NEWS FROM THE FLEET.
I anticipated the course of my story when I spoke of the first prize
being adjudged to the comedy exhibited by Aristophanes. There were
various competing plays--how many we do not know, but the titles and
authors of two that won the second and third prizes have been
preserved--and all those had of course to be performed before a decision
could be made. Two or three days at least must have passed before the
exhibition was at an end.
The next competitor had certainly reason to complain of his ill-luck.
Just before the curtain fell for the opening scene of his comedy an
incident occurred which made the people little disposed to listen to
anything more that day. The spectators had just settled themselves in
their places, when a young officer hastily made his way up to the bench
where the magistrates were seated, and handed a roll to the president.
The occurrence was very unusual. It was reckoned almost an impiety to
disturb the festival of Bacchus with anything of business; only matters
of the very gravest importance could be allowed to do it. The entrance
of the young man, happening as it did, just in the pause of expectation
before the new play began, had been generally observed. Every one could
see from his dress that he was a naval officer, and many knew him as
one of the most promising young men in Athens. “News from the fleet,”
was the whisper that ran through the theatre, and there were few among
the thousands there assembled to whom news from the fleet did not mean
the life or death of father, brother, or son. The president glanced at
the document put into his hands, and whispering a few words to the
messenger, pointed to a seat by his side. All eyes were fastened upon
him. (The magistrates, it may be explained, occupied one of the front or
lowest rows of seats, and were therefore more or less in view of the
whole theater, which was arranged in the form of a semicircle, with tier
upon tier of benches rising upon the slope of the hill on the side of
which the building was constructed.) When a moment afterwards, the
curtain was withdrawn, scarcely a glance was directed to the stage. The
action and the dialogue of the new piece were absolutely lost upon what
should have been an audience, but was a crowd of anxious citizens,
suddenly recalled from the shows of the stage to the realities of life.
The president now carefully read the document and passed it on to his
colleagues. Some whispered consultations passed between them. When at
the end of the first act a change of scenery caused a longer pause than
usual the president quietly left the theatre, taking the bearer of the
despatch with him. Some of the other magistrates followed him, the rest
remaining behind because it would have been unseemly to leave the
official seats wholly untenanted while the festival was still going on.
This proceeding increased the agitation of the people, because it
emphasized the importance of the news that had arrived. Some slipped
away, unable to sit quietly in their places and endure the suspense, and
vaguely hoping to hear something more outside. Among those that remained
the buzz of conversation grew louder and louder. Only a few very
determined play-goers even pretended to listen to what was going on upon
the stage. Meanwhile the unfortunate author, to whom, after all, the
fate of his play was not less urgent a matter than the fate of the city,
sat upon his prompter’s stool--the author not uncomonly did the duty of
prompter--and heartily cursed the bad luck which had distracted in so
disastrous a way the attention of his audience.
When at last, to the great relief of everyone concerned, the performance
was brought to a conclusion, the young officer told his story,
supplementing the meagre contents of the despatch which he had brought,
to a full conclave of magistrates, assembled in one of the senate-rooms
of the Prytaneum or Town-hall of Athens. I may introduce him to my
readers as Callias, the hero of my story.
Many of the details that follow had already been given by Callias, but
as he had to repeat them for the benefit of the magistrates who had
stopped behind in the theatre, I may as well put them all together.
“We know,” said the president, “that Conon was beaten in a battle in the
harbor of Mitylene. So much we heard from Hippocles, a very patriotic
person by the way, though he is an alien. He has a very swift yacht that
can outstrip any war-ship in Greece, and often gives us very valuable
intelligence. Do you know him?”
“Yes,” said Callias, flushing with pleasure, for indeed he knew and
respected Hippocles greatly, “I know him very well.”
[Illustration: THE THEATER OF DIONYSUS AT THE PRESENT DAY.]
“Well, to go on,” resumed the president. “So much we know, but no more.
Tell us exactly how Conon fared in the battle.”
“Sir,” answered the young man, “he lost thirty ships.”
“And the crews,” asked the president.
“They escaped; happily they were able to get to land.”
“Thank Athene for that;” and a murmur of relief ran round the meeting.
“And the other forty--he had seventy, I think, in all?” Callias nodded
assent.
“What happened to the forty?”
“They were hauled up under the walls when the day went against us.”
“Now tell us exactly what has been going on since.”
“The Spartans blockaded the harbor, having some of their ships within,
and some without. Our general saw that it was only a matter of time when
he should have to surrender. The Spartans had four times as many ships,
the ships not, perhaps, quite as good as his, but the crews, I am
afraid, somewhat better.”
“Shade of Themistocles,” murmured one of the magistrates, “that it
should come to this--the Spartan crews ‘somewhat better’ than ours. But
I am afraid that it is only too true.”
“He could not break through; and could not stand a long siege. Mitylene
was fairly well provisioned for its ordinary garrison, but here were
seventy crews added all of a sudden to the number. He sent some
officers--I had the honor of being one of them--and we found that by
sparing everything to the very utmost, we might hold out for five
weeks. The only chance was to send news to Athens. You might help us, we
thought.”
“We might; we _must_, I say. But how it is to be done is another matter.
Tell us how you got here?”
“The general took the two fastest ships in his squadron, manned them
with the very best rowers that he could find, practised the crews for
four days in the inner harbor, and then set about running the blockade
with them. The Spartans, you see, had grown a little careless. We hadn’t
made any attempt to get out, and Conon got a Lesbian freedman to desert
to the Spartans with a story that we were meaning to surrender. This put
them off their guard still more. They got into a way of leaving their
ships at noon, to take their meal and their siesta afterwards on shore.
We made a dart at an unguarded place between two of their blockading
ships and we got through. I don’t think that we lost a single man. By
the time that the crews of the blockading galleys regained their vessels
we were well out of bow-shot. Our instructions were to separate, when we
got outside the harbor. We did not do this at once because we had
planned a little trick which might, we hoped, help to put the enemy off
the scent. The ship that I was in was really the swifter of the two.
This was, of course, the reason why I was put into it. But as long as we
kept together we made believe that we were the slower. When they came
out after us--they had manned half-a-dozen ships or so as quickly as
they could--we separated. My ship, which you will understand, was really
the faster of the two, was put about the north as if making for
Hellespont; the other kept on its course, straight for Athens. The
Spartans told off their best ships to follow the latter which they
thought that they had the better chance of catching. And of course, as
it was headed this way, it seemed the more important of the two.”
“I suppose that they overtook it,” said the president, “or it would have
been here before this.”
“Well, we soon outstripped the two galleys that were told to look after
us. When we were well out of sight, we headed westward again, took a
circuit round the north side of Lemnos, and got here without seeing
another enemy.”
“How long is it since you left Mitylene?”
“About five days.”
“But how long did Conon think he could hold out?”
“About forty days; perhaps more, if the men were put on short rations.”
“You have done well, my son,” said the president kindly, “and Athens
will not forget it. We will consult together, though there is small need
of consulting, I take it. The relief _must_ be sent. Is it not so
gentlemen?”
His colleagues nodded assent.
“But there are things to be talked over. We must decide how much we can
send, and that cannot be done upon the spot. But there is a matter that
can be settled at once. Conon must be told that he is going to be
relieved. Now, who will tell him? Will you?”
“Certainly, if you see fit to give me the order.”
“And how?”
“I would consult with Hippocles.”
“Excellent!” cried the president. “He is just the man to help us. You
will go and see him, and then report to me. Come to me to-night; it will
not matter how late it is; I shall be waiting for you.”
Callias saluted, and withdrew.