Stories From Thucydides by H. L. Havell

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In this dire extremity, when the strongest spirits were crushed with
misery, one voice was heard, which still spoke of hope. It was the
voice of Nicias, who, when all others faltered, rose to a pitch of
heroism which he had never shown before. Bowed as he was with care,
and wasted by disease, he braced himself with more than human energy,
and moved with light step from rank to rank, exhorting that stricken
multitude in words of power. "Comrades," he said, "even now there is
no need to despair. Others have been saved before now from calamities
yet deeper than ours. You see in what state I am, cast down from the
summit of human prosperity, and condemned, in my age and weakness, to
share the hardships of the humblest soldier among you,--I, who was
ever constant in the service of the gods, and punctual in the
performance of every social duty. Yet have I not lost faith in the
righteousness of heaven, nor should you give up all for lost, if by
any act of yours you have fallen under the scourge of divine
vengeance. There is mercy, as well as justice, among the gods, and we,
in sinking thus low, have become the proper objects of their
compassion. Think too what firm ground of confidence we have, in the
shields and spears of so many thousand warriors. There is no power in
Sicily which can resist us, either to prevent our coming or to shorten
our stay. A few days march will bring us to the country of the
friendly Sicels, who have already received notice of our approach.
Once there, we can defy all attack, and look forward to the time when
we shall see our homes again, and raise up the fallen power of
Athens."

These and similar exhortations were repeated by Nicias again and
again, as the army moved slowly forwards up the valley of the Anapus,
keeping a westerly direction, towards the interior of the island. The
troops were formed in a hollow oblong, with the baggage animals and
camp-followers in the middle, and advanced in two divisions, Nicias
leading the van, and Demosthenes bringing up the rear. The vigilance
and activity of Nicias never relaxed for a moment. Careless of his
many infirmities and exalted rank, he passed incessantly up and down
the column, chiding the stragglers, and attending to the even trim of
his lines. On reaching the ford of the Anapus, they put to flight a
detachment of the enemy which was stationed there to oppose their
passage, and crossing the river, continued their march. But now the
real difficulties of the retreat began to appear. The Syracusans had
no intention of hazarding a pitched battle, but their horsemen and
light infantry hung upon the flanks of the Athenian army, making
sudden charges, and keeping up a constant discharge of javelins.

At nightfall the Athenians encamped under the shelter of a hill, some
five miles from their starting-point, and setting out at daybreak on
the following day, they pushed on with pain and difficulty, harassed
at every step by the galling attacks of the Syracusan troops.
[Footnote: Thucydides, with characteristic brevity, leaves this to be
inferred from the slowness of their progress.] A march of two miles
and a half brought them to a village, situated on a level plain, and
here they halted, wishing to supply themselves with food, and
replenish their water-vessels; for the country which they had now to
traverse was a desert, many miles in extent. Directly in their line of
route there is a narrow pass, when the road, on entering the hill
country, drops sheer down on either side into a deep ravine, and if
they could once cross this dangerous point they would be within reach
of their allies, the Sicels. But it was too late to proceed further
that day, and while they lay encamped in the village, the Syracusans
hurried on in advance, and blocked the pass by building a wall across
the road. When the Athenians resumed their march next morning, they
were fiercely assailed by the enemy's light horse and foot, who
disputed every inch of ground, and at last compelled them to fall back
on the village where they had encamped the night before. Provisions
were now growing scanty, and every attempt to leave their lines in
search of plunder and forage was baffled by the Syracusan horse.

On the fourth day they broke up their camp early, and by incessant
fighting succeeded in forcing their way as far as the pass. But all
further advance was prevented by the wall, and the dense masses of
infantry posted behind it. In vain the Athenians flung themselves
again and again upon the barrier. The troops stationed on the cliffs
above assailed them with a shower of missiles, and the solid phalanx
of hoplites repulsed every assault. Convinced at last that they were
wasting their strength to no purpose, they desisted, and retiring from
the wall halted at some distance for a brief interval of repose.
During this pause a storm of rain and thunder broke over their heads;
and to the weary and disheartened Athenians it seemed that the very
elements were in league with the enemy against them. But they had
little time to indulge in these melancholy reflections; for while they
were resting, Gylippus stole round to their rear, and prepared to cut
off their retreat by building a second wall across the pass. The news
of this imminent peril roused the Athenians from their stupor, and
they marched back with all speed along the road by which they had
come. A picked body of troops, sent on in advance, scattered the
soldiers of Gylippus, and the whole army then emerged from that death-
trap, and encamped for the night in the open plain.

