AFTER THE FIGHT.
A council of war was held by the Athenian admirals on one of the
Arginusæ islets as soon as they could meet after the fighting had come
to an end. Callias, by Diomedon’s desire, waited outside the tent in
which the deliberations were being held, and could not help hearing, so
high were the voices of the speakers raised, that there was an angry
argument about the course to be pursued. The intolerably clumsy system
of having ten generals of equal authority was on its trial, if indeed
any trial was needed, and was once more found wanting.[23] Even if the
right decision should be reached, time was being wasted, time that, as
we shall see, was of a value absolutely incalculable.
When at last the council broke up--its deliberations had lasted for more
than an hour--and Diomedon rejoined the young officer, he wore a gloomy
and anxious look.
“I am afraid,” he said, “that mischief will come of this. I feel it so
strongly that, though I ought not, perhaps, to tell outside the council
what has been going on within, I must call you to witness. I did my
very best to persuade my colleagues. ‘Our first business,’ I said, ‘is
to save our friends. There were twenty-six ships, I said, disabled. A
few were sunk on the spot; others, I am afraid, have gone down since;
but more than half, I hope, are still afloat. Even where the ship is
gone already, there are sure to be some of the crew who have been able
to keep themselves afloat either by swimming or by holding on to
floating stuff. For the sake of the gods, gentlemen,’--I give you my
very words--‘don’t lose another moment. We have lost too many already.
Send every seaworthy ship that you have got to the rescue of the
shipwrecked. It is better to let ten enemies escape, than lose a single
friend.’ They would not listen to me. They were bent, they said, on
following up their victory, an excellent thing, I allow; but only when
the first duty of making all that you have got quite safe has been
performed. One of them--I will mention no names--positively insulted me.
‘Diomedon,’ he said, ‘has doubtless had enough fighting for the day.’
Why, in the name of Athene, do they put such lowbred villains into
office. The fellow has a long tongue, and so the people elect him. I
‘tired of fighting’ indeed? I might have some excuse if I were, for I
was hard at it, when he was a thievish boy, picking up unconsidered
trifles in the market-place. Well; the end of it was that we came to a
sort of compromise. Forty-odd ships are to go and save what can be saved
from the wrecks--the gods only know how many will be left by this
time--while the rest are to make the best of their way to Mitylene, and
cut off the blockading squadron.”
“And you, sir?” asked Callias, “with which squadron are you to be?”
“I am to go to Mitylene, of course, after what that fellow said, I could
not ask to have the other duty; but I feel that it is what I ought to be
doing.”
“Who is to have it, sir,” said Callias.
“No one, if you will believe it,” answered the admiral, with an angry
stamp of the foot. “I mean no one of ourselves, of the Ten. They are all
so anxious to follow up the victory, as they put it, and make a great
show of taking Spartan ships, that they will not take the trouble.
Theramenes and Thrasybulus are to do it. I know that they have been in
command in former years and may be supposed to be competent.
Thrasybulus, too, is trustworthy; but Theramenes--to put it plainly--is
a scoundrel. You know that I don’t care about politics; I am a plain
sailor and leave such things to others; but I say this, politics or no
politics, a man who turns against his friends is a scoundrel.[24] I
don’t know what trick he is not capable of playing. Anyhow, whether
these two do the business ill or well, one of the Ten ought to go. It
would be better; and I am sure trouble will come of our not going. Mind
this is all in confidence. You are never to breathe a word of it, till I
give you leave.”
“And am I to go with you, sir?” said Callias.
“No,” was the answer; “I forgot to tell you; the worry of all this put
it out of my mind. You are to take the despatch to Athens.”
“But the shipwrecked men”--exclaimed Callias.
“We must obey orders.”
An hour afterward Callias was on his way to Athens; the storm had now
increased to something like a gale. As the waves came from the south it
was impossible to take a straight course for the point in view, lying as
it did almost due west. Few ships in those days could keep a straight
line with the wind on the quarter.[25] Indeed it was soon impossible to
keep up any sail at all, nor was it safe, even if the strength of the
rowers already wearied by the labors of the day, had permitted it to
keep the ship broadside to the waves. Nothing remained but to put her
about and drive before the wind, a sail being now hoisted again and the
rowers exerting themselves to the utmost to avoid being “pooped” by the
heavy waves. Toward morning the wind moderated, but by that time the
_Swallow_, for that was the name of the despatch-boat which had been
told off for the service, had been driven as much as fifty miles out of
her course. This would not have been of much consequence, but that the
timber of the _Swallow_ had been so strained by her battle with the sea
that she began to leak inconveniently, if not dangerously. Her crew,
too, were now in urgent need of rest. Under ordinary circumstances,
Chios, which could be seen, as the day broke, about ten miles on the
right bow, would have afforded a convenient shelter; but Chios was in
the hands of the enemy. The little island of Vara, lying some ten miles
to the north-west, was the only alternative. Here Callias, much against
his will, for he feared that his news would be anticipated, was
compelled to stop, the captains of the despatch-boat refusing to
proceed, until vessel and men were better able to face the weather.
