Stories From Thucydides by H. L. Havell

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IX

When Demosthenes arrived at Syracuse, the position of affairs was as
follows: the blockading wall of the Athenians still extended in an
unbroken line from the circular fort on Epipolae to the camp and naval
station of Nicias at the head of the Great Harbour; but the Athenians
were cut off from access to the northern slope of Epipolae by the
Syracusan counterwall, which had been carried up the whole length of
the plateau as far as the hill of Euryelus. Along the northern edge of
the cliff the Syracusans had established three fortified camps, where
the defenders of the counterwall had their quarters, and on the summit
of Euryelus a fort had been erected, which held the key to the whole
system of defence.

Demosthenes saw at once that, before any progress could be made with
the siege of Syracuse, it was necessary to gain possession of the
counterwall, and confine the Syracusans within the limits of their
city. The sooner he made the attempt, the greater was his chance of
success; for every day wasted would give new confidence to the enemy,
and the condition in which he found the troops of Nicias was a visible
warning against the fatal consequences of delay. An attack made on the
cross-wall from its southern side ended in total failure; his siege-
engines were burnt, and the storming-parties repulsed at every point.
The only course which remained was to march round to the north-western
extremity of the plateau, carry the fort of Euryelus, and assail the
Syracusans within their own lines. After consulting with his
colleagues, Demosthenes determined to try the hazardous method of a
night-attack, hoping thus to take the garrison on Euryelus by
surprise. He himself, with Eurymedon and Menander, took the command,
and the whole Athenian army was engaged in the adventure, except those
who remained behind with Nicias to guard the camp. On a moonlight
night in August, at the hour of the first watch, the march began.
Moving cautiously up the valley of the Anapus, they turned the
northern end of the hill, and reached the path by which Lamachus had
ascended in the spring of the previous year. At first all seemed to
promise success to the Athenians unobserved by the enemy, Demosthenes
ascended the hill, stormed the fort, and, drove the garrison back on
the three fortified camps which flanked the Syracusan counterwall on
its northern side. The fugitives raised the alarm, and the call was
promptly answered by a picked troop of six hundred hoplites, who were
stationed nearest to the point of danger. These men made a gallant
stand, but they were overpowered by superior numbers, and thrust back
on the main body of the Syracusans, who were now advancing under
Gylippus to the rescue. They in their turn were forced to give ground
before the impetuous charge of Demosthenes, and a general panic seemed
about to spread through the whole Syracusan army. Already the
Athenians had begun to throw down the battlements of the counterwall,
and if they were allowed to proceed, Syracuse would once more be
exposed to imminent danger.

But now occurred one of those sudden turns of fortune which were so
common in Greek warfare. As the soldiers of the Athenian van rushed
forward too hotly, wishing to complete the rout of the enemy they fell
into disorder, and in this condition they were confronted by a stout
little troop of Boeotian hoplites, who had found their way to Syracuse
earlier in the summer. This unexpected resistance checked the furious
onset of the Athenians, and the Boeotians, pursuing their advantage,
charged in solid phalanx and put them to flight. Once more the tide of
battle had turned against Athens. Restored to confidence by the steady
valour of their allies, the Syracusans closed their ranks, and
advanced in dense masses up the hill. A scene of indescribable horror
and confusion ensued, so that no one was afterwards able to give a
clear account of what had happened. On the narrow neck of land which
forms the western end of Epipolae two great armies were rushing to the
encounter. On one side was the main body of the Athenians, still
ignorant of the defeat of their comrades, and hurrying forward to
share in the victory. On the other side was the whole host of
Syracuse, advancing with deafening shouts to meet them; and in the
middle were the men of Demosthenes, flying in headlong rout before the
conquering Boeotians. In the uncertain light, the fugitives were at
first mistaken for enemies, and many of them perished miserably by the
spears of their own countrymen. On came the Syracusans, bearing down
all before them; but the Athenians, as they strove to escape, were
flung back upon the enemy by fresh bodies of their own men, who were
still thronging by thousands up the northern path of Euryelus. All
semblance of order was now lost in the Athenian army, which was broken
up into detached parties, some flying, some advancing, and shouting
their watchword to all whom they met, so as to learn whether they had
to do with friend or foe. But the Syracusans soon learnt the
watchword, which thus became a means of betraying the Athenians to
their own destruction. To add to the confusion, the Dorian allies of
Athens raised a paean, or war-song, so similar to that of the
Syracusans, that the Athenians fled at their approach supposing them
to be enemies. The grand army of Demosthenes, which had set out with
such high hopes, was now no better than a mob of wild and desperate
men, friend fighting against friend, and citizen against citizen. At
length the whole multitude turned and fled, each man seeking to save
himself as best he could. Some, hard pressed by the enemy, flung
themselves from the cliffs, and were dashed to pieces on the rocks
below; others succeeded in reaching the plain, and found their way
back to the camp of Nicias; while not a few lost their way, and
wandered about the country until the following day, when they were
hunted down and slain by the Syracusan horseman.

