The Armed Forces of Athens.
85. Military Life at Athens.—Hitherto we have seen almost nothing save
the peaceful civic side of Athenian life, but it is a cardinal error to
suppose that art, philosophy, farming, manufacturing, commerce, and
bloodless home politics sum up the whole of the activities of Attica.
Athens is no longer the great imperial state she was in the days of
Pericles, but she is still one of the greatest military powers in
Greece,[*] and on her present armed strength rests a large share of her
prestige and prosperity. Her fleet, which is still her particular
boast, must of course be seen at the Peiræus; but as we go about the
streets of the main city we notice many men, who apparently had
recently entered their house doors as plain, harmless citizens, now
emerging, clad in all the warrior’s bravery, and hastening towards one
of the gates. Evidently a review is to be held of part of the citizen
army of Athens. If we wish, we can follow and learn much of the Greek
system of warfare in general and of the Athenian army in particular.
[*] Of course the greatest military power of Greece had been Sparta
until 371 B.C., when the battle of Leuctra made Thebes temporarily “the
first land power.”
Even at the present day, when there is plenty of complaint that
Athenians are not willing to imitate the sturdy campaigning of their
fathers, the citizens seem always at war, or getting ready for it.
Every citizen, physically fit, is liable to military service from his
eighteenth to his sixtieth year. To make efficient soldiers is really
the main end of the constant physical exercise. If a young man takes
pride in his hard and fit body, if he flings spears at the stadium, and
learns to race in full armor, if he goes on long marches in the hot
sun, if he sleeps on the open hillside, or lies on a bed of rushes
watching the moon rise over the sea,—it is all to prepare himself for a
worthy part in the “big day” when Athens will confront some old or new
enemy on the battlefield. A great deal of the conversation among the
younger men is surely not about Platonic ideals, Demosthenes’s last
political speech, nor the best fighting cocks; it is about spears,
shield-straps, camping ground, rations, ambuscades, or the problems of
naval warfare.
It is alleged with some show of justice that by this time Athenians are
so enamored with the pleasures of peaceful life that they prefer to pay
money for mercenary troops rather than serve themselves on distant
expeditions; and certain it is that there are plenty of Arcadians,
Thracians, and others, from the nations which supply the bulk of the
mercenaries, always in Athenian pay in the outlying garrisons. Still
the old military tradition and organization for the citizens is kept
up, and half a generation later, when the freedom of Athens is blasted
before Philip the Macedonian at Chæroneia, it will be shown that if the
Athenian militia does not know how to conquer, it at least knows how to
die. So we gladly follow to the review, and gather our information.
86. The Organization of the Athenian Army.—After a young “ephebus” has
finished his two years of service in the garrisons he returns home
subject to call at the hour of need. When there is necessity to make
up an army, enough men are summoned to meet the required number and no
more. Thus for a small force only the eligibles between say twenty and
twenty-four years of age would be summoned; but in a crisis all the
citizens are levied up to the very graybeards. The levy is conducted by
the ten _Strategi_ (at once ‘generals,’ ‘admirals,’ and ‘war
ministers’) who control the whole armed power of Athens. The recruits
summoned have to come with three days’ rations to the rendezvous,
usually to the Lyceum wrestling ground just outside the city. In case
of a general levy the old men are expected to form merely a home guard
for the walls; the young men must be ready for hard service over seas.
The organization of the Athenian army is very simple; each of the ten
Attic tribes sends its own special battalion or _taxis_, which is large
or small according to the total size of the levy.[*] These _taxeis_
are subdivided into companies or _lochoi_, of about an average of 100
men each. The _taxeis_ are each under a tribal-colonel (_taxiarch_),
and each company under its captain (_locharch_). The ten strategi
theoretically command the whole army together, but since bitter
experience teaches that ten generals are usually nine too many, a
special decree of the people often entrusts the supreme command of a
force to one commander, or at most to not over three. The other
strategi must conduct other expeditions, or busy themselves with their
multifarious home duties.
[*] Thus if 3000 men were called out, the average “taxis” would be 300
strong, but if 6000, then 600.
