[Illustration: Prow of an ancient vessel found at Genoa.]
Sketch of the interval which elapsed between the defeat in Sicily and
the battle of Arginusæ—Battle of Arginusæ—Prosecution and death of the
Athenian generals—Massacre of the De Witts—End of the Peloponnesian war.
The catastrophe of the Sicilian army was heard at Athens with
consternation. In that army, besides light–armed troops and slaves,
10,000 citizens were lost, the flower of the republic and its allied,
or rather dependent, states; and the private sorrow from which few
houses were exempt, was increased by the alarming perplexity how such
another force could be raised from the exhausted population, or such
a fleet rebuilt from the exhausted treasury of the state. It was
generally believed through Greece that the war would soon come to an
end; and if Sparta had been prepared to follow up with energy the blow
struck in Sicily, Athens probably would have fallen. But though the
project of wresting the dominion of the sea from her seemed no longer
visionary, as it had seemed earlier in the war, in which case, deprived
both of her territories at home and of her commerce and allies abroad,
she must have yielded, the Lacedæmonians at this critical juncture
possessed no fleet, and the autumn and winter, which they spent in
collecting one, were diligently employed by the Athenians in measures
suited to the present emergency. Thus at the close of the nineteenth
year of the war, each party, says Thucydides, seemed as it were
preparing for the beginning of a war. But at this time a third party
appeared in the contest. The King of Persia had discovered that to
supply the Greeks with the means of mutual destruction was much better
policy than uniting them against himself by measures of open hostility;
and Athens, from its restless spirit, as well as from the recollection
of former injuries, was the object of especial dislike and fear to that
monarchy. From henceforward the want of a public revenue, which had
more than anything cramped the exertions of Sparta, was obviated from
the inexhaustible riches of Persia.
The seven years which elapsed between the defeat in Sicily and the
battle of Arginusæ, are perhaps the busiest and most curious portion
of the war. Scarce two years passed before the hope of supplanting
the Lacedæmonians in the favour of Tissaphernes, satrap of Lydia,
and diverting to themselves the wealth which was animating their
enemies, induced the once proud people of Athens to divest themselves
of the sovereignty and establish an oligarchical government. After
a short existence of four months this government was overthrown and
a new one established, in which the supreme power was vested in an
assembly of 5000 citizens, of which all persons entitled to serve in
the heavy–armed infantry were constituted members. “And now for the
first time in my remembrance,” says Thucydides, “the Athenians appear
to have possessed a government of unusual excellence; for there was a
moderate intermixture of the few and the many. And this, after so many
misfortunes past, first made the city again to raise its head.”[166]
Alcibiades, who had been a main promoter of this counter–revolution,
was now recalled, and under his able guidance a series of victories
ensued which bade fair to raise the commonwealth to its former
splendour. In the twenty–fourth year of the war, and the sixth from
his banishment, he led home his victorious troops, and was received
with extraordinary favour, being appointed commander–in–chief, with
greater powers than had ever been intrusted to such an officer. But the
Athenians had not yet learnt steadiness. Within less than a year he was
dismissed, in consequence of an unimportant defeat sustained by one
of his subordinates, who, during his absence from the fleet, against
express orders, had ventured a battle; and command was given to a board
of ten generals, with Conon at their head.
In the twenty–fifth year of the war, as Conon was passing Lesbos with a
fleet of seventy triremes, the Spartan general, Callicratidas, obtained
an opportunity of attacking him with far superior forces, compelled
him to run for the harbour of Mitylene, took thirty of his ships, and
formed the siege of that town by land and sea. When this unpleasant
news reached Athens, every nerve was strained to effect their general’s
deliverance. In thirty days, 110 triremes were equipped and manned,
though 20,000 men are calculated to have been required for the purpose.
All persons of military age, both slaves and freemen, were pressed into
the service; many knights even, who were legally exempted from this
service, went on board. The fleet was increased by forty ships or more
from different allies, and then sailed for Mitylene to deliver Conon.
When Callicratidas heard that the Athenian fleet was at Samos, he left
fifty ships, commanded by Eteonicus, to maintain the siege, and put to
sea himself with 120. The Athenians spent that night at Arginusæ, a
cluster of islands between the southern promontory of Lesbos and the
main land. In the morning both parties put to sea: eight of the ten
Athenian generals were on board the fleet.
