He did his best to revive them, by exhortations unusually emphatic

and impressive. “Recollect (he said) that you too, not less than

the Syracusans, are now fighting for your own safety and for your

country; for it is only by victory in the coming struggle that any

of you can ever hope to see his country again. Yield not to despair

like raw recruits after a first defeat; you, Athenians and allies,

familiar with the unexpected revolutions of war, will hope now for

the fair turn of fortune, and fight with a spirit worthy of the

great force which you see here around you. We generals have now made

effective provision against our two great disadvantages, the narrow

circuit of the harbor, and the thickness of the enemy’s prows.[477]

Sad as the necessity is, we have thrown aside all our Athenian skill

and tactics, and have prepared to fight under the conditions forced

upon us by the enemy, a land-battle on shipboard.[478] It will be

for you to conquer in this last desperate struggle, where there is

no friendly shore to receive you if you give way. You, hoplites on

the deck, as soon as you have the enemy’s trireme in contact, keep

him fast, and relax not until you have swept away his hoplites and

mastered his deck. You, seamen and rowers, must yet keep up your

courage, in spite of this sad failure in our means, and subversion

of our tactics. You are better defended on deck above, and you have

more triremes to help you, than in the recent defeat. Such of you,

as are not Athenian citizens, I entreat to recollect the valuable

privileges which you have hitherto enjoyed from serving in the navy

of Athens. Though not really citizens, you have been reputed and

treated as such; you have acquired our dialect, you have copied our

habits, and have thus enjoyed the admiration, the imposing station,

and the security, arising from our great empire.[479] Partaking as

you do freely in the benefits of that empire, do not now betray it

to these Sicilians and Corinthians whom you have so often beaten.

For such of you as _are_ Athenians, I again remind you that Athens

has neither fresh triremes, nor fresh hoplites, to replace those

now here. Unless you are now victorious, her enemies near home will

find her defenceless; and our countrymen there will become slaves to

Sparta, as you will to Syracuse. Recollect, every man of you, that

you now going aboard here are the _all_ of Athens,—her hoplites, her

ships, her entire remaining city, and her splendid name.[480] Bear up

then and conquer, every man with his best mettle, in this one last

struggle, for Athens as well as yourselves, and on an occasion which

will never return.”

[477] Thucyd. vii, 62. Ἃ δὲ ἀρωγὰ ἐνείδομεν ἐπὶ τῇ τοῦ λιμένος

στενότητι πρὸς τὸν μέλλοντα ὄχλον τῶν νεῶν ἔσεσθαι, etc.

[478] Thucyd. vii, 62. Ἐς τοῦτο γὰρ δὴ ἠναγκάσμεθα, ὥστε

πεζομαχεῖν ἀπὸ τῶν νεῶν, καὶ τὸ μήτε αὐτοὺς ἀνακρούεσθαι, μήτε

ἐκείνους ἐᾷν, ὠφέλιμον φαίνεται.

[479] Thucyd. vii, 63. Τοῖς δὲ ναύταις παραινῶ, καὶ ἐν τῷ αὐτῷ

τῷδε καὶ δέομαι, μὴ ἐκπεπλῆχθαί τι ταῖς ξυμφοραῖς ἄγαν ...

ἐκείνην τε τὴν ἡδονὴν ἐνθυμεῖσθαι, ὡς ἀξία ἐστὶ διασώσασθαι, ~οἱ

τέως Ἀθηναῖοι νομιζόμενοι καὶ μὴ ὄντες ὑμῶν~, τῆς τε φωνῆς τῇ

ἐπιστήμῃ καὶ τῶν τρόπων τῇ μιμήσει, ἐθαυμάζεσθε κατὰ τὴν Ἑλλάδα,

καὶ τῆς ἀρχῆς τῆς ἡμετέρας οὐκ ἔλασσον κατὰ τὸ ὠφελεῖσθαι, ἔς

τε τὸ φοβερὸν τοῖς ὑπηκόοις καὶ τὸ μὴ ἀδικεῖσθαι πολὺ πλεῖον,

μετείχετε, ὥστε κοινωνοὶ μόνοι ἐλευθέρως ἡμῖν τῆς ἀρχῆς ὄντες,

δικαίως αὐτὴν νῦν μὴ καταπροδίδοτε, etc.

Dr. Arnold (together with Göller and Poppo), following the

Scholiast, explain these words as having particular reference

to the metics in the Athenian naval service. But I cannot think

this correct. All persons in that service—who were freemen, but

yet not citizens of Athens—are here designated; partly metics,

doubtless, but partly also citizens of the islands and dependent

allies,—the ξένοι ναυβάται alluded to by the Corinthians and by

Periklês at the beginning of the Peloponnesian war (Thucyd. i,

121-143) as the ὠνητὴ δύναμις μᾶλλον ἢ οἰκεία of Athens. Without

doubt there were numerous foreign seamen in the warlike navy

of Athens, who derived great consideration as well as profit

from the service, and often passed themselves off for Athenian

citizens when they really were not so.

[480] Thucyd. vii, 64. Ὅτι οἱ ἐν ταῖς ναυσὶν ὑμῶν νῦν ἐσόμενοι,

καὶ πέζοι τοῖς Ἀθηναίοις εἰσὶ καὶ νῆες, καὶ ἡ ὑπόλοιπος πόλις,

καὶ τὸ μέγα ὄνομα τῶν Ἀθηνῶν....

If, in translating the despatch written home ten months before by

Nikias to the people of Athens, we were compelled to remark, that

the greater part of it was the bitterest condemnation of his own

previous policy as commander, so we are here carried back, when we

find him striving to palliate the ruinous effects of that confined

space of water which paralyzed the Athenian seamen, to his own

obstinate improvidence in forbidding the egress of the fleet when

insisted on by Demosthenês. His hearers probably were too much

absorbed with the terrible present, to revert to irremediable

mistakes of the past. Immediately on the conclusion of his touching

address, the order was given to go aboard, and the seamen took

their places. But when the triremes were fully manned, and the

trierarchs, after superintending the embarkation, were themselves

about to enter and push off, the agony of Nikias was too great to be

repressed. Feeling more keenly than any man the intensity of this

last death-struggle, and the serious, but inevitable, shortcomings

of the armament in its present condition, he still thought that he

had not said enough for the occasion. He now renewed his appeal

personally to the trierarchs, all of them citizens of rank and wealth

at Athens. They were all familiarly known to him, and he addressed

himself to every man separately by his own name, his father’s name,

and his tribe, adjuring him by the deepest and most solemn motives

which could touch the human feelings. Some he reminded of their

own previous glories, others of the achievements of illustrious

ancestors, imploring them not to dishonor or betray these precious

titles: to all alike he recalled the charm of their beloved country,

with its full political freedom and its unconstrained license of

individual agency to every man: to all alike he appealed in the names

of their wives, their children, and their paternal gods. He cared not

for being suspected of trenching upon the common places of rhetoric:

he caught at every topic which could touch the inmost affections,

awaken the inbred patriotism, and rekindle the abated courage of

the officers, whom he was sending forth to this desperate venture.

He at length constrained himself to leave off, still fancying in

his anxiety that he ought to say more, and proceeded to marshal the

land-force for the defence of the lines, as well as along the shore,

where they might render as much service and as much encouragement as

possible to the combatants on shipboard.[481]

[481] See the striking chapter of Thucyd. vii, 69. Even the tame

style of Diodorus (xiii, 15) becomes animated in describing this

scene.

Very different was the spirit prevalent, and very opposite the

burning words uttered, on the seaboard of the Syracusan station, as

the leaders were mustering their men immediately before embarkation.

They had been apprized of the grappling-irons now about to be

employed by the Athenians, and had guarded against them in part by

stretching hides along their bows, so that the “iron hand” might slip

off without acquiring any hold. The preparatory movements even within

the Athenian station being perfectly visible, Gylippus sent the

fleet out with the usual prefatory harangue. He complimented them on

the great achievements which they had already performed in breaking

down the naval power of Athens, so long held irresistible.[482] He

reminded them that the sally of their enemies was only a last effort

of despair, seeking nothing but escape, undertaken without confidence

in themselves, and under the necessity of throwing aside all their

own tactics in order to copy feebly those of the Syracusans.[483]

He called upon them to recollect the destructive purposes which the

invaders had brought with them against Syracuse, to inflict with

resentful hand the finishing stroke upon this half-ruined armament,

and to taste the delight of satiating a legitimate revenge.[484]

[482] Thucyd. vii, 65.

[483] Thucyd. vii, 66, 67.

[484] Thucyd. vii, 68. πρὸς οὖν ἀταξίαν τε τοιαύτην ... ὀργῇ

προσμίξωμεν, καὶ νομίσωμεν ἅμα μὲν νομιμώτατον εἶναι πρὸς τοὺς

ἐναντίους, οἳ ἂν ὡς ἐπὶ τιμωρίᾳ τοῦ προσπεσόντος δικαιώσωσιν

ἀποπλῆσαι τῆς γνώμης τὸ θυμούμενον, ἅμα δὲ ἐχθροὺς ἀμύνασθαι

ἐγγενησόμενον ἡμῖν, καὶ (τὸ λεγόμενόν που) ἥδιστον εἶναι.

This plain and undisguised invocation of the angry and revengeful

passions should be noticed, as a mark of character and manners.

