In the general relaxation of public morality all the dark passions of human nature, which at ordinary times lurk in secret places, came forth to the light of day, and raged without restraint. Some, who had grown rich in a day by the death of wealthy relatives, resolved to enjoy their possessions, and indulge every appetite, before they were overtaken by the same fate. Others, who had hitherto led good lives, seeing the base and the noble swept away indifferently by the same ruthless power, began to doubt the justice of heaven itself, and rushed into debauch, convinced that conscience and honour were but empty names. For human laws they cared still less, for in the universal panic there was none to enforce them, and before the voice of public authority could be heard again, both judge and transgressor, as they believed, would be involved in a common doom. All shame and fear were accordingly thrown aside, and those whom the plague had not yet touched seemed possessed by one sole desire—to drown thought and care in an orgy of fierce excess, and then to die.
II
The second invasion of the Peloponnesians was prolonged for forty days, and the whole Attic territory was laid waste. Pericles again refused to venture a pitched battle against them, knowing well that the Athenian army was no match for them in the open field. But a powerful fleet was sent to cruise round Peloponnesus, which inflicted much damage on the coast districts. It was a welcome relief to the Athenians selected for this service to escape for a time from the plague-stricken city; but unhappily they carried the infection with them, and the crews were decimated by the same disease. Nor did the evil stop here: for the same armament being afterwards despatched to Potidaea, to reinforce the blockading army and fleet, caused a virulent outbreak of the plague among the forces stationed there, which up till then had been healthy. After some fruitless operations against the town this second armament was withdrawn, and returned to Athens with the loss of more than a thousand men.
After all these disasters the reaction against Pericles, which had begun with the first invasion of Attica, reached a climax, and on all sides he was loudly decried by the Athenians, as the author of all their miseries. Envoys were sent with overtures of peace to Sparta, and when these returned with no favourable answer, the storm of popular fury grew more violent than ever. Pericles, who knew the temper of his people, and had foreseen that some such outbreak would occur, remained calm and unmoved. But wishing to allay the general excitement, and bring back the citizens to a more reasonable view of their prospects, he summoned an assembly, and addressed the multitude in terms of grave and dignified rebuke. He reminded them that they themselves had voted for war, and remonstrated against the unfairness of making him responsible for their own decision. If war could have been avoided without imperilling the very existence of their city, then that decision was wrong; but if, as was the fact, peace could only have been preserved by ruinous concessions, then his advice had been good, and they had been right in following it. The welfare of the individual citizen depended on the welfare of the community to which he belonged; as long as that was secured, private losses could always be made good, but public disaster meant private ruin. On this principle they had acted two years before, when they determined to reject the demands of Sparta. Why, then, were they now indulging in weak regrets, and turning against him whom they had appointed as their chosen guide and adviser? Was there anything in his character, any fact in his whole life, which justified them in suspecting him of unworthy motives? Was he the man to lead them astray, in order to save some selfish end—he, the great Pericles, whose loyalty, eloquence, clear-sightedness, and incorruptibility, had been proved in a public career of more than thirty years? If any other course had been open to them, he would have been to blame in counselling war; but the alternative was between that and degradation. The immediate pressure of private calamity was blinding them to the magnitude of the interests at stake—Athens, with all her fond traditions, and all the lustre of her name. That they were sure of victory he had already declared to them on many infallible grounds. But seeing them so sunk in despair, he would speak in a tone of loud assurance, and boldly assert a fact which they seemed to have overlooked. They were lords of the sea, absolute masters, that was to say, of half the world! Let them keep a firm grasp on this empire, and they would soon recover those pretty ornaments of empire—their gardens and their vineyards—which they held so dear: but, that once relinquished, they would lose all. Surely this knowledge should inspire them with a lofty contempt of their foes, a contempt grounded, not on ignorance or shallow enthusiasm, but on rational calculation. They could not now descend from the eminence on which they stood. Athens, who had blazed so long in unrivalled splendour before the eyes of the world, dared not suffer her lustre to be abated: for her, obscurity meant extinction. Let them keep this in mind, and not listen to counsels of seeming prudence and moderation, which were suicidal in a ruling state. All their calamities, except the plague, were the foreseen results of their own decision. Now was the time to display their known courage and patience. Let them think of the glory of Athens, and her imperial fame.
This memorable speech, the last recorded utterance of Pericles, had the desired effect. It was resolved to continue the war, and no further embassies were sent to Sparta. But resentment still smouldered in the hearts of the Athenians against their great statesman. How fearful was the contrast between the high hopes with which they had embarked in this struggle, and the scenes of horror and desolation which lay around them! From the walls they could see their trampled fields, their ravaged plantations, and the blackened ruins of their homes. Within, the pestilence still raged undiminished, and the city was filled with sounds and sights of woe. Under the pressure of these calamities the ascendency of Pericles went through a brief period of eclipse, and he was condemned to pay a fine. Soon, however, he recovered all his influence, and remained at the head of affairs until his death, which occurred in the autumn of the following year.
Pericles is the representative figure in the golden age of Athenian greatness, the most perfect example of that equable and harmonious development in every faculty of body and mind which was the aim of Greek civic life at its best. As an orator, he was probably never equalled, and the effect of his eloquence has found immortal expression in the lines of his contemporary Eupolis. Persuasion, we are told, sat enthroned on his lips; like a strong athlete, he overtook and outran all other orators; his words struck home like the lightning, while he held his audience enchained, as by a powerful spell; and among all the masters of eloquence, he was the only one who left his sting behind him. As a statesman, it was his object to admit every freeborn Athenian to a share of public duties and privileges; and for this purpose he introduced the system of payment, which enabled the poorer citizens to perform their part in the service of the state. His military talents, though never employed for conquest or aggression, were of no mean order; and on two occasions of supreme peril to Athens, the revolt of Euboea, and the revolt of Samos, it was his energy and promptitude which saved his city from ruin.
But it is as the head of the great intellectual movement which culminated in this epoch, as the friend of poets, philosophers, and artists, that Pericles has won his most enduring fame. By his liberal and enlightened policy the surplus of the Athenian revenues was devoted to the creation of those wonders of architecture and sculpture, whose fragments still serve as unapproachable models to the mind of modern Europe. And under his rule Athens became the school of Greece, the great centre for every form of intellectual activity, a position which she maintained until the later period of the Roman Empire.
If, however, we would understand the character of Pericles, and the spirit of the age which he represents, we must never forget that this aspect of Athenian greatness, to us by far the most important, was not the aspect which awoke the highest enthusiasm in him and his contemporaries. Those things which have made the name of Athens immortal, her art and her literature, were matters of but secondary importance to the Athenian of that age. He worshipped his city as a beloved mistress, and, like a lover, he delighted to adorn her with outward dignity and splendour. But to lavish all his thought and care on these external embellishments would have been, in his estimation, a senseless waste of his highest faculties, as if a lover should make the robes and jewels of his mistress the objects of his highest adoration. To make Athens the mightiest state in Greece, to build up the fabric of her material greatness—these were the objects for which he was ready to devote the best energies of heart and brain, and if need were, to lay down his life. He might be skilled in every elegant accomplishment, an acute reasoner, an orator, a musician, a poet; and to some extent he was all of these. But before all else he was in the highest sense a practical man, finding in strenuous action his chief glory and pride. And such a man was the last to melt into ecstasies over the high notes of a singer, or dream away his life in the fairyland of poetry.
