day to point the way to greater achievements.
As the warm sunbeams awaken the expanding flowers, and arouse the harmony of the birds in the morning, so with the first light the noise of the waking camp, and the matin worship of the Brahmins who accompany the armies, dispel the happy oblivion which had lulled in brief repose the anxious minds of the fugitives. Confined within the narrow circle of a tent, and closely guarded, they can only judge by the ear of the events which are passing around them. They hear, early as the dawn, the muster of soldiers, the marshaling of squadrons, and the united step of the moving ranks. Then there is silence for a moment. Then the sharp, echoing gallop of two thousand horses, and jarring sound of an hundred and twenty chariot-wheels revolving on their creaking axles, approach rapidly, sweep by the tent, and die away in the distance. Then a long pause, broken only by the low, confused murmur of the remaining and expectant multitude, the adjusting of arms, and the repairing of tinkling armor. Presently a solitary horseman is heard approaching at a wild gallop, then another, and another, apparently fleeing from some danger behind—they can almost hear the palpitating hearts of the horses as they panting approach, seeking the safety of the main army. But why no sound of chariots?
Ganga knows not that her lover’s countrymen have already crossed the Hydaspes, and that the noise of horses and chariots was the departure from the camp of a detachment sent out to sustain the first brunt of the engagement under the command of the son of Porus. Neither learns she of their defeat, and the loss of their chariots, except as she may argue some great calamity from the confusion and noise without among the Indian warriors. And now they hear the departure of the noisy host, and then must await the announcement of their fate on their return, or on the approach of the Macedonian. The camp seems deserted, except by a few guards, and a small number of elephants, left for its defense. We must follow the fortunes of the departing army.
Glorious and worthy of their king appeared the camp and the army of Porus. The sun scarcely risen, looked down upon the thousand banners of rich and varied colors that fluttered above the tents, hanging loose and flapping gently in the morning breeze. The scene resembled the splendor and the pomp of some great festival, rather than the stern realities of war. To this appearance added greatly the numerous throng of merchants, sutlers, and attendants, that wait upon an Indian army. The camp-followers, who in number far exceeded the soldiers, consisted of magicians, soothsayers, rope-dancers, sharpers, thieves, fakirs, blind-beggars, jewelers, carpenters, tailors, tent-makers, corn-grinders, and farriers. Attached also to each division of the army were a number of clerical Brahmins, who regularly officiated, offering up prayer and sacrifice to the deities, as in the temples. On this gay scene of Asiatic splendor the sun gazed no longer than while reaching half the way to the zenith—for then had returned the defeated detachment, warning them to be on the alert for the enemy. Porus, well knowing that his present situation was ill-adapted to receive and repulse an attack, hastily collected his army and removed to a level, sandy plain, where his cavalry and chariots might wheel about with ease on the firm soil. The four great elements of an Indian army are the elephants, chariots, cavalry, and infantry. On the cavalry little dependence is placed, the infantry being regarded as the strength of the army, and the elephants, but more particularly the chariots, being used as powerful auxiliaries. The immense height of the elephants was supposed to fill the enemy with fear; the chariots were used to carry the principal officers, the cavalry being principally employed in pursuing the defeated. The main body of Porus’ army was composed of thirty thousand foot, flanked by four thousand horse, three thousand chariots, and two hundred elephants. These last bore towers upon their huge backs, filled with soldiers armed with arrows, darts, and other missile weapons. The animal himself was often more terrible and destructive than his riders. The chariots were of vast dimensions, and drawn oftentimes by five horses. The horses of the cavalry were covered with a fine netted-armor, and their bridles, cruppers, and saddles, adorned with gold and gems, with dyed hair and silver roses. The infantry, armed with every species of weapon—some rough and indented, for hacking, others long and barbed, and others still heavy and obtuse, resembling the ponderous mace wielded by the knights in the middle ages. With all, the sword was indispensable. These vast columns, then, moved on in glittering ranks to meet the enemy, led by the royal elephant on which sat Porus, shining with gems, and conspicuous for his great size.
Calmly, and conscious of his power, the crafty Indian drew up his line of battle. In the front line were placed the elephants as a bulwark for the infantry, who were immediately behind them. The cavalry were extended as wings on either flank, and in front skirmished the chariots. Such the array of Porus, as he awaited the attack of Alexander.