The Syracusan fleet—seventy-six triremes strong, as in the last

battle—was the first to put off from shore; Pythen with the

Corinthians in the centre, Sikanus and Agatharchus on the wings. A

certain proportion of them were placed near the mouth of the harbor,

in order to guard the barrier; while the rest were distributed

around the harbor in order to attack the Athenians from different

sides as soon as they should approach. Moreover, the surface of the

harbor swarmed with the light craft of the Syracusans, in many of

which embarked youthful volunteers, sons of the best families in

the city;[485] boats of no mean service during the battle, saving

or destroying the seamen cast overboard from disabled ships, as

well as annoying the fighting Athenian triremes. The day was one

sacred to Hêraklês at Syracuse; and the prophets announced that the

god would insure victory to the Syracusans, provided they stood on

the defensive, and did not begin the attack.[486] Moreover, the

entire shore round the harbor, except the Athenian station and its

immediate neighborhood, was crowded with Syracusan soldiers and

spectators; while the walls of Ortygia, immediately overhanging the

water, were lined with the feebler population of the city, the old

men, women, and children. From the Athenian station presently came

forth one hundred and ten triremes, under Demosthenês, Menander, and

Euthydêmus, with the customary pæan, its tone probably partaking

of the general sadness of the camp. They steered across direct to

the mouth of the harbor, beholding on all sides the armed enemies

ranged along the shore, as well as the unarmed multitudes who were

imprecating the vengeance of the gods upon their heads; while for

them there was no sympathy, except among the fellow-sufferers within

their own lines. Inside of this narrow basin, rather more than

five English miles in circuit, one hundred and ninety-four ships

of war, each manned with more than two hundred men, were about to

join battle, in the presence of countless masses around, all with

palpitating hearts, and near enough both to see and hear; the most

picturesque battle—if we could abstract our minds from its terrible

interest —probably in history, without smoke or other impediments

to vision, and in the clear atmosphere of Sicily, a serious and

magnified realization of those naumachiæ which the Roman emperors

used to exhibit with gladiators on the Italian lakes, for the

recreation of the people.

The Athenian fleet made directly for that portion of the barrier

where a narrow opening—perhaps closed by a movable chain—had been

left for merchant-vessels. Their first impetuous attack broke through

the Syracusan squadron defending it, and they were already attempting

to sever its connecting bonds, when the enemy from all sides crowded

in upon them and forced them to desist. Presently the battle became

general, and the combatants were distributed in various parts of the

harbor. On both sides a fierce and desperate courage was displayed,

even greater than had been shown on any of the former occasions.

At the first onset, the skill and tactics of the steersmen shone

conspicuous, well seconded by zeal on the part of the rowers and by

their ready obedience to the voice of the keleustês. As the vessels

neared, the bowmen, slingers, and throwers on the deck, hurled clouds

of missiles against the enemy; next, was heard the loud crash of the

two impinging metallic fronts, resounding all along the shore.[487]

When the vessels were thus once in contact, they were rarely allowed

to separate: a strenuous hand-fight then commenced by the hoplites

in each, trying respectively to board and master their enemy’s deck.

It was not always, however, that each trireme had its own single

and special enemy: sometimes one ship had two or three enemies to

contend with at once, sometimes she fell aboard of one unsought, and

became entangled. After a certain time, the fight still obstinately

continuing, all sort of battle order became lost; the skill of the

steersman was of little avail, and the voice of the keleustês was

drowned amidst the universal din and mingled cries from victors as

well as vanquished. On both sides emulous exhortations were poured

forth, together with reproach and sarcasm addressed to any ship which

appeared flinching from the contest; though factitious stimulus of

this sort was indeed but little needed.

[485] Diodorus, xiii, 14. Plutarch has a similar statement,

in reference to the previous battle: but I think he must have

confused one battle with the other, for his account can hardly be

made to harmonize with Thucydidês (Plutarch, Nikias, c. 24).

It is to be recollected that both Plutarch and Diodorus had

probably read the description of the battles in the Great Harbor

of Syracuse, contained in Philistus; a better witness, if we

had his account before us, even than Thucydidês; since he was

probably at this time in Syracuse and was perhaps actually

engaged.

[486] Plutarch, Nikias, c. 24, 25. Timæus reckoned the aid of

Hêraklês as having been one of the great causes of Syracusan

victory over the Athenians. He gave several reasons why the god

was provoked against the Athenians: see Timæus, Fragm. 104, ed.

Didot.

[487] The destructive impact of these metallic masses at the

head of the ships of war, as well as the periplus practised by

a lighter ship to avoid direct collision against a heavier,

is strikingly illustrated by a passage in Plutarch’s Life of

Lucullus, where a naval engagement between the Roman general, and

Neoptolemus the admiral of Mithridates, is described. “Lucullus

was on board a Rhodian quinquerime, commanded by Damagoras, a

skilful Rhodian pilot; while Neoptolemus was approaching with a

ship much heavier, and driving forward to a direct collision:

upon which Damagoras evaded the blow, rowed rapidly round, and

struck the enemy in the stern.” ... δείσας ὁ Δαμαγόρας τὸ βάρος

τῆς βασιλικῆς, καὶ ~τὴν τραχύτητα τοῦ χαλκώματος~, οὐκ ἐτόλμησε

συμπεσεῖν ἀντίπρωρος, ἀλλ’ ὀξέως ἐκ περιαγωγῆς ἀποστρέψας

ἐκέλευσεν ἐπὶ πρύμναν ὤσασθαι· καὶ πιεσθείσης ἐνταῦθα τῆς νεώς

ἐδέξατο τὴν πληγὴν ἀβλαβῆ γενομένην, ἅτε δὴ τοῖς θαλαττεύουσι τῆς

νέως μέρεσι προσπεσοῦσαν.—Plutarch, Lucull. c. 3.

Such was the heroic courage on both sides, that for a long time

victory was altogether doubtful, and the whole harbor was a scene

of partial encounters, wherein sometimes Syracusans, sometimes

Athenians, prevailed. According as success thus fluctuated, so

followed the cheers or wailings of the spectators ashore. At one and

the same time, every variety of human emotion might be witnessed;

according as attention was turned towards a victorious or a defeated

ship. It was among the spectators in the Athenian station above all,

whose entire life and liberty were staked in the combat, that this

emotion might be seen exaggerated into agony, and overpassing the

excitement even of the combatants themselves.[488] Those among them

who looked towards a portion of the harbor where their friends seemed

winning, were full of joy and thanksgiving to the gods: such of their

neighbors who contemplated an Athenian ship in difficulty, gave vent

to their feelings in shrieks and lamentation; while a third group,

with their eyes fixed on some portion of the combat still disputed,

were plunged in all the agitations of doubt, manifested even in

the tremulous swing of their bodies, as hope or fear alternately

predominated. During all the time that the combat remained undecided,

the Athenians ashore were distracted by all these manifold varieties

of intense sympathy. But at length the moment came, after a

long-protracted struggle, when victory began to declare in favor of

the Syracusans, who, perceiving that their enemies were slackening,

redoubled their shouts as well as their efforts, and pushed them all

back towards the land. All the Athenian triremes, abandoning farther

resistance, were thrust ashore like shipwrecked vessels in or near

their own station; a few being even captured before they could arrive

there. The diverse manifestations of sympathy among the Athenians in

the station itself were now exchanged for one unanimous shriek of

agony and despair. The boldest of them rushed to rescue the ships

and their crews from pursuit, others to man their walls in case of

attack from land: many were even paralyzed at the sight, and absorbed

with the thoughts of their own irretrievable ruin. Their souls were

doubtless still farther subdued by the wild and enthusiastic joy

which burst forth in maddening shouts from the hostile crowds around

the harbor, in response to their own victorious comrades on shipboard.

[488] Thucyd. vii, 71.

Such was the close of this awful, heart-stirring, and decisive

combat. The modern historian strives in vain to convey the impression

of it which appears in the condensed and burning phrases of

Thucydidês. We find in his description of battles generally, and

of this battle beyond all others, a depth and abundance of human

emotion which has now passed out of military proceedings. The Greeks

who fight, like the Greeks who look on, are not soldiers withdrawn

from the community, and specialized as well as hardened by long

professional training, but citizens with all the passions, instincts,

sympathies, joys, and sorrows of domestic as well as political

life. Moreover, the non-military population in ancient times had an

interest of the most intense kind in the result of the struggle;

which made the difference to them, if not of life and death, at

least of the extremity of happiness and misery. Hence the strong

light and shade, the Homeric exhibition of undisguised impulse, the

tragic detail of personal motive and suffering, which pervades this

and other military descriptions of Thucydidês. When we read the few

but most vehement words which he employs to depict the Athenian camp

under this fearful trial, we must recollect that these were not only

men whose all was at stake, but that they were moreover citizens full

of impressibility, sensitive and demonstrative Greeks; and, indeed,

the most sensitive and demonstrative of all Greeks. To repress all

manifestations of strong emotion was not considered in ancient times

essential to the dignity of the human character.

Amidst all the deep pathos, however, which the great historian has

imparted to the final battle at Syracuse, he has not explained the

causes upon which its ultimate issue turned. Considering that the

Athenians were superior to their enemies in number, as one hundred

and ten to seventy-six triremes, that they fought with courage not

less heroic, and that the action was on their own element, we might

have anticipated for them, if not a victory, at least a drawn battle,

with equal loss on both sides. But we may observe, 1. The number of

one hundred and ten triremes was formed by including some hardly

seaworthy.[489] 2. The crews were composed partly of men not used to

sea-service; and the Akarnanian darters, especially, were for this

reason unhandy with their missiles.[490] 3. Though the water had

been hitherto the element favorable to Athens, yet her superiority

in this respect was declining, and her enemies approaching nearer to

her, even in the open sea. But the narrow dimensions of the harbor

would have nullified her superiority at all times, and placed her

even at great disadvantage,—without the means of twisting and turning

her triremes so as to strike only at a vulnerable point of the

enemy,—compared with the thick, heavy, straightforward butting of

the Syracusans; like a nimble pugilist of light weight contending,

in a very confined ring, against superior weight and muscle.[491]

For the mere land-fight on shipboard, Athenians had not only no

advantage, but had on the contrary the odds against them. 4. The

Syracusans enjoyed great advantage from having nearly the whole

harbor lined round with their soldiers and friends; not simply from

the force of encouraging sympathy, no mean auxiliary, but because

any of their triremes, if compelled to fall back before an Athenian,

found protection on the shore, and could return to the fight at

leisure; while an Athenian in the same predicament had no escape.