We have dwelt at some length on the work and character of Pericles, as his death marks a turning point in Athenian history. From that day onward the policy of Athens takes a downward direction, denoting a corresponding decline in Athenian character and aspiration. Pericles had been able, by his commanding talents and proved integrity, to exercise a salutary check on the restless energies and soaring ambition of his countrymen. He had been a true father and ruler of his people, in evil times and in good, curbing them in the insolence of prosperity, comforting and exalting them in the dark hour of disaster. But the government now passed into the hands of weaker men, who, since they were incapable of leading the people, were compelled to follow it, and to maintain their position by pandering to the worst vices of the Athenian character. Rash where they should have been cautious, yielding where they should have been resolute, they squandered the immense resources of Athens, and led her on, step by step, to humiliation and defeat. The course of our narrative will show how easily the Athenians might have emerged triumphant from the struggle with their enemies, if they had followed the line of conduct marked out by Pericles. They might, indeed, have avoided the occasion of offence which led immediately to the war, and thus have escaped the necessity of fighting altogether; and this, as we have seen, was the one fatal mistake made by Pericles. But, once launched in the conflict, they were sure of an easy victory, if they had only shown a very moderate degree of prudence and self-restraint. And we need not blame the great statesmen too harshly for not foreseeing the wild excesses of folly and extravagance which we shall have to record in the following pages.
In the third year of the war the usual invasion of Attica was omitted, and the Peloponnesian army under Archidamus marched against Plataea. Having pitched their camp before the walls they prepared to lay waste the territory; but before the work of havoc began, the Plataeans sent envoys to remonstrate. "Unrighteous are your deeds," said the spokesman of the embassy, "ye men of Sparta, and unworthy of the men whose sons ye are. After the victory of Plataea, which ended the struggle against Persia, Pausanias, the chief captain of the confederate Greeks, offered sacrifice and thanksgiving at Plataea to Zeus the Liberator, and swore a solemn oath, both he, and all the Greeks whom he led, to maintain the independence of our city against all who should assail it. This they did as a recompense for our valour and devotion in our country's service. But ye, in direct violation of that oath, have made common cause with our worst enemies, the Thebans, and have come hither to enslave us. In the name of the gods who witnessed that covenant, in the name of every power worshipped alike at Plataea and at Sparta, we adjure you not to commit this sacrilege, but to leave us in peaceful possession of the privileges vouchsafed to us on that memorable day."
Such were the words of the Plataeans, to which Archidamus replied as follows: "Ye say well, men of Plataea, if ye act in the spirit of the compact to which ye have appealed. The oath which Pausanias swore was taken in defence of the common liberties of Greece. Against those liberties a new enemy has arisen, Athens, who holds half our nation in bondage, and threatens to lay her yoke upon us all. To put down that tyranny has this great coalition been called together, and if ye are true men, ye will enlist in the same cause, and take up arms for the relief of your distressed countrymen. Or at least, if ye cannot do this, then stand apart from this conflict, helping neither one side nor the other; and with this we shall be satisfied."
Having heard the answer of Archidamus, the Plataean envoys went back, and reported his words to their fellow-townsmen. But the Plataeans replied that, without the consent of the Athenians, they dare not accept his proposal, as their wives and children had been removed to Athens. Moreover, they feared that if they remained neutral the Thebans would seize the opportunity to make another attempt on their town. "Well, then," answered Archidamus, "we make you this second offer: Hand over your town and your dwellings to us, the Spartans; keep a strict account of all your trees, [Footnote: Vines and olive-trees] and of all else that can be numbered, and retire yourselves to some safe retreat, as long as the war continues. When it is over, we will restore all your property, and meanwhile keep the land in cultivation, and pay you a fixed rent, such as may suffice you."
The offer was fair, and even generous; but the Plataeans were powerless to act, without the consent of the Athenians, who held their families as hostages. Accordingly they asked for a truce, to enable them to lay the proposal before the authorities at Athens, and this being granted, they sent envoys to Athens, who speedily returned with this answer: "We have never left you at the mercy of your enemies in the past, since ye became our allies, nor will we do so now, but will help you to the best of our power; and we charge you by the oath which your fathers swore not to depart from your allegiance to Athens."
It was a cruel alternative which was offered to the hapless Plataeans: either they must leave their wives and children to the vengeance of Athens, or face the whole power of the confederates, led by Sparta. True to their character, they chose the nobler part, and determined to stand by the Athenian alliance. Henceforth no one was allowed to leave the town, and their final answer was delivered from the walls. They were unable, they said, to accept the terms offered by Archidamus.
On hearing their decision, the Spartan king made a last solemn appeal to the powers who presided over the territory of Plataea, a hallowed precinct, now about to be given up to plunder and ravage: "Ye gods and heroes, who keep the land of Plataea, bear witness that we had just cause from the first for marching hither, since the Plataeans had forsaken the alliance, and that if we do aught against them, we shall still be justified. For we have made them the fairest offers, but they would not be persuaded. Therefore let those with whom the guilt lies be punished, and prosper ye the cause of righteous vengeance."
The siege of Plataea now began in earnest. First the town was surrounded with a palisade, to prevent anyone from escaping, the materials being taken from the plantations in the neighbourhood of the town. Then they raised a mound against the wall, expecting that with so large a force as theirs they would easily carry the place by storm. Timber was brought from Cithaeron, and with this they set up two stout buttresses of cross-beams, at right angles to the town-wall, to serve as a support on either side of the mound. Within this framework they piled up fascines, stones, earth, and whatever else was at hand. The whole army was employed in this task, which was continued for seventy days and nights without intermission, the men working in regular spells.
Meanwhile the Plataeans had not been idle. First they built a wall of bricks and timber opposite to the point where the mound was rising, and resting on the ramparts, in order to raise the height of their defences. The new wall was covered with hides, raw and dressed, to protect the timber and the workmen from being injured by burning arrows. And while this structure was in progress, they made a breach in the old wall, and carted away the earth from the bottom of the mound. To prevent this, the Peloponnesians filled up the space thus caused with heavy masses of clay, rammed tightly into baskets of osier, which made a solid structure, much harder to remove than the loose earth. Then the Plataeans had recourse to another device: marking carefully the position of the mound, they ran a mine from the city under it, and as fast as the earth fell in, they carried it away. This continued for a long time, for the Peloponnesians, who saw their mound rising no higher, for all their labour, but rather growing less, did not guess the cause, but went on heaping up materials, which were swallowed up as fast as they were brought.
Still the Plataeans feared that in spite of these counterworks they would at length be overpowered by numbers, unless they contrived some better means of defence. So they left off building the wall of bricks and timber, and beginning at either end of it, they built a crescent-shaped wall, curving inwards towards the city. Thus the Peloponnesians, if they succeeded in carrying the first wall, would find themselves confronted by a second line of defence, and would have all their work to do over again, besides being exposed to a cross-fire.
While the Plataeans were thus vigorously defending themselves, and before the mound was completed, the Peloponnesians brought siege-engines to bear on the wall, one of which greatly alarmed the besieged garrison, by severely shaking their wall of timber and bricks. But this new mode of attack was frustrated, like the rest, by the ingenuity of the Plataeans, who dropped nooses over the ends of the battering-rams, and drew them up just before the moment of impact. Moreover they suspended heavy beams of wood at intervals along the wall, each beam hanging by long chains from two cranes which rested on the wall and projected outwards from it; and whenever a ram was being brought up, they drew up the beam at right angles to it, and then, letting go the chains, dropped the ponderous timber, which came crashing down on the ram, and broke off its head.