The next day was spent in a last desperate effort to reach the hill
country. But being now on level ground, they were exposed on all sides
to the attacks of the Syracusan horse, who charged them incessantly,
and slew their men by hundreds, with hardly any loss to themselves.
The hopeless struggle continued until evening, and when the enemy drew
off, they left the Athenians not a mile from the place where they had
passed the previous night.

The original plan of the Athenian generals had been to penetrate the
highlands of Sicily to the west of Syracuse, and then strike across
country, until they reached the southern coast, in the direction of
Gela or Camarina. [Footnote: I have followed Holm, as cited in
Classen's Appendix (Third Edition, 1908).] But after two days'
fighting they had utterly failed to force an entrance into the
mountains. Many of their soldiers were wounded, the whole army was
weakened by famine, and a third attempt, made in such conditions, must
inevitably end in utter disaster. They resolved therefore to change
their route, and march southwards along the level coast country, until
they could reach the interior by following one of the numerous glens
which pierce the hills on this side of Sicily. Having come to this
decision, they caused a great number of fires to be lighted, and then
gave the order for an immediate start, hoping by this means to steal a
march on the enemy. This sudden flight through the darkness, in a
hostile country, with unknown terrors around them, caused something
like a panic in the Athenian army.

Nicias, however, who was still leading the van, contrived to keep his
men together, and made good progress; but the division under
Demosthenes fell into great disorder, and was left far behind. By
daybreak, both divisions [Footnote: See note, p. 242.] were within
sight of the sea, and entering the road which runs north and south
between Syracuse and Helorus, they continued their march towards the
river Cacyparis. Here they intended to turn off into the interior,
with the assistance of the Sicels, whom they expected to meet at the
river. But when they reached the ford of the Cacyparis, they found,
instead of the Sicels, a contingent of Syracusan troops, who were
raising a wall and palisade to block the passage. This obstruction was
overcome without much difficulty, and the whole Athenian army crossed
the river in safety. But the presence of the enemy on this side of
Syracuse was sufficient to deter them from taking the inland route by
the valley of the Cacyparis, and following the advice of their guides,
they kept the main road, and pressed on towards the south.

We must now return for a moment to the Syracusans under Gylippus, who
remained in their camp all night, not far from the pass which they had
so successfully defended. When they found in the morning that the
Athenians had departed, they were loud in their anger against
Gylippus, thinking that he had purposely suffered them to escape. The
tracks of so many thousands left no room for doubt as to the direction
which the fugitives had taken, and full of rage at the supposed
treachery of their leader, the Syracusans set out at once in hot
pursuit. About noon, on the sixth day of the retreat, they overtook
the division of Demosthenes, which had again lagged behind, and was
marching slowly and in disorder separated from the other half of the
army by a distance of six miles. Deprived of all hope of succour from
his colleague, and hemmed in on all sides by implacable enemies,
Demosthenes called a halt, and prepared to make his last stand. But
his men, who from the first had held the post of honour and danger,
were fearfully reduced in numbers, faint with famine, and exhausted by
their long march. Driven to and fro by the incessant charges of the
Syracusan cavalry, they could make no effective resistance, and at
last they huddled pell-mell into a walled enclosure, planted with
olive-trees, and skirted on either side by a road. They were now at
the mercy of the Syracusans. who surrounded the enclosure, and plied
them with javelins, stones, and arrows. After this butchery had
continued for many hours, and the survivors were brought to extremity
by wounds, hunger, and thirst, Gylippus sent a herald, who was the
bearer of a remarkable message. "Let those of you," he said, "who are
natives of the islands subject to Athens, come over to us, and you
shall be free men." The offer was addressed to the Greeks from the
maritime cities of the Aegaean, who might be supposed to be serving
under compulsion, and it speaks volumes for the loyalty and attachment
of these men to Athens that most of them refused to accept their
freedom from the hands of her enemies. At length, however, the whole
army of Demosthenes, which had now dwindled to six thousand men, was
induced to surrender, on condition that none of them should suffer
death by violence, by bonds, or by starvation. At the command of their
captors they gave up the money which they had with them, and the
amount collected was so considerable that it filled the hollows of
four shields. When the capitulation was concluded, Demosthenes, who
had refused to make any terms for himself, drew his sword, and
attempted to take his own life; [Footnote: This interesting fact is
recorded by Plutarch and Pausanias, who copied it from the
contemporary Syracusan historian, Philistus.] but he was prevented
from effecting his purpose, and compelled to take his place in the
mournful procession which was now conducted by a strong guard along
the road to Syracuse.

