ÆGOS POTAMI.
Alcibiades had established a system of communication with all the
principal stations in the Ægean which gave him early information of what
was going on.
Early in the new year (405) intelligence reached him at his castle, that
Lysander was coming out from Sparta to assume the command of the allied
fleet. This news affected Alcibiades very considerably.
“I anticipated this,” he said to his guest after the evening meal on the
day when the news had reached him, “and it is the worst thing that could
have happened for Athens. There was just a chance that the Spartans,
who, happily for us, are very stupid and obstinate, would stick to their
rule that no man should be appointed naval commander-in-chief thrice.
But they had, as I heard from a friend in Chios, a very strong
requisition from the allies to appoint Lysander, and so they have sent
him out again, saving their rule by appointing a nominal chief, a man
called Arrachus, who, of course, is a mere figure head. Now Lysander is
by far the ablest man that the Spartans have got; he is quite
unscrupulous; he is a bitter enemy of ours; and what is worst of all, he
can do anything that he pleases with Cyrus. You have not been
campaigning for two or three years without finding out that the Persian
money bags are the real weights that make the scales of fate go up and
down. Last year Callicratidas was crippled because Cyrus, at this very
Lysander’s request, kept his purse strings tight. Now everything will be
straight and easy, and before two months are over the Spartans will have
as good a fleet as money can make.” The year wore slowly on. The long
Thracian winter, which Callias, though not unused to cold weather in
Athens found exceedingly severe, yielded at last to spring, and spring
in its turn to summer. All the while the news which reached Bisanthe
continued to have a gloomy complexion. At Miletus, as well as in other
of the mainland towns, thorough-going partisans of Lysander were
installed in power. Cyrus had been called away to Upper Asia, where the
old king, his father, was lying sick to death, and had left all his
treasuries at the disposal of the Spartan admiral. With this supply of
money the pay of the sailors had been increased, and new ships had been
laid down on the stocks. In March the Athenian fleet sailed for the seat
of war. It was larger than any that had been sent forth by the city in
recent years, for it numbered no less than one hundred and eighty ships;
but private letters gave an unfavorable account of the way in which it
was equipped, and officered. This adverse opinion continued to be borne
out by the news that arrived from time to time of its doings. It seemed
to be moving about aimlessly and fruitlesly, always behind, always in
the wrong place. It offered battle to Lysander, who lay in harbor near
Ephesus, but in vain. The wary Spartan had no mind to fight but at his
own time, and the Athenian admirals had no way of compelling him. Then
the ships were scattered in plundering expeditions along the mainland
coasts and among the islands which had accepted the Spartan alliance.
The gain was small, for the booty was insignificant, but the
demoralization and relaxation of discipline were great. About midsummer
followed a bold maneuver on the part of Lysander. He sailed across the
Ægean to the coast of Attica, where his sudden appearance caused no
little consternation. The Athenian commanders were as usual behind hand.
If they had heard of this movement as soon as they ought, and had been
ready to follow immediately, it is quite possible that they might have
inflicted a damaging blow on their adversaries. As it was, the news was
long in reaching them, and when it came, found them with their fleet
scattered and unprepared. Accordingly they missed their chance of
forcing Lysander to an engagement off an hostile shore, an engagement,
too, which he would hardly have been able to decline. Lysander crossed
and recrossed the Ægean without molestation, and shortly afterward
sailed northward.
Alcibiades, whose intelligence department was, as has been said,
admirably organized, received information that this movement was
intended, and in consequence took up his quarters at a little fort which
he possessed at the extremity of the Chersonesus. He and his guest had
not been there more than a day when the Spartan fleet came in sight. He
watched it pass at a distance of two or three miles, with eager
interest.
“They have a very formidable appearance,” he said to Callias when he had
scanned with his practical eye every detail of their equipment. “I
shall be agreeably surprised if our ships have anything as good to
show.” On the following day the Athenian fleet appeared, showing only
too plainly how just had been Alcibiades’ forebodings. The effects of
wind and weather--the ships had now been nearly six months at sea--were
plainly visible; the sails, which, as there was a slight breeze from the
west, they used to assist their progress, were dirty and ragged; the
rowers were deplorably out of time.