87. The Hoplites and the Light Troops.—The unit of the Athenian
citizen army, like practically all Greek armies, is the heavy armed
infantry soldier, the _hoplite_. An army of “three thousand men” is
often an army of so many hoplites, unless there is specific statement
to the contrary. But really it is of six thousand men, to be entirely
accurate: for along with every hoplite goes an attendant, a
“light-armed man,” either a poor citizen who cannot afford a regular
suit of armor,[*] or possibly a trusted slave. These “light-armed men”
carry the hoplites’ shields until the battle, and most of the baggage.
They have javelins, and sometimes slings and bows. They act as
skirmishers before the actual battle: and while the hoplites are in
the real death-grip they harass the foe as they can, and guard the
camp. When the fight is done they do their best to cover the retreat,
or slaughter the flying foe if their own hoplites are victorious.
[*] The hoplite’s panoply (see description later) was sufficiently
expensive to imply that its owner was at least a man in tolerable
circumstances.
88. The Cavalry and the Peltasts.—There are certain divisions of the
army besides the hoplites and this somewhat ineffective light infantry.
There is a cavalry corps of 1000. Wealthy young Athenians are proud
to volunteer therein; it is a sign of wealth to be able to provide your
war horse. The cavalry too is given the place of honor in the great
religious processions; and there is plenty of chance for exciting
scouting service on the campaign. Again, the cavalry service has
something to commend it in that it is accounted _much safer_ than the
infantry![*] The cavalry is, however, a rather feeble fighting
instrument. Greek riders have no saddles and no stirrups. They are
merely mounted on thin horse pads, and it is very hard to grip the
horse with the knees tightly enough to keep from being upset
ignominiously while wielding the spear. The best use for the cavalry
perhaps is for the riders to take a sheaf of javelins, ride up and
discharge them at the foe as skirmishers, then fall back behind the
hoplites; though after the battle the horsemen will have plenty to do
in the retreat or the pursuit.
[*] Greeks could seldom have been brought to imitate the reckless
medieval cavaliers. The example of Leonidas at Thermopylæ was more
commended than imitated. Outside of Sparta at least, few Greeks would
have hesitated to flee from a battlefield, when the day (despite their
proper exertions) had been wholly lost.
The Athenians have of course the Scythian police archers to send into
any battle near Athens; they can also hire mercenary archers from
Crete, but the Greek bows are relatively feeble, only three or four
feet long—by no means equal to the terrible yew bows which will win
glory for England in the Middle Ages. There has also come into vogue,
especially since the Peloponnesian war, an improved kind of
light-javelin-men,—the “Peltasts,”—with small shields, and light armor,
but with extra long lances. In recent warfare this type of soldier,
carefully trained and agile, has been known to defeat bodies of the
old-style over-encumbered hoplites.[*] Nevertheless, most veteran
soldiers still believe that the heavy infantryman is everything, and
the backbone of nearly every Greek army is still surely the hoplite.
He will continue to be the regular fighting unit until the improved
“phalanx,” and the “Companion Cavalry” of Philip and Alexander of
Macedon teach the captains of the world new lessons.
[*] Especially the Athenian general Iphicrates was able to cut to
pieces a _mora_ (brigade) of Spartan hoplites, in 392 B.C., by skillful
use of a force of peltasts.
89. The Panoply of the Hoplite.—We have passed out one of the gates
and are very likely in a convenient open space south and east of the
city stretching away toward the ever visible slopes of gray Hymettus.
Here is a suitable parade ground. The citizen soldiers are slipping on
their helmets and tightening up their cuirasses. Trumpets blow from
time to time to give orders to “fall in” among the respective _lochoi_
and _taxeis_. There is plenty of time to study the arms and armor of
the hoplites during these preliminaries.
A very brief glance at the average infantryman’s defensive weapons
tells us that to be able to march, maneuver, and fight efficiently in
this armor implies that the Athenian soldier is a well-trained athlete.
The whole panoply weighs many pounds.[*] The prime parts in the armor
are the helmet, the cuirass, the greaves, and the shield. Every
able-bodied citizen of moderate means has this outfit hanging in his
andronitis, and can don it at brief notice. The _helmet_ is normally of
bronze; it is cut away enough in front to leave the face visible, but
sometimes a cautious individual will insist on having movable plates
(which can be turned up and down) to protect the cheeks.[+] Across the
top there runs a firm metal ridge to catch any hard down-right blow,
and set into the ridge is a tall nodding crest either of horsehair or
of bright feathers—in either case the joy and glory of the wearer.