Thus baffled at every point, the Peloponnesians began to despair of taking the town by assault, and thought that they would be compelled to form a blockade. But before being driven to this costly and tedious operation, they determined to try and set fire to the place, which seemed possible, as it was but small in extent. So they waited till the wind was in the right direction, and then brought vast quantities of faggots, and threw them into the space between the mound and the wall; and this being soon filled up, they piled up more faggots as far as they could reach within the city itself, and then throwing in lighted torches, with brimstone and pitch, they set fire to the whole mass. Then arose a great sheet of flame, such as had never been raised by human hands, though not, of course, to be compared to the vast forest-fires, produced by natural means; yet it was sufficient to cause a panic among the Plataeans, and bring their town to the verge of destruction. The heat was so intense that a whole quarter of the place was cleared of its defenders, and if a wind had arisen to drive the flame inwards, nothing could have saved the whole town from destruction. [Footnote: Thucydides seems to imply that there was a wind, though a slight one.] But fortunately the breeze was but slight, and it is said also that a heavy fall of rain came on, and quenched the conflagration.
Having failed in their last attempt, the Peloponnesians sent away part of their army, and employed those who remained in building a blockading wall round Plataea. The work was completed towards the end of September, and they then disbanded their army, leaving a force sufficient to guard half the wall; for the Thebans, relentless in their zeal against Plataea, took charge of the other half. The number of the besieged was four hundred and eighty, of whom eighty were Athenians, and a hundred and ten women to make bread for the garrison.
I
During the last half-century the art of naval warfare had made great progress in Greece. The Greek war-galley, or trireme, a vessel propelled by three banks of oars, had always been furnished with a sharp-pointed prow, for the purpose of ramming an opponent's ship; but many years elapsed before the Greeks attained genuine skill in the use of this formidable weapon. According to the ordinary method of fighting, after the first shock of collision the affair was decided by the hoplites, or heavy-armed infantry, stationed on the decks of the two contending ships; and in this manner was fought the engagement between the Corcyraean and Corinthian fleets which occurred in the year before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War. There the ship was simply a vehicle, which served to bring the antagonists together, and the rest was left to the prowess of the hoplites.
The Athenians were the first to abandon this crude and clumsy style of fighting, and in the course of two generations their seamen had become renowned throughout Greece for the unrivalled skill which they showed in working and manoeuvring the trireme. A few hoplites were still carried, to serve in cases of emergency; but by far the most important part in the encounter was played by the trireme itself, with its long, tapering, sharp-pointed prow. To use this deadly but delicate instrument with effect required great coolness, dexterity, and judgment, on the part of the steersman, and a crew under perfect command. The tactics usually employed were as follows: watching his opportunity, the captain gave the order "full speed ahead!" and darting rapidly through the enemy's line, wheeled suddenly round, and drove the beak of his galley with terrible force against the stern or side of the vessel selected for attack. One blow from the long lance-like point, propelled by the whole weight and impetus of the trireme, was sufficient to sink or disable an enemy's ship, and the attacking galley was then backed away from the wreck, and directed against another victim.
The incessant practice of nearly half a century had enabled the Athenians to attain consummate mastery in this new method of naval warfare; and they were now to give signal proof of their immense superiority over the other maritime powers of Greece.
In the same summer which witnessed the investment of Plataea, the Spartans planned an expedition against Acarnania, the westernmost province of Greece, which they wished to detach from the Athenian alliance. A Spartan officer, named Cnemus, was sent off in advance, with a thousand hoplites, to raise the wild mountain tribes, and led an attack against Stratus, the capital of Acarnania; and in the meantime orders were sent round to equip a numerous fleet, which was to support the operations of Stratus by harassing the coast districts.
The attack on Stratus failed altogether, chiefly in consequence of the impetuosity of the rude mountaineers serving under Cnemus, who advanced unsupported against the town, and meeting with a severe repulse embarrassed the movements of their Greek allies. About the same time the Peloponnesian fleet, consisting of forty-seven ships, was sailing down the Corinthian Gulf to co-operate with Cnemus. It was known that Phormio, the Athenian admiral, was stationed at Naupactus with a squadron of twenty vessels; but the Peloponnesian captains never dreamed that he would venture to attack them with so small a force, and they pursued their voyage along the southern shore of the gulf, without making any preparations for a battle. Phormio, however, had other intentions: keeping close to the opposite shore, he followed their movements, and allowed them to pass through the narrow strait which divides the inner from the outer gulf, wishing to avoid an engagement until they reached the open water. The Peloponnesians dropped anchor for the night at Patrae in Achaia, and Phormio took up his station at Chalcis, a harbour-town of Aetolia, at the mouth of the Evenus. Being now convinced that Phormio meditated an encounter, for which they had little inclination, the Peloponnesian admirals made an attempt [Footnote: I have adopted the reading of Bloomfield, approved by Classen (4th Edition).] to steal across under cover of darkness. But this manoeuvre was detected, and they found their way barred by the Athenian squadron in the middle of the channel. Being thus driven to bay the Peloponnesians drew up their ships in a circle, with their prows turned outwards, like a flock of sheep assailed by a dog. Within the circle were placed the smaller vessels accompanying the fleet, and five of the swiftest galleys, which were intended to lend assistance against any attack of the enemy.
To keep a large flotilla in such a position, even in a calm sea, where no hostile movement was made against them, would have been a task to try the skill of the most accomplished mariners. But the Peloponnesian crews were untrained, the decks of their ships were crowded with soldiers, and they were hampered by the crowd of smaller craft. Worst of all, they were threatened in every direction by the agile Athenian galleys, which, moving in single file, swept round and round them, approaching closer and closer at every circuit, so that they were penned together in an ever-narrowing space, and in danger of fouling one another. To complete their confusion, the morning breeze began to blow from the gulf; and Phormio, who had been waiting for this, now gave the signal for attack. The Peloponnesians hardly attempted any defence; for the unskilful crews of the galleys could not manage their oars in the rising sea, and the steersmen had consequently no control of their vessels. All their efforts were employed in keeping clear of one another, warding off a collision with long poles, amid a hubbub of curses and abuse. Into this huddled, swaying mass of war-galleys and merchant-craft mingled together now dashed the Athenian triremes, wrecking every vessel which they met. A wild panic ensued among the Peloponnesian crews, and as fast as they could extricate themselves they rowed off and sought shelter in the harbour of Patrae. From here they afterwards sailed to Cyllene, the dockyard of Elis, where they were joined by Cnemus with the troops from Acarnania. Twelve ships fell into the hands of the Athenians, and taking these with them they sailed first to Rhium, a level headland on the Locrian Coast, on which stood a temple of Poseidon. Having left one of the captured ships as a thank-offering to the god of the sea, they made their way back to the original station at Naupactus.
II
The authorities at Sparta were highly indignant at the failure of their expedition in Acarnania, and the defeat of the Peloponnesian fleet by so inferior a force. For this was their first experience of a sea-fight since the outbreak of the war, and they made no allowance for the want of skill in their own crews, attributing the disaster to mere cowardice. They did not reflect how vast was the difference between raw sailors, lately transferred from the plough to the oar, and the veteran seamen of Athens, trained under a system which had been slowly perfected in the course of half a century. So they sent three commissioners to Cnemus, with peremptory orders to prepare for another sea-fight, and not allow himself to be shut up in harbour by the feeble squadron of Phormio. One of these commissioners was Brasidas, a brilliant young officer, who had gained distinction two years before by saving the harbour-town of Methone, on the coast of Messenia, from being captured by the Athenians. We shall hear much more of him in the sequel.
