The aspect of the whole struggle1
was indeed various, perplexing, direful, and lamentable; the men, separated from their comrades, were partly fleeing, partly pursuing; neither standards nor ranks were regarded, but wherever danger pressed, there they made a stand and defended themselves; arms and weapons, horses and men, enemies, and fellow-countrymen, were all mingled in confusion; nothing was done by direction or command, but chance ordered every thing. Though the day, therefore, was now far advanced, the event of the contest was still uncertain. At last, however, when all were faint with exertion and the heat of the day, Metellus, observing that the Numidians were less vigorous in their charges, drew his troops together by degrees, restored order among them, and led four cohorts of the legions against the enemy's infantry, of whom a great number, overcome with fatigue, had seated themselves on the high ground. He at the same time entreated and exhorted his men not to lose courage, nor to suffer a flying enemy to be victorious; adding that they had neither camp nor citadel to which they could flee, but that their only dependence was on their arms. Nor was Jugurtha, in the mean time, inactive; he rode round among his troops, cheered them, renewed the contest, and, at the head of a select body, made every possible effort for victory; supporting his own men, charging such of the enemy as wavered, and repressing with missiles such as he saw remaining unshaken.