[*] Possibly fifty or more—we have no correct means for an exact
estimate.
[+] The “Corinthian” type of helmets came more closely over the face,
and the cheek protectors were not movable; these helmets were much like
the closed helms of the medieval knights. The Spartans, in their
contempt for danger, wore plain pointed steel caps which gave
relatively little protection.
[Illustration: Hoplite in Armor]
Buckled around the soldier’s body is the _cuirass_. It comprises a
breastplate and a back piece of bronze, joined by thongs, or by straps
with a buckle. The metal comes down to the hips. Below it hangs a
thick fringe of stout strips of leather strengthened with bright
metallic studs, and reaching halfway to the knees. From this point to
the knees the legs are bare, but next come the _greaves_, thin pliable
plates of bronze fitted to the shape of the leg, and opening at the
back. They have to be slipped on, and then are fastened at the knees
and ankle with leathern straps.
But the warrior’s main protection is his _shield_. With a strong,
large shield you can fight passing well without any regular body armor;
while with the best outfit of the latter you are highly vulnerable
without your shield. To know how to swing your shield so as to catch
every possible blow, to know how to push and lunge with it against an
enemy, to know how to knock a man down with it, if needs be, _that_ is
a good part of the soldier’s education. The shield is sometimes round,
but more often oval. It is about four feet by the longest diameter.
It is made of several layers of heavy bull’s hide, firmly corded and
riveted together, and has a good metal rim and metal boss in the
center. On the inside are two handles so that it can be conveniently
wielded on the left arm.[*] These shields are brilliantly painted, and
although the Greeks have no heraldic devices, there are all manner of
badges and distinguishing marks in vogue. Thus all Theban shields are
blazoned with a club; Sicyonian shields are marked with the initial
“Sigma” (Σ), and we note that the Athenian shields are all marked Alpha
(A).[+]
[*] Earlier Greek shields seem to have been very large and
correspondingly heavy. These had only a single handle; and to aid in
shifting them they were swung on straps passed over the left shoulder.
[+] This last is a matter of safe inference rather than of positive
information.
90. The Weapons of a Hoplite.—The hoplites have donned their armor.
Now they assume their offensive weapons. Every man has a lance and a
sword. The _lance_ is a stout weapon with a solid wooden butt, about
six feet long in all. It is really too heavy to use as a javelin. It
is most effective as a pike thrust fairly into a foeman’s face, or past
his shield into a weak spot in his cuirass. The sword is usually kept
as a reserve weapon in case the lance gets broken. It is not over 25
inches in length, making rather a huge double-edged vicious knife than
a saber; but it is terrible for cut and thrust work at very close
quarters. Simple as these weapons are, they are fearful instruments of
slaughter in well-trained hands, and the average Greek has spent a
considerable part of his life in being taught how to use them.
91. Infantry Maneuvers.—The final trumpets have blown, and the troops
fall into their places. Each tribal _taxis_ lines up its _lochoi_.
The Greeks have no flags nor standards. There is a great deal of
shouting by the subaltern officers, and running up and down the ranks.
Presently everything is in formal array. The hoplites stand in close
order, each man about two feet from the next,[*] leaving no gaps
between each division from end to end of the lines. The men are set in
eight long ranks. This is the normal _phalanx_[+] order. Only those
in front can actually lunge and strike at the enemy. The men in the
rear will add to the battering force of the charge, and crowding in
closely, wedge themselves promptly to the front, when any of the first
rank goes down.
[*] The object would be to give each man just enough distance to let
him make fair use of his lance, and yet have his shield overlap that of
his neighbor.
[+] The “phalanx” is sometimes spoken of as a Macedonian invention, but
Philip and Alexander simply improved upon an old Greek military
formation.
It is an imposing sight when the strategos in charge of the maneuvers,
a stately man in a red chlamys, gives the final word “March!”
