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Change Your Diet Change Your Mind DR Georgia Ede Full Chapter PDF
Change Your Diet Change Your Mind DR Georgia Ede Full Chapter PDF
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E3-20231208-JV-NF-ORI
Contents
Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
Acknowledgments
Discover More
About the Author
Appendix A: Recommended Tests
Appendix B: Selected Resources
Appendix C: Essential Micronutrients and Brain Metabolism
Notes
To my brilliant partner Suzi Smith for expertly
illustrating, co-researching, co-editing, and co-
miserating this book with me. Without your ability to help
me see the forest for the trees, this manuscript would
have been little more than a glorified list of molecules I
happen to find fascinating that nobody else cares about.
AN UNORTHODOX REMEDY
After thirty-nine days on his new diet, both his GAD-7 and PHQ-9 scores
had fallen to zero. He messaged me: “Just another awesome week without
any symptoms of anxiety, agitation, or depression. Nada, zilch, none…
yeah!! Overall, I am consistently feeling better than I have for my entire
life.”
Psychiatric medications rarely eliminate all symptoms and virtually
never produce the empowered joy evident in Karl’s words. After a lifetime
of eating a standard American diet, switching to a diet consisting entirely of
beef, pork, eggs, and cheese appeared to have completely reversed his
mood disorder. Ironically, the only problem he encountered was that despite
eating three to four pounds of fatty animal food per day, he couldn’t regain
the ten pounds he’d lost during that three-month period of agitation.
Therefore, to restore healthy weight, support athletic performance, and add
variety, I advised him to relax his diet to include about 100 grams per day
of carbohydrate from whole foods—which he did by adding in some plain
yogurt and root vegetables like potatoes. After remaining completely well
on this plan for over a year, he began broadening his diet to include a
greater diversity of whole foods, and for the past year, he has continued to
remain well so long as he avoids refined carbohydrates and processed foods
and keeps his carbohydrate intake low on days when he doesn’t exercise.
He is thriving on this simple diet, enjoys eating this way, and remains
symptom-free a full three years later.
Whether this remarkable story reflects the unique and irreproducible
experience of one man or holds larger lessons that may apply to others, it
certainly challenges and inspires us to ask new questions about psychiatry,
nutrition science, and the relationship between the two:
IN SEARCH OF UNDERSTANDING
The brain is our most mysterious organ. Sequestered deep within the skull
and possessing no nerve endings, we can’t see it, touch it, or feel it working,
so questions about what causes mental illness and unwellness have baffled
us for millennia. Some ancient civilizations believed that those suffering
from mental illness were possessed by demons or being punished by God
for their sins, calling for spiritual treatments such as exorcism and prayer. In
the Middle Ages, psychiatric symptoms were blamed on a buildup of vile
bodily fluids that needed to be relieved with leeches or laxatives.8
By the mid-1900s, these beliefs had given way to theories about the root
causes of mental illness that continue to dominate our thinking today:
stress, childhood trauma, chemical imbalances… and, of course, your
mother.
These theories have their merits but are ultimately unsatisfying.
Our diet has undergone radical changes in the past century. Born in 1910
and raised in a rural New England farm town, my grandmother ate two soft-
boiled eggs and buttered toast every morning for breakfast, ground her own
hamburger with a medieval-looking device she clamped to the kitchen
counter, and kept an old coffee can full of bacon fat by the stove for
cooking. By the time she passed away in 1993, all three of these foods were
falling out of favor with the American public and had been officially
condemned as dangerously unhealthy. The first U.S. Dietary Guidelines,
released in 1980, warned that saturated fat and cholesterol caused obesity
and heart attacks, so they advised Americans to “moderate your use of
eggs,” “limit your intake of butter,” and “trim excess fat off meats.”1
Food manufacturers sought to capitalize on these new food rules by
flooding the market with fat-free sweets and cholesterol-free fats like corn
oil, canola oil, and margarine.2 By blaming modern health epidemics such
as obesity, type 2 diabetes, and heart disease on saturated fat and
cholesterol, the U.S. Dietary Guidelines drove us away from nutritious
whole foods like meat and eggs and right into the arms of the ultraprocessed
food industry. Like a perfect storm, the powerful forces of food
industrialization, growing anti-meat sentiment, and fat and cholesterol
phobia collided and have been feeding on each other for the past fifty years,
dramatically transforming our nutritional way of life. Since most other
nations pattern their food guidelines after the U.S. guidelines, this shift
away from animal fats and toward refined carbohydrates and vegetable oils
meant that the whole world was about to take part in a grand nutrition
science experiment—with devastating consequences.
Characterized by an abundance of calorie-dense, nutrient-poor foods and
beverages,3 the so-called standard American diet (I’ll take the liberty of
referring to this as the “SAD diet” going forward), isn’t just an American
problem anymore—this modern atrocity has been exported to all four
corners of the Earth, endangering the physical and mental health of people
everywhere.
Unfortunately, we don’t have much concrete information about the
mental health of people prior to the modernization of our diet, but what
little we do have suggests that our mental health was more robust in the past
than it is today.
Industrial globalization has made it difficult to locate people in this
century who eat entirely off the land, but in the middle of the last century,
there were still pockets of dietary sanity to be found. In a 2003 paper titled
“Nutrition and Schizophrenia,” University of Sheffield psychiatrist Dr.
Malcolm Peet highlighted interesting studies from Taiwan, Tonga, Trinidad,
Papua New Guinea, Malawi, and Australia’s Gold Coast, all of which
suggested that schizophrenia was far less common in people who fed
themselves by hunting, fishing, and subsistence farming.4 As Dr. Peet
wrote: “It is remarkable that studies of truly indigenous populations are
virtually unanimous in reporting very low rates of schizophrenia.”5 For
example, signs of schizophrenia were exceedingly rare among non-
Westernized Pacific Islanders in the 1950s. Of 60,500 inhabitants examined,
researchers identified only two individuals with psychotic behavior (0.003
percent), whereas the prevalence of psychosis among Europeans of the
same time period was sixty-seven times higher (0.2 percent).6
Of course, food isn’t the only difference between modern Western ways
of life and the lifestyles of these Indigenous groups, and observations of this
nature don’t represent hard evidence of a connection between modern diets
and our mental health crisis; unfortunately, that level of evidence doesn’t
exist. It is simply food for thought: Perhaps serious mental illnesses don’t
need to be as common as they have become.