[Illustration:]
Xenophon tells us that the superiority in sailing, or rather rowing,
which had enabled the Athenians at the commencement of the war to gain
such distinguished successes under the command of Phormion and others,
was now reversed: and that from the greater swiftness of their ships,
the Lacedæmonians were more likely to profit by the rapid evolutions,
in which the naval science of that time was shown; especially that
called the diecplus, which seems to have consisted in dashing through
the enemy’s line, avoiding the direct shock of his beak, but sweeping
away his oars if possible by an oblique attack. To guard against
this danger the Athenians adopted the following disposition of their
fleet: in either wing were four squadrons, each of fifteen ships, and
each commanded by one of the generals, eight of whom were on board
the fleet, drawn up in a double line. The left of the centre was held
by ten Samian ships; then came ten Athenian ships, each containing a
military officer of rank, called taxiarch, which seems to correspond
in grade most closely to the rank of colonel; next to them, each in
his own ship, three navarchs or admirals, two of whom, Thrasybulus and
Theramenes, are names well known in the history of the time, and the
few allied ships, which were not elsewhere stationed. All these were in
single line. We have here a good illustration of the close connection
between the military and naval service, and may infer that officers
of distinction in the one were not expected to serve in inferior
situations in the other. The distribution of the fleet will be more
readily understood from the annexed diagram.
The Lacedæmonian fleet was formed in a single line.
Hermon of Megara, the pilot, or master rather of Callicratidas’s
ship, observed that the Athenians were much the most numerous, and
said that it would be well to retreat. Callicratidas answered, that
Sparta would not be worse inhabited if he were dead, but it was
shameful to run away. The battle lasted long; but when Callicratidas,
who led the Spartan right wing, was thrown overboard by the shock of
his own trireme against another, and the Athenian right wing gained
the advantage over their opponents, the Spartan fleet betook itself
to flight, with the loss of seventy ships or upwards. The victors
returned to their station at Arginusæ, their number diminished only by
twenty–five ships, but nearly all the crews of these had perished.
A double duty now claimed their attention: the one to save those of
their countrymen who still clung to life upon the floating wreck,
the other to relieve Conon and complete the destruction of the
Peloponnesian fleet by surprising the squadron left to maintain the
siege of Mitylene. We can detect no error in the course adopted, which
was to leave forty–six ships to collect the wreck, and sail direct
for Mitylene with the others. For some unexplained reason, however,
none of the eight generals remained to superintend the former service,
which was intrusted to Theramenes and Thrasybulus. But a violent
storm came on, and confined both divisions of the fleet at Arginusæ;
while Eteonicus, to whom a light vessel had conveyed the news of his
commander’s defeat, seized the interval for escape thus granted to him
with much readiness. Fearful of attack from Conon, now nearly equal
to him in naval force, if he manifested the necessity of retreat,
he bade the vessel which conveyed the news put back to sea without
communicating it to any but himself, and then return crowned and decked
with the symbols of victory, and shouting that Callicratidas had gotten
the victory of the Athenians. He then offered the usual thanks–offering
for good news, and that very night broke up the siege and departed. The
Athenians seem to have been deficient in activity, for their first
information of this was derived from the arrival of Conon at Arginusæ,
as they were preparing to leave it. They then sailed to Chios, whither
the Peloponnesians had repaired; and having done nothing, returned to
their usual station at Samos.
How it happened that so powerful a fleet, under able commanders, not
only did, but apparently attempted nothing, in prosecution of so signal
a success, is left entirely unexplained; and we might almost suspect
from the meagre statement of facts, without explanation or comment,
that Xenophon knew more of the matter than for some reason or other
he chose to tell. The Athenians, he continues, displaced their ten
generals, excepting Conon: but the cause of their dissatisfaction
is not stated. Six of the eight who had been in the battle returned
home at once. On their return, Erasinides was immediately accused by
Archidemus, who was at that time the popular leader, of embezzling
public property and of misconduct in his command. He was committed
to prison. Subsequently the other five were also committed to answer
to the people for their conduct; and at the first assembly several
persons, with Theramenes at their head, came forward to assert that the
generals ought to be brought to trial for not saving their shipwrecked
countrymen. The accused made a short answer (for they were not allowed
to speak at length, as they had a right to do), stating all that had
passed; how they had resolved themselves to follow up their advantage,
leaving Theramenes and Thrasybulus, men of military rank and confessed
ability, to perform the other service. “These, if any,” they said, “are
the persons to blame; yet though they accuse us, we will not bring a
false charge against them, of neglecting what the violence of the storm
rendered it impossible to do.”[167] And these statements they brought
forward witnesses to prove.
