harbour became a confused
mass of clashing triremes; the water beaten into bloody surf by
banks of oars; the air filled with shouts from the combatants and
exclamations from the lookers-on: [Greek: olophurmos, boe, nikontes,
kratoumenoi, alla hosa en megalo kinduno mega stratopedon polyeide
anagkaizoito phthengesthai.] Then after a struggle, in which
desperation gave energy to the Athenians, and ambitious hope
inspired their foes with more than wonted vigour, the fleet of the
Athenians was finally overwhelmed. The whole scene can be reproduced
with wonderful distinctness; for the low shores of Plemmyrium, the
city of Ortygia, the marsh of Lysimeleia, the hills above the
Anapus, and the distant dome of Etna, are the same as they were upon
that memorable day. Nothing has disappeared except the temple of
Zeus Olympius and the buildings of Temenitis.

What followed upon the night of that defeat is less easily realised.
Thucydides, however, by one touch reveals the depth of despair to
which the Athenians had sunk. They neglected to rescue the bodies of
their dead from the Great Harbour, or to ask for a truce, according
to hallowed Greek usage, in order that they might perform the
funeral rites. To such an extent was the army demoralised. Meanwhile
within the city the Syracusans kept high festival, honouring their
patron Herakles, upon whose day it happened that the battle had been
fought. Nikias neglected this opportunity of breaking up his camp
and retiring unmolested into the interior of the island. When after
the delay of two nights and a day he finally began to move, the
Syracusans had blockaded the roads. How his own division capitulated
by the blood-stained banks of the Asinarus after a six days' march
of appalling misery, and how that of Demosthenes surrendered in the
olive-field of Polyzelus, is too well known.

One of the favourite excursions from modern Syracuse takes the
traveller in a boat over the sandy bar of the Anapus, beneath the
old bridge which joined the Helorine road to the city, and up the
river to its junction with the Cyane. This is the ground traversed
by the army first in their attempted flight and then in their return
as captives to Syracuse. Few, perhaps, who visit the spot, think as
much of that last act in a world-historical tragedy, as of the
picturesque compositions made by arundo donax, castor-oil plant,
yellow flags, and papyrus, on the river-banks and promontories. Like
miniature palm-gr