PAEANS OF THE ATHENIAN NAVY.--NO. I. PHORMIO'S VICTORY IN THE CORINTHIAN GULF--WITH SOME INTRODUCTORY REMARKS ON THE ATHENIAN SEA-SERVICE. The maritime glory of ancient Athens has scarcely been regarded by Englishmen with the attention and sympathy which our own national interest and pride in the rule of the waves might be expected to create. Our boast of trusting to our wooden walls is a literal translation of the Athenian statesman's maxim, which inspired his country's successful resistance to her Persian invader. Athens, like England, made herself, by her fleets, felt and feared in every region of the then known world. Like England, she won herself, beyond sea, an empire far disproportioned to the scanty extent of her domestic territory; and she held that empire, and defied all the assaults of combined enemies by land, so long as, and no longer than, she maintained her ascendency on the ocean. In the palmy days of Athens every Athenian was a seaman. A state, indeed, whose members, of an age fit for service, at no time exceeded thirty thousand, and whose territorial extent did not equal half Sussex, could only have acquired such a naval dominion as Athens once held, by devoting, and zealously training, all its sons to service in its fleets. We look back with just national pride on the energy which our country displayed, and the resources which she called into action during the fearful struggles of the last war. We dwell with honest complacency on the narrative that tells us how, when, after the rupture of the peace of Amiens, our Great Enemy menaced invasion, England, besides her preparations by land, put forth her might "on the element she calls her own. She covered the ocean with five hundred and seventy ships of war of various descriptions. Divisions of her fleet blocked up every French port in the Channel; and the army destined to invade our shores might see the British flag flying in every direction on the horizon, waiting for their issuing from the harbour, as birds of prey may be seen hovering in the air above the animal which they design to pounce upon:" Of course, in order to man and keep afoot such armaments as these, Athens employed large numbers of her subject-allies, of hired mariners, and also of slaves. But, as has been marked before, her own citizens formed the staple of her forces. In the periods, indeed, of her deepest distress, towards the close of the Peloponnesian war, when her dreadful defeats in Sicily must have diminished the serviceable part of her free population, and swept off the flower of her youth, "as if the spring-time were taken out of the year," she was compelled to fill her fleets with a far larger proportion of slaves and hired foreigners. And then her enemies, by the offer of higher pay, could half unman the Athenian ships, and improve their own complements on the very eve of decisive operations. Themistocles was the great founder of the Athenian navy. He first taught Athens to disregard the land, and to look on the sea as her national element of empire. His enemies said of him that he took the spear out of his countrymen's grasp, and replaced it with the oar. He persuaded his fellow-countrymen to devote the produce of their silver mines to building a fleet, instead of dividing it among themselves. This fleet, well exercised in contests with Ægina, was the nucleus of the navy of Athens, that taught the Greeks how to fight and conquer at Artemisium and Salamis. These victories, and the equally successful sea-fights in which Cimon afterwards led the An ancient Athenian trireme would make a poor figure beside a modern line-of-battle ship, the most majestic product of human skill and daring. Still, as we have seen, the number of men employed on board a naval armament in the old times far exceeded the united complements of a modern fleet. The slaughter in action was far greater, and, from the nature of the conflict, more depended upon discipline and seamanship, comparatively with mere animal courage, than is the case even in the sea-fights of the present time. The ancients contended in long light galleys, the prows of which were armed with sharp strong beaks, for the purpose of staying in an adversary's timbers, and more effectually running her down. Inexperienced crews sought only to grapple with an enemy, and to decide the affair by boarding. But the more highly-disciplined mariners avoided this unscientific mode of closing, in which numbers and brute force were sure to prevail, and sought by skill and speed, by manoeuvring round their antagonists, by wheeling, halting, backing, and charging exactly at the right moment, to avoid the shocks intended for themselves, and to run an opponent down by taking her amidships or on the quarter, or to dash away and shatter part of her oars. If we can picture to ourselves two hostile squadrons of modern steam-boats, without artillery, seeking to destroy each other principally by running down, we shall gain an idea in many respects analogous to the idea of a sea-fight of antiquity. But we must remember that the motive power of the old war-galleys, when contending, came entirely from oars, sails not being used in action: so that the efficiency of the manoeuvres depended on the skill and nerve of the whole crew, and not merely on the excellence of machinery and the dexterity of one or two officers. Of the two hundred men who made the usual complement of a Greek trireme, at least four-fifths pulled at the oar; the proportion of mariners being continually diminished in the best navies, as they trusted more and more to swiftness and tactics, and less to hand-to-hand fighting. They pulled in three tiers, ranged one above another, the lowest having, of course, the shortest oars and lightest work; better men being required for the middle tier, and the most powerful and skilled rowers being alone fit to work the long oars of the upper rank. The probable mode of arranging the tiers of oars, so that the higher should sufficiently overstretch