Demosthenes had done all that a man could to recover the ground lost
by Nicias, and resume the aggressive against Syracuse. His well-laid
scheme had ended disastrously, and only one course remained,
consistent with public duty and common sense. To waste the blood and
treasure of Athens in Sicily any longer would be suicidal folly. The
Athenians at home were in a state of siege, and needed every man and
every ship for the defence of their own territory, and the maintenance
of their empire in Greece. Sickness and despondency had already
wrought dire havoc among the troops encamped before Syracuse. To
remain was utter ruin, both to themselves and their fellow-citizens.
The sea was still open, and the new armament, with what remained of
the old, would be strong enough to secure their retreat. Let them
embark without delay, turn their backs on the fatal shores of Sicily,
and hoist sail for home.

These arguments were urged by Demosthenes with unanswerable force at a
private meeting of the generals which was held immediately after the
defeat on Epipolae But unhappily for all those most nearly concerned
in the debate, the influence of Nicias was still supreme in the
Athenian camp; and to spur that gloomy trifler into decisive action
was beyond the power even of Demosthenes. Nicias knew that, if he gave
the word to retreat, in a few weeks he would have to stand before the
bar of his countrymen, and give an account of the great trust which he
had betrayed. It would be better, he thought, to perish under the
walls of Syracuse, than to brave that stern tribunal, and read his
doom on those angry, accusing faces. And apart from these selfish
terrors, he was still in communication with his partisans in Syracuse,
who encouraged him to wait for a favourable turn of affairs. Thus
fettered to the spot both by his hopes and his fears, he obstinately
refused to move.

While Demosthenes argued, and Nicias demurred, Gylippus had not been
idle. A day or two after the battle, he once more left Syracuse, and
traversed the whole length of the island, collecting troops on his
way. At Selinus he was joined by the Peloponnesian and Boeotian
soldiers who had sailed from Taenarum early in the spring, and had
just reached that port, after a long and adventurous voyage. With this
welcome addition to his forces, and thousands more who had answered
his call from all parts of Sicily, he returned to Syracuse, and
prepared to put out all his strength in a general assault on the army
and fleet of Athens.

The Athenians had not yet abandoned their lines on the southern side
of Epipolae, and from this position they watched the arrival of the
new army raised by Gylippus, as it defiled down the slope, and poured
through the gates of Syracuse to swell the ranks of their enemies. In
their own camp the state of things was growing worse every day, and
even Nicias now became convinced that to remain any longer would be
sheer madness. With the hearty concurrence of his colleagues, he gave
his vote for immediate departure, and the order was secretly passed
round the camp that every man should hold himself in readiness to go
on board, as soon as the signal was given. It was necessary to proceed
with caution, for if the enemy were informed of their purpose, they
would have to fight their way through the Syracusan fleet. The
preparations were accordingly made with as little noise as possible
and in a short time all was ready for the voyage. Night sank down on
the Athenian camp, but among all that vast multitude no one thought of
sleep, for the whole host was waiting in breathless eagerness for the
signal to embark. Over the eastern waters the full moon was shining,
making a long path of silver and pointing the way to home. But
suddenly a dark shadow touched the outer rim of that gleaming disk,
and crept stealthily on, until the whole face of the moon was veiled
in darkness. A whisper, a murmur, a shudder went round among those
anxious watchers, and before the shadow had passed away, ten thousand
tongues were eagerly discussing the meaning of that mysterious
portent. Most were agreed that it was a warning from heaven,
forbidding their departure until the angry powers had been appeased by
sacrifice and prayer. In the mind of Nicias, enslaved by the grossest
superstition, there was no room for doubt. He was surrounded by
prophets, whose advice he sought on every occasion, and guided by them
he proclaimed that for thrice nine days, the time required for a
complete circuit of the moon, there could be no talk of departing.