This short defence made a considerable impression, and many persons
offered to become sureties for the accused. But the evening had now
closed in, and it was said to be too dark to distinguish the show of
hands. The matter was therefore adjourned to the next assembly, and it
was voted that in the mean time the council should determine in what
manner the generals should be tried,—a precaution which shows that
they were not meant to have fair play, since the form of trial was as
distinctly settled in Athens as in England; but it gave the accused
full opportunity for making his defence, and therefore did not suit
the purpose of the prosecutors. In the mean time came on the festival
called Apaturia, at which members of the same family and the same tribe
met in social intercourse; and Theramenes took advantage of the kindly
feelings excited upon the occasion to raise a prejudice against his
intended victims, by sending about the city men dressed in black with
their heads shaven, in the character of relations of those who had been
lost at Arginusæ.
At the next general assembly Callixenus explained the scheme of trial
recommended by the council. “The people,” he said, “had already heard
the charge and the answer to it (an answer, be it remembered, which
had been limited to a few words), and might therefore proceed at once
to vote. Two vases therefore would be set apart to each tribe, and
those who thought the generals culpable for not saving the wrecked
crews, would cast their ball into the one, those who did not think them
culpable into the other. If the majority were of the former opinion,
the punishment would be death and confiscation of property.” At this
period a man came forward with a story that he had saved his own life
on a flour–barrel, and that his dying comrades charged him, if he
himself escaped, to tell the Athenians that the generals had abandoned
those citizens who had so well served their country. Euryptolemus,
a name which occurs in history only on this occasion, made a stand
in favour of the accused, and threatened to prosecute Callixenus for
submitting an illegal proposition to the assembly, and a part concurred
with him; but the majority cried, that it was a fine thing if anyone
should say that the people might not do as it liked: and Lyciscus
proposed, that all who interfered with the proceedings of the assembly
should be included in the same vote with the generals. Euryptolemus
therefore was compelled to let things take their course. Still the
presidents of the assembly refused to propose an illegal question; but
they were frightened and overborne by clamour, except the celebrated
Socrates, who steadily refused to act contrary to law. Euryptolemus
made another attempt to procure the generals leave to plead their own
cause, by moving an amendment to the proposition of Callixenus: but he
failed; the scheme of the council was agreed to, and by a majority of
votes sentence of death was passed upon the eight generals present at
Arginusæ. Those six who had been unlucky enough to return to Athens
were forthwith executed.
Not long after, Xenophon adds, the Athenians repented of what they
had done, and voted that those who had deceived the people should
be prosecuted, and find sureties for their appearance. Other civil
contests arose, which gave them an opportunity of escape. Callixenus,
at a later period, returned to Athens; lived for a time the object of
hate to all, and died of hunger in a time of famine.[168]
The Germans, by the report of Tacitus, held solemn and deep
drinking–bouts for the consideration of all important business, upon
the old maxim that in wine there is no deceit; but they took care to
reconsider their decision the next morning. Some court of temperate
review would have preserved the Athenians from many heinous crimes,
into which they were led by a temper unusually excitable, and when
ruled by prejudice and passion, less fitted to judge wisely and
equitably than the phlegmatic temper of the Germans, even under the
influence of strong drink. With Theramenes and the accusers this was
plainly a party measure, undertaken in total recklessness of right or
wrong. In these corrupt motives the people could have no share; on the
contrary, they seem to have been acted on at first by a right feeling
of indignation at the alleged abandonment of meritorious citizens.