5. The numerous light craft of the Syracusans doubtless rendered

great service in this battle, as they had done in the preceding,

though Thucydidês does not again mention them. 6. Lastly, both in the

Athenian and Syracusan characters, the pressure of necessity was less

potent as a stimulus to action, than hopeful confidence and elation,

with the idea of a flood-tide yet mounting. In the character of some

other races, the Jews for instance, the comparative force of these

motives appears to be the other way.

[489] Thucyd. vii, 60. τὰς ναῦς ἁπάσας ὅσαι ἦσαν καὶ δυναταὶ ~καὶ

ἀπλοώτεραι~.

[490] Thucyd. vii, 60. πάντα τινὰ ἐσβιβάζοντες

πληρῶσαι—ἀναγκάσαντες ἐσβαίνειν ὅστις καὶ ~ὁπωσοῦν ἐδόκει ἡλικίας

μετέχων ἐπιτήδειος~ εἶναι. Compare also the speech of Gylippus,

c. 67.

[491] The language of Theokritus, in describing the pugilistic

contest between Pollux and the Bebrykian Amykus, is not

inapplicable to the position of the Athenian ships and seamen

when cramped up in this harbor (Idyll. xxii, 91):—

.................... ἐκ δ’ ἑτέρωθεν

Ἥρωες κρατερὸν Πολυδεύκεα θαρσύνεσκον,

Δειδιότες μή πώς μιν ~ἐπιβρίσας δαμάσειεν,

Χώρῳ ἐνὶ στεινῷ~, Τιτύῳ ἐναλίγκιος ἀνήρ.

Compare Virgil’s picture of Entellus and Darês, Æneid, v, 430.

About sixty Athenian triremes, little more than half of the fleet

which came forth, were saved as the wreck from this terrible

conflict. The Syracusans on their part had suffered severely; only

fifty triremes remaining out of seventy-six. The triumph with

which, nevertheless, on returning to the city, they erected their

trophy, and the exultation which reigned among the vast crowds

encircling the harbor, was beyond all measure or precedent. Its

clamorous manifestations were doubtless but too well heard in the

neighboring camp of the Athenians, and increased, if anything could

increase, the soul-subduing extremity of distress which paralyzed the

vanquished. So utterly did the pressure of suffering, anticipated as

well as actual, benumb their minds and extinguish their most sacred

associations, that no man among them, not even the ultra-religious

Nikias, thought of picking up the floating bodies or asking for a

truce to bury the dead. This obligation, usually so serious and

imperative upon the survivors after a battle, now passed unheeded

amidst the sorrow, terror, and despair, of the living man for himself.

Such despair, however, was not shared by the generals, to their

honor be it spoken. On the afternoon of this terrible defeat,

Demosthenês proposed to Nikias that at daybreak the ensuing morning

they should man all the remaining ships—even now more in number than

the Syracusan—and make a fresh attempt to break out of the harbor.

To this Nikias agreed, and both proceeded to try their influence in

getting the resolution executed. But so irreparably was the spirit of

the seamen broken, that nothing could prevail upon them to go again

on shipboard: they would hear of nothing but attempting to escape

by land.[492] Preparations were therefore made for commencing their

march in the darkness of that very night. The roads were still open,

and, had they so marched, a portion of them, at least, might even

yet have been saved.[493] But there occurred one more mistake, one

farther postponement, which cut off the last hopes of this gallant

and fated remnant.

[492] Thucyd. vii, 72.

[493] Diodor. xiii, 18.

The Syracusan Hermokratês, fully anticipating that the Athenians

would decamp that very night, was eager to prevent their retreat,

because of the mischief which they might do if established in

any other part of Sicily. He pressed Gylippus and the military

authorities to send out forthwith, and block up the principal

roads, passes, and fords, by which the fugitives would get off.

Though sensible of the wisdom of his advice, the generals thought

it wholly unexecutable. Such was the universal and unbounded joy

which now pervaded the city, in consequence of the recent victory,

still farther magnified by the circumstance that the day was sacred

to Hêraklês,—so wild the jollity, the feasting, the intoxication,

the congratulations, amidst men rewarding themselves after their

recent effort and triumph, and amidst the necessary care for the

wounded,—that an order to arm and march out would have been as little

listened to as the order to go on shipboard was by the desponding

Athenians. Perceiving that he could get nothing done until the next

morning, Hermokratês resorted to a stratagem in order to delay

the departure of the Athenians for that night. At the moment when

darkness was beginning, he sent down some confidential friends on

horseback to the Athenian wall. These men, riding up near enough to

make themselves heard, and calling for the sentries, addressed them

as messengers from the private correspondents of Nikias in Syracuse,

who had sent to warn him, they affirmed, not to decamp during the

night, inasmuch as the Syracusans had already beset and occupied the

roads; but to begin his march quietly the next morning after adequate

preparation.[494]

[494] Thucyd. vii, 73; Diodor. xiii, 18.

This fraud—the same as the Athenians had themselves practised two

years before,[495] in order to tempt the Syracusans to march out

against Katana—was perfectly successful: the sincerity of the

information was believed, and the advice adopted. Had Demosthenês

been in command alone, we may doubt whether he would have been so

easily duped; for granting the accuracy of the fact asserted, it

was not the less obvious that the difficulties, instead of being

diminished, would be increased tenfold on the following day. We

have seen, however, on more than one previous occasion, how fatally

Nikias was misled by his treacherous advices from the philo-Athenians

at Syracuse. An excuse for inaction was always congenial to his

character; and the present recommendation, moreover, fell in but too

happily with the temper of the army, now benumbed with depression and

terror, like those unfortunate soldiers, in the Retreat of the Ten

Thousand Greeks, who were yielding to the lethargy of extreme cold on

the snows of Armenia, and whom Xenophon vainly tried to arouse.[496]

Having remained over that night, the generals determined also to stay

the next day,—in order that the army might carry away with them as

much of their baggage as possible,—sending forward a messenger to the

Sikels in the interior to request that they would meet the army, and

bring with them a supply of provisions.[497] Gylippus and Hermokratês

had thus ample time, on the following day, to send out forces and

occupy all the positions convenient for obstructing the Athenian

march. They at the same time towed into Syracuse as prizes all the

Athenian triremes which had been driven ashore in the recent battle,

and which now lay like worthless hulks, unguarded and unheeded,[498]

seemingly even those within the station itself.

[495] Thucyd. vi, 64.

[496] Xenophon, Anab. iv, 5, 15, 19; v, 8, 15.

[497] Thucyd. vii, 77.

[498] Thucyd. vii, 74.

It was on the next day but one after the maritime defeat that Nikias

and Demosthenês put their army in motion to attempt retreat. The

camp had long been a scene of sickness and death from the prevalence

of marsh fever; but since the recent battle the number of wounded

men, and the unburied bodies of the slain, had rendered it yet more

pitiable. Forty thousand miserable men—so prodigious was the total,

including all ranks and functions—now set forth to quit it, on a

march of which few could hope to see the end; like the pouring forth

of the population of a large city starved out by blockade. Many

had little or no provisions to carry, so low had the stock become

reduced; but of those who had, every man carried his own, even the

horsemen and hoplites, now for the first time either already left

without slaves, by desertion, or knowing that no slave could now be

trusted. But neither such melancholy equality of suffering, nor the

number of sufferers, counted for much in the way of alleviation. A

downcast stupor and sense of abasement possessed every man; the more

intolerable, when they recollected the exit of the armament from

Peiræus two years before, with prayers, and solemn pæans, and all

the splendid dreams of conquest, set against the humiliation of the

closing scene now before them, without a single trireme left out of

two prodigious fleets.

But it was not until the army had actually begun its march that the

full measure of wretchedness was felt and manifested. It was then

that the necessity first became proclaimed, which no one probably

spoke out beforehand, of leaving behind not merely the unburied

bodies, but also the sick and the wounded. The scenes of woe which

marked this hour passed endurance or description. The departing

soldier sorrowed and shuddered with the sentiment of an unperformed

duty, as he turned from the unburied bodies of the slain; but far

more terrible was the trial, when he had to tear himself from the

living sufferers, who implored their comrades, with wailings of agony

and distraction, not to abandon them. Appealing to all the claims

of pious friendship, they clung round their knees, and even crawled

along the line of march until their strength failed. The silent

dejection of the previous day was now exchanged for universal tears

and groans, and clamorous outbursts of sorrow, amidst which the army

could not without the utmost difficulty be disengaged and put in

motion.

After such heart-rending scenes, it might seem that their cup of

bitterness was exhausted; but worse was yet in store, and the terrors

of the future dictated a struggle against all the miseries of past

and present. The generals did their best to keep up some sense of

order as well as courage; and Nikias, particularly, in this closing

hour of his career, displayed a degree of energy and heroism which he

had never before seemed to possess. Though himself among the greatest

personal sufferers of all, from his incurable complaint, he was seen

everywhere in the ranks marshalling the troops, heartening up their

dejection, and addressing them with a voice louder, more strenuous,

and more commanding than was his wont.