NUTRITIONAL PSYCHIATRY AND THE
MEDITERRANEAN DIET: A BETTER WAY FORWARD?
The relatively new specialty of nutritional psychiatry was established on
the belief that the deterioration in the quality of our diet is largely to blame
for the deterioration in our mental health.
For the prevention and treatment of depression and other mental health
conditions, most thought leaders within this budding field recommend
changing from the SAD diet to the Mediterranean diet. Although vaguely
and inconsistently defined, the Mediterranean diet has recently been
described as being:
• high in whole grains, vegetables, fruit, nuts, legumes, and olive oil
• moderate in seafood, poultry, eggs, low-fat dairy, and red wine
• low in sweets, red meat, and processed meats7
The story of how the Mediterranean dietary pattern and its familiar
“whole grains good, animal fats bad” philosophy became implanted in our
collective psyche is told masterfully by investigative journalist Nina
Teicholz in The Big Fat Surprise.8
Part wishful thinking, part wild guess, the Mediterranean dietary pattern
essentially began as a romantic theory about what we should eat, inspired
by cherry-picked aspects of cherry-picked Mediterranean traditions, and
propped up by unscientific studies conducted in the 1950s and 1960s by Dr.
Ancel Keys, a University of Minnesota researcher who believed that
saturated fat caused heart disease. (We will see what makes studies like his
unscientific in chapter 3.)
The creators of the Mediterranean diet didn’t start with a thoughtful
examination of the nutritional risks and benefits of individual foods, use
that information to design a dietary pattern, and then test that pattern in
human clinical trials to see if it improved health. Instead, they observed that
people living in countries along the north shore of the Mediterranean Sea
generally seemed to be healthier than Americans, assumed that some of the
differences in the way they ate must be responsible for their superior health,
and then designed a dietary pattern that they thought represented the
healthiest aspects of those culinary traditions. Among the important
revelations in Teicholz’s book is that Professor Walter Willett (a prominent
nutrition researcher who was chairman of the Harvard School of Public
Health at the time) prematurely declared the Mediterranean diet to be a
healthy eating pattern in 1993—seven years before the diet would first be
tested in human clinical trials.9
The Mediterranean diet has since been extensively tested in dozens of
human clinical trials for physical health conditions such as obesity,
cardiovascular disease, and type 2 diabetes, and has consistently
outperformed the SAD diet, earning the trust of the medical community and
nutrition policymakers alike. As for mental health conditions, although
studies testing the Mediterranean diet’s potential to prevent or treat memory
and cognitive health issues have produced mixed results,10 three clinical
studies have now demonstrated that switching from a poor-quality SAD diet
to the Mediterranean diet can improve symptoms of clinical depression
when added to standard psychiatric treatment (medication and/or
psychotherapy).11 The science is clear: The Mediterranean diet is healthier
than the SAD diet, so if you currently eat a SAD diet, switching to the
Mediterranean diet would be a solid step in the right direction.
What makes the Mediterranean diet healthier than the SAD diet? Is it the
nuts? The olive oil? The red wine? We really don’t know. Those who
advocate for the Mediterranean diet speculate that it is superior to the SAD
diet because it is lower in saturated fat, trans fats, and added sugars; richer
in essential nutrients; higher in fiber; and chock full of colorful fruits and
vegetables brimming with phytonutrients—naturally occurring plant
chemicals believed to have unique anti-inflammatory and antioxidant
properties.12 However, there are so many differences between these two
dietary patterns that there is no easy way to determine which aspects of the
Mediterranean diet are responsible for its health benefits.
Almost any change you make to the modern atrocity that is the SAD diet
is bound to make it healthier. In other words, just because emerging
evidence supports the idea that the Mediterranean diet is better for the brain
than the SAD diet doesn’t necessarily mean that it is the best diet for the
brain—and there are good reasons to suspect that it is not. A few examples:
• The grains and legumes that form the foundation of the Mediterranean
diet are nutrient-poor themselves, and even contain antinutrients that
interfere with our ability to access certain essential minerals.
• The Mediterranean diet frowns on some sources of refined
carbohydrate such as sweets, while celebrating others, such as bread
and pasta.
• The Mediterranean diet encourages the consumption of alcohol.
But the Mediterranean diet’s biggest blind spot is that it pays far too
little attention to metabolic health. In other words, it contains too much
carbohydrate for people with insulin resistance to safely process, resulting
in higher insulin levels that can damage brain metabolism over time. The
word “metabolism” refers to the complicated collection of chemical
reactions our cells use to turn food into energy. Since the brain is an energy
hog, if its metabolic machinery can’t generate enough power to meet its
needs, it can and will malfunction.
The good ship Salisbury had a grave problem on her hands. In the spring
of 1747, she had left the port of Plymouth, England, with a crew 300 men
strong.1 After just eight short weeks at sea, at least 30 of her sailors had
contracted scurvy, a disease that killed an estimated two million mariners
between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries.2 In what may have been the
world’s first controlled trial in clinical nutrition on record, naval surgeon
Dr. James Lind took it upon himself to conduct a simple experiment. As he
tells it:
He divided the twelve men into six pairs, and administered the following
treatments to see which, if any, might be helpful:
Lind’s results provided evidence that fresh citrus fruits could cure
scurvy. Almost 400 years later, his protocol still stands as a fine example of
the scientific method. Defining the scientific method can be surprisingly
difficult, but its bedrock principles can be summarized in this definition of
science itself, taken from the Oxford English Dictionary: “the systematic
study of the structure and behavior of the physical and natural world
through observation and experiment [emphasis mine].”5
We would have to wait nearly two centuries for Hungarian scientist Dr.
Albert Szent-Györgyi to identify the curative chemical stowed within those
oranges and lemons as vitamin C, which earned him a Nobel Prize in 1937.
This juicy revelation was just one of many vitamin discoveries made during
the so-called “Vitamin Era” of the 1930s and 1940s, all made possible by
the Chemical Revolution—the development of laboratory techniques that
allowed researchers to isolate and study vital food molecules for the first
time in human history.6
When President Eisenhower suffered a heart attack in 1955, public fear
of cardiovascular disease shifted the focus of diet research away from
micronutrients (vitamins and minerals) to macronutrients—fat and
cholesterol, to be exact—ushering in the era of politicized nutrition in
which we still find ourselves today. In an attempt to understand how
complex dietary patterns cause or prevent things like heart attacks, nutrition
research largely lost its way in the second half of the twentieth century,
veering away from solid scientific methods grounded in experimentation in
favor of a wholly unscientific method grounded in guesswork called
nutrition epidemiology. Most mainstream views about food and health (such
as the belief that plant foods are healthier for us than animal foods) spring
from nutrition epidemiology studies, so it’s important to understand the
serious shortcomings of this type of research and how it compares to other
nutrition research methods.