As it turned out, the delay did no harm. In fact it was the means of his
reaching Athens with more speed and safety than he might otherwise have
done. A day indeed was lost in doing such repairs as the imperfect
resources of the little island permitted, but on the morrow, Callias set
out again, and was groaning over the day that had been lost, and the
very little good that the clumsy boat-builders had been able to do for
him, when he found himself being rapidly overhauled by a vessel which
had not long before hove in sight. Before noon he recognized the cut of
the disguised _Skylark_, and at once ran up a signal which Hippocles
whom he supposed to be on board would, he knew, recognize. The signal
was immediately answered, and before another half-hour had passed the
_Skylark_ was along-side. After a brief colloquy it was arranged that
the _Swallow_ should make the best of her way to Samos, where there was
an arsenal in which she could be properly repaired and that Callias with
his dispatches should take his passage to Athens in the yacht.
Hippocles was acquainted with the general fact that the Athenian fleet
had won a great victory; but he knew no details, and was eager to hear
from the lips of one who had taken a part in the action. And he had much
that was interesting to say to his young friend. The three weeks which
he had spent in Mitylene with the blockaded squadron had not made him
hopeful about the first issue of the war. He had found that Conon was
not hopeful, and Conon was as able and intelligent an officer as Athens
had in her service.
“This has been a stupendous effort on the part of the city,” he said,
“and it has saved us for a time, but it can’t be kept, and it can’t be
repeated. Athens is like a gambler reduced to his last stake. He wins
it; very good. But then he has to throw again; and as often as he
throws, it is the same--if he loses, he loses all. And, sooner or later,
lose he must. In the long run the chances are against us. We have lost
our _morale_. I saw a good deal of Conon’s men when I was shut up, and I
thought very badly of them; and he thinks badly, too, I know. It is only
a question of time. Do you know,” he went on, sinking his voice to a
whisper--“and mark you, this is a thing that I should not venture to say
to anyone in the world but you--I am half inclined to wish that we had
been beaten in the last battle--that is, if Callicratidas had lived. A
noble fellow indeed! Do you know that he let the Athenians whom he took
at Methymna go on their _parole_? Any one else would have sold them for
slaves.”
“Well,” said Callias, who was a little staggered by his friend’s view of
affairs, “as your hero is drowned--mind that I quite agree in what you
say of him--perhaps it is better that things have turned out as they
have. And I can’t believe that our chances are as bad as you make out.
Anyhow we are better off than when I saw you last.”
“I hope so; I hope so;” said Hippocles in a despondent tone, “But they
might have done better. For instance, we have let the blockading
squadron at Mitylene escape.”
“How was that?” asked Callias. “Did you see nothing of our fleet. It was
to sail northward at once.”
“No--I never saw or heard of it. Now listen to what happened. On the day
after the battle--though of course I knew nothing of what
happened--_two_ despatch-boats came into the harbor--so at least
everyone thought--and the second had wreaths on mast and stern, as if it
had brought good news. And Eteonicus--he was in command of the
blockading squadron--was good enough to send us a herald with the
intelligence that Callicratidas had won a great sea fight, and that the
whole of the Athenian fleet had been destroyed. Of course we did not
quite believe that, but if only a quarter of it was true, it was not
pleasant hearing. My old sailing master, who has as sharp eyes as any
man I know, said to me. ‘My belief, sir, is that it is all nonsense
about this great victory, and that the second boat was only the first
_dressed up_. I observed them both particularly, and they were amazingly
alike. In both the bow sides oars were just a little behind the stroke,
and one of the oars, I noticed, was a new one, and not painted like the
rest. And why should the man take the trouble to tell us about the
victory as he calls it. If it is true, he has us safe, and can cut us up
at his leisure. No, sir, I don’t believe a word of it.’ Well, I was not
certain that the old man was right, but I strongly suspected that he
was. Anyhow I was so convinced of it that I spent the whole night in
getting ready; and, sure enough, the next morning the blockading
squadron had slipped off, with nobody to hinder them.”
“That was a very smart trick for a Spartan,” said Callias.
FOOTNOTES:
[23] I may refer my readers to a signal instance in earlier Greek
history where the same system almost led to disaster. It was only by the
unusual personal influence of Miltiades, a personal influence almost
unparalleled in Athenian history, that thus the ten generals were
induced to fight at Marathon. There can be little doubt that, if the
conflict had been delayed the pro-Persian party might have seriously
hampered, if it did not altogether defeat, the efforts of the patriots.
[24] Theramenes had taken a prominent part four years before this date
in the establishment of the oligarchy of the Four Hundred; finding that
his own position was not such as he conceived to be suited to his
merits, and having reason also to believe that the oligarchy would soon
be overthrown--the fleet had declared against them--he changed sides and
was the means of bringing up the condemnation of two of his own intimate
friends, Antiphon and Archeptolemus.
[25] Catullus mentions it as a special excellence of his yacht that it
could
“Carry its load o’er stormy seas
Whether from right or left the breeze
Call o’er the main, as safe and fleet
Over course, as when, on either sheet
With equal strength blew fair behind,
With level keel the following wind.”