“Keep up your hope still, Athenians (he said), even as we are now:

others have been saved out of circumstances worse than ours. Be not

too much humiliated, either with your defeats or with your present

unmerited hardships. I too, having no advantage over any of you in

strength,—nay, you see the condition to which I have been brought by

my disease,—and accustomed even to superior splendor and good fortune

in private as well as public life, I too am plunged in the same peril

with the humblest soldier among you. Nevertheless, my conduct has

been constantly pious towards the gods as well as just and blameless

towards men; in recompense for which, my hope for the future is

yet sanguine, at the same time that our actual misfortunes do not

appall me in proportion to their intrinsic magnitude.[499] Perhaps,

indeed, they may from this time forward abate; for our enemies have

had their full swing of good fortune, and if, at the moment of our

starting, we were under the jealous wrath of any of the gods, we

have already undergone chastisement amply sufficient. Other people

before us have invaded foreign lands, and after having done what was

competent to human power, have suffered what was within the limit

of human endurance. We too may reasonably hope henceforward to have

the offended god dealing with us more mildly, for we are now objects

fitter for his compassion than for his jealousy.[500] Look, moreover,

at your own ranks, hoplites so numerous and so excellent: let that

guard you against excessive despair, and recollect that, wherever

you may sit down, you are yourselves at once a city; nor is there

any other city in Sicily that can either repulse your attack or

expel you if you choose to stay. Be careful yourselves to keep your

march firm and orderly, every man of you with this conviction, that

whatever spot he may be forced to fight in, that spot is his country

and his fortress, and must be kept by victorious effort. As our

provisions are very scanty, we shall hasten on night and day alike;

and so soon as you reach any friendly village of the Sikels, who

still remain constant to us from hatred to Syracuse, then consider

yourselves in security. We have sent forward to apprize them, and

intreat them to meet us with supplies. Once more, soldiers, recollect

that to act like brave men is now a matter of necessity to you, and

that if you falter, there is no refuge for you anywhere. Whereas if

you now get clear of your enemies, such of you as are not Athenians

will again enjoy the sight of home, while such of you as _are_

Athenians will live to renovate the great power of our city, fallen

though it now be. _It is men that make a city; not walls, nor ships

without men._”[501]

[499] Thucyd. vii, 77. Καίτοι πολλὰ μὲν ἐς θεοὺς νόμιμα

δεδιῄτημαι, πολλὰ δὲ ἐς ἀνθρώπους δίκαια καὶ ἀνεπίφθονα. ~Ἀνθ’

ὧν ἡ μὲν ἐλπὶς ὅμως θρασεῖα τοῦ μέλλοντος, αἱ δὲ ξυμφοραὶ οὐ

κατ’ ἀξίαν δὴ φοβοῦσι~. Τάχα δ’ ἂν καὶ λωφήσειαν· ἱκανὰ γὰρ τοῖς

τε πολεμίοις εὐτύχηται, καὶ εἴ τῳ θεῶν ἐπίφθονοι ἐστρατεύσαμεν,

ἀρκούντως ἤδη τετιμωρήμεθα.

I have translated the words οὐ κατ’ ἀξίαν, and the sentence of

which they form a part, differently from what has been hitherto

sanctioned by the commentators, who construe κατ’ ἀξίαν as

meaning “according to our desert,” understand the words αἱ

ξυμφοραὶ οὐ κατ’ ἀξίαν as bearing the same sense with the words

ταῖς παρὰ τὴν ἀξίαν κακοπραγίαις some lines before; and likewise

construe οὐ, not with φοβοῦσι, but with κατ’ ἀξίαν, assigning to

φοβοῦσι an affirmative sense. They translate: “Quare, _quamvis

nostra fortuna, prorsus afflicta videatur_ (these words have

no parallel in the original) rerum tamen futurarum spes est

audax: sed clades, quas nullo nostro merito accepimus, _nos_

jam terrent. At fortasse cessabunt,” etc. M. Didot translates:

“Aussi j’ai un ferme espoir dans l’avenir, _malgré l’effroi_ que

des _malheurs non mérités_ nous causent.” Dr. Arnold passes the

sentence over without notice.

This manner of translating appears to me not less unsuitable

in reference to the spirit and thread of the harangue, than

awkward as regards the individual words. Looking to the spirit

of the harangue, the object of encouraging the dejected soldiers

would hardly be much answered by repeating—what in fact had been

glanced at in a manner sufficient and becoming, before—that “the

unmerited reverses terrified either Nikias or the soldiers.”

Then as to the words; the expressions ἀνθ’ ὧν, ὅμως, μὲν, and

δὲ, seem to me to denote, not only that the two halves of the

sentence apply both of them to Nikias, but that the first half of

the sentence is in harmony, not in opposition, with the second.

Matthiæ (in my judgment, erroneously) refers (Gr. Gr. § 623) ὅμως

to some words which have preceded; I think that ὅμως contributes

to hold together the first and the second affirmation of the

sentence. Now the Latin translation refers the first half of the

sentence to Nikias, and the last half to the soldiers whom he

addresses; while the translation of M. Didot, by means of the

word _malgré_, for which there is nothing corresponding in the

Greek, puts the second half in antithesis to the first.

I cannot but think that οὐ ought to be construed with φοβοῦσι,

and that the words κατ’ ἀξίαν do not bear the meaning assigned to

them by the translators. Ἀξίαν not only means, “_desert_, merit,

the title to that which a man has earned by his conduct,” as in

the previous phrase παρὰ τὴν ἀξίαν, but it also means, “price,

value, title to be cared for, capacity of exciting more or less

desire or aversion,” in which last sense it is predicated as

an attribute, not only of moral beings, but of other objects

besides. Thus Aristotle says (Ethic. Nikom. iii, 11): ὁ γὰρ οὕτως

ἔχων μᾶλλον ἀγαπᾷ τὰς τοιαύτας ~ἡδονὰς τῆς ἀξίας~· ὁ δὲ σώφρων

οὐ τοιοῦτος, etc. Again, ibid. iii, 5. Ὁ μὲν οὖν ἃ δεῖ καὶ οὖ

ἕνεκα, ὑπομένων καὶ φοβούμενος, καὶ ὡς δεῖ, καὶ ὅτε, ὁμοίως δὲ

καὶ θαῤῥῶν, ἀνδρεῖος· ~κατ’ ἀξίαν~ γὰρ, καὶ ὡς ἂν ὁ λόγος, πάσχει

καὶ πράττει ὁ ἀνδρεῖος. Again, ibid. iv, 2. Διὰ τοῦτό ἐστι τοῦ

μεγαλοπρεποῦς, ἐν ᾧ ἂν ποιῇ γένει, μεγαλοπρεπῶς ποιεῖν· τὸ γὰρ

τοιοῦτον οὐκ εὐυπέρβλητον, καὶ ἔχον ~κατ’ ἀξίαν~ τοῦ δαπανήματος.

Again, ibid. viii, 14. Ἀχρεῖον γὰρ ὄντα οὔ φασι δεῖν ἴσον ἔχειν·

λειτουργίαν τε γὰρ γίνεσθαι, καὶ οὐ φιλίαν, εἰ μὴ ~κατ’ ἀξίαν~

τῶν ἔργων ἔσται τὰ ἐκ τῆς φιλίας. Compare also ib. viii, 13.

Xenophon, Cyrop. viii, 4, 32. τὸ γὰρ πολλὰ δοκοῦντα ἔχειν

μὴ ~κατ’ ἀξίαν~ τῆς οὐσίας φαίνεσθαι ὠφελοῦντα τοὺς φίλους,

ἀνελευθερίαν ἐμοίγε δοκεῖ περιάπτειν. Compare Xenophon, Memorab.

ii, 5, 2. ὥσπερ τῶν οἰκετῶν, οὕτω καὶ τῶν φίλων, εἰσὶν ~ἀξίαι~;

also ibid. i, 6, 11, and Isokratês, cont. Lochit. Or. xx, s. 8.

The words κατ’ ἀξίαν in Thucydidês appear to me to bear the

same meaning as in these passages of Xenophon and Aristotle,

“in proportion to their value,” or to their real magnitude. If

we so construe them, the words ἀνθ’ ὧν, ὅμως, μὲν, and δὲ, all

fall into their proper order: the whole sentence after ἀνθ’ ὧν

applies to Nikias personally, is a corollary from what he had

asserted before, and forms a suitable point in an harangue for

encouraging his dispirited soldiers: “Look how _I_ bear up, who

have as much cause for mourning as any of you. I have behaved

well both towards gods and towards men: in return for which, I

am comparatively comfortable both as to the future and as to the

present: as to the future, I have strong hopes; at the same time

that, as to the present, I am not overwhelmed by the present

misfortunes in proportion to their prodigious intensity.”

This is the precise thing for a man of resolution to say upon so

terrible an occasion.

The particle δὴ has its appropriate meaning, αἱ δὲ ξυμφοραὶ οὐ

κατ’ ἀξίαν ~δὴ~ φοβοῦσι; “and the present distresses, though

they do appall me, do not appall me _assuredly_ in proportion

to their actual magnitude.” Lastly, the particle καὶ (in the

succeeding phrase, τάχα δ’ ἂν ~καὶ~ λωφήσειαν) does not fit on to

the preceding passage as usually construed: accordingly the Latin

translator, as well as M. Didot, leave it out, and translate: “At

fortasse cessabunt.” “Mais peut-être vont-ils cesser.” It ought

to be translated: “And perhaps they may _even_ abate,” which

implies that what had been asserted in the preceding sentence is

here intended not to be contradicted, but to be carried forward

and strengthened: see Kühner, Griech. Gramm. sects. 725-728. Such

would not be the case as the sentence is usually construed.