the lower, so as not to interfere in stroke with them, is excellently explained by Mitford in an appendix to the eighth chapter of his second volume. Adopting the views of General Melville, and illustrating them by a description of war-galleys actually in use among the The system, too, of rowing with outriggers, which has lately been adopted in the boat-races on the Tyne, and thence in those of the Thames and Cam, suggests another mode by which sufficient sweep and space might have been gained for the oars of the upper tier, to keep them from clashing with those below them. A galley thus manned, and built exclusively for speed, (for the war-ships seldom or never pushed across the open sea, but coasted along from point to point, landing their crews for meals and sleep,) must have moved with immense velocity and power. The boat-races at Cambridge, in which six or seven-and-twenty eight-oared boats may be seen contending close together, can give some faint idea of the speed with which a squadron of the old triremes must have rushed through the sea, and of the noise and wave which must have been raised in the water, by the displacing transit of such large and rapid bodies, and by the simultaneous lashing of so many thousand oars. One can understand the alarm with which their charge must have been watched by unpractised antagonists, and the shrinking back frequently caused, f?? ?????? ?a? ?e?? de???t?t?? . However skilfully the triremes might be manoeuvred, it was impossible to prevent their sometimes getting foul of their adversaries. And, for the hand-to-hand fighting which this involved, a small body of fully armed soldiers (?p?ata?), or Marines, according to our modern term) served on board each galley. There were also a few bowmen or slingers for galling the enemy as opportunity offered. And although the oarsmen must, of course, have been unencumbered with armour, each seems to have been furnished with some light weapons, a cutlass probably and javelin, to play his part with in the exigencies which continually occurred during an action at sea. For we must bear in mind that, when we read of the ancient galleys running each other down in action, we A mere successful charge, therefore, against an enemy's galley did not necessarily determine the fate of her crew; a flight or two of javelins and arrows were probably thrown in, especially if any resistance was shown, and then the victorious vessel generally moved of in search of fresh opponents until the event of the day was finally decided. The conquerors then had the easy task of rowing up and down among the half-swamped prizes, killing or taking off the men as prisoners, and towing the wrecks away in triumph, to be patched up or not for service, according to the extent of their respective damages. The ascendancy is obvious, which skill and discipline must have exercised in such contests over equal courage and superior numbers. Often as this was displayed, the first victory of Phormio in the Corinthian gulf in the third year of the Peloponnesian war, as narrated by Thucydides, is one of the most splendid instances of it that history supplies. The Corinthians and other confederates of Sparta had prepared an armament of forty-seven galleys and a large number of transports on the Achaian side of the gulf, for the purpose of effecting a descent on the opposite coast of Acarnania, a country then in alliance with Athens. Phormio, the Athenian admiral who commanded in those seas, had only twenty galleys, with which he watched their movements from Chalcis and the river Evenus on the Ætolian coast. The Peloponnesians, notwithstanding their superiority in numbers, sought to avoid an action, and endeavoured to push across the gulf in the night. But the Athenians were too vigilant, and came up with them in the middle of the passage just about day-break. The gulf is of considerable width in the part where the rival fleets encountered, though immediately to the eastward it narrows into a mere strait between the two opposite capes, each of which the Greeks called the Promontory of Rhion. Thus intercepted, and forced to fight, the Peloponnesian commanders drew up their fleet in a way which they hoped would neutralise the superior skill and swiftness of the Athenian galleys. The great object in a sea-fight was to charge an opponent amidships, or on the stern, or on some defenceless part. Of course, as long as the enemy kept their line with the bows opposed to all their assailants, this was impossible. The favourite manoeuvre then was cutting the line, (??e?p????.) The assailing galley dashed rapidly between two of her adversaries; and then, smartly wheeling round, sought to charge one of them in rear, or on the quarter while turning. To prevent this, various tactics were adopted. Sometimes, for instance, the assailed fleet was drawn up in two or more lines of squadrons placed checker-wise behind each other. On the present occasion, the Peloponnesians formed in a circle, placing the transports and a picked squadron of five of their best war-ships in the middle, and with the rest of their galleys ranged outside, with their sterns toward the centre, so as to present all round a front of armed beaks to This battle is the subject of the following lines, which are intended to be taken as composed by one of the Athenians who served on board Phormio's galley. The metre is the splendid measure invented by Mr Mitchell for the rendering of the Aristophanic Tetrameter Anapest. PHORMIO'S VICTORY IN THE CORINTHIAN GULF. Twas when our galleys lay along the winding bay, Where Evenus with ocean is blended, To watch the Dorian host, that 'gainst Acarnania's coast At the mandate of Sparta descended. In long and threatening line, at the margin of the brine, Stretched the squadrons of proud LacedÆmon; Our prows were but a score, yet we cooped them to the shore, Oh they shrank from the clash with our seamen! Not in the good daylight, not in fair and open fight, Came over the boasting