Their fault lay in the readiness with which they discarded gratitude
to entertain suspicion; in the blind fury with which, overleaping all
law in jealously asserting the people’s omnipotence, they followed a
mere impulse, a delusion, which the least exercise of judicial calmness
would have dispelled. It is true that, when the reign of passion was
over, and they returned to their senses, they rendered such amends
for their precipitance as were then in their power. But such tardy
repentance could neither repair nor expiate the wrong committed; and
Athenian repentance generally came too late. Prompt in action, both
from temper and from the forms of the state, which required no revision
of a decree of the people, no assent from any concurring authority,
performance followed close upon resolve. Of the many cruel edicts,
repented or unrepented, uttered by the Athenian people, the revocation
of the decree against the Mitylenæans, by which all male citizens were
condemned to death, is the only one where repentance came in time. It
seems a fitting judgment that the signal victory of Arginusæ was the
last gained during the war; and that in the next year it was followed
by the still more signal defeat at Ægospotami, which laid Athens
prostrate at the feet of her haughty rival.
Not strictly analogous to the prosecution of the generals, but a still
more memorable example of the cruelty and ingratitude to which party
spirit can rouse even a phlegmatic people like the Dutch, the very
antipodes of the Athenians in temper, is the murder of the brothers De
Witt. Both illustrious, though not equally so, to the elder Holland
owes deeper obligations than to any other of her citizens, except those
great captains who burst the Spanish yoke. These obligations, and De
Witt’s high qualities, are best described by a writer qualified to do
justice to the subject by the affection of a friend, as well as the
penetration of a statesman—Sir William Temple.
“The chief direction of the affairs of Holland had, for eighteen years,
been constantly in the hands of their Pensionary De Witt, a minister
of the greatest authority and sufficiency, the greatest application and
industry, ever known in their state. In the course of his ministry,
he and his party had reduced not only all the civil charges of the
government in this province, but in a manner all the military commands
of the army, out of the hands of persons affectionate to the Prince
of Orange, into those esteemed more sure and fast to the interests of
their more popular state. And all this had been attended for so long
a course of years with the perpetual success of their affairs, by the
growth of their trade, power, and riches at home, and the consideration
of their neighbours abroad; yet the general humour of kindness in the
people to their own form of government under the Princes of Orange,
grew up with the age and virtues of the young Prince, so as to raise
the prospect of some unavoidable revolutions among them, for several
years before it arrived. And we have seen it grow to that height in
this present year, upon the Prince’s coming to the two–and–twentieth
year of his age (the time assigned him by their constitution for
entering upon the public charges of their milice), that though it had
found them in peace, it must have occasioned some violent sedition in
their state; but meeting with the conjuncture of a foreign invasion,
it broke out into so furious a rage of the people, and such general
tumults through the whole country, as ended in the blood of their
chief ministers; in the displacing all that were suspected to be of
their party throughout the government; in the full restitution of the
Prince’s authority to the highest point any of his ancestors had ever
enjoyed; but withal in such a distraction of their councils and their
actions, as made way for the easy successes of the French invasion; for
the loss of almost five of their provinces in two months’ time, and for
the general presages of utter ruin to their state.”[169]
At the early age of twenty–eight, the firmness and talents displayed
by John de Witt in public life had raised him to the chief magistracy
of the United Provinces, at a difficult period, when they were engaged
in war with England, then under the vigorous direction of Cromwell.
That honourable station De Witt held for twenty years, during which
that severe war between England and Holland broke out, which was
terminated, much to the glory of the latter country, by the expedition
up the Medway, and the burning of the English fleet at Sheerness. Of
this bold attempt he was himself the adviser. Republican by birth (for
his father had been imprisoned in consequence of his steady opposition
to the house of Orange), the whole bent of his policy was to frustrate
the attempts of the Orange party, who wished to reinstate the young
Prince, afterwards William III. of England, in the power and dignities
possessed of old times by his family; and as the interests of William
were espoused by Charles II. of England, De Witt was induced to seek a
counterpoise by cultivating the friendship of France. In consequence
of this predilection the war of 1665 broke out, which, after a series
of severely contested battles, was terminated by the expedition above
mentioned.
