Syracuse was the most flourishing republic of Sicily. That powerful,
rich, and populous city, situated on the eastern coast of the island,
consisted of five quarters, inclosed within strong walls, and fortified
with towers; they formed so many places, and presented nearly the
figure of a triangle. Towards the sea, the island of Ortygia contained
the citadel, and commanded the two ports: it communicated by a
bridge with Achradina, the handsomest and the best fortified of all
the quarters. Above Achradina was the quarter of Tyche, and that of
Neapolis, separated one from the other by a wall, which, advancing in
a point towards the west, terminated at a height named Epipolæ. A vast
belt of walls inclosed all these quarters: this wall was defended by
two forts,--Euryalus and Labdalon.
In the sixteenth year of the Peloponnesian war, the Segestians,
oppressed by the Selenartians, came to implore the assistance of
Athens. Never had that republic been so powerful. In accordance with
the advice of Alcibiades, the people lent a favourable ear to the
prayers of the deputies. They equipped a fleet of a hundred and fifty
ships, and gave the command of it to Alcibiades, Nicias, and Lamachus.
They set sail for Syracuse, entered the principal port during the
night, and landed near Olympia without being perceived. The Syracusans,
full of confidence and courage, had resolved to defend themselves to
the last. The unexpected appearance of the enemy disconcerted them
a little, but they soon threw off this first terror, and drew up in
battle array beneath their walls. The signal being given, and each
party equally in earnest, the conflict was long and obstinate. A storm
intimidated the Syracusans; they gave way, and retired into the city,
after a spirited resistance. This check seemed only to reanimate their
ardour. They repaired and augmented the fortifications, and confided
the whole military authority to Hermocrates, a man equally illustrious
by his valour and his experience.
The Athenians obtained possession of Epipolæ, in spite of the frequent
sorties of the besieged, and surrounded the city with a wall of
circumvallation. Nicias, by the recall of Alcibiades and the death
of Lamachus, who was killed in an action, found himself without
colleagues, and sole master of all the operations. Casting aside his
habitual tardiness, he brought his fleet into both the ports, and
pressed the siege on with energy by sea and land. Syracuse, thus
blockaded, was reduced to the last extremity. The despairing citizens
were already thinking of surrendering, when Gylippus, a Lacedæmonian
captain, sent to their relief with a good body of troops, made his
appearance. Hope was again revived, and, in anticipation, they
proclaimed the Spartan the father and liberator of Syracuse. This
general did not disappoint the expectations of his allies. He sent word
to the Athenians that he allowed them five days to evacuate Sicily.
Nicias did not condescend to make any reply to such a message, but
some of his soldiers asked the herald whether the appearance of a
Lacedæmonian cloak and a miserable stick could change the fortunes of
armies. Preparations for battle were made on both sides. Port Labdalon
was carried by assault, and all the Athenians who defended it were put
to the sword. Every day some skirmish or more serious action occurred,
in which Gylippus had always the advantage. Nicias was forced to go
into cantonments towards Plemmyrium, in order to protect his baggage
and to support his fleet. The Lacedæmonians attacked and carried his
forts, and took possession of his baggage, at the same time that the
Syracusans obtained a serious advantage over his fleet. Nicias was in
a state of perfect consternation; he had informed the Athenians of
the miserable state of his army since the landing of the Spartans,
and they had promised him succours, but they did not arrive, and his
situation became alarming. He was on the point of succumbing to his
fate, when an Athenian fleet of seventy-three galleys, commanded by
Demosthenes, sailed proudly into port. This general immediately planned
and attempted some attacks, but his temerity cost him dear. He lost
a great number of soldiers, and quickly destroyed all the hopes his
arrival had created; the Athenians were reduced to greater extremities
than ever, and they resolved to raise the siege after risking another
naval engagement. Victory still was favourable to the besieged, who
deprived their enemies of the means of flight even, by blockading their
ships in the greater port. They then turned their thoughts to escape
by land; but Hermocrates, being informed of their intention, barred
every passage: the unfortunate fugitives, having set out on their
march in the night-time, fell into ambuscades laid for them in all
directions. They defended themselves in a manner worthy of their name,
but, overpowered by numbers, fatigue, and hunger, they were forced to
surrender at discretion. They were thrown into the public prisons.