Loud pipes begin screaming. The long lines of red, blue, and orange
plumes nod fiercely together. The sun strikes fire out of thousands of
brandished lance tips. The phalanx goes swinging away over the dusty
parade ground, the subalterns up and down the files muttering angrily
to each inapt recruit to “Keep your distance:” or “Don’t advance your
shield.” The commandant duly orders the “Half turn:” “Left” or “Right
turn:” “Formation by squares,” and finally the critical “Change front
to rear.” If this last maneuver is successfully accomplished, the
strategos will compliment the drill sergeants; for it is notoriously
difficult to turn a ponderous phalanx around and yet make it keep good
order. The drilling goes on until the welcome order comes, “Ground
arms!” and every perspiring soldier lets his heavy shield slip from his
arm upon the ground.
92. The Preliminaries of a Greek Battle.—Later in the day, if these
are happy times of peace, the whole phalanx, so bristling and
formidable, will have resolved itself into its harmless units of honest
citizens all streaming home for dinner.
Our curiosity of course asks how does this army act upon the campaign;
what, in other words, is a typical Greek battle? This is not hard to
describe. Greek battles, until lately, have been fought according to
set formulæ in which there is little room for original generalship,
though much for ordinary circumspection and personal valor. A battle
consists in the charging together of two phalanxes of hoplites of about
equal numbers. If one army greatly overmatches the other, the weaker
side will probably retire without risking a contest. With a common
purpose, therefore, the respective generals will select a broad stretch
of level ground for the struggle, since stony, hilly, or uneven ground
will never do for the maneuvering of hoplites. The two armies, after
having duly come in sight of one another, and exchanged defiances by
derisive shouts, catcalls, and trumpetings, will probably each pitch
its camp (protected by simple fortifications) and perhaps wait over
night, that the men may be well rested and have a good dinner and
breakfast. The soldiers will be duly heartened up by being told of any
lucky omens of late,—how three black crows were seen on the right, and
a flash of lightning on the left; and the seers and diviners with the
army will, at the general’s orders, repeat any hopeful oracles they can
remember or fabricate, _e.g._ predicting ruin for Thebes, or victory
for Athens. In the morning the soldiers have breakfast, then the lines
are carefully arrayed a little beyond bowshot from the enemy, who are
preparing themselves in similar fashion. Every man has his arms in
order, his spear point and sword just from the whetstone, and every
buckle made fast. The general (probably in sight of all the men) will
cause the seers to kill a chicken, and examine its entrails. “The
omens are good; the color is favorable; the gods are with us!”[*] he
announces; and then, since he is a Greek among Greeks, he delivers in
loud voice an harangue to as many as can hear him, setting forth the
patriotic issues at stake in the battle, the call of the fatherland to
its sons, the glory of brave valor, the shame of cowardice, probably
ending with some practical directions about “Never edging to the
right!” and exhorting his men to raise as loud a war-cry as possible,
both to encourage themselves and to demoralize the enemy.
[*] It may be suspected that it was very seldom the omens were
_allowed_ to be unfavorable when the general was really resolved on
battle.
93. Joining the Battle.—The troops answer with a cheer then join in
full chorus in the “_Pæan_—” a fierce rousing charging-song that makes
every faint-heart’s blood leap faster. Another pæan bellowed from the
hostile ranks indicates that similar preliminaries have been disposed
of there. The moment the fierce chorus ends, the general (who probably
is at the post of danger and honor—the right wing) nods to his corps of
pipers. The shrill flutes cut the air. The whole phalanx starts
forward like one man, and the enemy seem springing to meet it. The
tossing color, the flashing arms and armor, make it a sight for men and
gods. If the enemy has a powerful archery force, as had the Persians
at Marathon, then the phalanx is allowed to advance on the run,—for at
all costs one must get through the terrible zone of the arrow fire and
come to grips; but if their bowmen are weak, the hoplites will be
restrained,—it is better not to risk getting the phalanx disorganized.
Running or marching the troops will emit a terrible roaring: either
the slow deep “_A! la! la! la!_” or something quicker, “_Eleleū!_”
“_Eleleū!_” and the flutes will blow all the while to give the time for
the marching.