On the arrival of Brasidas and his colleagues, the ships lying at Cyllene were made ready for immediate service, and orders were sent round to the allied cities for other ships. Phormio also sent an urgent despatch to Athens announcing his victory, and asking for reinforcements; and the Athenians sent twenty triremes to his aid. These vessels, however, arrived too late, for the admiral, acting on instructions from Athens, sailed first to Crete, where he was delayed a long time by contrary winds. Phormio, with his twenty triremes, was therefore compelled to engage the whole Peloponnesian fleet, numbering seventy-seven ships, which had now sailed round from Cyllene, and taken up its station just within the strait, close to the Achaean town of Panormus. A strong force of Peloponnesian soldiers was encamped on the shore, to co-operate with the fleet. Phormio anchored his ships just outside the strait, being resolved, if it were in any way possible, not to fight the Peloponnesians in the narrow waters. As the Peloponnesians, on their side, were equally determined not to be lured out into the open sea, the two fleets remained confronting each other for a whole week, without attempting any aggressive movement. At last the Peloponnesian leaders decided to give battle with Phormio at once, fearing that if they delayed any longer he would be reinforced from Athens.
It was the universal custom of Greek commanders to wind up the courage of their men on the eve of a battle by a short and pithy address, calculated to inspire them with confidence, by giving them a reasonable hope of victory. Such a practice, strange as it may seem to us, was natural among a people whose armies and fleets were recruited from the general body of the citizens, accustomed to free speech in their public assemblies. They were not men of war by profession, trained in habits of blind obedience, but sensitive Greeks, who carried into the camp the noble freedom of civic life, and were not prepared to shed their blood without sufficient cause, and a fair prospect of success.
Seldom was there greater need of this sort of military eloquence than on the present occasion. On both sides there was much discouragement, and a general reluctance to begin the fight. The Peloponnesians were cowed by their recent defeat, and dreaded the naval skill of the Athenians, which seemed to them almost supernatural; and Phormio's men shrank from an encounter with such enormous odds. Accordingly the Peloponnesian captains on one side, and Phormio on the other, did what they could to argue their crews into a more hopeful frame of mind. The Peloponnesian seamen who had taken part in the first battle were reminded that they had been caught unprepared, and assured that this time every precaution would be taken to prevent a second reverse. They were flattered by the confident assertion that the superior skill of the Athenians was far outweighed by their own superior courage. "Look," said one of the admirals, speaking to his own division, "at this powerful armament, outnumbering the enemy by four to one—look at the army drawn up on the shore, ready to lend aid to any who are hard pressed—and you will see that with such advantages defeat is impossible. Do your duty like men, and expect to be rewarded or punished according to your deserts." Similar addresses, combining encouragement with threats, were heard in the other parts of the fleet.
Among the Athenian sailors there had been much jesting about the land-lubbers of Peloponnesus, and in the first flush of their victory they had been ready to face any odds on the sea. But now, seeing themselves confronted by such overwhelming numbers, they had lost heart for the moment, and were seen standing about in little groups, shaking their heads and whispering fearfully together. It was an anxious moment for Phormio; he knew the immense importance of maintaining, at any cost, the naval reputation of Athens, and if his men went into battle in their present temper, they were certain to suffer a crushing defeat. Determining, therefore, if possible, to allay the panic which was fast spreading throughout the fleet, he summoned the crews into his presence, and harangued them as follows:—
"Comrades, I have called you hither to assure you that you have no cause for alarm. The numbers of the enemy, which seem to you so formidable, should, if properly considered, be a ground of confidence; for this unwieldy armament is a sign that they are thoroughly terrified, and seek safety in a huge crowd of ships. The firmness and discipline which they have acquired by long experience of land warfare will avail them little on the sea For courage is largely a matter of habit, and the bravest landsman is a mere coward when he is taken away from his own element, and set down on the heaving deck of a war-galley where he can hardly keep his feet. The disorganized multitude with which we shall have to deal is a mere mob, held together by the authority of Sparta, demoralized by their late defeat, and forced to fight against their will. Face them boldly, and our very audacity in assailing such numbers will sink them still deeper into helpless terror, for they will think that we must be invincible, or we should never run such risks. It shall be my business to bring on the engagement in blue water, where we shall have them at our mercy. Now every man to his station; be prompt, and be silent, and attend to the word of command. Remember your old spirit, and reflect that the honour of Athens is in your hands to-day."
The great object of the Peloponnesian leaders was to compel Phormio to give battle in the confined space of the strait. With this intention they determined to make a sudden movement towards the northern coast of the gulf, threatening an attack on Naupactus. At daybreak they drew up their ships in four lines, with the coast of Peloponnesus behind them, and with twenty fast-sailing triremes stationed on the right wing, to cut off Phormio's fleet, if, as they anticipated, he advanced to the defence of Naupactus. Wheeling then to the right, the ships sailed some distance, four abreast, towards the inner gulf; and when they came opposite to Naupactus, they changed their course, and moved in column, with the right wing leading towards the northern shore.
The manoeuvre, so far as concerned its immediate purpose, was completely successful. Phormio, much against his will, was obliged to leave his station outside the strait, and go to the aid of Naupactus, which had been left undefended. Great was the delight of the Peloponnesian captains when they saw the little Athenian squadron creeping close, in single file, along the northern side of the gulf, for they thought that not one of the twenty would escape them. At a given signal, the whole fleet formed into line, resuming its original order, four deep, and bore down upon the Athenians. Eleven of Phormio's triremes succeeded in clearing the strait, and getting into the open waters in the direction of Naupactus; but the remaining nine were overtaken and driven aground, and their crews, except those who escaped by swimming, were put to the sword. Some of these vessels were towed off as prizes by the Peloponnesians, and one they captured with all her crew. The rest were saved by the valour of the Messenian soldiers, who had followed the movements of Phormio's vessels along the shore, and now did good service by boarding the stranded triremes, and hauling them to land, after a sharp tussle with the enemy.
Meanwhile the eleven ships which had eluded the attack were hotly pursued by the twenty fast-sailing vessels on the Peloponnesian right wing. All but one got through in safety, and took refuge in the harbour of Naupactus, and drawing up in line, with their prows outwards, prepared to defend themselves if the enemy advanced further against them. But the rearmost vessel was hard pressed by a Leucadian ship, and the rest of the pursuers followed at a considerable distance, singing the paean [Footnote: A song of victory.] as they rowed, and expecting an easy victory. Now, however, occurred one of those sudden turns of fortune so frequent in the course of a sea-fight. The Athenian trireme which had been left far behind in the chase, made a sudden sweep round a merchant-vessel anchored at the mouth of the harbour, struck her pursuer amidships, and sank her.
This splendid feat of seamanship filled the Peloponnesians, who were advancing in disorder, with amazement and terror. On every trireme the cry of "Hold her!" [Footnote: This was done by thrusting the oars, with the blades held flat, deep into the water] was heard, and some of the vessels, losing way suddenly, ran aground on the shallows. The others hung back, waiting until the main body of the fleet should come to their support. Seeing them drifting thus, stupefied and helpless, the Athenians took heart again, and raising a shout rowed swiftly from their station within the harbour, and charged down upon them. The Peloponnesians, after a feeble attempt at resistance, took to flight, heading for their original station on the opposite coast. Six of their vessels were captured, and the Athenians, not content with this, fell upon the main body of the fleet, and recovered their own ships which had been taken in the strait. The victorious crews of Phormio then returned to Naupactus, and set up a trophy at the place where they had been moored when this splendid rally was made, opposite to the temple of Apollo. The Peloponnesians also raised a trophy, to commemorate their first success, and then, fearing the arrival of the fresh ships from Athens, they sailed off to Lechaeum, the northern harbour of Corinth.