HIERARCHY OF EVIDENCE
Let’s begin at the bottom of the pyramid and work our way to the top.
A nutrition case report describes how a particular dietary intervention
(such as a ketogenic diet) affected the health of a single patient, while a
case series describes how a dietary intervention affected the health of
multiple patients who all have a similar health condition—for example, how
a ketogenic diet affected five people who all have early Alzheimer’s
disease. Well-documented case reports often contribute valuable
information that inspires additional research,7 but since they are not formal
scientific experiments, these sit at the bottom of most evidence pyramids.
In nutrition epidemiology (aka “observational”) studies, researchers
gather information about large numbers of people and analyze that
information to look for patterns that may explain health trends in
communities. An example within the world of nutrition would be
conducting a survey of thousands of people about their egg yolk eating
habits and their heart health history, and then sifting through their answers
to see if there might be a connection between the number of egg yolks they
reported eating and whether or not they develop heart disease. The lion’s
share of nutrition studies that make headlines are epidemiological studies,
perhaps in part because they are inexpensive and relatively easy to conduct.
A nonrandomized controlled trial is a scientific experiment in which
volunteers with similar health conditions are divided into two groups—an
experimental group (which changes their diet) and a control group (for
comparison). For example, to test the effects of cholesterol-rich egg yolks
on blood cholesterol levels, you might feed everyone in the experimental
group two egg yolks per day and feed everyone in the control group
something similar that you wouldn’t expect to have any impact on
cholesterol levels—such as two egg whites per day, which are cholesterol-
free. At the end of the experiment, you compare the cholesterol levels of the
two groups to see if the egg yolks seemed to make a substantial difference.
These trials are called nonrandomized because the decision about which
volunteers join which group isn’t made randomly; instead, the researchers
or the volunteers themselves decide who will belong to each group, which
could influence the results. (Dr. Lind’s scurvy experiment would therefore
be considered a nonrandomized controlled trial, as he himself decided
which sailors received which treatment.)
Just below the pyramid’s pinnacle is the randomized controlled trial or
RCT. Widely regarded as the gold standard of scientific research methods,
the RCT is considered the best way to explore whether there is a cause-and-
effect relationship between two items of interest or variables such as egg
yolks and cholesterol levels. Instead of the researchers or the volunteers
themselves choosing who will be on Team Yolk and who will be on Team
White, volunteers are randomly assigned to each group, usually by a
computer, reducing the chance that human bias will influence the results.
The best-designed RCTs are double-blinded, meaning that neither the
volunteers nor the researchers know who is in the experimental group and
who is in the control group.
Proudly perched atop the pyramid pinnacle is the meta-analysis, which
pools the results of multiple RCTs and analyzes them as a group to look for
trends.
A well-designed RCT makes it easier to conclude that a particular
dietary intervention is directly responsible for the results that the
researchers observe because it attempts to minimize other factors that could
muddy the waters. For example: if one of my patients tries a ketogenic diet
for early Alzheimer’s disease and she happens to score better on memory
tests six weeks later, a scientific journal may agree to publish my findings
in the form of a case report—especially if this is the first case of its kind.
However, because the circumstances weren’t controlled, I can’t claim that
the ketogenic diet was responsible for my patient’s improvement. Maybe
she made other changes during that same six-week period that she didn’t
mention or that I chose not to include, such as eliminating junk food or
taking a multivitamin. Maybe she was expecting the ketogenic diet to help
because a family member had responded well to it. (People who believe in a
treatment are more likely to experience benefits—this is called the placebo
effect.) Maybe I had ten patients with Alzheimer’s who tried the diet, and
she was the only one who improved—but I didn’t report the other nine
cases because I wanted to share the most hopeful news.
RCTs seek to minimize variables like these that can muddy the waters.
For example, when researchers in New Zealand conducted an RCT
comparing the ketogenic diet to a low-fat diet in people with Alzheimer’s
disease, they randomly divided twenty-six volunteers into two groups using
randomizing software, gave them all the same dietary instructions, and told
them all to take the same multivitamin supplement. They told the volunteers
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
it be remembered that the fleet when at Delos must have heard of
Mardonius’ retirement from Attica, and had also, it would seem,
heard of the march of the home army into Bœotia, their fear strongly
supports the conjecture that they knew that the object of that army
was not to merely guard the passes of Kithæron, but to take the
offensive against the Persian. It is hardly conceivable that, after
Mardonius’ retirement, they should have felt apprehensions of this
nature about the army, had its object been merely the defence of the
Kithæron range, since the enemy had plainly shown by his retreat
from Athens that his main desire was to be north of that range, and
that he would have but little motive for throwing his men against
mere defenders of passes which he had shown that he did not want
to use. Furthermore, the possible intentions of Mardonius in making
Thebes his headquarters may have alarmed the Greeks by
indicating the nature of a policy, not indeed so terrible as that
wherewith the expedition was originally undertaken, but constituting,
all the same, a most serious danger to all the states of Southern
Greece.
Relieved of this fear, they went into battle with a good heart,
feeling, says Herodotus, “that the Hellespont and the Islands would
be the prize of victory.” Not a word of the Ionian towns on the
mainland. The Persian position was indeed too strong in respect to
these.
H. ix. 102.
The march was evidently parallel with the shore,
along it and the level ground in its neighbourhood, and
also along the hillside, cut up, as the hillsides of that land always are,
by numerous water-courses. The result was that the Athenians and
those with them, advancing along the unimpeded level, came into
contact with the enemy before the Lacedæmonians, who were
advancing along the slope of the mountain. If Herodotus’ description
H. ix. 102.
is strictly worded, the Lacedæmonians were engaged
in some kind of a turning movement.
The Athenians were therefore probably guilty of a tactical error in
beginning the attack before the movement was complete.