Closer at hand the two armies will fairly spring into unfriendly
embrace. The generals have each measured his enemy’s line and extended
his own to match it.[*] With files of about equal depth, and
well-trained men on both sides, the first stage of the death grapple is
likely to be a most fearful yet indecisive pushing: the men of the
front ranks pressing against each other, shield to shield, glaring out
of their helmets like wild beasts against the foeman three feet away,
and lunging with their lances at any opening between the hostile
shields or above them. The comrades behind wedge in the front ranks
closer and closer. Men are crushed to death, probably without a wound,
just by this hellish impact. The shouts and yells emitted are
deafening. There is an unearthly clashing of steel weapons on bronze
armor. Every now and then a shrill, sharp cry tells where a soldier
has been stabbed, and has gone down in the press, probably trampled to
death instantly. In this way the two writhing, thrusting phalanxes
continue to push on one another at sheer deadlock, until a cool
observer might well wonder whether the battle would not end simply with
mutual extermination.
[*] Any sudden attempt to extend your line _beyond_ the foe’s, so as to
outflank him, would probably have produced so much confusion in your
own phalanx as to promise certain disaster. Of course for an inferior
force to accept battle by thinning its line, to be able by extending to
meet the long lines of the enemy, would involve the greatest risk of
being broken through at the center. The best remedy for inferior
numbers was manifestly to decline a decisive battle.
94. The Climax and End of the Battle.—But look away now from the
center, towards the two wings. What the generals of _both_ contending
armies have feared and warned against has come to pass. Every hoplite
is admirably covered by his great shield on his left side; but his
right is unprotected. It is almost impossible to resist the impulse to
take a step toward the right to get under the cover of a comrade’s
shield. And he in turn has been edging to the right likewise. The whole
army has in fact done so, and likewise the whole phalanx of the enemy.
So after a quarter of an hour of brisk fighting, the two hosts, which
began by joining with lines exactly facing each other, have each edged
along so much that each overlaps the other on the right wing, thus:
[Illustration]
What will happen now is easy to predict with assurance up to a certain
point. The overlapping right wings will _each_ promptly turn the left
flank of their enemies, and falling upon the foe front and rear catch
them almost helpless. The hoplite is an admirable soldier when
standing shoulder to shoulder with his comrades facing his foe; but
once beset in the rear he is so wedged in by the press that it is next
to impossible for him to turn and fight effectively. Either he will be
massacred as he stands or the panic will spread betimes, and
simultaneously both left wings will break formation and hurry off the
field in little better than flight.
Now will come the real test of discipline and deliberate valor. Both
centers are holding stoutly. Everything rests on the respective
victorious right wings. Either they will foolishly forget that there
is still fighting elsewhere on the field, and with ill-timed huzzaing
pursue the men they have just routed, make for their camp to plunder
it, or worse still, disperse to spoil the slain; or, if they can heed
their general’s entreaties, keep their ranks, and wheeling around come
charging down on the rear of the enemy’s center. If one right wing
does this, while the hostile right wing has rushed off in heedless
pursuit, the battle is infallibly won by the men who have kept their
heads; but if both right wings turn back, then the real death grapple
comes when these two sets of victors in the first phase of the contest
clash together in a decisive grapple.
By this time the original phalanx formations, so orderly, and
beautiful, have become utterly shattered. The field is covered by
little squares or knots of striking, cursing, raging men—clashing
furiously together. If there are any effective reserves, now is the
time to fling them into the scale. The hitherto timorous light troops
and armor bearers rush up to do what they can. Individual bravery and
valor count now to the uttermost. Little by little the contest turns
against one side or the other. The crucial moment comes. The losing
party begins to fear itself about to be surrounded. Vain are the last
exhortations of the officers to rally them. “Every man for himself!”
rings the cry; and with one mad impulse the defeated hoplites rush off
the field in a rout. Since they have been at close grip with their
enemies, and now must turn their ill-protected backs to the pursuing
spears, the massacre of the defeated side is sometimes great. Yet not
so great as might be imagined. Once fairly beaten, you must strip off
helmet and cuirass, cast away shield and spear, and run like a hare.
You have lightened yourself now decidedly. But your foe must keep
_his_ ponderous arms, otherwise he cannot master you, if he overtakes
you. Therefore the vanquished can soon distance the victors unless the
latter have an unusually efficient cavalry and javelin force. However,
the victors are likely to enter the camp of the vanquished, and to
celebrate duly that night dividing the plunder.