But the Athenians were soon engaged in a sterner task than the vain
rites of propitiation and penitential observance. The news of their
intended retreat, and its untoward interruption, so raised the spirits
of the Syracusans, that they resolved to risk another sea-fight, and
after some days spent in training their crews, they sailed out with
seventy-six ships, and offered battle, and Gylippus at the same time
attacked the Athenian lines by land. The Athenians succeeded in
repulsing the assault on their walls, but in the encounter between the
fleets, though they out-numbered the enemy by ten ships, they suffered
a decisive defeat. Eurymedon was slain, and eighteen vessels fell into
the hands of the Syracusans, who put all the crews to the sword.

The pride and ambition of the Syracusans now knew no bounds. Relieved
from all fear for the safety of their city they began to take a
loftier view of the struggle, and to grasp the full compass and
grandeur of the issues involved. It was no mere feud between two rival
states, but a great national conflict, which was to end in the
downfall of a wide-spread usurpation, and the deliverance of a hundred
cities from bondage. The whole naval and military forces of Athens lay
crippled and helpless within their grasp; they would shatter to pieces
the instrument of tyranny, and win an immortal name as the liberators
of all Greece. Their first care was to prevent the escape of the
Athenians, and for this purpose they began to close the mouth of the
Great Harbour by a line of triremes and vessels of burden, anchored
broadside across the channel.

X

The Athenians were thus caught in a trap, and their only hope of
saving themselves was to force the barrier of the Great Harbour, and
escape by sea, or, failing that, to make their way by land to some
friendly city. As a last sad confession of defeat, they withdrew the
garrison from their walls on Epipolae, and reduced the dimensions of
their camp, confining it to a narrow space of the coast, where the
fleet lay moored. Every vessel which could be kept afloat was prepared
for action, and when the whole force was mustered, out of two great
armaments only a hundred and ten were found fit for service. A small
body of troops was left to guard the camp, and all the rest, except
such as were totally disabled by sickness, were distributed as
fighting-men among the ships. For the countrymen of Phormio had now
reverted to the primitive conditions of naval warfare, in which the
trireme was a mere vehicle for carrying troops, and not, as in the
days of that great captain, the chief weapon of offence. Every foot of
standing-room on the decks was occupied by a crowd of hoplites,
javelin-men, archers, and slingers, and on their prowess the issue of
the battle depended. To lay their vessels aboard the enemy with as
little delay as possible, and leave the rest to the soldiers, was now
the chief object of the Athenian captains; and the better to effect.
this, men were stationed on the prows, armed with grappling-irons, to
hold the attacking trireme fast, and prevent her from backing away
after the first shock of collision.

With hearts full of sad foreboding, the great multitude mustered on
the beach, and waited for the word to embark. On a rising ground,
fronting the camp, the generals; stood grouped in earnest
consultation; then every voice was hushed, as Nicias came forward, and
beckoned with his hand, commanding silence. The form of the general
was bowed with years, and his face lined with pain and sickness, but
in his eye there was an unwonted fire, and his tones rang clear and
full, as he reminded his hearers of the great cause for which they
were to fight, and the mighty interests which hung in the balance that
day. "Men of Athens," he said, "and you, our faithful allies, your
lives, your liberty, and the future of all who are dear to you, are in
your own hands. If you would ever see home again, you must resolve to
conquer fortune, even against her will, like seasoned veterans, inured
to the perils and vicissitudes of war. Hitherto we have generally got
the better of the enemy on land and we are now going to fight a land
battle on the sea. As soon as you come within reach of a Syracusan
vessel, fling your grappling-irons, and hold her fast, until not a man
is left alive to defend her deck. This will be the task of the
soldiers, whom I need not tell to do their duty. And you, seamen of
the Athenian fleet, be not dismayed because we have forsaken our
former tactics, but trust to the strong arms of the fighting men.
Remember, those of you who are not of Attic descent, how long you have
enjoyed the high privileges of Athenian citizens, and the honour
reflected on you by your connection with Athens.