The Persians adopted the same form of defence as in the last
fight at Platæa, using their shields as a breastwork; and for some
time the battle was fought without advantage to either side, until the
Athenians and those with them, eager to win the victory before the
Lacedæmonians came up, broke through this barrier and fell in a
mass upon the Persians, who, after an obstinate resistance,
retreated within their fortifications. The Athenians, Corinthians,
Sikyonians, and Trœzenians, however, followed close on their heels,
and seem to have reached the breastwork with the fugitives, so that
it was captured without difficulty. Except the native Persian
contingent, the enemy now took to flight the former, however,
resisted in scattered groups with all the bravery of a great reputation,
—the Old Guard of this Asiatic Waterloo. In this combat two out of
the four Persian generals fell. The Lacedæmonians came up while it
was in progress, and their arrival put the coping stone on the
enemy’s discomfiture. But the assailants, and especially the
Sikyonians, paid dearly for their victory, so Herodotus says; and
Greek historians are not in the habit of exaggerating Greek losses in
battles with barbarians. Meanwhile the disarmed Samians did what
they could to help the Greeks, and, following their lead, the other
Ionians attacked the Persians in the camp. The Milesians, who had
been sent to the peaks of Mykale, now played the part which, under
the circumstances, they might be expected to play. So far from
acting as guides to safety, they led the routed fugitives into the very
hands of the Greeks, and themselves took part with zeal in the
slaughter which ensued. At last Miletus had the opportunity of
avenging its destruction at the end of the Ionian revolt, and it is
certain that the bitterness of the last fourteen years found ample
expression and ample satisfaction on this day of revenge.
H. ix. 104, ad
“Thus,” says Herodotus, “Ionia revolted a second
fin. time from the Persians.”
He makes no comment upon the fact. It
THE FATE OF IONIA.
would have been difficult for him to do so. He
had regarded the first revolt as a conspicuous blunder, probably
because he looked upon it as premature. Even now he sings no
pæan of emancipation. Maybe the Halikarnassian believed that, in
spite of the brilliant success of the year, the permanent freedom of
the Ionian towns could never be secured so long as Persia retained
its hold on West Asia. He wrote with well-nigh a century of
experience behind him; he died a century before there arose a
power upon the Ægean whose unity of strength made it fit to cope
with the dead weight of the Persian power in Asia.
The Athenians were credited by popular tradition with having
played the greatest part in the battle; but it may be suspected that
had Leutychides’ version of the fighting survived, it might have
contained some criticism of the error of a premature attack, to which
the escape of a large part of the Persian army was probably due.
After destroying the enemy’s camp and fleet the Greeks withdrew
to Samos with such booty as they had captured.
H. ix. 106. The action of the Ionians at Mykale had raised the
whole question of the future of the Asiatic Greeks.
There was a large section in the fleet who saw,—what the sequel
proved to be correct,—that the European Greeks were not in a
position to maintain the freedom of continental Ionia against the
Persians for an indefinite space of time. That would have meant the
maintenance of a large garrison within the various towns, such as
the highly composite Greek alliance could not regard as within the
realm of practical politics. It was consequently proposed to tranship
the Ionians en masse to the European shore, and to leave Ionia to
the Persian. The strategic position of the Ionian cities was indeed
fatally weak.
But, after all, it would hardly be the strategical question that
presented itself to the Greeks gathered at Samos. What they did
know was that these Ionian cities had failed to resist conquest by
Lydia and Persia, and had failed in one tremendous effort to throw
off the Persian yoke; and that one of the conspicuous causes of
failure had been the difficulty of sustained united action. Of the
commercial advantages and their causes, they were probably as well
aware as the best instructed modern student with the best maps at
his disposal.
It was, no doubt, this balance of advantage and disadvantage
which led to the division of opinion in the council as to the best
H. ix. 106.
course to be pursued. The Peloponnesians were in
favour of planting the Ionians on the lands of the
medized Greeks at home. To this proposal the Athenians offered an
uncompromising resistance, and claimed that they alone had the
right to decide the matter, since the Ionians were colonists of their
own. The claim was a shadowy one; but the resistance was
successful. It is noticeable, however, that the Asiatic Greeks who
were in the first instance received into the alliance were Samians,
Chians, Lesbians, and the other islanders, but none of the
inhabitants of the cities of the mainland. Thus were sown the seeds
of that famous Delian League which was destined in the near future
to play so great a part in the history of the fifth century.
Throughout Greek history the Hellespontine region is the link
between Europe and Asia. To it the Oriental seeking to win empire in
Europe ever turned, while the European, whether on the defensive
or the offensive against the power of the East, was at all times
H. ix. 114.
anxious to secure its possession. And thither now the
fleet from Samos sailed, under the impression, says
Herodotus, that it would find the bridge in existence. If such an
impression did actually exist with the Greeks at this time, the fact
bears strong evidence to the silence and desertion which in these
years brooded over that highway of the nations—the Ægean. The
fleet was delayed on the voyage by adverse winds, and was obliged
to anchor for a time at Lektos. Thence it sailed to Abydos, where the
Greeks discovered for the first time that the bridge was no longer in
existence.
Hitherto Leutychides and the Spartans with him had shown in this
expedition an enterprise peculiarly foreign to them; but now once
more a fatal national characteristic began to reassert itself. Whether
because of that homesick conservatism of the
THE FLEET SAILS
TO THE
race which made it averse to ventures far
HELLESPONT. beyond its borders, and anxious when
engaged in them to get quit of the matter in
hand at the earliest possible opportunity, or from a lack of
intelligence which failed to grasp the proper issue of a situation,
Sparta was ever wont to leave her tasks unfinished, especially if they
demanded absence far from home. And so it was now. On the plea
that the only object of the expedition to the Hellespont had been to
ensure the destruction of the bridge, they renounced all idea of
further operations for the time being, and set sail for home. It may be
doubted whether they genuinely believed that the disappearance of
the bridge had removed all necessity for further action in this region.
The Athenians, at any rate, under their leader Xanthippos, saw that
the peril from Persia must ever be recurrent, if that power continued
to hold the Thracian Chersonese, that tongue of land which in both
ancient and modern times, though for different reasons, has ever
been of the greatest strategical importance to Mediterranean
powers. They determined therefore to clear the enemy out of this,
their tête-du-pont in Europe.
The chief strategic position in the peninsula at that time was
Sestos. It lay on the European side of the great ferry of the
Hellespont at Abydos, and so commanded the main route from Asia
to Europe.