III
In strange contrast with the disgraceful exhibition of cowardice and incompetence which we have just witnessed, we have now to record a daring attempt, undertaken shortly afterwards, to strike at the very heart of the Athenian power. While the beaten crews of the Peloponnesian fleet were waiting to be paid off at Lechaeum, they suddenly received orders to take their oars and rowing-cushions, and proceed to Nisaea, the port of Megara. The plan was to embark them on forty vessels, which were lying in the dockyards, and make a night-attack on Peiraeus. The suggestion came from the Megarians, but in carrying it out the Peloponnesians were probably influenced by the bold and enterprising spirit of Brasidas. And in fact, the meditated descent on Peiraeus was neither so wild nor so rash as it may at first sight appear. For the Athenians, never dreaming that they might be taken by surprise, had not taken the precaution to close the entrance of their harbour, or to station guard-ships for its defence.
Without delay, the officers in charge of the expedition mustered their crews at Nisaea, and embarking by night, got their ships under way. But at the last moment their hearts failed them, and instead of sailing to Peiraeus, they landed on the island of Salamis, and after attacking a sea-side fort, and capturing three triremes which were riding at anchor near it, they spread themselves out, and began ravaging and plundering the country.
Meanwhile fire-signals had been raised, conveying the alarm to Peiraeus and Athens. A wild panic ensued, and a rumour ran through the upper city that the enemy had sailed into Peiraeus, while in the harbour-town it was generally supposed that Salamis was lost, and Peiraeus on the point of being invaded. The Peloponnesians employed in this adventure afterwards pretended that they had been hindered by contrary winds from carrying out their original design. But this was a mere excuse, and if they had chosen they might have sailed unopposed to Peiraeus, and inflicted terrible injury on Athens. But it was now too late, for the Athenians, as soon as the news was brought, had marched down with their whole military force to Peiraeus, and occupied every assailable point in the harbour, while at the same time every ship in the docks was launched and manned, and sent off in headlong haste to Salamis.
By this time it was broad daylight, and the Peloponnesians, being warned that a rescue was on the way from Peiraeus, made off with their booty, and getting, on board their ships, sailed back to Nisaea. They had the more reason for hastening their departure, as the Megarian ships which had carried them to Salamis, having lain a long while in dry-dock, were leaky and unseaworthy; for the harbour of Megara had for some time past been kept in close blockade by the Athenians.
This memorable incident, following close on the brilliant victories of Phormio, taught the Athenians to take better precautions for the future. Hitherto they would have scoffed at the suggestion that their own arsenals and dockyards were exposed to attack. But now they provided for the safety of Peiraeus by closing the harbours and keeping a vigilant watch. And that terrible night left an impression on their minds which was not soon forgotten.
I
We have already traced the steps by which the various cities composing the Confederacy of Delos gradually became subjects and tributaries of Athens. After this great change was effected, the only members of the original league who retained their independence were the wealthy and powerful communities of Chios and Lesbos. These two islands were allowed to retain undisturbed control of their own affairs, with the sole obligation of sending a fixed quota of ships to serve in the Athenian Navy. It does not appear that the performance of this duty was felt as a grievance, and no act of oppression had been committed by Athens, such as might have provoked her allies in Lesbos or Chios to turn against her. In both islands the general body of the citizens were on the whole friendly to the Athenians, who afforded them an effectual means of protection against the tyranny of the nobles, by summoning high-born offenders to be tried before the Athenian tribunals. [Footnote: The evidence for this statement will be found in Thucydides, viii. 48.] It was therefore not among the people at large, but among the privileged few, that any movement of revolt against Athens was to be expected.
Some years before the outbreak of the Peloponnesian War the Lesbian malcontents had solicited the Spartans to help them in throwing off the yoke of Athens. This application, which was probably made at the time of the revolt of Samos, found no favour with Sparta, and nothing further was attempted on that occasion. But in the fourth year of the war alarming rumours were brought to Athens from Tenedos, a small island included in the Athenian alliance, whose inhabitants were jealous of the threatened ascendancy of Lesbos in the eastern districts of the Aegaean. There was a design, it was said, among the leading citizens of Mytilene, the principal city of Lesbos, to unite the inhabitants of the island by force under their rule, and renounce their allegiance to Athens. Help was expected from Sparta, and the Boeotians, who were of the same race as the Lesbians, were also in the plot. This statement was confirmed by envoys from Methymna, the second city of Lesbos, which stood apart from the conspiracy, and by certain citizens of Mytilene, who had turned informers from motives of private revenge.
Among the Athenians at this time there was a general feeling of despondency and exhaustion. The full hardship of the war pressed heavily upon them, and their population was thinned by the ravages of the plague. In such a mood the thought of undertaking a campaign against a great island like Lesbos, then at the height of her power, filled them with dismay. Was it possible that a favoured and privileged ally had taken up arms against them in the hour of their distress? It was a slander, they could not, they would not believe it. At any rate, before proceeding to extremities, they would try the effect of a friendly remonstrance. So they sent envoys with a pacific message to the Mytilenaeans, hoping by fair words to deter them from their purpose. In this, however, they were disappointed, and being at last convinced that the Lesbians were on the brink of revolt, they sent off forty triremes without delay, in order, if possible, to catch them unawares. For they had been informed that the Mytilenaeans were about to celebrate the festival of Apollo, in which the whole population took part, outside the city walls; and if the triremes arrived in time, there would be a fine opportunity for a surprise. At the same time they took possession of ten Mytilenaean triremes, which had been sent to serve in the Athenian fleet, and imprisoned the crews.
But now was seen one of the weaknesses inherent in the nature of the Athenian constitution. These measures could not be taken without public debate in the popular assembly, and such a method of procedure rendered secrecy impossible. The Mytilenaeans received timely warning of their danger, and keeping close within their walls, repaired the weak places in their defences, and set a careful watch. Shortly afterwards the Athenian fleet hove in sight. As the Mytilenaeans refused to obey the summons delivered to them in the name of the imperial people,—that they should raze their walls, and surrender their ships,—hostilities commenced. But on neither side was much vigour displayed, for the Athenian officers thought themselves too weak to undertake any decisive operations with their present force, and the Mytilenaeans desired to obtain a respite, to enable them to obtain aid from Sparta. Accordingly they asked for an armistice, pretending that they wished to plead their cause by their own representatives before the Athenian assembly; and their request being granted, they sent envoys to Athens, who made a show of carrying on negotiations. And in the meantime a trireme was despatched in all haste to carry their petition to Sparta.
On the return of the Mytilenaean envoys from Athens, where of course they had accomplished nothing, the siege of Mytilene began in earnest. The city was situated on a promontory facing the Asiatic coast on the south-eastern side of the island, and had two harbours, on its northern and southern side. Both of these harbours were now held in close blockade by the Athenians, who established two camps, one on either side of the town, and patrolled the harbour-mouths with their ships. But on the land side the investment was not yet completed, so that supplies could still be brought into the town from the island. Reinforcements, however, came pouring into the Athenian quarters in answer to a summons sent to the cities of the Athenian alliance, who were the more willing to lend help, as the Lesbians made no vigorous effort in their own defence.
While the prospects of Athens were thus brightening, the Mytilenaean envoys, after a stormy voyage, arrived at Sparta, and laid their petition before the authorities. It happened that the Olympic festival was close at hand, where representatives would be present from all the cities of the Peloponnesian league; so the envoys received orders to go to Olympia, and state their case in the presence of the Spartan allies. They went, therefore, to Olympia, and when the festival was over, the Mytilenaean orator addressed the confederates as follows:—
"Before we urge our claim for assistance we wish to combat a prejudice which we know to be general in Greece against those who desert their allies in time of war. For we wish not only to obtain your countenance and support, but also to preserve your respect. To abandon an ally without just cause in a time of peril is justly regarded as an act of treason. But then the alliance must be a fair and equal relation voluntarily assumed on both sides, based on mutual esteem and parity of power. Can anyone assert that our connexion with Athens answers to this description? Have we not seen how the confederacy of maritime cities formed against Persia was gradually converted into an Athenian empire? And though we and the Chians enjoyed nominal independence, we had good reason to fear that this was only a temporary concession, which would be withdrawn as soon as the Athenians felt themselves strong enough to attack us. We were allowed to retain our liberty, partly because they feared our navy, and partly because they wished to make us accomplices in their own aggressions, and lend an appearance of equity to the acts of violence in which we were compelled to take part. Having swallowed up the smaller states, they were ready to pounce upon us, and were only prevented by the outbreak of the present war. Who, then, can blame us, if we seized the opportunity when they were weakened to repudiate this false alliance, and anticipate the blow which they were preparing for us? Athens, we repeat, has no just title to our allegiance; the bond which held us together was fear on our side and interest on theirs. We are natural enemies; and when your foe is disabled, then is the time to strike.
