ARGINUSÆ.
At Athens, meanwhile, the relieving fleet was being fitted out with a
feverish energy such as had never been witnessed within the memory of
man. Nine years before, indeed, preparations on a larger scale, if cost
and magnificence are to be taken into account, had been made for the
disastrous expedition against Syracuse; but there was all the difference
in the world between the temper of the city at the one time and at the
other. Athens was at the height of her strength and her wealth when she
sent out her armament, splendid, so to speak, with silver and gold,
against Syracuse. It was a mighty effort, but she did it, one may almost
say, out of the superfluity of her strength. Now she was sadly reduced
in population and in revenue; she was struggling not for conquest but
for life; she was making her last effort, and spending on it her last
talent, her last man. To find a juster parallel it would have been
necessary to go back a life-time, to the day when the Athenians gave up
their homes and the temples of their gods to the Persian invaders,
falling back on their last defences, the “wooden walls” of their ships.
Many men had heard from father or grandfather, it was just possible that
one or two tottering veterans may have seen with their own eyes, how on
that day a band of youths, the very flower of the Athenian aristocracy,
headed by Cimon, the son of Miltiades, had marched with a gay alacrity
through the weeping multitude, to hang up their bridles in the temple of
Athene. For the time the goddess needed not horsemen but seamen, and
they gave her the service that she asked for. Now the same sight was
seen again. Again the knights, the well-born and wealthy citizens of
Athens, dedicated their bridles to the patron goddess, and went to serve
as mariners on board the fleet. Every ship that could float was hastily
repaired and equipped. Old hulks that had been lying in dock since the
palmy days when the veteran Phormion[20] led the fleet of Athens to
certain victory, were launched again and manned. In this way the almost
unprecedented number[21] of one hundred and ten triremes were got ready.
To man these a general levy of the population was made. Every one within
the age of service not actually disabled by sickness, was taken to form
the crews, and not a few who had passed the limit volunteered. Even then
the quota had to be made up by slaves, who were promised their freedom
in return for their services. It was a stupendous effort, and one which
Athens made with her own strength. These were not mercenaries, but her
own sons whom she was sending out to make their last struggle for life.
Night and day the preparations were carried on, and before a month was
out from the day on which the tidings of the disaster at Mitylene
reached the city, the fleet was ready to sail. Its destination was
Samos, an island that had remained faithful to Athens even after the
disastrous end of the war in Sicily. Here it was joined by a contingent
of forty ships, made up of the same squadron scattered about the Ægean,
the two triremes of Diomedon[22] being among them. Diomedon was related
to Callias, and the young man asked and obtained leave from the captain
with whom he had sailed from Athens to transfer himself to his ship.
A battle was imminent. The Spartan admiral had left fifty ships to
maintain the blockade of Mitylene, and sailed to meet the relieving
force. His numbers were inferior, but pride, and perhaps policy, forbade
him to decline the combat. He had made a haughty boast to Conon, and he
had to make it good. “The sea is Sparta’s bride,” he had said. “I will
stop your insults to her.” His fleet was now off Cape Malta, the
south-eastern promontory of Lesbos. The Athenians had taken up their
position at some little islands between it and the mainland, the
Arginusæ, or White Cliffs, as the name may be translated, a name
destined to become notable as the scene of the great city’s last
victory.
Callicratidas had watched the arrival of the Athenians, and had
concluded that, according to the usual custom of Greek sailors, they
would take their evening meal on shore. Before long the fires lighted
over all the group of islets showed that he was right. His own men had
supped, and they were ordered to embark in all haste and make an attack
which would probably be a surprise. What success his bold and energetic
action would have had we can only guess. The stars in their courses
fought against him. A violent thunderstorm with heavy rain came on, and
prevented him from putting to sea.
The next day was fine and calm and the two fleets were early afloat.
Their arrangement and plan of action showed a curious contrast, a
contrast such as was almost enough to make one of the great Athenian
seamen of the past turn in his grave. The Athenian ships were massed
together; the Spartans and their allies were formed in a single line.
Callias, who had never before been present at a great sea-fight, but who
had taken pains to acquire as much professional knowledge as he could,
expressed his surprise to Diomedon. “How is this, sir?” he said, “how
can our ships maneuver when they are packed together in this fashion?”
Diomedon, an old sailor who had been afloat for nearly forty years,
smiled somewhat bitterly as he answered.