[500] Thucyd. vii, 77. Ἱκανὰ γὰρ τοῖς τε πολεμίοις εὐτύχηται, καὶ

εἴ τῳ θεῶν ἐπίφθονοι ἐστρατεύσαμεν, ἀποχρώντως ἤδη τετιμωρήμεθα·

ἦλθον γάρ που καὶ ἄλλοι τινὲς ἤδη ἐφ’ ἑτέρους, καὶ ἀνθρώπεια

δράσαντες ἀνεκτὰ ἔπαθον. Καὶ ἡμᾶς εἰκὸς νῦν τά τε ἀπὸ τοῦ θεοῦ

ἐλπίζειν ἠπιώτερα ἕξειν· οἴκτου γὰρ ἀπ’ αὐτῶν ἀξιώτεροι ἤδη ἐσμὲν

ἢ φθόνου.

This is a remarkable illustration of the doctrine, so frequently

set forth in Herodotus, that the gods were jealous of any man

or any nation who was preëminently powerful, fortunate, or

prosperous. Nikias, recollecting the immense manifestation and

promise with which his armament had started from Peiræus, now

believed that this had provoked the jealousy of some of the gods,

and brought about the misfortunes in Sicily. He comforts his

soldiers by saying that the enemy is now at the same dangerous

pinnacle of exaltation, whilst _they_ have exhausted the sad

effects of the divine jealousy.

Compare the story of Amasis and Polykratês in Herodotus (iii,

39), and the striking remarks put into the mouth of Paulus

Æmilius by Plutarch (Vit. Paul. Æmil. c. 36).

[501] Thucyd. vii, 77. Ἄνδρες γὰρ πόλις, καὶ οὐ τείχη, οὐδὲ νῆες

ἀνδρῶν κεναί.

The efforts of both commanders were in full harmony with these

strenuous words. The army was distributed into two divisions; the

hoplites marching in a hollow oblong, with the baggage and unarmed in

the interior. The front division was commanded by Nikias, the rear by

Demosthenês. Directing their course towards the Sikel territory, in

the interior of the island, they first marched along the left bank

of the Anapus until they came to the ford of that river, which they

found guarded by a Syracusan detachment. They forced the passage,

however, without much resistance, and accomplished on that day a

march of about five miles, under the delay arising from the harassing

of the enemy’s cavalry and light troops. Encamping for that night on

an eminence, they recommenced their march with the earliest dawn, and

halted, after about two miles and a half, in a deserted village on a

plain. They were in hopes of finding some provisions in the houses,

and were even under the necessity of carrying along with them some

water from this spot; there being none to be found farther on. As

their intended line of march had now become evident, the Syracusans

profited by this halt to get on before them, and to occupy in force

a position on the road, called the Akræan cliff. Here the road,

ascending a high hill, formed a sort of ravine bordered on each side

by steep cliffs. The Syracusans erected a wall or barricade across

the whole breadth of the road, and occupied the high ground on each

side. But even to reach this pass was beyond the competence of the

Athenians; so impracticable was it to get over the ground in the face

of overwhelming attacks from the enemy’s cavalry and light troops.

They were compelled, after a short march, to retreat to their camp of

the night before.[502]

[502] Thucyd. vii, 78.

Every hour added to the distress of their position; for their food

was all but exhausted, nor could any man straggle from the main

body without encountering certain destruction from the cavalry.

Accordingly, on the next morning, they tried one more desperate

effort to get over the hilly ground into the interior. Starting

very early, they arrived at the foot of the hill called the Akræan

cliff, where they found the barricades placed across the road, with

deep files of Syracusan hoplites behind them, and crowds of light

troops lining the cliffs on each border. They made the most strenuous

and obstinate efforts to force this inexpugnable position, but all

their struggles were vain, while they suffered miserably from the

missiles of the troops above. Amidst all the discouragement of this

repulse, they were yet farther disheartened by storms of thunder and

lightning, which occurred during the time, and which they construed

as portents significant of their impending ruin.[503]

[503] Thucyd. vii, 79. ἀφ’ ὧν οἱ Ἀθηναῖοι μᾶλλον ἔτι ἠθύμουν, καὶ

ἐνόμιζον ~ἐπὶ τῷ σφετέρῳ ὀλέθρῳ καὶ ταῦτα πάντα γίγνεσθαι~.

This fact strikingly illustrates both the change which the last

two years had wrought in the contending parties, and the degree to

which such religious interpretations of phenomena depended for their

efficacy on predisposing temper, gloomy or cheerful. In the first

battle between Nikias and the Syracusans, near the Great Harbor,

some months before the siege was begun, a similar thunder-storm had

taken place: on that occasion the Athenian soldiers had continued

the battle unmoved, treating it as a natural event belonging

to the season, and such indifference on their part had still

farther imposed upon the alarmed Syracusans.[504] Now, both the

self-confidence and the religious impression had changed sides.

[504] Thucyd. vi, 70.

Exhausted by their fruitless efforts, the Athenians fell back a short

space to repose, when Gylippus tried to surround them by sending a

detachment to block up the narrow road in their rear. This, however,

they prevented, effecting their retreat into the open plain, where

they passed the night, and on the ensuing day attempted once more

the hopeless march over the Akræan cliff. But they were not allowed

even to advance so far as the pass and the barricade. They were

so assailed and harassed by the cavalry and darters, in flank and

rear, that, in spite of heroic effort and endurance, they could not

accomplish a progress of so much as one single mile. Extenuated by

fatigue, half-starved, and with numbers of wounded men, they were

compelled to spend a third miserable night in the same fatal plain.

As soon as the Syracusans had retired for the night to their camp,

Nikias and Demosthenês took counsel. They saw plainly that the route

which they had originally projected, over the Akræan cliff into the

Sikel regions of the interior and from thence to Katana, had become

impracticable, and that their unhappy troops would be still less in

condition to force it on the morrow than they had been on the day

preceding. Accordingly, they resolved to make off during the night,

leaving numerous fires burning to mislead the enemy; but completely

to alter the direction, and to turn down towards the southern coast

on which lay Kamarina and Gela. Their guides informed them that if

they could cross the river Kakyparis, which fell into the sea south

of Syracuse, on the southeastern coast of Sicily, or a river still

farther on, called the Erineus,—they might march up the right bank

of either into the regions of the interior. Accordingly, they broke

up in the night, amidst confusion and alarm; in spite of which, the

front division of the army under Nikias got into full march, and

made considerable advance. By daybreak this division reached the

southeastern coast of the island not far south of Syracuse, and fell

into the track of the Helôrine road, which they pursued until they

arrived at the Kakyparis. Even here, however, they found a Syracusan

detachment beforehand with them, raising a redoubt, and blocking up

the ford; nor could Nikias pass it without forcing his way through

them. He marched straightforward to the Erineus, which he crossed

on the same day, and encamped his troops on some high ground on the

other side.[505]

[505] Thucyd. vii, 80-82.

Except at the ford of the Kakyparis, his march had been all day

unobstructed by the enemy; and he thought it wiser to push hid

troops as fast as possible, in order to arrive at some place both

of safety and subsistence, without concerning himself about the

rear division under Demosthenês. That division, the larger half of

the army, started both later and in great disorder. Unaccountable

panics and darkness made them part company or miss their way, so

that Demosthenês, with all his efforts to keep them together, made

little progress, and fell much behind Nikias. He was overtaken by

the Syracusans during the forenoon, seemingly before he reached the

Kakyparis,[506] and at a moment when the foremost division was

nearly six miles ahead, between the Kakyparis and the Erineus.

[506] Dr. Arnold (Thucyd. vol. iii, p. 280, copied by Göller,

ad vii, 81) thinks that the division of Demosthenês reached

and passed the river Kakyparis; and was captured between the

Kakyparis and the Erineus. But the words of Thucyd. vii, 80, 81,

do not sustain this. The division of Nikias was in advance of

Demosthenês from the beginning, and gained upon it principally

during the early part of the march, before daybreak; because it

was then that the disorder of the division of Demosthenês was the

most inconvenient: see c. 81—ὡς τῆς νυκτὸς τότε ξυνεταράχθησαν,

etc. When Thucydidês, therefore, says, that “at daybreak _they_

arrived at the sea,” (ἅμα δὲ τῇ ἕῳ ἀφικνοῦνται ἐς τὴν θάλατταν,

c. 80,) this cannot be true _both_ of Nikias and of Demosthenês.

If the former arrived there at daybreak, the latter cannot have

come to the same point till some time after daybreak. Nikias must

have been beforehand with Demosthenês when he reached the sea,

and considerably _more_ beforehand when he reached the Kakyparis:

moreover, we are expressly told that Nikias did not wait for his

colleague, that he thought it for the best to get on as fast as

possible with his own division.

It appears to me that the words ἀφικνοῦνται, etc. (c. 80), are

not to be understood both of Nikias and Demosthenês, but that

they refer back to the word αὐτοῖς, two or three lines behind:

“the _Athenians (taken generally)_ reached the sea,” no attention

being at that moment paid to the difference between the front

and the rear divisions. The _Athenians_ might be said, not

improperly, to reach the sea, at the time when the division of

Nikias reached it.