As a place of great military importance, it was the strongest
fortress in those parts; and on the news of the arrival of the Greeks
at the Hellespont, the Persian population from all the neighbouring
towns collected thither under the command of Artauktes, the
governor of the region. He was a man who had got an evil reputation
among the Greeks owing to sacrilegious behaviour of the grossest
character, peculiarly calculated to arouse their most fierce
resentment. The arrival of the Greeks in the Hellespont had been so
unexpected that he was taken unawares, having made no
preparations for a siege. But the inexperience and incapacity of the
Athenian assailants in the attack on walled towns, despite the
reputation they enjoyed among their fellow-countrymen, who were
themselves hopelessly impotent in this department of the art of war,
caused the siege to drag out a weary length, until the wane of
autumn brought with it that severity of wintry weather from which all
the lands within reach of the inhospitable Euxine suffer at that time of
year.
The Athenian soldiers and sailors began to weary of the
apparently endless blockade, and demanded of their leaders that
they should be taken home once more. This request Xanthippos and
his captains refused, saying that they must bide where they were
until either the town were taken or the Athenian Government sent for
them. So they continued to bear their hardships as best they could.
Meanwhile the besieged, reduced to the last extremity of want, ate
even the leathern straps of their beds. At last, in desperation, the
Persian portion of the inmates of the town escaped by night through
the besiegers’ lines at a point where there were but few men on
guard; but here their success ended. The natives of the Chersonese
who were in the town informed the Athenians by signal of their flight,
and the latter started in hot pursuit. One body of the fugitives made
its escape to Thrace, to meet with a miserable fate at the hands of
the wild tribes of that region; but the main body, under Artauktes,
was overtaken by the Athenians near Ægospotami, and after an
obstinate defence, such as survived, including Artauktes, were
brought back as prisoners to Sestos. A tale which Herodotus tells
shows that the Persian commander had some apprehension with
regard to the retribution which his sacrilegious conduct might bring
upon him; for he made an offer to Xanthippos to pay one hundred
talents’ compensation for the outrage, and two hundred talents’
ransom for himself and his son. To this offer Xanthippos turned a
deaf ear.
The punishment inflicted on the Persian was a blot on Greek
civilization. He was nailed to a board, and his son was stoned to
death before his eyes. The Greek nature was capable in moments of
revenge of inflicting the death penalty in wholesale fashion on
enemies who had excited its bitter resentment; but the torture of a
captured foe was wholly alien to the spirit of the people. Doubtless
the Persians, with the ineradicable cruelty of
END OF THE
CAMPAIGN.
the Oriental, had given many precedents for
such a form of revenge; but whether that be so
or not, this particular act was inexcusable in a people who claimed
for themselves a standard of civilization infinitely higher than that of
the world around them.
With the capture of Sestos the campaign of this famous year
ended, and with it the great war for the liberation of European
Greece. Many years were indeed fated to pass before the present
struggle ceased. But from this time forward the war entered upon a
new phase, in which the Greek was the assailant. Hitherto he had
been acting purely on the defensive; even the expedition across the
Ægean had been but an act of the great drama which was being
played in Greece. The West had triumphed over the East in one
great effort, wherein the success had been rapid and striking. But
henceforward the tide of success was destined to flow more slowly,
—so slowly, indeed, that ere the end came, victor and vanquished
alike had sunk into decay, and alike had fallen into subjection to that
newer, broader, and more vigorous but less genuine Hellenism which
Macedonia evolved from her heritage in the older type.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE WAR AS A WHOLE.
It is often an invidious task to examine the causes which lie behind
any great series of events in military history, because the most
efficient of them are in the majority of cases due to human error
rather than to human power. The historian of peaceful development
is not exempt from the necessity of compiling such records of frailty,
but by the very nature of things such tasks fall more frequently to
one who narrates the story of periods at which the sanity of the
sanest is troubled by the nervous tension involved in participation in
events whose issues and their results lie in the immediate, not in the
distant future. The errors of war may not be greater, but they are less
remediable than those of peace. There may be time to arrest the
latter’s slow decay; but the swift and often fatal stab of a lost battle is
the work of a moment. Men have in all ages been conscious of the
gravity of this truth; and the consciousness of it, apart altogether
from the inevitable physical fear, has rendered them less capable at
such times of the calculations of reason, or even, in some instances,
of common sense.
The great Persian War was of a special type. In the majority of
cases in which races and empires have come into collision, each
side has had some practical acquaintance with the resources,
devices, and fighting qualities of the other; and in many cases such
experience has been intimate and prolonged.
UNDETERMINED
But when the Persian and the Greek of Europe
FACTORS.
came into collision in 480, such experience
can hardly be said to have existed on either side; or, in so far as it
did exist, it had been misleading. In only two instances had the
European Greek come into contact with the Persian on the field of
battle, and in both of them the same Greek state, the Athenian, had
alone been represented in the conflict. But, furthermore, the
instances had, from a military point of view, been indecisive, if not
actually fallacious. At Ephesus, in the first year of the Ionian revolt, a
small contingent of Athenians had been present on the defeated
side, when the Persians fell on the expedition which had burnt
Sardes. Of the battle practically nothing is recorded save the result;
but this much may be assumed with certainty,—that a fight in which
a small body of European Greeks had been defeated in partnership
with hastily raised levies of Ionians could not possibly afford any
experience worth calling such to either of the sides who were
destined to take part in the war of twenty years later. The Ionians of
Asia, long under Persian rule, must have been very deficient in
military training when compared with the Greek of Europe. Darius
had, indeed, made use of them in the Scythian expedition, but in that
instance had employed them to guard the lines of communication. It
is manifestly improbable that the Persian Government would
encourage any advanced system of military exercises in a people
whose position at the very borders of the empire would have
rendered them, if accustomed to the use of arms, very dangerous
subjects.
Marathon was the other instance. It is a battle of problems, a
problem among battles, whose data are woefully imperfect. The only
thing about it which seems clear is that, for some reason which can
only be conjectured, it formed but an imperfect test of the fighting
capacity and methods of Greek and Persian respectively.
Thus, for all practical purposes, when the two races came into
conflict in 480 they were, militarily speaking, unknown quantities to
one another, and each had to learn how best to meet the strategy
and tactics of the enemy. The consequence was inevitable. Both
sides made grave mistakes of commission and omission; and it may
be even said that the victors made more than the vanquished,
though not of such a fatal character. The Corinthians were not
indeed wrong when in later days they summed up the causes of the
issue of the war by saying that “the Persian was the rock on which
he himself made shipwreck;” for of the two main reasons which led
to the final victory of the Greeks, one was undoubtedly the fatal
nature of the mistakes which the Persians made. They seem, relying
on their prestige, and on their enormous numbers, to have held their
adversaries too cheaply; and from this fundamental error all their
other errors were generated.