“Things,” he said to his companion, “are even worse than I expected;
that fleet will be no match for its enemy, except under far more
skillful management than it is likely to have. Still let us hope for the
best; and it may be possible to give our friends some good advice, if
they will take it.” This, unfortunately, was the last thing that the
Athenian admirals, certainly incompetent, and probably traitorous, were
willing to do. The progress of events, briefly described, was this:
Lysander possessed himself, by a sudden attack, of the town of
Lampsacus, which was in alliance with Athens. This conquest put him in
possession of abundant supplies, and of what was more valuable, a safe
and convenient base of operations. While securing these material
advantages, he also, with a generosity which he could always assume on
occasion, allowed the Lampsacenes to go unharmed. He gained thus not
only a strong position but a friendly population. On the other hand the
position occupied by the Athenians was by no means so favorable. They
moved their fleet to the mouth of a little stream known by the name of
Ægos Potami, or the Goat’s River. This spot was directly opposite
Lampsacus--the Hellespont here is somewhat less than two miles
broad--but it had no conveniences for the purpose for which it was
chosen. There was no harbor, the anchorage was indifferent, there were
no houses in the neighborhood, and the nearest point from which supplies
could be obtained was the town of Sestos, nearly two miles distant.
The opportunity for offering advice which Alcibiades had foreseen had
now occurred, and he promptly took advantage of it. The morning after
the arrival of the fleet, he rode, with Callias in his company, to the
spot where the Athenian generals had pitched their headquarters, and
requested an interview. He was introduced into the tent which they used
for purposes of consultation, and saw the two officers, Menander and
Tydeus by name, who happened to be detailed that day for duty on shore.
They received him with a coldness and hauteur which augured ill for the
success of his mission.
“Allow me, gentlemen,” he said, “to offer you a piece of advice which,
from my knowledge of the country, I feel sure will be useful. Transfer
your fleet from this position, which, you must allow me to say, has
nothing to recommend it, to Sestos. You must go to Sestos for your
supplies; why not stay there altogether. The harbor is good and you will
be able to do what you please, fight, or not fight, as it may seem best.
Here, if it comes on a blow from the south and--you will remember that
the equinox is near--you will be in a very awkward predicament; and,
anyhow, I do not see how you are to keep your men together when they
have to forage in this manner for supplies.”
“We are obliged to you for the trouble you have taken in coming,” said
Menander, “but you must allow us to remind you that it is we, and not
you whom the Athenian people have appointed to the command of this
fleet.”
“The gods prosper you in it,” replied Alcibiades with unruffled
coolness. “And now, farewell.”
“I have done all that I could,” observed Alcibiades to his companion,
who had been expecting his return outside the tent. “Now we can only
await the event. As for these men, I would say of them that the gods
strike with madness those whom they are determined to destroy, but for
one thing. There may be a method in their madness. They may _mean_ to
bring about a disaster. In a word they may have sold their country. It
is a hard thing to say of any man, but could any admiral, not being a
madman or a traitor, keep his fleet in such a place as this? And yet I
do not know. I have seen honest men act with a folly so outrageous that
one could not help suspecting something more. Let us go home, and
prepare for the worst. But stay--there is yet a chance. There is Conon.
He must know better than this. Will you see him? I cannot, for there is
too deadly a feud between us. Do you know him?”
“Yes,” said Callias, “I was with him last year when he was shut up in
Mitylene, and he sent me with despatches to Athens.”
“And will you go to him?”
“Certainly, if it would not seem too presumptuous.”
“You can give your authority; he will understand why I did not come
myself; and he is too sensible not to listen to good advice from
whomsoever it may come.”
Conon was on board his ship in which he was practicing some maneuvers
about half a mile from the shore. The young Athenian was rowed out to
see him, and returned in about an hour. The report which he brought back
was this:
“Conon was very reserved, but courteous. He wished me to thank you for
your message, and to say he was sure you wished well to Athens. He would
do what he could, but he was only one out of many, and he might be
out-voted. Anyhow, he would keep his own men from straggling.”
“Then,” said Alcibiades, “we have shot our last bolt, let us go back.”