"Having thus cleared ourselves from the imputation of disloyalty, we will now make plain to you the advantages which you will gain by espousing our cause. If you wish to inflict irreparable injury on Athens, you must promote every hostile movement against her in those regions which contain the sources of her power, that is to say, the islands and coast-lands of the Aegaean. For if our revolt is successful, others will follow our example, and the Athenians will be stripped of their revenues, the mainstay of their empire. You can lend us aid most effectually by summoning your allies for a second [Footnote: Attica had already been invaded earlier in the summer.] invasion of Attica, and thus preventing the Athenians from sending reinforcements to Lesbos. You have a rare opportunity, for their city is wasted by the plague, and their navies are dispersed on foreign service. Remember, then, your proud position as champions of Greek liberty, and put away the reproach which you have sometimes incurred by leaving the revolted subjects of Athens to fight their battles alone. [Footnote: As in the case of Samos.] For the cause of Lesbos is the cause of all Greece."
It will be observed that the greater part of this remarkable speech consists of an elaborate endeavour on the part of the Mytilenaeans to justify themselves. The arguments employed were entirely sophistical, for the Lesbians had no real grievance—and the statement that they were in danger of losing their independence was a pure invention. But they spoke to a partial audience, and the Spartans had already prejudged the case in their favour. It was therefore decided to receive them into the Peloponnesian alliance, and orders were issued to the allies to assemble at the Isthmus with two-thirds of their forces for an immediate invasion of Attica. The Spartans, acting with unusual vigour, were the first to appear at the Isthmus, where they made preparations for hauling ships overland from the northern harbour of Corinth, intending to attack Athens by sea and land. But the rest of the confederates came in but slowly, as they were engaged in getting in their harvest, and had little inclination for a second campaign.
The Spartans soon found out that they were mistaken in supposing the energies of Athens to be exhausted. Without moving their fleet from Lesbos, the Athenians manned a hundred triremes, raising the crews from the whole body of the citizens, with the exception of the knights and the wealthiest class of the Solonian census, and pressing even resident foreigners into the service; and with this imposing force they made an armed demonstration before the eyes of their enemies at the Isthmus, and then, coasting along Peloponnesus, made descents wherever they pleased. This spirited conduct produced the desired effect. For the Spartans, who were still waiting for their allies at the Isthmus, saw themselves baffled in all their calculations, and concluded that they had been misinformed by the Lesbians as to the state of affairs at Athens; and hearing that their own coast-lands were being ravaged by the Athenian fleet, they hastily decamped, and the plan of a second invasion came to nothing.
The summer was now drawing to a close, and as yet no progress had been made with the siege of Mytilene. The town was still blockaded by sea, but the Mytilenaeans had free egress on the land-side, and marched up and down the island, confirming the other towns which had joined in the revolt, and threatening Methymna, which still remained loyal to the Athenian alliance. When the Athenians were informed of this state of things, they sent a thousand hoplites under Paches to reinforce the besieging army; and on their arrival the investment of Mytilene was completed by a wall drawn from sea to sea, and cutting off the town from the rest of the island. The Mytilenaeans now began to despair, for their supplies were failing, and there seemed no hope of relief. But during the winter a ray of hope reached them from outside, and encouraged them to persevere in their resistance. There was a weak point in the Athenian wall, where it closed a ravine; and through this interval a Spartan named Salaethus, who had sailed to Lesbos in a trireme, and crossed the island on foot, succeeded in making his way into the town. Salaethus announced himself as an agent sent from Sparta, to inform the distressed garrison that, as soon as the season permitted, forty triremes would be sent to their assistance, and that Attica would be invaded at the same time, to keep the enemy occupied at home. At this welcome news the hopes of the Mytilenaeans revived, and all thoughts of surrender were laid aside.
II
As soon as spring arrived, the Spartans, true to their promise, sent off forty triremes, commanded by Alcidas, to raise the siege of Mytilene, and marched in full force into Attica, thinking thus to divert the attention of the Athenians, and prevent them from interfering with the voyage of Alcidas. They remained a long time in Attica, waiting for news from their fleet, and employing the time in a systematic ravage of the whole territory. But time passed, and no message arrived from Alcidas, who seemed to have disappeared with all his ships; so that at last, as their expectations were disappointed, and their supplies exhausted, they broke up their army and returned home.
The position of Mytilene was now growing desperate. Nothing more was heard of the relieving squadron, and the scanty store of provisions was rapidly failing; for, owing to the betrayal of their design, the Mytilenaeans had been hurried into revolt before their preparations were completed, and had had no time to lay up a sufficient stock of food. Salaethus, therefore, determined to make a sudden sally, and break out of the town; and the better to effect this purpose, he furnished the common people, who had hitherto served as light-armed soldiers, with the full equipment of heavy infantry. But this proceeding brought on a catastrophe, for the commons no sooner found themselves in possession of better weapons than they turned upon their masters, and accused them of secreting supplies of corn for their own use. "Bring out your corn," they cried, "and divide it equally, or we will go out and make terms with the Athenians for ourselves." Alarmed at this threat, which if carried out would leave them exposed as the sole objects of Athenian vengeance, the nobles sent a message to Paches, on behalf of the whole city, offering to surrender, on condition that their case should be tried by the tribunals at Athens, and stipulating that, while the decision was pending, no violence should be offered to any of the inhabitants. The proposal was accepted, and Paches marched his forces into the town. In spite of the convention, the leaders of the revolt took sanctuary in the temples, being in dread of summary execution. Paches reassured them, and sent them in safe custody to Tenedos.
We must now turn back a little, and follow the movements of Alcidas. The Spartan admiral, it would seem, had small stomach for the bold adventure on which he was bound—no less than to rob the Athenians of one of their most important possessions, and defy the redoubtable captains of Athens on their own element. After loitering for some time off the coast of Peloponnesus, he sailed on slowly as far as Delos, and then, touching at Icarus, he heard that Mytilene was already taken. Wishing, however, to inform himself with certainty, he pushed on as far as Erythrae, on the mainland of Asia, which he reached seven days after the fall of Mytilene. Being now assured that the report was true, he called a council of war to decide what was to be done. Then a certain Greek of Elis, named Teutiaplus, made a bold suggestion: "Let us," he said, "sail straight to Mytilene, and make an attempt to recapture the town by surprise. Most likely the Athenians, flushed with success, will be taken unawares, and we shall find the harbour open, and the land forces dispersed, and if we make a sudden onfall, under cover of darkness, we shall probably succeed."
The prudent Alcidas found this proposal little to his taste; nor was he better pleased by another plan, put forward by the Lesbian envoys who were returning on board the Peloponnesian fleet, and seconded by a party of exiles from the cities of Ionia. These men tried to persuade Alcidas to establish himself in some city of Asia Minor, and raise a revolt among the allies of Athens in these parts. He had, they said, every prospect of success, for his arrival was welcomed on all sides. Let him seize the opportunity of attacking the Athenians in their most mortal part, first by withdrawing the tribute of Ionia, and secondly by putting them to the expense of a blockade.