invaders; But like thieves they sought to glide, to their booty o'er the tide, With darkness and silence for aiders. All voiceless was the deep; the winds had sunk to sleep; The veil of the night earth was wearing; But the stars had pined away; and the streaks of eastern gray Told the morn was her chariot preparing. A plash of distant oars as from th' Achaian shores On our sentinel's ear faintly sounded; Our watch was keen, and true, we were Phormio's chosen crew; To his oar at the signal each bounded. The warning cry speeds fast, "the foe, they come at last;" Oh little they deem what will meet them; Right soon equipped are we, and we push at once to sea, On the mid-wave to baffle and beat them. Now through the glimmering haze we strain our eager gaze;— A dark mass on the dark water rises;— 'Tis a galley;—'tis their fleet—how our joyous bosoms beat, As the dawning revealed us our prizes! Yet they moved not to attack, but in troubled ring hung back From the strife, whence was now no retreating. Swift, swift, we glanced around them, and in closer circle bound them: Still threat'ning the charge, still delaying: For Phormio curbed our zeal, till the roughened main should feel The breath of the east o'er it playing. Blow, blow, thou Morning wind—why lingerest thou behind? On high while the Day-god is soaring? Come forth, and bid the Deep from the level slumber leap, Its billows in majesty pouring. Let the landsmen dread their swell—the mariner loves well The laugh and the toss of the ocean; Long time the gale and we have been comrades o'er the sea; 'Tis our helpmate in battle's commotion. The shudder of the seas tells the coming of the breeze; The ripples are glittering brightly; Soon the purple billows grow, and their crests of foam they show, As the freshening blast curls them lightly. Swell higher, lusty gale—the Dorian crews are pale, Their oars in the vexed surges drooping; While our circling galleys halt, and veer round for the assault, For the death-stroke each mariner stooping. With heads bent forward low, with oars thrown back in row, Trembling over the edge of the water, With breathless gaze we watch from our captain's lip to catch The word for the charge and the slaughter. 'Tis given—the oars dip—with a light half-stroke the ship Glides off—the waves hiss in twain riven— The trumpet clamours high; and our short sharp battle-cry, As we strain every nerve, rings to heaven. The oar tingles as we grasp it, like a limb of those who clasp it: Lithe and light through the white froth it flashes; And pulsating with life, savage, active for the strife, At her quarry the war-galley dashes. On, mariners, pull on—one glancing thought alone Of the homes and the loves that we cherish; For we know, from rush like this, as our prow may strike or miss, Ourselves or the foemen must perish. But our helmsman's skill is tried our armÈd beak to guide, Where their quarter lies helpless before us; And the thrilling, jarring crash, and the music of the smash Tell our rowers that fortune smiles o'er us. Look round upon the wreck,—mark the haughty Dorians' deck, How they reel in their armour along it: While our bow-men ply each string; and each javelin's on the wing, Wafting death mid the braggarts that throng it. Look where our gallant prow struck deep the deadly blow, Shattered oars, mangled oars-men are lying: The rent and started side sucks in the swamping tide, And the surge drowns the groans of the dying. The reddening ocean-flood drinks deep their hated blood,— It shall stream yet in richer libations: We'll repeat the lesson stern—LacedÆmon well shall learn That the sea mocks her rule o'er the nations. We recoil for fresh attack, as a hawk may hover back, Ere it swoop in the pride of its pinion. Another charge,—another blow,—another crippled foe,— 'Tis AthenÈ herself that is guiding. As, huddled in a flock, deer shrink back from the shock Of the hunters that round them are riding, So, disordered and dismayed, with ranks all disarrayed, Their fleet crowds together in ruin; While our galleys dashing in, with a loud and joyous din, Their mission of death are pursuing. See, again their oars are out—again a feeble shout Rises up from their admiral-galley; They come forth—'tis not to fight—they only push for flight— One has burst through our line in the sally. She's their best—she must not 'scape—cut her off from Rhion's cape— Let not Dorians for speed triumph o'er us— Our nearest consort views her,—the Pull on—none must strike her before us. "Quick, quicker on the feather—come forward well together— Carry Phormio first in his glory"— Each nerved him as he spoke, and we dash with stouter stroke Through the waves carcase-cumbered and gory. Oh! swiftly goes the prize as ahead of both she flies; Oh! blithe was the contest that tried us, When we saw our comrades true, their country's favoured crew, In rivalry rowing beside us. Their Sacred Bark apace bounds forward in the race, Like a proud steed let loose from the bridle; And we knew by the red streak on her bent and battered beak, In the fray that she had not been idle. On the prey each galley gains, and more and more each strains In the emulous chase to the leading; As two hounds pursue the hare, and each strives for amplest share Of the conquest to which they are speeding. Vainly struggles the spent foe. At her stern we feel our prow— 'Gainst its point ill her helmsman is shielded: And the Paralus's sway breaks her starboard oars away. Clear her deck!—No—they crouch—they have yielded. Tow her, then, along in triumph—haul her up on yonder shore— There she long shall crown the headland, never stemming billow more: To the gracious God of Ocean votive offering shall she stand, Telling of the deeds of Phormio and his bold Athenian band. Sagest of his country's seamen, bravest captain of the brave;— Every coast shall hear his glory, far as Athens rules the wave. Choral lay shall long record him. Long our battle-cry shall be, Cheering on our charging squadrons, "Phormio and Victory." |