When the Syracusans discovered at dawn that their enemy had made off

in the night, their first impulse was to accuse Gylippus of treachery

in having permitted the escape. Such ungrateful surmises, however,

were soon dissipated, and the cavalry set forth in rapid pursuit,

until they overtook the rear division, which they immediately began

to attack and impede. The advance of Demosthenês had been tardy

before, and his division disorganized: but he was now compelled to

turn and defend himself against an indefatigable enemy, who presently

got before him and thus stopped him altogether. Their numerous

light troops and cavalry assailed him on all sides and without

intermission; employing nothing but missiles, however, and taking

care to avoid any close encounter. While this unfortunate division

were exerting their best efforts both to defend themselves, and if

possible to get forward, they found themselves inclosed in a walled

olive-ground, through the middle of which the road passed; a farm

bearing the name, and probably once the property, of Polyzêlus,

brother of the despot Gelon.[507] Entangled and huddled up in this

inclosure, from whence exit at the farther end in the face of an

enemy was found impossible, they were now overwhelmed with hostile

missiles from the walls on all sides.[508] Though unable to get at

the enemy, and deprived even of the resources of an active despair,

they endured incessant harassing for the greater part of the day,

without refreshment or repose, and with the number of their wounded

continually increasing; until at length the remaining spirit of the

unhappy sufferers was thoroughly broken. Perceiving their condition,

Gylippus sent to them a herald with a proclamation; inviting all

the islanders among them to come forth from the rest, and promising

them freedom if they did so. The inhabitants of some cities, yet

not many,—a fact much to their honor,—availed themselves of this

offer and surrendered. Presently, however, a larger negotiation

was opened, which ended by the entire division capitulating upon

terms, and giving up their arms. Gylippus and the Syracusans engaged

that the lives of all should be spared; that is, that none should

be put to death either by violence, or by intolerable bonds, or by

starvation. Having all been disarmed, they were forthwith conveyed

away as prisoners to Syracuse, six thousand in number. It is a

remarkable proof of the easy and opulent circumstances of many among

these gallant sufferers, when we are told that the money which they

had about them, even at this last moment of pressure, was sufficient

to fill the concavities of four shields.[509] Disdaining either

to surrender or to make any stipulation for himself personally,

Demosthenês was on the point of killing himself with his own sword

the moment that the capitulation was concluded; but his intention

was prevented, and he was carried off a disarmed prisoner by the

Syracusans.[510]

[507] Plutarch, Nikias, c. 27.

[508] Thucyd. vii, 81. Καὶ τότε γνοὺς (sc. Demosthenês) τοὺς

Συρακοσίους διώκοντας οὐ προὐχώρει μᾶλλον ἢ ἐς μάχην ξυνετάσσετο,

ἕως ἐνδιατρίβων κυκλοῦταί τε ὑπ’ αὐτῶν, καὶ ἐν πολλῷ θορύβῳ

αὐτός τε καὶ οἱ μετ’ αὐτοῦ Ἀθηναῖοι ἦσαν· ἀνειληθέντες γὰρ ἔς τι

χωρίον, ᾧ κύκλῳ μὲν τειχίον περιῆν, ~ὁδὸς δὲ ἔνθεν τε καὶ ἔνθεν~,

ἐλάας δὲ οὐκ ὀλίγας εἶχεν, ἐβάλλοντο περισταδόν.

I translate ὁδὸς δὲ ἔνθεν τε καὶ ἔνθεν differently from Dr.

Arnold, from Mitford, and from others. These words are commonly

understood to mean that this walled plantation was bordered

by two roads, one on each side. Certainly the words _might_

have that signification; but I think they also may have the

signification (compare ii, 76) which I have given in the text,

and which seems more plausible. It certainly is very improbable

that the Athenians should have gone out of the road, in order

to shelter themselves in the plantation; since they were fully

aware that there was no safety for them except in getting away.

If we suppose that the plantation lay exactly in the road, the

word ἀνειληθέντες becomes perfectly explicable, on which I do not

think that Dr. Arnold’s comment is satisfactory. The pressure of

the troops from the rear into the hither opening, while those

in the front could not get out by the farther opening, would

naturally cause this crowd and _huddling_ inside. A road which

passed right through the walled ground, entering at one side and

coming out at the other, might well be called ὁδὸς δὲ ἔνθεν τε

καὶ ἔνθεν. Compare Dr. Arnold’s Remarks on the Map of Syracuse,

vol. iii, p. 281; as well as his note on vii, 81.

I imagine the olive-trees to be here named, not for either of the

two reasons mentioned by Dr. Arnold, but because they hindered

the Athenians from seeing beforehand distinctly the nature of the

inclosure into which they were hastening, and therefore prevented

any precautions from being taken, such as that of forbidding too

many troops from entering at once, etc.

[509] Plutarch, Nikias, c. 27; Thucyd. vii, 82.

[510] This statement depends upon the very good authority of

the contemporary Syracusan, Philistus: see Pausanias, i, 29, 9;

Philisti Fragm. 46, ed. Didot.

On the next day, Gylippus and the victorious Syracusans overtook

Nikias on the right bank of the Erineus, apprized him of the

capitulation of Demosthenês, and summoned him to capitulate also. He

demanded leave to send a horseman for the purpose of verifying the

statement; and on the return of the horseman, he made a proposition

to Gylippus, that his army should be permitted to return home, on

condition of Athens reimbursing to Syracuse the whole expense of

the war, and furnishing hostages until payment should be made;

one citizen against each talent of silver. These conditions were

rejected; but Nikias could not yet bring himself to submit to

the same terms for his division as Demosthenês. Accordingly, the

Syracusans recommenced their attacks, which the Athenians, in spite

of hunger and fatigue, sustained as they best could until night. It

was the intention of Nikias again to take advantage of the night for

the purpose of getting away. But on this occasion the Syracusans

were on the watch, and as soon as they heard movement in the camp,

they raised the pæan, or war-shout; thus showing that they were on

the lookout, and inducing the Athenians again to lay down the arms

which they had taken up for departure. A detachment of three hundred

Athenians, nevertheless, still persisting in marching off, apart from

the rest, forced their way through the posts of the Syracusans. These

men got safely away, and nothing but the want of guides prevented

them from escaping altogether.[511]

[511] Thucyd. vii, 83.

During all this painful retreat, the personal resolution displayed

by Nikias was exemplary; his sick and feeble frame was made to bear

up, and even to hearten up stronger men, against the extremity of

hardship, exhausting the last fragment of hope or even possibility.

It was now the sixth day of the retreat,—six days[512] of constant

privation, suffering, and endurance of attack,—yet Nikias early in

the morning attempted a fresh march, in order to get to the river

Asinarus, which falls into the same sea, south of the Erineus, but

is a more considerable stream, flowing deeply imbedded between lofty

banks. This was a last effort of despair, with little hope of final

escape, even if they did reach it. Yet the march was accomplished,

in spite of renewed and incessant attacks all the way, from the

Syracusan cavalry; who even got to the river before the Athenians,

occupying the ford, and lining the high banks near it. Here the

resolution of the unhappy fugitives at length gave way; when they

reached the river, their strength, their patience, their spirit, and

their hopes for the future, were all extinct. Tormented with raging

thirst, and compelled by the attacks of the cavalry to march in one

compact mass, they rushed into the ford all at once, treading down

and tumbling over each other in the universal avidity for drink. Many

thus perished from being pushed down upon the points of the spears,

or lost their footing among the scattered articles of baggage, and

were thus borne down under water.[513] Meanwhile, the Syracusans

from above poured upon the huddled mass showers of missiles, while

the Peloponnesian hoplites even descended into the river, came to

close quarters with them, and slew considerable numbers. So violent,

nevertheless, was the thirst of the Athenians, that all other

suffering was endured in order to taste relief by drinking. And even

when dead and wounded were heaped in the river,—when the water was

tainted and turbid with blood, as well as thick with the mud trodden

up,—still, the new-comers pushed their way in and swallowed it with

voracity.[514]

[512] Plutarch (Nikias. c. 27) says _eight_ days, inaccurately.

[513] Thucyd. vii, 85. See Dr. Arnold’s note.

[514] Thucyd. vii, 84. ... ἔβαλλον ἄνωθεν τοὺς Ἀθηναίους,

~πίνοντάς τε τοὺς πολλοὺς ἀσμένους~, καὶ ἐν κοίλῳ ὄντι τῷ ποτάμῳ

ἐν σφίσιν αὐτοῖς ταρασσομένους.

Wretched, helpless, and demoralized as the army now was, Nikias

could think no farther of resistance. He accordingly surrendered

himself to Gylippus, to be dealt with at the discretion of that

general and of the Lacedæmonians,[515] earnestly imploring that the

slaughter of the defenceless soldiers might be arrested. Accordingly,

Gylippus gave orders that no more should be killed, but that the

rest should be secured as captives. Many were slain before this

order was understood; but of those who remained, almost all were

made captive, very few escaping. Nay, even the detachment of three

hundred, who had broken out in the night, having seemingly not known

whither to go, were captured, and brought in by troops sent forth

for the purpose.[516] The triumph of the Syracusans was in every

way complete, they hung the trees on the banks of the Asinarus with

Athenian panoplies as trophy, and carried back their prisoners in

joyous procession to the city.

[515] Thucyd. vii, 85, 86; Philistus, Fragm. 46, ed. Didot;

Pausanias, i. 29, 9.

[516] Thucyd. vii, 85; Plutarch, Nikias, c. 27.

The number of prisoners thus made, is not positively specified by

Thucydidês, as in the case of the division of Demosthenês, which

had capitulated and laid down their arms in a mass within the walls

of the olive-ground. Of the captives from the division of Nikias,

the larger proportion were seized by private individuals, and

fraudulently secreted for their own profit; the number obtained for

the state being comparatively small, seemingly not more than one

thousand.[517] The various Sicilian towns became soon full of these

prisoners, sold as slaves for private account.