For some days the two companions waited for news in a suspense that they
often felt to be almost beyond bearing. One night--it was the night of
the fifteenth of September--they had watched through the hours of
darkness till the day began to show itself in the eastern sky. Both had
felt the presentiment that their waiting was about to end, though
neither had acknowledged it to the other.
“Is it never coming?” said the elder man, as he rose from his seat, and
looked from the window across the sea, just beginning to glitter with
the morning light. In a moment his attitude of weariness changed to one
of eager attention.
“Look!” he cried to Callias. “What is that?” and he pointed to a boat
that had just rounded the nearest point to the westward. It was a
fishing boat, manned, apparently, by seven or eight men, and making all
the speed it could with both oars and sails. The two men hurried down to
the castle pier, and awaited the arrival of what they were sure was the
long expected message.
The boat was still about two hundred yards away when Alcibiades
recognized the steersman.
“Ah!” he cried, “it is old Hipparchus.” And he waved his hand with a
friendly gesture.
“It is a bad news he brings,” he said again after a quiet pause, “he
makes no reply.”
A few more strokes brought the boat alongside of the pier. Alcibiades
reached his hand to the steersman, and helped him to disembark. That his
errand was bad was only too evident from his look. He was deadly pale,
and in his eyes was the expression of one who had lately seen some
terrible sight.
“It is all over,” he said, “Athens is lost.”
For a few minutes the three men stood silent. Perhaps it was then that
Alcibiades felt the keenest remorse of his life. After all, it was he
who, more than any living man, had brought this ruin to his country. He
had led her into an enterprise which overmatched her strength; and he
had suggested to her enemies, the too successful policy that had ended
in her overthrow. If Athens was indeed lost it was his doing--and yet he
loved her. Much of this the younger man could guess at, for he had not
been at Bisanthe for now nearly a year without learning something of his
host’s inner thoughts. He turned away his face unwilling to witness the
emotion which he felt could be seen in the other’s countenance. The
messenger from the scene of the disaster stood with downcast eyes,
absorbed in the dismal recollections of what he had lately witnessed.
“Tell us how it happened,” said Alcibiades.
“For five days,” so he began, “we manned our ships every morning about
the third hour, formed them in line of battle, and moved across the
strait to the harbor of Lampsacus. The Spartan fleet was ranged in line
outside the harbor with their army drawn up upon the shore on either
side. Our admirals did not venture to attack; and so we sailed back. I
noticed that a few quick-sailing galleys followed us at about half a
mile distance. When we got back to our station, our men used to scatter
in search of provisions for their noonday meal--our commissariat, you
must know, was very ill-supplied. Some went up the country, but most
made their way to Sestos. None of our admirals, except Conon, seemed to
have a notion that this was dangerous, though some of us old sailors
could have warned them if we had dared. Conon always kept his men
together. Well, on the fifth day--our men, you must understand, had been
growing more and more careless--about an hour after we got back, a
shield was run up to the masthead of one of the Spartan swift-sailing
galleys. I saw it flash in the sunshine; and a few moments afterwards
the whole Spartan fleet rowed from their anchorage and made their way
across the strait. They caught us entirely unprepared. There was no
battle; scarcely a blow was struck. I can easily believe that they did
not lose a single man. Some of our ships they found absolutely deserted.
None of them had more than two-thirds of their complement. No, I should
not say none; twelve were ready, Conon’s eight and four others, one of
which was the Parelus.[51] I was on board Menander’s own ship, of which
I was steersman. There were eight others with me. We hurried as fast as
we could to Sestos. There, the next day, I was able to hire this boat,
and thought the best thing that I could do was to come here.”
“You say that twelve ships escaped,” said Alcibiades, “how many then
were taken?”
“About a hundred and seventy,” answered the man.
“And how many prisoners?”
“I cannot say, but certainly several thousand. Before we came away, a
boat from Lampsacus brought an awful story of what had been done there.
All the Athenian prisoners were put to death, between three and four
thousand. Only the admiral Adeimantus was spared.”
“Ah! I see,” cried Alcibiades, “he was the traitor.”
FOOTNOTES:
[51] The Parelus was one of the two consecrated ships, (the other being
the Salanimia) which were used for such purposes as the conveyance of
ambassadors, the carrying of offerings to shrines, and, in case of need,
the conveyance of important tidings. They were always manned with picked
crews.