De Witt’s steady resistance to the elevation of the house of Orange
of course procured for him the sincere hatred of the Orange party,
who were powerful enough, at different periods, to embarrass his
government; still for fifteen years he held his high office of Grand
Pensionary of Holland, and at the end of that time was re–elected
for a further term of five years. But in the last year, in 1672, the
French and English united to declare war against Holland; a powerful
army invaded the United Provinces, and William, upon whom the chief
military command was conferred, was utterly unable to make head
against them. A loud outcry was now raised against all who had ever
shown any disposition to support French politics, and De Witt, above
all others, became the object of popular hatred. One night he was
attacked and severely wounded by a party of assassins, a danger to
which the simplicity of his habits, well befitting the chief magistrate
of a republic, gave free access. For “his habit was grave, plain, and
popular; his table what only served turn for his family, or a friend;
his train was only one man, who performed all the menial service of
his house at home, and upon his visits of ceremony, putting on a plain
livery cloak, attended his coach abroad; for upon other occasions he
was seen usually in the streets on foot and alone, like the commonest
burgher of the town. Nor was this manner of life affected, but was the
general fashion and mode among all the magistrates of the state.”[170]
While De Witt was kept at home by his wounds, the people of Holland
demanded universally the repeal of the perpetual edict, as it was
called, by which the Prince of Orange was for ever excluded from the
stadtholdership of that province; and it was accordingly repealed.
Cornelius De Witt, the brother of John, a man distinguished both in the
naval and civil service of his country, was with difficulty induced
to sign the revocation of the edict. When told that an armed crowd
surrounded his house, threatening his life, if he did not consent to
the repeal, “So many bullets,” he said, “passed over my head in the
late engagement, that I have no fear left, and I would rather wait
for another than sign this paper.” Shortly after, this brave and
manly soldier was charged with being concerned in a plot to murder
the Prince of Orange. The informer and only witness, Tichelaer, was a
person of infamous character; yet on such evidence as this Cornelius
De Witt was thrown into prison at the Hague, and cruelly tortured to
extort confession of a plot, the very existence of which, without such
a forced confession, could not be established. He bore the trial with
unshaken constancy, protesting that if they cut him to pieces, they
should not make him confess a thing which he had never even thought
of. It is said that under the hands of the executioner he repeated the
celebrated lines of Horace—
Justum et tenacem propositi virum
Non civium ardor prava jubentium,
Non vultus instantis tyranni,
Mente quatit solida, &c.
Finding it impossible to extort a confession, the court before which
he was tried proceeded to pass sentence to the following effect:
“The Court of Holland, having examined the documents presented to it
by the public prosecutor, the examinations and cross–examinations
of the prisoner, and his defence, and having examined all that can
throw light on this matter, declares the prisoner stripped of all his
offices and dignities, banishes him from the provinces of Holland and
West Friesland, without leave ever to return on pain of a severer
punishment, and orders him to pay the costs of the prosecution.”[171]
From the technical form in which this document is given in the
original, and the signatures appended to it, it appears to be a literal
copy of the sentence as delivered by the court. We may observe,
therefore, that neither the nature of the charge against De Witt, nor
the extent to which it was proved against him, are specified. This is
strong evidence of an intent to oppress him to the utmost. Where all
is honest, men do not seek to hide the grounds of their decrees. The
sentence is every way unjustifiable: if De Witt was guilty, he deserved
death, and there can be no doubt but that, could a conviction have been
procured, the extreme punishment would have been inflicted; if not,
he was entitled to a free acquittal. To inflict infamy and banishment
for a suspected crime, even granting too charitable a supposition,
that suspicion was entertained, was to graft the worst prerogative of
tyranny upon republican institutions. Yet unjustifiable as the sentence
was, its leniency gave great offence to the people, who were devoted at
this period to the house of Orange, and possessed with a full belief of
Cornelius De Witt’s guilt.
[Illustration: Obverse of medal struck to commemorate the massacre of
the De Witts.]