This daring scheme might have led to something important, if the fleet had been commanded by Brasidas. But Alcidas was a man of very different temper, and having arrived too late to save Mytilene, he had now but one thought,—to return to Peloponnesus as fast as he could, and get out of the reach of the terrible Athenian triremes. So he set his fleet in motion, and sailing along the coast in a southerly direction put in at Ephesus. On the voyage he showed himself to be as cruel as he was cowardly, by capturing and putting to death the crews of the vessels which came in his way. These were not a few, for the ships which crossed his path approached fearlessly, under the impression that his fleet was from Athens; for no one dreamed that a Peloponnesian squadron would dare to enter these waters. For this senseless barbarity he was severely rebuked by a deputation of Samian exiles, now living on the mainland, who met him at Ephesus. His was a strange method, they remarked with bitter irony, of helping the Ionians to recover their liberty—to butcher defenceless men, who had done him no harm, but looked to him for rescue from their bondage to Athens! If he continued to behave thus, he would make the name of Sparta detested throughout Ionia. Dull as he was, Alcidas could not but feel the justice of this reprimand, and he let the rest of his prisoners go.
The presence of a Peloponnesian fleet had caused great alarm among the inhabitants of Ionia, and urgent messages came in daily to Paches at Mytilene, summoning him to their aid. For even though Alcidas had declined to take up a permanent station on the coast, as the exiles had suggested, it was apprehended that he would pillage the sea-side towns, which were unfortified, on his homeward voyage. At last two state triremes, theParalusandSalaminia,which had been sent on public business from Athens, came into Mytilene with the news that they had sighted the fleet of Alcidas lying at anchor off Clarus. [Footnote: A little town, north-west of Ephesus.] Thereupon Paches put to sea at once, and gave chase. But Alcidas had got wind of his danger, and was already on the high seas, making all speed for Peloponnesus. Paches pursued him as far as Patmos, and then turned back. He would gladly have caught the Peloponnesians in blue water, where he could have sent all their ships to the bottom; but as it was he thought himself fortunate to have escaped the necessity of forming a blockade, as he must have done if he had come up with them near land, and driven them ashore. As for Alcidas, he fled in wild haste, keeping the open sea, being resolved not to touch land, if he could help it, until he reached the shelter of a Peloponnesian harbour.
III
On his return to Lesbos, Paches despatched to Athens the prisoners who had been sent to Tenedos, among whom was the Spartan Salaethus. When they arrived the Athenians immediately put Salaethus to death, and then met in full assembly to decide on the fate of the rest. They had just been delivered from a fearful danger, and in the natural reaction of vindictive rage which had now set in they came to the horrible resolution of putting all the adult male population of Mytilene to the sword, and selling the women and children as slaves. The Mytilenaeans, they argued, were without excuse: they were not subjects of Athens, who might wish to escape from their burdens, but free and privileged allies. They had treacherously plotted against Athens, when she was sunk deep in calamity, and brought a Peloponnesian fleet within the sacred circle of her empire. For a long time past they had evidently been hatching a vile conspiracy against the very existence of Athens. Having once come to this decision, the Athenians lost no time, but sent off a trireme on the same day, with orders to Paches to carry the decree into effect.
But after a night of cool reflection they began to repent of their haste. It was a cruel and monstrous thing, they now thought, to butcher the population of a whole city, innocent and guilty alike. The Mytilenaean envoys, who had been sent to Athens on the surrender of the city, perceived that there was a change in the public temper, and acting in concert with influential Athenians who were in their interest, they induced the magistrates to summon a second assembly, and re-open the debate.
It is on this occasion that we first catch sight [Footnote: That is, in the narrative of Thucydides.] of the notorious demagogue Cleon, who for the next six years will be the most prominent figure in Athenian public life. This man belongs to a class of politicians who had begun to exercise great influence on the affairs of Athens after the death of Pericles. That great statesman had really led the people, checking their excesses, setting bounds to their ambition, and guiding all the moods of the stormy democracy. But the demagogues were lowborn upstarts, who, while seeming to lead the people, really followed it, and kept their position by pandering to the worst passions of the multitude. It must, however, be mentioned that the two contemporary writers from whom we draw our materials for the portrait of Cleon, the historian Thucydides and the comic poet Aristophanes, were both violently prejudiced against him. Aristophanes hated him as the representative of the new democracy, which was an object of abhorrence to the great comic genius; and Thucydides, a born aristocrat, of strong oligarchical sympathies, looked with cold scorn and aversion on the coarse mechanic, [Footnote: Cleon was a tanner by trade.] who presumed to usurp the place, and ape the style, of a true leader like Pericles.
In the previous debate Cleon had been the chief promoter of the murderous sentence passed against Mytilene; and when the question was brought forward again, he made a vehement harangue, the substance of which has been preserved by Thucydides. In this speech he appears as a practised rhetorical bravo, whose one object is to vilify his opponents, and throw contempt on their arguments, by an unscrupulous use of the weapons of ridicule, calumny, and invective. He reproaches the magistrates for convening a second assembly, in a matter which had already been decided; and this was, in fact, strictly speaking, a breach of the constitution. He laughs at the Athenians as weak sentimentalists, always inclined to mercy, even when mercy was suicidal. Of the subject communities he speaks as if they were mere slaves and chattels, outside the pale of humanity, to be kept down with the scourge and the sword. "Let the law prevail," cries this second Draco. "The law is sacred, and must not be moved. You are so clever that you will not live, by fixed rule and order, and you deride the approved principles of political wisdom. Every one of you wants to be a lawgiver, a statesman, and a reformer, and to manage the public affairs in his own way. We, who understand your true interests, are bound to resist this mood of lawless extravagance, and keep you in the right path, whether you will or no."
Then preserving the same tone, as of one who is exposing an outrageous paradox, Cleon proceeds to deal with the actual subject of debate. To massacre a whole population, was, in his view, a commonplace and ordinary proceeding; and, in the present instance, the only course consistent with prudence and common sense. Those who maintained the contrary were either flighty enthusiasts, whose opinion was not worth considering, or venal orators, who had sold their country for a bribe. "Will you suffer yourselves," asked the indignant moralist, "to be blinded by these corrupt advocates, who amuse you with their eloquence, and then pocket the price? But it is your own fault: you have no sense of public responsibility—you are like clever children, playing at a game of politics. While you sit here, listening to your favourite speakers, and sharpening your wits against theirs, your empire is going to ruin. Plain fact is too simple a diet for your pampered appetites; you must have it hashed and served up with a fine flavouring of fancy and wit. In short, you have lost all hold upon reality, you live in an intellectual Utopia, and treat grave matters of public interest as though they were mere themes in a school of declamation."
In drawing this remarkable picture of Athenian character, which, though strangely out of place, really contained a large element of truth, Cleon overreached himself, and was caught in his own snare. It was he, and not his opponents, who was diverting attention from facts, and involving a plain issue in a cloud of wordy rhetoric. He has no arguments, worthy of the name, but tries to carry his case by playing on the passions of the people, and blowing up the flames of their anger, which was beginning to cool. But though the more discerning among his audience must have seen through his sophistries, to a large proportion of his hearers his speech no doubt seemed a masterpiece of eloquence. The Athenians, who, like all people of lively talent, were fond of laughing at themselves, would be especially amused by his humorous description of their own besetting weakness, their restless vanity, and inordinate love of change.