Knowledge after the event renders it very difficult to appreciate
the circumstances of any particular date in history, and the difficulty
is all the greater if the events of the time immediately succeeding be
of such a nature as to completely change those circumstances. Such
is markedly the case in the instance under consideration. The mental
attitude of the Persian towards the Greek power after 479 is well
known to the modern world; and it is recognized indeed that a great
change must have been brought about in it by the events of that and
the preceding year; but the extent of the change is not perhaps
realized, because the very real nature of the grounds of confidence
with which Persia entered upon the war are not sufficiently taken into
consideration, and the efforts made by Herodotus to bring this
confidence into prominence are too apt to be regarded as aiming at
the greater glorification of his own race.
And yet the grounds for that confidence are plain. In a long and
almost unbroken series of wars the Persian had conquered Western
Asia. He had never met with the race which could face his own upon
the set field of battle, and this, not in an experience of a few years,
but of half a century. He might indeed feel that he had been tried in
the balance of warfare and not found wanting. Man’s success
against him had never been more than temporary.
It now remains to be considered why this confidence was ill-
grounded.
The Persian had never seen the Greek heavy-armed infantryman
at his best, well disciplined, and fighting on ground suited to his
tactics, save perhaps at Marathon, when the test was probably
regarded as unconvincing. Herodotus points
ARMS AND THE
out the superiority of his panoply to that of the
LAND.
comparatively light-armed Persian. There is
much more of the empirical than of the scientific in the lessons of
war; and the experience of all ages points to the fact that an army
which enjoys a noticeable superiority over its enemy in respect to
weapons will in all probability, if other things be equal, come off
victorious. Such exceptions as history can adduce to this rule are
rather apparent than real, and are, in the vast majority of cases, due
to the possessor of the superior arms adopting tactics either
unstated to them, or wholly at variance with the nature of the region
wherein fighting is being carried on. The Greeks at Platæa made a
mistake of the latter kind, which was only annulled by a greater
mistake made subsequently by the other side.
In this great war, then, the two most efficient causes of its issue
were (1) the undue confidence of the Persian, giving rise to fatal
mistakes; (2) the great superiority of the Greek panoply. A third, of a
negative character, may perhaps be added, namely, that the nature
of the country did not permit of the invader making use of his most
formidable arm,—the cavalry. The second and third causes may be
included in that wider generalization which has been already
discussed;—the West on its own ground must have prevailed over
the East.
The immediate preliminaries of the actual invasion of Greek
territory bring into prominence the high state of efficiency which must
have been attained in the military organization of the Persian empire.
Leaving out of consideration the difficulties to be overcome before
the huge mixed force was collected at Sardes (which town became
for the time being, in place of Susa, the prime military base of the
empire), the organization which enabled this great army to be
brought without accident, or, in so far as present knowledge goes,
without a hitch of any kind, over the eight hundred miles of difficult
country which separated its base from Middle Greece, must have
been the outcome of a highly effective and highly elaborated system
evolved by a people whose experience was indeed large and long,
but who must also have been gifted with that very high form of
mental capacity which is able to carry out a great work of this nature.
The secret of success,—it may almost be said of possibility,—in the
present instance was the employment of the fleet for commissariat
purposes. It was a method of advance not new to Persian
campaigning, the first instance of its employment going back as far
as the time of the invasion of Egypt by Cambyses.
On the Greek side organization on so huge a scale was not called
for. Numbers were smaller, and distances in comparison
insignificant; and only at the end of the campaign, when the Athenian
fleet was engaged in the blockade of Sestos, had a long period of
absence from the commissariat base to be provided for. Still, what
was done must have been done on a system; and the system cannot
be supposed to have been a bad one, for there is no hint of its ever
having broken down. It was in all probability most severely tried
when it became necessary to keep up the supplies of the great host
during the weeks it remained at Platæa. Such mention of it as occurs
in Herodotus’ narrative is of a purely incidental character. It was a
side of the war in which he was not likely to take any great interest,
even if he could have obtained much information on the subject, or
have appreciated the significance of such information as he did
obtain. The disaster to the commissariat train in the pass of
Dryoskephalæ is the most prominent of the rare instances in which
Herodotus mentions anything connected with this department of the
service. His reference to a signalling system extending through
Eubœa at the time of Artemisium,—a line of communication which
was in all probability carried to the Hellenic base in the Saronic gulf,
—shows that there was a certain amount of elaboration in the
organization on the Greek side.
When it is borne in mind that the Greeks
STRATEGY AND
were in this war carrying on operations on a
TACTICS.
scale infinitely exceeding anything of which
they can have had experience, it must be admitted as remarkable
that, whatever the defects of their military policy, whatever the
mistakes they made, they managed to evolve out of their experience
of operations on a small scale a system of organization which was
applicable to the great operations of this war, and which did not in
any known instance lead to a breakdown which can be attributed to
defect in the system itself.
Of the strategy and tactics of the war itself little can be said which
has not been already said in previous chapters; still, it may be
convenient to collect together the considerations on this question
which are suggested by the history of the two years’ campaigning.
Before doing so it is perhaps necessary to define as clearly as is
possible the distinction between strategy and tactics, and that not
merely in respect to the application of the terms themselves, but also
to a not unimportant difference which may exist between the ways in
which they may be employed.
Strategy is a term usually applied to the larger operations of war
prior to or intervening between such times as armies are in close
contact with one another.
When close contact takes place, and battle is immediately
imminent or in progress, the name tactics is applied to the operations
which then ensue, and which are necessarily on a smaller scale than
those to which the term strategy is applicable.
A further and important distinction is this:—the operations known
as tactics are the outcome of full consciousness on the part of the
commander or, it may be, of the trained soldiers who employ them,—
that is to say, that he or they know not merely what to do, but why to
do it. The knowledge acted upon is in a sense scientific, though the
reasons for the act may be various:—either that the operation has
proved effective in the past, or that the tactics of the enemy demand
it, or that it is called for by the nature of the ground. It is in respect to
the last reason that tactics and strategy are most nearly comparable;
and it is manifest that it is more easy to draw conclusions as to the
results of action on a small area of country, all of which may be
comprehended in one view, than in a large area such as would form
the theatre of strategical operations.
The operations of tactics are so much more mechanical than
those of strategy that it is difficult to conceive of them as being
unconsciously carried out.