The Syracusan people were brutally elated with victory, and sullied
their triumph by the cruelty exercised upon the two Athenian leaders,
Nicias and Demosthenes. They were sentenced to be flogged with rods,
and then to be executed. The wiser and more prudent Syracusans
exceedingly disapproved of this severity, and Hermocrates, the general
whose prudence, skill, and valour had brought about the happy issue
of the contest, remonstrated strongly with the people; but they were
too much excited to listen to him, and would not allow him even to
finish his speech. And here we meet with one of those incidents which,
removed from common occurrence, render the histories of the two great
nations of antiquity so delightful. Just as the noisy crowd silenced
their victorious general, an ancient Syracusan, venerable for his
great age and his respected character, who in the siege had lost two
sons, the only heirs of his name and estate, was borne by his servants
to the tribunal, and by his appearance at once procured a profound
silence. “You here behold,” said he, “an unfortunate father, who has
felt, more than any other Syracusan, the fatal effects of this war
by the death of two sons, who formed all the consolation and were
the only support of my old age. I cannot, indeed, forbear admiring
their courage, and rejoicing at their felicity, in sacrificing to
their country’s welfare a life of which they would one day have been
deprived by the common course of nature; but then I cannot but be
strongly affected by the wound which their death has made in my
heart, nor forbear hating and detesting the Athenians, the authors of
this unhappy war, as the murderers of my children. But, however, I
cannot conceal one circumstance, which is, that I am less sensible to
my private affliction than to the honour of my country; and I see it
ready to expose itself to eternal infamy by the barbarous advice which
is now given you. The Athenians, indeed, merit the worst treatment,
and every kind of punishment that can be inflicted on them, for so
unjustly declaring war against us; but have not the gods, the just
avengers of crimes, punished them and avenged us sufficiently? When
their generals laid down their arms and surrendered, did they not do
this in the confidence of having their lives spared? And if we put
them to death, will it be possible for us to avoid the just reproach
of having violated the laws of nations, and dishonoured our triumph by
the most barbarous cruelty? What! will you suffer your glory to be thus
sullied in the face of the whole world, and have it said that a nation
who first dedicated a temple in their city to Clemency, found not any
in yours? Surely victories and triumphs do not give immortal glory to
a city; but the exercising of mercy towards a vanquished enemy, the
using of moderation in the greatest prosperity, and, fearing to offend
the gods by a haughty and insolent pride. You, doubtless, have not
forgotten that this Nicias, whose fate you are going to pronounce, was
the very man who pleaded your cause in the assembly of the Athenians,
and employed all his credit and the whole power of his eloquence to
dissuade his country from embarking in this war. Should you, therefore,
pronounce sentence of death upon this worthy general, would it be a
just reward for the zeal he showed for your interest? With regard to
myself, death would be less grievous to me than the sight of so horrid
an injustice committed by my countrymen and fellow-citizens.”
The people seemed moved to compassion by this speech, especially as
when the venerable old man first ascended the tribunal, they expected
to hear him cry aloud for vengeance on those who had brought his
calamities upon him, instead of suing for their pardon. But the
enemies of the Athenians having expatiated with vehemence upon the
unheard-of cruelties which their republic had exercised upon several
cities belonging to their enemies, and even to their ancient allies;
the inveteracy which their commanders had shown against Syracuse, and
the evils they would have subjected it to had they been victorious;
the afflictions and groans of numberless Syracusans who bewailed the
death of their children and near relations, whose names could be
appeased no other way than by the blood of their murderers: on these
representations, the people returned to their sanguinary resolution.
Gylippus used his utmost endeavours, but in vain, to have Nicias and
Demosthenes delivered up to him, especially as he had taken them,
in order to carry them to Lacedæmon. But his demand was rejected
with haughty scorn, and the two generals were put to death. Shameful
cruelties were likewise inflicted upon the meaner prisoners.
Such was the issue of this improvident war, set on foot by the
influence of the restless ambitious Alcibiades. It lasted two years;
and Athens had been led to form great hopes from the result of it.
There are few characters young readers are more likely to be led astray
in than that of Alcibiades. The instances of his spirit, generosity,
personal beauty, and above all, his love for his master Socrates,
make more impression upon plastic minds, than what is told of almost
any other person in history. But, if he had shining qualities, he was
deficient in all that were solid, virtuous, and serviceable to the
state. He availed himself of his popularity to carry out his ambition;
his apparent generosity was selfishness disguised; his courage was
always ill-directed; and, whether we consider such a man as a public
character or a private citizen, our young readers may depend upon it,
it is one of the most dangerous.