The chief advocate for mitigating the sentence against Mytilene was a certain Diodotus, who had taken a leading part in the previous debate, and now stood up again to oppose the blood-thirsty counsels of Cleon. The speech of Diodotus is calm, sober, and business-like. After a dignified remonstrance against the vile insinuations of Cleon, by whom all who differed from him were decried as fools or knaves, Diodotus proceeded to argue the question from the point of view of expediency. He was not there, he said, to plead the cause of the Mytilenaeans, or to discuss abstract questions of law and justice. What they had to consider was what course would be most conducive to the interests of Athens. According to Cleon, those interests would be best served by a wholesale massacre of the inhabitants of Mytilene, which would strike terror into the other subjects of Athens, and prevent them from yielding to the same temptation. But, reasoned Diodotus, experience had shown that intending criminals were not deterred from wrongdoing by the increased severity of penal statutes. For a long time lawgivers had framed their codes in this belief, thinking to drive mankind into the path of rectitude by appealing to their terrors. Yet crime had not diminished, but rather increased. And what was true of individuals, was still more true of cities, where each man hoped to be concealed among the crowd of transgressors. Criminals, whether they acted singly, or in large numbers, were only rendered desperate, if all degrees of crime were confounded in one common penalty of death.
Such were the enlightened principles of jurisprudence set forth by an Athenian of the fifth century before Christ—principles which were first recognised in modern Europe within the memory of men still living. Then, bringing his theories to a practical test, he pointed out the gross impolicy of driving a revolted city to desperation, by excluding all rebels from the hope of pardon. This, he said, would be the effect on the subjects of Athens, if they passed the same sentence on the Mytilenaeans, without distinction between the innocent and the guilty. At present the commons in every city were loyal to Athens; and though they might be beguiled or coerced into rebellion, they would, if assured of fair treatment, take the first opportunity of returning to their allegiance, as the commoners of Mytilene had done. "Do not, therefore," concluded Diodotus, "destroy this, the strongest guarantee of your security, but punish the ringleaders of the revolt, after due deliberation, and leave the rest in peace."
The arguments of Diodotus were unanswerable, and it might have been supposed that the Athenians, in their relenting mood, would have carried the amendment by a large majority. But this was not the case. The debate was keenly contested, and when the president called for a show of hands, the more merciful decree was only passed by a few votes. There was no time to be lost, for the first trireme was already a day and a night on her voyage, and the fate of Mytilene hung by a hair. A second trireme was launched with all speed, and the Mytilenaeans present in Athens promised large rewards to the crew if they arrived in time. With such inducements the rowers toiled day and night, taking their meals, which consisted of barley-meal kneaded with wine and oil, at the oar, and sleeping and rowing by turns. Happily there was no contrary wind to retard their progress, and the crew of the first vessel, bearing that savage mandate, made no efforts to shorten their passage. As it was, they were not an hour too soon: for when they arrived, Paches had already received the decree, and was preparing to carry it out. Thus Mytilene escaped destruction by a hair's-breadth, and Athens was saved from committing a great crime. But even the modified sentence, which was passed directly afterwards on the motion of Cleon, condemning more than a thousand Mytilenaean citizens to death, was sufficiently ferocious, and was remembered against the tyrant city in the days of her humiliation.
I
The siege of Plataea had now lasted for more than a year, and the brave garrison began to be in sore straits, for their supplies were giving out, and they had no hope of rescue from outside. In this desperate situation they resolved to make an attempt to break through the besieging lines, and make their escape to Athens. All were to take part in the adventure, leaving the Peloponnesians in possession of an empty town. But when the time came for carrying out this bold design, half of the garrison drew back, thinking the risk too great. The other half, numbering about two hundred and twenty, persisted in their purpose, and forthwith fell to work on their preparations. They began by making ladders for scaling the enemy's wall; and in order to ascertain the proper length of the ladders, they counted the courses of bricks in a part of the wall facing the town, which happened to have been left unplastered. Many counted the courses together, and by repeating the process over and over again, and comparing the result, they at last hit upon the right number. When once this was known, they could easily calculate the length of their ladders, for the bricks were all of the same dimensions, and they knew the thickness of a single brick.
The Peloponnesians had built a double line of wall round Plataea, the two lines being separated by a distance of sixteen feet. The whole of the space within this double wall was covered by a flat roof, so as to present the appearance of a single thick wall, with battlements on either side; and this covered space, which was divided into rooms by partition-walls, served as barracks for the besiegers. Along the top were high towers, with intervals of ten battlements between them, and built flush with the wall on both sides, so as to leave no passage, except through the middle of the tower. These served as guard-rooms, where the soldiers on duty took shelter on wet and stormy nights. For the distance between the towers was very small, and they could rush out and man the walls at a moment's notice.
The Plataeans omitted no precaution which might secure success for their hazardous enterprise. Every man understood exactly the part which he had to play, and knew that his own life, and the lives of his comrades, depended on his courage and coolness. They had chosen their time well, for it was now mid-winter. So they waited for a night of storm and rain, when there was no moon, and sallying forth from the town crossed the inner ditch, and came up to the inner wall, unperceived by the enemy; for the noise of their footsteps was drowned by the roaring of the wind, and they were careful to advance in open order, so as not to be discovered by the clashing of their arms. The whole troop was lightly equipped, and they walked with their right foot unsandalled, to give them a firmer hold on the muddy ground. Choosing one of the spaces between two towers, they adjusted their ladders, and began to ascend the wall. The first to mount were twelve picked men, armed with breastplates and daggers, who as soon as they reached the top, rushed to the towers, six men to each, and having overpowered the guard, stood ready to defend the passage. These were followed by others, armed with javelins, whose shields were handed up to them from below as they ascended, to enable them to climb the more easily. Several of this party had got up in safety, when one of those who were following dislodged a tile as he grasped the battlements. The sound of the falling tile alarmed the guards in the towers, and soon the whole besieging force was in a commotion. But being bewildered by the darkness, and deafened by the tempest which was blowing, they knew not which way to turn, and remained at their quarters, waiting for orders. And at the same time the Plataeans left in the town made a feigned attack on the Peloponnesian wall at the opposite side to divert the attention of the enemy. In the general confusion thus created the besiegers were at a loss what to do, and three hundred of their men, who were kept together for prompt service on any pressing occasion, took up their station before the outer wall, thinking that the Athenians had come to relieve the town. Fire-signals were now kindled by the Peloponnesians, to summon help from Thebes; but the Plataeans were prepared for this also, and they kindled other beacons which had been raised for the purpose on their wall, so as to obscure the meaning of the enemy's signals, and delay the march of the Thebans, until their own comrades had had time to escape.
The way was thus left clear for the gallant two hundred. Those who led the party had secured possession of the passages through the towers, and stood ready to bar the way against all assailants. Others who followed brought ladders, and planting them at the foot of the towers, mounted to the top, and kept off the Peloponnesians, when they attempted to force an entrance, with a shower of javelins. Over the intervening space now swarmed the main body of the Plataeans; and each man, as he got over, halted at the edge of the outer ditch, and kept up a hot fire of javelins and arrows, to cover the retreat of his comrades, and repel any attack from below. When all the rest had crossed the wall, those who held the towers began to descend; and this was the most perilous part of the adventure, especially for those who came last. All, however, succeeded in joining their comrades by the ditch, and just at this moment the picked troop of three hundred, who carried torches, came upon them. But fortune still favoured the Plataeans; crouching in the deep shadow thrown by the high banks of the ditch, they plied the enemy, who with their blazing torches afforded an easy mark, with darts and arrows. And thus, fighting and retreating at the same time, they made their way gradually across the ditch, but not without a severe struggle, for the water was swollen by the snow which had fallen in the night, and covered with rotten ice. Their best friend was the tempest, which raged with extraordinary violence throughout the night.