With strategy that is not the case. It may be conscious or
unconscious. The strategical conditions of a country such as Greece,
or indeed of any country, must ever be fundamentally the same,
though liable to modification by the introduction of some great
novelty into the act of war, such as long-range missiles. An army
operating in Greece or elsewhere may fulfil the strategical conditions
of the country consciously or unconsciously. It fulfils them
consciously if it appreciates them,—that is to say, if its movements
are determined by them; but it may fulfil them unconsciously even if
its movements are determined by considerations which cannot be
said to rest on any strategical basis.
It is a very important question in the war of 480–479 whether
either or both of the two sides operated with a conscious or
unconscious strategy. Beyond question many of their operations
were strategically correct. This every one who is acquainted with the
story of the war must admit; but many of the greatest writers of
Greek history have silently or expressly assumed that the agreement
between the operations and the strategical conditions of the theatre
of war was due to the circumstance that, in a country of such
pronounced characteristics as those of Greece, the physical
conditions were so marked that the strategical conditions might be
fulfilled from motives wholly unconnected with them. This might
undoubtedly be the case; but was it so?
Two great strategic designs are apparent in the main plan of the
invaders:—
(1) To create a diversion in the Western Mediterranean by stirring
up Carthage to attack the Sicilian Greeks, and so prevent aid from
that quarter reaching the mother country;
(2) To make fleet and army act in co-operation, and, furthermore,
by means of the fleet, to maintain the command of the Ægean and
its sea-ways.
On the side of the defence no plans of such magnitude are
apparent; for the very good reason that the preparations to meet the
invader were made too late for the carrying out of any far-reaching
design, even had so composite a resisting force admitted of anything
of the kind.
The first strategic action of the Greeks was
THESSALY AND
THERMOPYLÆ.
the expedition to North Thessaly. That was
undoubtedly conscious strategy. It was
undertaken under the supposition that the Vale of Tempe was the
only entrance into the country; and had this supposition been correct
the strategy was sound enough. The mistake made was
topographical, not strategical.
It was again sound strategy which made the Greeks, when they
discovered their error, retire from a position which was indefensible
with the numbers present with them. Even had their available force
been much larger than it actually was, it would have been a mistake
to try to defend a mountain line traversed by several passages. A
successful attempt of that nature is rare in history, because the
assailant is able to choose the passage on which his main attack
shall be directed, whereas the defender has to distribute his force at
all the possible points of assault. Moreover, the passage once
forced, the assailant can generally threaten the lines of
communication of the bodies of troops defending the other passes.
Thermopylæ and Artemisium display most clearly the strategy of
the two contending sides. It did not perhaps demand much
knowledge or much intelligence to fix upon Thermopylæ as a point of
defence. It would be difficult to mention any other great highway in
the world on which a defensive position so strong by nature is
afforded. It was, on the other hand, a great strategic blunder on the
part of Sparta that, having sent a small force to the pass, she did not
later forward reinforcements. That was no doubt part of a still greater
strategic blunder,—the desire to concentrate the defence at the
Isthmus. The three days’ fighting at Thermopylæ proved conclusively
that, had an adequate force been present there, the army of Xerxes
would in all probability never have carried the pass. Sparta and the
Peloponnese generally neither did, nor wished to, appreciate the
immense strength of the position.
Did the Persians make a mistake in their assault on the pass? It
would seem not. They did not at first know of any way of turning it.
They had to take it, because it was the only route by which they
could get their baggage train past Mount Œta. That is the difficulty of
Greek campaigning. There are perhaps many routes in the country
along which a light marching force in moderate numbers can make
its way; but those by which troops with the ordinary paraphernalia of
an army, and in numbers too large to live on the country, can go, are
very few.
The Greeks learnt a lesson from their homeland,—a lesson which
Xenophon expressed in striking language to the ten thousand
Greeks when they began their famous retreat: “My view is that we
should burn our waggons, that our baggage train regulate not our
231
march, but we go by whatever way be expedient for the army.” In
the present instance Xerxes was confined to the one route: he had to
assault the pass, because in the then state of his knowledge of the
country he could do nothing else. That he or his generals
appreciated the importance of the path of the Anopæa so soon as
they were informed of it is shown by the employment of the best
troops in the army for its seizure and use.
It is, however, fairly questionable whether the direct assault on the
pass formed part of the original Persian design at Thermopylæ. The
delay of several days which took place before the actual assault was
delivered, taken in connection with the contemporary events at
Artemisium, suggests that it was originally intended to wait until the
forcing of the Euripus by the fleet made it impossible for the Greeks
to maintain their position in the pass for fear of the landing of a force
in their rear. If such were the design, it was one which bears
testimony to the strategic capacity of him who conceived it. It was
brought to nought by a factor outside all human calculation, the
storm which broke upon the fleet when anchored at the Sepiad
strand.
It was indeed at this period of the war that both the contesting
parties gave conspicuous proof of their appreciation of the strategic
conditions of the region in which their operations were being carried
on. In point of conception there was little to
GENIUS AND
EXPERIENCE.
choose between the plans of the assailant and
that of the defender, but in point of execution
the Greek plan was wrecked by the deliberate failure of those who
were responsible for the land section of the general defence. That of
the Persian was upset by causes beyond human control. It is
noticeable that the invaders seem to have arrived at Thermopylæ
with a fair working knowledge of the region of the Malian gulf and the
North Euripus, and it must be suspected that the heralds sent to
Greece to demand earth and water acted when there in a twofold
capacity.
Whatever failure overtook the Greek defence at this time of the
war was due not to the plan, but to the way in which it was carried
out. The design to hold the land force of the enemy at Thermopylæ
and his fleet at Artemisium was excellently conceived. It was almost
certainly the work of Themistocles. Whether honest or dishonest, he
was gifted with that rare genius which enables a man to take in the
necessities of a situation vast beyond anything within his experience.
The other Greek commanders were men of an ordinary kind, who
would in all probability have frittered away the defence in a series of
measures such as their limited experience dictated, or, still more
probably, have concentrated at the Isthmus, where the strength of
the land position would have been more than negatived by the
weakness of the position at sea.