John De Witt meanwhile had recovered from his wounds, and finding
that in the then state of public feeling, his continuance at the head
of affairs was alike undesirable for himself and unpleasing to the
country, he resigned his office. When his brother was sentenced to
exile, he went himself to receive him on his delivery from prison,
and probably to do him more honour and testify his own sense of the
malice of the charge, and the unworthiness of the treatment which he
had received, repaired to the Hague in his coach and four, a state
which, as we have said, he was not used to affect. This bravado, though
natural, was against the advice of his friends, and not consistent with
the usual temper of the man; and it proved even more unfortunate than
ill judged. The people, collected by the unusual spectacle, began to
murmur at the presumption of one suspected traitor coming in state to
insult the laws, and triumph in the escape of a traitor brother from a
deserved death. De Witt went to the prison to receive his brother, and
convey him to his own house; but Cornelius, with his customary high
spirit, replied, that having suffered so much, being innocent, he would
not leave the prison like a culprit, but rather remain and appeal from
the sentence. John De Witt endeavoured to shake his resolution, but
without effect.
[Illustration: Reverse of the same medal.—Bodies on the scaffold.]
Meanwhile Tichelaer the informer, at the instigation, as we are led
to believe, of some more powerful persons whose names are studiously
concealed, was busily employed in stirring up the populace to riot.
Apprehending some disturbance, the states of Holland and West
Friesland, which at the time were sitting at the Hague, requested the
Prince of Orange to repair thither with a military force. Meanwhile the
tumult spread from the lowest people to the burghers, and a furious
mob collected round the gates of the prison in which the brothers were
still remaining. The military force which had been sent for did not
arrive, and that which was in the city was drawn off by the orders of
some unnamed person. Actuated by fear, or some worse motive, the gaoler
opened the gates, a few of the ringleaders burst in, the brothers were
dragged with violence from their chamber, and brutally massacred as
soon as they reached the street. We abstain from giving the details
of the murder, still more from relating the unequalled atrocities
which were perpetrated upon the corpses. But they were dragged to the
gibbet, mutilated, and publicly suspended naked by the feet with the
heads downward; and the mangled limbs of these upright and patriotic
men were offered for sale, and bought at prices of fifteen, twenty, and
thirty sols.
According to one story, the gaoler induced John De Witt to visit his
brother by a false message, and being in the prison he was not allowed
to quit it. A similar message was sent to their father, but being
absent from home he escaped the snare. The gaoler, it is said, acted
under the orders of a “person of such quality, that he was obliged
to obey.” In this account, as well as in that which we have above
followed, there is an evident wish to throw the blame of the murder
on the Prince of Orange, or at least on the leaders of his party. It
is asserted, however, that he never spoke of it without the greatest
horror. Charges of such magnitude should not be lightly made; nor
is there any evidence to fix guilt upon that distinguished monarch.
But that there was culpable neglect, if not wilful connivance, seems
certain; and the proceedings of the court which sentenced Cornelius,
show that the agents of government were nowise squeamish, whatever
was the conduct of their chief. Nor did William’s subsequent conduct
betray much concern either for the interests of justice or of his
own reputation; for though the states of Holland voted the murder
“detestable in their eyes, and the eyes of all the world,” and
requested the stadtholder to take proper measures to avenge it, none of
the murderers were ever brought to justice. The flimsy pretext for this
neglect was, that it would be dangerous to inquire into a deed in which
the principal burghers of the Hague were concerned.[172]
After De Witt’s death all his papers were submitted to the most
rigorous examination in hope of discovering something which should
confirm the popular notion of his being traitorously in league with
France. One of the persons appointed to perform this service being
asked what had been found in De Witt’s papers, replied, “What could we
have found?—nothing but probity.”[173]
We cannot better conclude than with the reflections of the greatest
of modern orators upon this event. “The catastrophe of De Witt—the
wisest, best, and most truly patriotic minister that ever appeared
upon the public stage, as it was an act of the most crying injustice
and ingratitude, so likewise it is the most completely disencouraging
example that history affords to the lovers of liberty. If Aristides
was banished, he was also recalled. If Dion was repaid for his service
to the Syracusans by ingratitude, that ingratitude was more than once
repented of. If Sidney and Russell died upon the scaffold, they had not
the cruel mortification of falling by the hands of the people; ample
justice was done to their memory, and the very sound of their names is
still animating to every Englishman attached to their glorious cause.
But with De Witt fell also his cause and his party; and although a name
so respected by all who revere virtue and wisdom when employed in their
noblest sphere—the political service of the public, yet I do not know
that even to this day any public honours have been paid by them to his
memory.”[174]
The conclusion and the result of the Peloponnesian war may here be
given in a very few words. The battle of Arginusæ was fought B.C.