[517] Thucydidês states, roughly, and without pretending to

exact means of knowledge, that the total number of captives

brought to Syracuse under public supervision, was not less than

seven thousand—ἐλήφθησαν δὲ οἱ ξύμπαντες, ἀκριβείᾳ μὲν χαλεπὸν

ἐξειπεῖν, ὅμως δὲ οὐκ ἐλάσσους ἑπτακισχιλίων (vii, 87). As the

number taken with Demosthenês was six thousand (vii, 82), this

leaves one thousand as having been obtained from the division of

Nikias.

Not less than forty thousand persons in the aggregate had started

from the Athenian camp to commence the retreat, six days before. Of

these probably many, either wounded or otherwise incompetent even

when the march began, soon found themselves unable to keep up, and

were left behind to perish. Each of the six days was a day of hard

fighting and annoyance from an indefatigable crowd of light troops,

with little, and at last seemingly nothing, to eat. The number was

thus successively thinned, by wounds, privations, and straggling,

so that the six thousand taken with Demosthenês, and perhaps three

thousand or four thousand captured with Nikias, formed the melancholy

remnant. Of the stragglers during the march, however, we are glad to

learn that many contrived to escape the Syracusan cavalry and get to

Katana, where also those who afterwards ran away from their slavery

under private masters, found a refuge.[518] These fugitive Athenians

served as auxiliaries to repel the attacks of the Syracusans upon

Katana.[519]

[518] Thucyd. vii, 85. ~πολλοὶ~ δὲ ὅμως καὶ διέφυγον, οἱ μὲν καὶ

παραυτίκα, οἱ δὲ καὶ δουλεύσαντες καὶ διαδιδράσκοντες ὕστερον.

The word παραυτίκα means, during the retreat.

[519] Lysias pro Polystrato. Orat. xx, sects. 26-28, c. 6, p. 686

R.

It was in this manner, chiefly, that Athens came to receive again

within her bosom a few of those ill-fated sons whom she had drafted

forth in two such splendid divisions to Sicily. For of those who were

carried as prisoners to Syracuse, fewer yet could ever have got home.

They were placed for safe custody, along with the other prisoners, in

the stone-quarries of Syracuse,—of which there were several, partly

on the southern descent of the outer city towards the Nekropolis,

or from the higher level to the lower level of Achradina,—partly in

the suburb afterwards called Neapolis, under the southern cliff of

Epipolæ. Into these quarries—deep hollows of confined space, with

precipitous sides, and open at the top to the sky—the miserable

prisoners were plunged, lying huddled one upon another, without the

smallest protection or convenience. For subsistence, they received

each day a ration of one pint of wheaten bread,—half the daily ration

of a slave,—with no more than half a pint of water, so that they

were not preserved from the pangs either of hunger or of thirst.

Moreover, the heat of the midday sun, alternating with the chill of

the autumn nights, was alike afflicting and destructive; while the

wants of life having all to be performed where they were, without

relief, the filth and stench presently became insupportable. Sick

and wounded even at the moment of arrival, many of them speedily

died; and happiest was he who died the first, leaving an unconscious

corpse, which the Syracusans would not take the trouble to remove, to

distress and infect the survivors. Under this condition and treatment

they remained for seventy days; probably serving as a spectacle for

the triumphant Syracusan population, with their wives and children,

to come and look down upon, and to congratulate themselves on their

own narrow escape from sufferings similar in kind at least, if not

in degree. After that time the novelty of the spectacle had worn

off, while the place must have become a den of abomination and a

nuisance intolerable even to the citizens themselves. Accordingly,

they now removed all the surviving prisoners, except the native

Athenians and the few Italian or Sicilian Greeks among them. All

those so removed were sold for slaves;[520] while the dead bodies

were probably at the same time taken away, and the prison rendered

somewhat less loathsome. What became of the remaining prisoners,

we are not told; it may be presumed that those who could survive

so great an extremity of suffering might after a certain time be

allowed to get back to Athens on ransom. Perhaps some of them may

have obtained their release; as was the case, we are told, with

several of those who had been sold to private masters, by the

elegance of their accomplishments and the dignity of their demeanor.

The dramas of Euripidês were so peculiarly popular throughout all

Sicily, that those Athenian prisoners who knew by heart considerable

portions of them, won the affections of their masters. Some even

of the stragglers from the army are affirmed to have procured for

themselves, by the same attraction, shelter and hospitality during

their flight. Euripidês, we are informed, lived to receive the thanks

of several among these unhappy sufferers, after their return to

Athens.[521] I cannot refrain from mentioning this story, though I

fear its trustworthiness as matter of fact is much inferior to its

pathos and interest.

[520] Thucyd. vii, 87. Diodorus (xiii, 20-32) gives two long

orations purporting to have been held in the Syracusan assembly,

in discussing how the prisoners were to be dealt with. An old

citizen, named Nikolaus, who has lost his two sons in the war, is

made to advocate the side of humane treatment; while Gylippus is

introduced as the orator recommending harshness and revenge.

From whom Diodorus borrowed this, I do not know; but his whole

account of the matter appears to me untrustworthy.

One may judge of his accuracy when one finds him stating that the

prisoners received each two _chœnikes_ of barley-meal, instead of

two _kotylæ_; the chœnix being four times as much as the kotylê

(Diodor. xiii, 19).

[521] Plutarch, Nikias, c. 29; Diodor. xiii, 33. The reader will

see how the Carthaginians treated the Grecian prisoners whom they

took in Sicily, in Diodor. xiii, 111.

Upon the treatment of Nikias and Demosthenês, not merely the

Syracusans, but also the allies present, were consulted, and much

difference of opinion was found. To keep them in confinement simply,

without putting them to death, was apparently the opinion advocated

by Hermokratês.[522] But Gylippus, then in full ascendency and an

object of deep gratitude for his invaluable services, solicited as a

reward to himself to be allowed to conduct them back as prisoners to

Sparta. To achieve this would have earned for him signal honor in the

eyes of his countrymen; for while Demosthenês, from his success at

Pylos, was their hated enemy, Nikias had always shown himself their

friend as far as an Athenian could do so. It was to him that they

owed the release of their prisoners taken at Sphakteria; and he had

calculated upon this obligation when he surrendered himself prisoner

to Gylippus, and not to the Syracusans.

[522] Plutarch, Nikias, c. 28; Diodor. xiii, 19.

In spite of all his influence, however, Gylippus could not carry

this point. First, the Corinthians both strenuously opposed him

themselves, and prevailed on the other allies to do the same. They

were afraid that the wealth of Nikias would always procure for him

the means of escaping from imprisonment, so as to do them farther

injury, and they insisted on his being put to death. Next, those

Syracusans, who had been in secret correspondence with Nikias

during the siege, were yet more anxious to get him put out of

the way, being apprehensive that, if tortured by their political

opponents, he might disclose their names and intrigues. Such various

influences prevailed, and Nikias as well as Demosthenês was ordered

to be put to death by a decree of the public assembly, much to the

discontent of Gylippus. Hermokratês vainly opposed the resolution,

but perceiving that it was certain to be carried, he sent to them a

private intimation before the discussion closed; and procured for

them, through one of the sentinels, the means of dying by their own

hands. Their bodies were publicly exposed before the city gates to

the view of the Syracusan citizens;[523] while the day on which the

final capture of Nikias and his army was accomplished, came to be

celebrated as an annual festival, under the title of the Asinaria, on

the twenty-sixth day of the Dorian month Karneius.[524]

[523] Thucyd. vii, 86; Plutarch, Nikias, c. 28. The statement

which Plutarch here cites from Timæus respecting the intervention

of Hermokratês, is not in any substantial contradiction with

Philistus and Thucydidês. The word κελευσθέντας seems decidedly

preferable to καταλευσθέντας, in the text of Plutarch.

[524] Plutarch, Nikias, c. 28. Though Plutarch says that the

month Karneius is “that which the Athenians call Metageitnion,”

yet it is not safe to affirm that the day of the slaughter of the

Asinarus was the 16th of the Attic month Metageitnion. We know

that the civil months of different cities seldom or never exactly

coincided. See the remarks of Franz on this point, in his comment

on the valuable Inscriptions of Tauromenium, Corp. Inscr. Gr. No.

5640, part xxxii, sect 3, p. 640.

The surrender of Nikias must have taken place, I think, not less

than twenty-four or twenty-five days after the eclipse, which

occurred on the 27th of August, that is, about Sept. 21. Mr.

Fynes Clinton (F. H. ad ann. 413 B.C.) seems to me to compress

too much the interval between the eclipse and the retreat;

considering that that interval included two great battles, with a

certain delay before, between, and after.

The μετόπωρον noticed by Thucyd. vii, 79. suits with Sept. 21:

compare Plutarch, Nikias, c. 22.

Such was the close of the expedition, or rather of the two

expeditions, undertaken by Athens against Syracuse. Never in Grecian

history had a force so large, so costly, so efficient, and so full of

promise and confidence, been turned out; never in Grecian history had

ruin so complete and sweeping, or victory so glorious and unexpected,

been witnessed.[525] Its consequences were felt from one end of the

Grecian world to the other, as will appear in the coming chapters.

[525] Thucyd. vii, 87.

The esteem and admiration felt at Athens towards Nikias had been

throughout lofty and unshaken; after his death it was exchanged

for disgrace. His name was omitted, while that of his colleague

Demosthenês was engraved, on the funereal pillar erected to

commemorate the fallen warriors. This difference Pausanias explains

by saying that Nikias was conceived to have disgraced himself as

a military man by his voluntary surrender, which Demosthenês had

disdained.[526]

[526] Pausan. i, 29, 9; Philist. Fragm. 46, ed. Didot.