Eurybiades, the commander-in-chief, is unfortunate in the setting
in which he appears in the history of the time. His must have been
an unenviable and difficult part. The diplomacy he had to employ in
order to accommodate contending policies would seem to both sides
a proof of vacillation. Herodotus’ picture of him is not wholly
sympathetic; and yet it makes it quite clear that he was intelligent
enough to appreciate the genius of the man who was technically his
subordinate, and diplomatic enough to give the advocates of the
Northern policy a victory without provoking a fatal outbreak among
the advocates of a different design. Nor is this a small tribute to the
man’s capacity. The Peloponnesians, and especially the Corinthian
opponents of the war-policy of Themistocles, were not people who
could be kept in order even by the strong hand of Sparta, unless
history draws a very misleading picture of the circumstances within
the Peloponnesian league; and the man who captained the Greek
defence through the troubles within and without of the year 480
cannot have been lacking in ability, even though he had at his side a
pilot of the genius of Themistocles.
The failure to support Leonidas at Thermopylæ utterly changed
the strategical conditions on which the design of the defence had
been hitherto founded, and the practical surrender of the other
defensive lines north of the Isthmus completed the wreck of the plan.
The Greek fleet on its return to Salamis found that no effort had been
made, and no real intention had existed, to send an army even into
Bœotia. It is noteworthy, however, that if the fleet really did suppose
that the army was in Bœotia, and was not undeceived on this point
until it arrived at Salamis, its commanders made a great mistake in
not holding the narrows at Chalkis, and thus preventing the landing
of Persian troops in rear of the most eminently defensive passage in
Bœotia, that long strip of narrow land between Helicon and Kopais
which extended from Chæroneia to Haliartos.
The strategy which was forced upon Themistocles by the state of
things which he discovered in existence on his return to the Saronic
gulf was the strategy of despair. The position taken up at Salamis
could only be justified on the plea that there were no other narrow
waters between it and the Isthmus where the Greek fleet could be
sheltered from the disadvantage of meeting a more numerous fleet
in the open, a large portion of which, the Phœnician, was probably
superior to it in manœuvring power. Furthermore, if the Persian
commanders took the view that the fleet at Salamis must be
defeated before an advance to the Isthmus were attempted, and
detained their ships on the Attic coast, then the Persian land army,
unaccompanied by the fleet, would be rendered incapable of any
sustained attack on the fortifications which the Peloponnesians had
erected. But that “if” was one of terrible
SALAMIS.
significance, and the evidently nervous desire
of Themistocles to bring about a battle must have been due to his
recognition of the precarious position in which the Greeks would be
placed supposing that the Persian fleet did choose to ignore them at
Salamis. The most fatal weakness in an altogether dangerous
situation was that a large portion of the population of Attica was on
Salamis Island, and could not possibly be left to the mercy of the foe.
How it came about that the Athenians gave such hostages to
fortune, instead of removing them to the coast of Argolis, can only be
conjectured. The probability is that the interval between the arrival of
the Greek fleet at Salamis and that of the Persian at Phaleron had
been too brief to render it possible for the whole Attic population to
be transported across the Saronic gulf.
The blunder which led Xerxes to attack the Greeks at Salamis
was fatal alike tactically and strategically. He had the game in his
own hand, if he could only have recognized the fact; but in his
confidence of success with the forces at his disposal, he wished not
merely to out-manœuvre but to capture the whole Greek fleet.
The results of Salamis were immediate. The defeat and moral
disorganization of the Persian fleet made it incapable of maintaining
its position on the west side of the Ægean, though in point of
material damage, relative to numbers, it is probable that it had not
suffered more severely than the fleet which had been opposed to it.
Its departure withdrew, as it were, the keystone of the Persian plan
of invasion; and the whole edifice of design fell into ruin which was
incapable of repair, though the wreck was not so complete as to
render it impossible for Mardonius to make use of the materials in
the ensuing year. The blow had fallen on the indispensable half of
the invading force; and, bereft of the aid of the fleet, the land army
could no longer maintain itself in a country whose natural resources
were wholly inadequate to supply its wants.
According to the account followed by Herodotus, Themistocles
proposed that the Greek fleet should immediately take the offensive
on the Asian coast. The evident confusion of the story as to date
renders it difficult to say whether the proposal was a wise one or not.
It was, however, rejected by Eurybiades, who up to that time had
displayed sound common sense; and if it was really made at the
date to which Herodotus attributes it, there can be little doubt that
Eurybiades was right. The time for offensive operations had not
come; for anything of the nature of a reverse on the Asian coast
might have restored once more all the evils of the previous situation
in Greece; and it is quite possible that some argument to this effect
put forward by Eurybiades has been translated into the form of his
answer to Themistocles as given by Herodotus.
The actual design which Mardonius had in his mind when he
persuaded Xerxes to leave with him in Thessaly the most effective
part of the army of invasion is beyond conjecture at the present day.
Possibly he had at the time no very definite plan, but was content to
guide, and be guided by, events. His retirement to Thessaly was
certainly due to the question of commissariat. The country was
infinitely richer than the rest of Greece, and, besides, he had to
organize a new line of communications along the North Ægean
coast. With this intent, probably, Artabazos accompanied the retreat
of Xerxes as far as the Hellespont. The winter gave Mardonius time
to form his plans for the next campaign, and though Herodotus does
not profess to know what the plans were, the operations during the
summer of 479 give something more than a clue as to their nature.
Mardonius seems to have formed a design of two alternatives.
He knew, on the one hand, that unless the Persian fleet could be
brought back across the Ægean, an attack on the Isthmus would be
hopeless, if not impossible; in other words, the complete subjugation
of Greece was out of the question. But so long as the Greek fleet
remained as powerful as at that moment, it was also hopeless to
expect the return of the Persian; and the first problem he had to
solve was how to rob the Greek fleet of its strength.
With this intent, negotiations were opened with Athens, through
the medium of Alexander the Macedonian. When this line of action
proved ineffective, he brought pressure to bear upon the Athenians
by once more invading their territory and occupying Athens. This
again had no effect, except to make them even
DESIGNS OF
more stubborn in their refusal to treat.
MARDONIUS.
The first alternative plan had failed at its
outset, so he now resorted to the second.
After burning Athens and committing devastation in Attica he
retired into Bœotia, using Thebes as his base of operations.
There are two remarkable facts in connection with this movement
The disaster at Salamis, and the consequent retirement of the
Persian army to Thessaly, had not shaken the loyalty of Bœotia to
the Persian cause, and this despite the fact that the Bœotians were
not at the end of 480 deeply committed either to the Persian, or
against the Greek. Bœotians had, indeed, been present in Xerxes’
army when it invaded Attica; but there is nothing whatever on record
which can favour the supposition that the Bœotians had actually