The major part of the Grecian army had crossed the river in safety, and meeting with the detachment sent out by Porus, had attacked and defeated it with great slaughter, and captured all the chariots. Among the slain was their leader, the son of Porus; and this bereavement had filled the breast of the king with double indignation. Inflamed with various passions, the Indian might well have felt confident of the result of the battle, as he turned from surveying his own mighty force to contemplate the numbers of his enemy, who were but 11,000 strong—being made up of 6000 foot, and 5000 horse. But in the front rank rode the great Alexander, mounted on the now aged Bucephalus. The steed had borne his master safely through many a field since his fiery, generous ardor had first yielded to the stern will of the young hero before the court of Philip. And behind the great conqueror was the far-famed phalanx, whose solid columns, like the Imperial Guard of Napoleon in modern times, whenever they were ordered to advance, decided the fate of the day. The bristling pikes, dense and threatening, gleamed before the advancing ranks like the foam as it sparkles on the crest of the breakers, and, like the destroying wave, they fell with overwhelming force upon the enemy, sweeping all before them. There, too, were the hippotoxotai, the mounted bowmen, equally expert to lead the attack with death-dealing shafts, or cover the retreating army. The hardy veterans were not allowed defensive armor for the back, as they were never to turn to flight. Instead of the cumbrous though secure thorax, which protected alike the shoulders and the breast, they wore the lighter hemi-thorax, defending the chest alone. In addition they bore the shield, (aspis,) made either of light wood or hide, and covered with metal. The pozoi, or foot-soldiers, bore ashen spears, and swords suspended from the shoulders. The archers’-bow was strung with horse-hair, or hide, and the arrows were pointed with iron, and winged with feathers. The phalanx was sometimes rectangular, sometimes crescent-shaped, and again often in the form of a Roman wedge, (cuneus;) this latter form was especially used in the attack, in forcing or cleaving a path among the columns of the enemy—the first being employed in resisting a great shock, like the charge of cavalry. In this respect it somewhat resembled the hollow-square of the present day. The Hipparchs lead the cavalry to the charge—the Strategi have the general control of the infantry.
These varied elements of the hostile armies being arrived in sight of each other, prepare for the contest whose result is to decide the fate of Ganga.
Alexander, being in advance with his cavalry, found himself suddenly face to face with the whole army of the enemy and unsupported, for his infantry had not yet arrived. They however soon came up, and as they were much fatigued, he caused his horse to make many evolutions, and by feigned attacks thus gained time to rest the foot soldiers. The same reason which led Porus to draw up his infantry and elephants in the centre, induced Alexander to avoid that part of the army in the attack. Accordingly with his cavalry he charged the left wing, while Coenus attacked them in the rear. A thousand bowmen are at the same time detached for the same service; sweeping round in ever diminishing circles, like the swift flight of swallows, the archers overwhelm the enemy with a cloud of arrows. Confused by this sudden attack they face about to defend themselves, and are instantly charged by Alexander in person. They now retreat, as behind an impregnable fortification, to the rear of the line of elephants. But look! by a rapid and simple counter-march the elephants are in the centre of the phalanx, surrounded by the pikes of the infantry. Their huge sides are thrust full of spears, with little apparent effect, and the wounded and now furious beasts rush impetuous through the ranks of the thickest battalions, and while the Macedonians are collecting again, down come the rallying Indian horse. Beware, Alexander, or your seaward progress is stayed, and your new empires as yet unwon, will remain so forever. See! the great hero is equal to the emergency—the charge of the heavier Macedonians breaks a second time the Indian ranks. All is now confusion—the enraged elephants trample down friend and foe in indiscriminate death. Most opportunely the phalanx now advances—surrounded, the Indians are cut down by the heavy swords of the infantry. Then Catoras, who had remained with the rest of the Greeks on the outer banks of the Hydaspes, crosses, and his fresh troops finish the defeat of Porus. That valiant prince, the last to fly, and conspicuous from his great height on the back of his elephant, brought up the rear in the defeat, as he had led the van at the commencement of the battle. At length he, too, surrenders under promise of regal treatment. The victorious Greeks now fly to despoil the camp of the enemy—for this was ever a prominent characteristic in the ancient soldier, that as he was brave during the battle so he was mean and cruel at its close—often stopping in the most critical moment of an engagement to plunder the dead. Here rich spoils await them, and the gorgeous luxury of the east finds but little mercy at the hands of the rude Macedonians.
Demetros, as he listens to the cries of the victors, detects the accents of his native Greek. Joyous he reassures the maiden, trembling before at the power of the Brahmins, and now equally shrinking from the shouts of friends—for how knows she that she shall not be torn from her lover and delivered up to the lusts of a brutal soldiery? And even if she gains unharmed the presence of the king, may he not refuse to release or preserve her? The tumult approaches nearer—the curtains are torn rudely open by bloody hands, and the trembling pair are saved from the hands of the spoilers by a taxiarch who chances to be passing, and by him they are conducted into the presence of Alexander. The hero stood refreshing himself with wine, from the hands of the attendants, after the fatigues of the battle. Still young and small in stature, the conqueror did not evince by his general mien the genius that burned within him; his face, however, showed the marks of a sprightly disposition and of great determination, although marred by the traces of excessive drinking. Alexander was not at this period so wholly sunk in sensuality as to be incapable of an occasional act of justice, even where the supplicant was a beautiful woman. Convinced of the truth of their statements by the answers of Demetros and by his Grecian look, he promises them a return to Athens in the fleet.