Justin erroneously says that Demosthenês actually did kill

himself, rather than submit to surrender, before the surrender of

Nikias; who, he says, did not choose to follow the example:—

“Demosthenês, amisso exercitu a captivitate gladio et voluntariâ

morte se vindicat: Nicias autem, ne Demosthenis quidem exemplo,

ut sibi consuleret, admonitus, cladem suorum auxit dedecore

captivitatis.” (Justin, iv, 5.)

Philistus, whom Pausanias announces himself as following, is an

excellent witness for the actual facts in Sicily; though not so

good a witness for the impression at Athens respecting those

facts.

It seems certain, even from Thucydidês, that Nikias, in

surrendering himself to Gylippus, thought that he had

considerable chance of saving his life, Plutarch too so

interprets the proceeding, and condemns it as disgraceful, see

his comparison of Nikias and Crassus, near the end. Demosthenês

could not have thought the same for himself: the fact of his

attempted suicide appears to me certain, on the authority of

Philistus, though Thucydidês does not notice it.

The opinion of Thucydidês deserves special notice, in the face of

this judgment of his countrymen. While he says not a word about

Demosthenês, beyond the fact of his execution, he adds in reference

to Nikias a few words of marked sympathy and commendation. “Such, or

nearly such, (he says,) were the reasons why Nikias was put to death;

though _he_ assuredly, among all Greeks of my time, least deserved

to come to so extreme a pitch of ill-fortune, considering his exact

performance of established duties to the divinity.”[527]

[527] Thucyd. vii, 86. Καὶ ὁ μὲν τοιαύτῃ ἢ ὅτι ἐγγύτατα τούτων

αἰτίᾳ ἐτεθνήκει, ἥκιστα δὴ ἄξιος ὢν τῶν γε ἐπ’ ἐμοῦ Ἑλλήνων ἐς

τοῦτο δυστυχίας ἀφικέσθαι, ~διὰ τὴν νενομισμένην ἐς τὸ θεῖον

ἐπιτήδευσιν~.

So stood the text of Thucydidês, until various recent editors

changed the last words, on the authority of some MSS., to ~διὰ

τὴν πᾶσαν ἐς ἀρετὴν νενομισμένην ἐπιτήδευσιν~.

Though Dr. Arnold and some of the best critics prefer and adopt

the latter reading, I confess it seems to me that the former

is more suitable to the Greek vein of thought, as well as more

conformable to truth about Nikias.

A man’s good or bad fortune, depending on the favorable or

unfavorable disposition of the gods towards him, was understood

to be determined more directly by his piety and religious

observances, rather than by his virtue, see passages in Isokratês

de Permutation. Orat. xv, sect. 301; Lysias, cont. Nikomach. c.

5, p. 854, though undoubtedly the two ideas went to a certain

extent together. Men might differ about the virtue of Nikias;

but his piety was an incontestable fact; and his “good fortune”

also, in times prior to the Sicilian expedition, was recognized

by men like Alkibiadês, who most probably had no very lofty

opinion of his virtue (Thucyd. vi, 17). The contrast between the

remarkable piety of Nikias, and that extremity of ill-fortune

which marked the close of his life, was very likely to shock

Grecian ideas generally, and was a natural circumstance for the

historian to note. Whereas if we read, in the passage, πᾶσαν ἐς

ἀρετὴν, the panegyric upon Nikias becomes both less special and

more disproportionate, beyond what even Thucydidês (as far as we

can infer from other expressions, see v, 16) would be inclined to

bestow upon him—more, in fact, than he says in commendation even

of Periklês.

If we were judging Nikias merely as a private man, and setting his

personal conduct in one scale against his personal suffering on the

other, the remark of Thucydidês would be natural and intelligible.

But the general of a great expedition, upon whose conduct the lives

of thousands of brave men as well as the most momentous interests

of his country, depend, cannot be tried by any such standard. His

private merit becomes a secondary point in the case, as compared with

the discharge of his responsible public duties, by which he must

stand or fall.

Tried by this more appropriate standard, what are we to say of

Nikias? We are compelled to say, that if his personal suffering

could possibly be regarded in the light of an atonement, or set in

an equation against the mischief brought by himself both on his army

and his country, it would not be greater than his deserts. I shall

not here repeat the separate points in his conduct which justify this

view, and which have been set forth as they have occurred, in the

preceding pages. Admitting fully both the good intentions of Nikias,

and his personal bravery, rising even into heroism during the last

few days in Sicily, it is not the less incontestable, that, first,

the failure of the enterprise, next, the destruction of the armament,

is to be traced distinctly to his lamentable misjudgment. Sometimes

petty trifling, sometimes apathy and inaction, sometimes presumptuous

neglect, sometimes obstinate blindness even to urgent and obvious

necessities, one or other of these his sad mental defects, will be

found operative at every step, whereby this fated armament sinks down

from exuberant efficiency into the last depth of aggregate ruin and

individual misery. His improvidence and incapacity stand proclaimed,

not merely in the narrative of the historian, but even in his own

letter to the Athenians, and in his own speeches both before the

expedition and during its closing misfortunes, when contrasted with

the reality of his proceedings. The man whose flagrant incompetency

brought such wholesale ruin upon two fine armaments intrusted to

his command, upon the Athenian maritime empire, and ultimately upon

Athens herself, must appear on the tablets of history under the

severest condemnation, even though his personal virtues had been

loftier than those of Nikias.

And yet our great historian, after devoting two immortal books to

this expedition, after setting forth emphatically both the glory of

its dawn and the wretchedness of its close, with a dramatic genius

parallel to the Œdipus Tyrannus of Sophoklês, when he comes to

recount the melancholy end of the two commanders, has no words to

spare for Demosthenês,—far the abler officer of the two, who perished

by no fault of his own,—but reserves his flowers to strew on the

grave of Nikias, the author of the whole calamity—“What a pity! Such

a respectable and religious man!”

Thucydidês is here the more instructive, because he exactly

represents the sentiment of the general Athenian public towards

Nikias during his lifetime. They could not bear to condemn, to

mistrust, to dismiss, or to do without, so respectable and religious

a citizen. The private qualities of Nikias were not only held to

entitle him to the most indulgent construction of all his public

shortcomings, but also insured to him credit for political and

military competence altogether disproportionate to his deserts.

When we find Thucydidês, after narrating so much improvidence and

mismanagement on the grand scale, still keeping attention fixed on

the private morality and decorum of Nikias, as if it constituted the

main feature of his character, we can understand how the Athenian

people originally came both to over-estimate this unfortunate leader,

and continued over-estimating him with tenacious fidelity even after

glaring proof of his incapacity. Never in the political history

of Athens did the people make so fatal a mistake in placing their

confidence.

In reviewing the causes of popular misjudgment, historians are

apt to enlarge prominently, if not exclusively, on demagogues and

demagogic influences. Mankind being usually considered in the light

of governable material, or as instruments for exalting, arming,

and decorating their rulers, whatever renders them more difficult

to handle in this capacity, ranks first in the category of vices.

Nor can it be denied that this was a real and serious cause: clever

criminative speakers often passed themselves off for something

above their real worth; though useful and indispensable as a

protection against worse, they sometimes deluded the people into

measures impolitic or unjust. But, even if we grant, to the cause

of misjudgment here indicated, a greater practical efficiency than

history will fairly sanction, still, it is only one among others more

mischievous. Never did any man at Athens, by mere force of demagogic

qualities, acquire a measure of esteem at once so exaggerated and so

durable, combined with so much power of injuring his fellow-citizens,

as the anti-demagogic Nikias. The man who, over and above his shabby

manœuvre about the expedition against Sphakteria, and his improvident

sacrifice of Athenian interests in the alliance with Sparta, ended

by inflicting on his country that cruel wound which destroyed so

many of her citizens as well as her maritime empire, was not a

leather-seller of impudent and criminative eloquence, but a man of

ancient family and hereditary wealth, munificent and affable, having

credit not merely for the largesses which he bestowed, but also for

all the insolences, which as a rich man he might have committed, but

did not commit,—free from all pecuniary corruption,—a brave man, and

above all, an ultra-religious man, believed therefore to stand high

in the favor of the gods, and to be fortunate. Such was the esteem

which the Athenians felt for this union of good qualities purely

personal and negative with eminent station, that they presumed the

higher aptitudes of command,[528] and presumed them, unhappily,

after proof that they did not exist,—after proof that what they

had supposed to be caution was only apathy and mental weakness. No

demagogic arts or eloquence would ever have created in the people so

deep-seated an illusion as the imposing respectability of Nikias.

Now it was against the overweening ascendency of such decorous and

pious incompetence, when aided by wealth and family advantages, that

the demagogic accusatory eloquence ought to have served as a natural

bar and corrective. Performing the functions of a constitutional

opposition, it afforded the only chance of that tutelary exposure

whereby blunders and shortcomings might be arrested in time. How

insufficient was the check which it provided,—even at Athens, where

every one denounces it as having prevailed in devouring excess,—the

history of Nikias is an ever-living testimony.

[528] A good many of the features depicted by Tacitus (Hist. i,

49) in Galba, suit the character of Nikias, much more than those

of the rapacious and unprincipled Crassus, with whom Plutarch

compares the latter:—

“Vetus in familiâ nobilitas, magnæ opes: ipsi medium ingenium,

magis extra vitia, quam cum virtutibus. Sed claritas natalium,

et metus temporum, obtentui fuit, ut _quod segnitia fuit,

sapientia_ vocaretur. Dum vigebat ætas, militari laude apud

Germanias floruit: proconsul, Africam moderate; jam senior,

citeriorem Hispaniam, pari justitiâ continuit. _Major privato

visus dum privatus fuit, et omnium consensu capax imperii, nisi

imperasset._”