Meanwhile the vanguard under Nicias, in total ignorance of the fate
which had befallen their comrades, marched steadily forwards, and
crossing the river Erineus, encamped for the night on a neighbouring
hill. Here they were found next morning by Gylippus and the
Syracusans, who informed them that Demosthenes and his men had
surrendered, and called upon them to do the same. Doubting their good
faith, Nicias obtained a truce, while he sent a horseman to ascertain
the facts; and even when he had learnt the truth from his messenger,
he still tried to parley, offering, in the name of the Athenian state,
to defray the whole cost of the war, and to give hostages for payment,
at the rate of an Athenian citizen for each talent, on condition that
he and his men were allowed to go. But the Syracusans were in no mood
to listen to such proposals, even if Nicias had spoken with full
authority from Athens. Bare life they would grant, but no more, and as
the Athenians refused to yield on these terms, they closed in upon
them, and the cruel, hopeless struggle began again, and continued
until evening. The wretched Athenians lay down supperless to snatch a
few hours of rest, intending, when all was quiet, to steal away under
cover of darkness. But when they rose at dead of night, and prepared
to march, a shout from the Syracusan camp warned them that the enemy
were on the alert, and they were compelled to return to their
comfortless bivouac. Three hundred, however, persisted in their
intention, and forcing their way through the Syracusan lines, gained
for themselves a brief respite from capture.

A whole week had now elapsed since the ill-fated army left its
quarters on the shores of the Great Harbour, and a few thousand
starving and weary men were all that remained of that great host. At
dawn on the eighth day Nicias gave the word to march, and they pressed
on eagerly towards the Assinarus, a stream of some size, with high and
precipitous banks, not more than two miles distant from their last
halting-place. They had still some faint hope of making good their
escape, if they could but cross the river. So they fought their way
onwards, through the swarming ranks of the Syracusans, who closed them
in on all sides, and thrust them together into one solid mass. There
was life, there was freedom a little way beyond,--or, if that hope
proved futile, at any rate there was water; and every fibre in their
bodies ached and burned with intolerable thirst. They reached the
river; both banks were already lined by the Syracusan horse, who had
ridden on before, and stood guarding the ford: but there was no
stopping the wild rush of that maddened, desperate multitude. Down the
steep bank they plunged, trampling on one another, and flung
themselves open-mouthed upon the stream, with one thought, one wish,
overpowering every other impulse,--to drink, and then to die. Some
fell upon the spears of their comrades, and perished, others slipped
on the floating baggage, lost their foothold, and were swept away by
the flood. Yet still they poured on, by hundreds and by thousands,
drawn by the same longing, and thrust downwards by the weight of those
behind, until the whole riverbed was filled with a huddled, surging
mob of furious men, who drank, and still drank, or fought with one
another to reach the water. All this time an iron storm of missiles
rained down upon them from the thronging hosts of their enemies on the
banks above, while some, in the midst of their draught, were pierced
by the spears of the Peloponnesians, who followed them into the river,
and slew them at close quarters. The water grew red with blood, and
foul from the trampling of so many feet, but the thirsty multitude
still came crowding in, and drank with avidity of the polluted stream.