“Maneuver, my dear boy! That is exactly what we want to avoid. We can’t
do it ourselves, and we don’t mean to let our enemies do it, if it can
be helped. The generation that could manœuver is gone. Five and
twenty years of fighting have used it up. But, happily, we can still
fight, at least such a fleet as we have got to-day, the real Athenian
grit, can fight. If the weather holds fine, and I think it will for the
day, though I don’t quite like the looks of the sky, we shall do well,
because we shall be able to keep together.”
The arrangement of the Athenian line may be very briefly described. It
had two strong wings, each consisting of sixty ships, formed in four
squadrons of fifteen. These wings consisted wholly of Athenian galleys;
the contingents of the allies were posted in the centre, and were in
single line, either because they were better sailors, or because, as
being directly in front of the group of islets, they were protected by
their position.
The policy of the Athenian commander was successful. Arginusæ was not a
battle of skillful maneuvers, but of hard fighting. Such battles are
often determined by the fate of the general, and so it was that day.
Callicratidas, had that pride of valor which had often done such great
things for Sparta and for Greece, but which some times resulted in
immediate disaster. His sailing master, a man of Megara, had advised him
to decline a battle. A rapid survey of the position, of the numbers of
the enemy and of the tactics which they were evidently intending to
pursue, had convinced this skillful, experienced seaman, that the
chances were against him. Callicratidas would not listen to him. “If I
perish,” he said, “Sparta will not be one whit the worse off.” It was
the answer of a man who was as modest as he was brave; but it was not to
the point. Sparta would be a great deal worse off if she lost not only
him--and he was worth considering--but, as actually happened, nearly the
half of her fleet.
The signal to advance was passed along the line, and the admiral himself
took up his place in the foremost ship. The whole fleet could see him as
he stood a conspicuous figure in the lead. His stately and chivalrous
presence, the feeling that a man whom it was a privilege to follow
anywhere, gave, for a time, an effective encouragement. But the loss was
proportionately great when that presence was removed. Early in the day
his ship endeavored to ram that which carried the Athenian admiral
Diomedon, itself in the van of the opposing force. Diomedon himself was
at the rudder and managed his galley with remarkable skill. He avoided
or rather half avoided the blow of the enemy’s boat, and this in such a
way that the Spartan admiral lost his balance, and fell into the water.
Callias, who was standing on the rear of the Athenian galley, at the
head of a detachment of men ready either to board or to repel boarders,
endeavored to save him; but the weight of his armor was fatal. He sank
almost instantaneously. His death, it is easy to believe, cost Athens
even more than it cost Sparta. It would have been infinitely better for
her to fall into his hands than to have to sue for terms, as she did not
many months afterwards, to the less generous Lysander.
The battle lasted for several hours. About noon the weather became
threatening. The wind changed to the south-west and the sea began to
rise. By general consent the struggle was suspended. Both sides had
fought with conspicuous valor, but there could be no doubt that the
victory remained with the Athenians. Their losses were serious, nearly a
fifth of their force, or to give the numbers exactly, twenty-nine ships
out of one hundred and fifty. But they had inflicted much more damage
than they had suffered. Out of the small squadron of Spartan ships, ten
in number, nine had been destroyed; and more than sixty belonging to the
various allied contingents were either sunk or taken. The fifty that
remained--and there were barely fifty of them--made the best of their
way either to the friendly island of Chios, or to Phocæa on the
mainland. Without doubt the Athenians had won a great victory. Whether
the opportunity could have been used to restore permanently the fortunes
of the city, is doubtful; but it is certain that it was lamentably
wasted.
FOOTNOTES:
[20] Phormion won some brilliant victories in the Corinthian gulf in the
early years of the war. He died prematurely, it would seem about 429 B.
C.
[21] The number of triremes contributed by Athens to the Greek fleet of
Salamis was one hundred and eighty, but this comprised, of course,
literally every ship that they possessed. In the expedition against
Syracuse, the triremes numbered one hundred and thirty-four.
[22] Diomedon was the officer in command of Samos, and had already
attempted with the twelve ships that composed his squadron, to relieve
Conon. His force was so inferior to that of the Spartans that he could
only have hoped to succeed by eluding their observations. Accordingly he
had avoided the harbors and endeavored to make his way up a narrow
channel, known by the common name of “Euripus” (a channel with a swift
current) by which Mitylene could be approached. Callicratidas, however,
had discovered the maneuver and captured ten out of the twelve ships.