Chapter 16

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.