95. The Burial Truce and the Trophy after the Battle.—A few hours after
the battle, while the victors are getting breath and refreshing
themselves, a shamefaced herald, bearing his sacred wand of office,
presents himself. He is from the defeated army, and comes to ask a
burial truce. This is the formal confession of defeat for which the
victors have been waiting. It would be gross impiety to refuse the
request; and perhaps the first watch of the night is spent by
detachments of both sides in burying or burning the dead.
The fates of prisoners may be various. They may be sold as slaves. If
the captors are pitiless and vindictive, it is not contrary to the laws
of war to put the prisoners to death in cold blood; but by the fourth
century B.C. Greeks are becoming relatively humane. Most prisoners will
presently be released against a reasonable ransom paid by their
relatives.
The final stage of the battle is the trophy: the visible sign on the
battlefield that here such-and-such a side was victorious. The limbs
are lopped off a tree, and some armor captured from the foe is hung
upon it. After indecisive battles sometimes both sides set up
trophies; in that case a second battle is likely to settle the
question. Then when the victors have recovered from their own happy
demoralization, they march into the enemy’s country; by burning all the
farmsteads, driving off the cattle, filling up the wells, girdling the
olive and fruit trees, they reduce the defeated side (that has fled to
its fortified town) to desperation. If they have any prisoners, they
threaten to put them to death. The result, of course, is frequently a
treaty of peace in favor of the victors.
96. The Siege of Fortified Towns.—If, however, one party cannot be
induced to risk an open battle; or if, despite a defeat, it allows the
enemy to ravage the fields, and yet persists in defending the walls of
its town,—the war is likely to be tedious and indecisive. It is
notorious that Greeks dislike hard sieges. The soldiers are the fellow
townsmen of the generals. If the latter order an assault with scaling
ladders and it is repulsed with bloody loss, the generals risk a
prosecution when they get home for “casting away the lives of their
fellow citizens.”[*] In short, fifty men behind a stout wall and “able
to throw anything” are in a position to defy an army.
[*] In siege warfare Oriental kings had a great advantage over Greek
commanders. The former could sacrifice as many of their “slaves” as
they pleased, in desperate assaults. The latter had always to bear in
mind their accountability at home for any desperate and costly attack.
The one really sure means of taking a town is to build a counter wall
around it and starve it out,—a slow and very expensive, though not
bloody process. Only when something very great is at stake will a Greek
city-state attempt this.[*] There is always another chance, however.
Almost every Greek town has a discontented faction within its walls,
and many a time there will be a traitor who will betray a gate to the
enemy; and then the siege will be suddenly ended in one murderous
night.
[*] As in the siege of Potidea (432-429 B.C.), when if Athens had
failed to take the place, her hold upon her whole empire would have
been jeopardized.
97. The Introduction of New Tactics.—Greek battles are thus very
simple things as a rule. It is the general who, accepting the typical
conditions as he finds them, and avoiding any gross and obvious
blunders, can put his men in a state of perfect fitness, physical and
moral, that is likely to win the day. Of late there has come indeed a
spirit of innovation. At Leuctra (371 B.C.) Epaminodas the Theban
defeated the Spartans by the unheard-of device of massing a part of his
hoplites fifty deep (instead of the orthodox eight or twelve) and
crushing the Spartan right wing by the sheer weight of his charge,
before the rest of the line came into action at all. If the experiment
had not succeeded, Epaminondas would probably have been denounced by
his own countrymen as a traitor, and by the enemy as a fool, for
varying from the time-honored long, “even line” phalanx; and the
average general will still prefer to keep to the old methods; then if
anything happens, _he_ at least will not be blamed for any undue
rashness. Only in Macedon, King Philip II (who is just about to come
to the throne) will not hesitate to study the new battle tactics of
Epaminondas, and to improve upon them.
The Athenians will tell us that their citizen hoplites are a match for
any soldiers in Greece, except until lately the Spartans, and now
(since Leuctra) possibly the Thebans. But Corinthians, Argives,
Sicyonians, they can confront more readily. They will also add, quite
properly, that the army of Athens is in the main for home defense. She
does not claim to be a preëminently military state. The glory of Athens
has been the mastery of the sea. Our next excursion must surely be to
the Peiræus.