"My last word shall be spoken to you, fellow-citizens, Athenians born
and bred. You know what you have to expect from the Syracusans, if
this last struggle should end in defeat. But consider further what
will be the fate of your friends at home. Their docks are empty, their
walls are stripped of defenders, and if you fail them, Syracuse will
unite with their old enemies, and bear them down. Here, where we
stand, are the army, the fleet, the city, and the great name of
Athens; go, then, and fight as you never fought before, for never yet
had soldier such a prize to win, and such a cause to defend."

When Nicias had concluded his stirring appeal, the embarkation of the
troops began. As the fatal moment drew nearer and nearer, the anxiety
and distress of the Athenian general became unbearable. Feeling that
he had not said enough, he hurried to and fro, addressing each captain
with an agony of supplication, and imploring him by every sacred
name,--his wife, his children, his country, and his country's gods,--
to play a man's part, forgetting all thoughts of self. Having
exhausted every topic of entreaty, and seen the last man on board, he
turned away, still unsatisfied, and addressed himself to the task of
drawing up the troops left under his command for the defence of the
camp. These were disposed along the shore in as long a line as
possible, that they might encourage those fighting on the sea by their
presence, and lend prompt help in case of need. Behind them, every
point of outlook was held by a throng of anxious spectators,--the
sick, the maimed, and the wounded,--every man who had strength to
crawl from his bed, and watch that last desperate struggle for liberty
and home.

And now the Athenian admirals, Demosthenes, Menander, and Euthydemus,
raised the signal, and the great fight began. The foremost ships
succeeded in reaching the mouth of the Great Harbour, and began to
break through the barrier, when the whole Syracusan fleet closed in
upon them on all sides, and forced them back Then the battle became
general, and soon the two fleets were scattered over the whole surface
of the bay in little groups, and each group engaged in a wild and
furious melee. There was no attempt to manoeuvre, but ship encountered
ship; as accident brought them together, and advanced to the attack,
under a shower of javelins and arrows. Then followed the dull crash of
collision, and the fierce rush of the fighting-men, as they
endeavoured to board. Here and there could be seen knots of three or
four triremes, locked together with shattered hulls and broken oars,
while the soldiers on the decks strove for the mastery. Nearly two
hundred triremes, and some forty thousand men, were engaged in that
tumultuous fight; and the thunder of the oars, the crash of colliding
triremes, and the yells of the assailants, raised an uproar so
tremendous that it was impossible to hear the voice of command. All
order and method was lost, yet still they fought on, the Syracusans
with a savage thirst for vengeance, the Athenians with the fury of
despair; and for a long time the issue remained doubtful.

All this scene of havoc and carnage was witnessed by the whole
population of Syracuse, who thronged the walls, or stood in arms along
the shore, and followed every incident with breathless interest. But
above all among the Athenians left behind in the camp excitement was
strained to the point of anguish. Here the view was more restricted,
and each group of spectators had its attention fixed on some one of
the many encounters which were raging in different parts of the bay.
Some who saw their friends conquering, shouted with joy and triumph;
some shrieked in terror, as an Athenian ship went down; and others,
when the combat long wavered, rocked their bodies to and fro in an
agony of suspense. Thus at the same moment every shifting turn of
battle, victory and defeat, panic and rally, flight and pursuit, was
mirrored on those pale faces, and echoed in a thousand mingled cries.