For a long time the slaughter raged unchecked, and the river-bed was
choked with heaps of slain. A few, who escaped from the river, were
pursued and cut down by the Syracusan horse. Nicias had held out until
the last moment; but when he perceived that all was lost, his men
being powerless either to fight or fly, he made his way to Gylippus,
and implored him to stop the useless carnage. "I surrender myself," he
said, "to you and the Spartans. Do with me as you please, but put an
end to this butchery of defenceless men." Gylippus gave the necessary
order, and the word was passed round to kill no more, but take captive
those who survived. The order was obeyed, though slowly and with
reluctance, and the work of capture began. But few of those taken in
the river ever found their way into the public gaol, where Demosthenes
was now lying, with the six thousand who had surrendered on the day
before. For, as there had been no regular capitulation, large numbers
of the prisoners were secretly conveyed away by the Syracusans, who
afterwards sold them into slavery for their own profit. As for the
three hundred who had broken out of camp on the previous night, they
were presently brought in by a party of cavalry despatched in pursuit.

When the first transports of joy and triumph were over, an assembly
was called to decide on the fate of the two Athenian generals, and of
those state prisoners, some seven thousand in number, who were the
sole visible remnant of two great armies. Then arose a strange
conflict of motives. The first who put forward his claims was
Gylippus, to whose genius and energy the victorious issue of the
struggle was mainly due. As a reward for his services, he asked that
Nicias and Demosthenes should be left to his disposal, for he wished
to have the honour of carrying home with him these famous captains,
one the greatest friend, the other the greatest enemy of Sparta. But
the general voice of the assembly was strongly against him. Nothing
but the blood of the two principal offenders could satisfy the
vengeance of the Syracusans, and those who had intrigued with Nicias
were anxious to put him out of the way, in fear lest he should betray
them. Moreover the Corinthian allies of Syracuse, who for some reason
had a special grudge against Nicias, demanded his immediate execution.
In vain Hermocrates pleaded the cause of mercy, [Footnote: Plutarch,
_Nicias_, c. 28.] and urged his fellow-citizens to make a
generous use of their victory. Sentence of death was passed, and these
two eminent Athenians, so different in character and achievement, were
united in their end.

Far worse was the doom pronounced on the six thousand men of
Demosthenes, and the thousand more who were brought to Syracuse after
the massacre at the Assinarus. They were condemned to confinement in
the stone quarries, deep pits surrounded by high walls of cliff, under
the south-eastern edge of Epipolae. Penned together in these roofless
dungeons, they were exposed to the fierce heat of the sun by day, and
to the bitter cold of the autumn nights, and having scarcely room to
move, they were unable to preserve common decency, or common
cleanliness. Many died of their wounds, or of the diseases engendered
by exposure, and their bodies were left unburied, a sight of horror
and a source of infection to the survivors. To these frightful
miseries were added a perpetual burning thirst, and the lingering
torture of slow starvation, for each man received as his daily
allowance a poor half pint of water, and a mere pittance of food, just
enough to avoid breaking the letter of the conditions which
Demosthenes had made for his troops. In this state they were left
without relief for ten long weeks; then all except the Athenians
themselves, and their allies from the Greek cities of Sicily and
Italy, were taken out and sold as slaves.

EPILOGUE

Such was the end of the Sicilian Expedition, which ultimately decided
the issue of the Peloponnesian War. Forsaking the wise counsels of
their greatest statesman, and carried away by the mad sophistry of
Alcibiades, the Athenians had committed themselves, heart and soul, to
a wild game of hazard, in which they had little to win, and everything
to lose. By this act of desperate folly they brought on themselves an
overwhelming disaster, from which it was impossible for them wholly to
recover. With wonderful vitality they rallied from the blow, and
struggled on for nine years more, against the whole power of
Peloponnesus, and their own revolted allies, backed by the influence
and the gold of Persia. They gained great victories, and under prudent
leaders they might still have been saved from the worst consequences
of their defeat in Sicily. But at every favourable crisis they
wantonly flung away the advantage they had gained, and abandoned
themselves to blind guides, who led them further and further on the
road to ruin.

The history of Thucydides ends abruptly in the twenty-first year of
the war, and for an account of the closing scenes we have to go to the
pages of Xenophon. It will be convenient, therefore, to bring our
narrative to a close at the point which we have reached, for any
attempt even to sketch the events of this confused and troubled period
would carry us far beyond the limits of the present volume. And so for
the present we take leave of the Athenians, in the hour of their
decline. Their light is burning dim, and yet darker days are awaiting
them in the future. But they are still great and illustrious, as the
chief guardians of those spiritual treasures which are our choicest
heritage from the past.

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