406, in the autumn. It seemed to restore the sovereignty of the sea
to Athens, and to replace her in that commanding position which had
been lost in consequence of the unfortunate expedition to Sicily.
So severely was the defeat felt at Sparta, that the Lacedæmonians
again made overtures for peace, which were rejected through the
instrumentality of Cleophon, a popular leader of the day,[175] as
formerly similar overtures had been rejected by the influence of
Cleon. But the government of Athens, though elated by success, does not
appear to have been such as to render a continuance of it probable, as
far as we can judge from the scanty records which exist of this period.
The rapid and violent changes which had taken place, and such acts as
the execution of the generals who commanded at Arginusæ, were of a
nature to destroy all concord and all feeling of confidence; and the
administration again resorted to the inefficient course of appointing
a board of generals to command the fleet. Of the six who composed it,
Conon alone is known to us, except in reference to this transaction.
The Lacedæmonian fleet in the Asiatic seas was now under the able
guidance of Lysander; and by his good management, and in consequence of
the culpable negligence of the Athenian generals, the Athenian fleet of
180 triremes was surprised while lying in the Hellespont at Ægospotami,
and captured, with the sole exception of nine ships belonging to the
division of Conon, who escaped in consequence of being more on his
guard. “After this Lysander, calling a meeting of the confederates,
proposed for their consideration the question, what was to be done
with the prisoners. Then many accusations were brought against the
Athenians, both for what they had already done amiss, and for what
they had decreed to do if they got the victory—that they would cut off
the right hand of every man taken alive; and that, having captured two
triremes, one of Corinth and one of Andros, they had thrown overboard
the crews of them. And it was Philocles (one of the Athenian generals)
who put to death these men. And many other things were said, and it was
resolved to put to death as many of the prisoners as were Athenians,
except Adeimantus (another of the generals), who in the assembly had
alone opposed the vote for cutting off the hands. And he, indeed, was
accused by some of having betrayed the fleet. And Lysander, having
first questioned Philocles how that man ought to be treated who had
thrown overboard the Corinthians and Andrians, thus being the first to
ill–use Greeks against national law, slew him.”[176]
The number of those who thus perished, according to Plutarch,[177]
was 3000—a wholesale destruction, in cold blood, from which the mind
revolts. It admits of no palliation from the alleged pretext of the
violation of international law; for it is hard to say which party
commenced that system of military execution which forms the especial
stigma of this portion of Greek history, and it is at least certain
that in this stage of the contest neither belligerent could have
a right to upbraid the other with aggravating the evils of war by
unnecessary cruelty. The defeat of Ægospotami was conclusive. Conon,
not daring to appear in Athens after the example of Arginusæ, and aware
probably that further resistance was hopeless, bent his course to
Cyprus, despatching the sacred ship Paralus to carry news of the defeat
to Athens. It arrived by night, and the calamity being announced, “the
wailing passed from Peiræus to the city, along the long walls, from
one person to another; so that in this night no one slept, not only
through grief for the dead, but far more because the living expected
to meet the same treatment as they had given to the Melians—a colony
of Lacedæmon, after having besieged and taken their city, and to the
citizens of Histiœa, and Scione, and Torone, and Ægina, and to many
other of the Greeks. And the next day a meeting was held at which it
was resolved to block up all the harbours save one, and to put the
walls into good condition, and set guards, and to prepare the city in
all respects for a siege.”[178]
These were the efforts of despair. Certain of success, since there
was now no enemy to raise the siege, or to effect a diversion, the
Lacedæmonians blockaded Athens by land and sea, and in a few months the
spirit of the people was so subdued by famine that they surrendered on
humiliating terms, shortly after the expiration of the twenty–seventh
year of the war. The walls of the city were destroyed; her ships of
war, with the exception of twelve, were given up; it was covenanted
to follow the guidance of Lacedæmon as subordinate allies; and, under
the superintendence of the Lacedæmonian army the democracy, the pride
of the Athenians, was exchanged for the short–lived form of government
known in Greek history by the name of the Tyranny of the Thirty.
This state of subjection did not last long, but the history of the
circumstances under which it was shaken off belongs not to our present
subject.