But at length these discordant voices were united in one general note
of horror, as the whole Athenian fleet, or all that was left of it,
was seen making in headlong rout for the upper end of the bay, with
the victorious Syracusans pressing hard behind. Then most of those who
were watching from the shore were seized with uncontrollable terror,
and sought to hide themselves in holes and corners of the camp; while
a few, who were more stout-hearted, waded into the water, to save the
ships, or rushed to defend the walls on the land side. But for the
present the Syracusans were contented with their victory, and after
chasing the fugitive triremes as far as their defences, they wheeled
and rowed back across the Great Harbour, through floating corpses, and
the wrecks of more than seventy vessels. On their arrival at Syracuse
they were hailed with such a burst of enthusiasm as had rarely been
witnessed in any Greek city. The victory, indeed, had been dearly
bought, but it was well worth the cost, and the power of Athens had
sustained a blow from which it could never recover. But among all the
thronging hosts of Syracuse, who now gave themselves up to revel and
rejoicing, there was one man at least who knew that even now the
danger was not yet past. Forty thousand Athenian soldiers were still
encamped within sight of the walls, and if they were allowed to
escape, they might establish themselves in some friendly city, and
begin the war again. All this was strongly felt by Hermocrates, and he
lost no time in imparting his cares and anxieties to the responsible
leaders. The Athenians, he urged, would be almost certain to decamp
during the night: let a strong force be sent out at once from
Syracuse, to occupy all the roads, and cut off their retreat. The
advice was good, but in the present temper of the army it was felt to
be impracticable. The whole city had become a scene of riot and
wassail, and if the order were given to march, it was but too evident
that not a man would obey. Baffled in this direction, the keen-witted
Syracusan hit upon another plan, which he at once proceeded to carry
into effect.

Hermocrates was not mistaken in his conjecture. The beaten and
dispirited Athenians had now but one thought,--to break up their camp
with all despatch, and make their escape by land. They had still sixty
triremes left, and Demosthenes proposed to make one more attempt to
force the entrance of the Great Harbour; but when his suggestion was
made known to the crews, they broke into open mutiny, and flatly
refused to go on board. The generals were therefore compelled to adopt
the only alternative, and it was resolved to set out on that very
night. But Fortune had not yet exhausted her malice against the
hapless Athenians. The order to strike camp had been issued, and the
soldiers were busy preparing for the march, when a party of horsemen
rode up to the Athenian outposts, and hailing the sentinels, said that
they had a message to Nicias from his friends in Syracuse. "Tell him,"
said the spokesman of the party, "That he must not attempt to stir to-
night, for all the roads are held by strong detachments of the
Syracusans. Let him wait until he has organised his forces, for a
hasty and disordered flight is sure to end in disaster."

The message, of course, came from Hermocrates, who had contrived this
trick to delay the departure of the Athenians, until time had been
gained to occupy the passes on their route. That Nicias should have
fallen into the snare is not surprising, but it is less easy to
explain how Demosthenes and the other generals came to be deceived by
so transparent a fraud. Yet such was in fact the case; the insidious
hint was accepted as a piece of friendly advice, and the march was
postponed. For a whole day and night the Athenians still lingered on
the spot, and thus gave ample time for their enemies to draw the net
round them, and block every avenue to safety.

On the third day after the battle, the order was given to march. As
the great army formed into column, the full horror of their situation
came home to every heart. This, then, was the end of those grand
dreams of conquest with which they had sailed to Sicily two years
before! On the heights of Epipolae their walls and their fort was
still standing, a monument of failure and defeat. Each familiar
landmark reminded them of some fallen comrade, or some disastrous
incident in the siege. If they glanced towards the Great Harbour, they
could see the victorious Syracusans towing off the shattered hull of
an Athenian trireme, the last sad remnant of two great armaments. If
they turned their thoughts towards Athens and home, they found no
comfort there; for their beloved city was beset with enemies, and in
themselves, beaten and broken as they were, lay her chief hope of
salvation. The past was all black with calamity, and the future loomed
terrible before them, threatening captivity and death; and the
present, in that last hour of parting, was full of such sights and
sounds of woe as might have stirred pity even in the breasts of their
enemies. Around them, the camp was strewn with the unburied corpses of
brothers, comrades and sons, and thousands more were tossing on the
waves, or flung up on the shores of the bay. And while the neglect of
that sacred duty pressed heavily on their conscience, still more
harrowing were the cries of the sick and wounded, who clung round
their knees, imploring to be taken with them, and when the army began
to move followed with tottering steps, until they sank down exhausted,
calling down the curse of heaven on the retreating host. Such was the
anguish of that moment, that it seemed as if the whole population of
some great city had been driven into exile, and was seeking a new home
in a distant soil.

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