It was fortunate for the Greek cause that the council which met at the Isthmus after the withdrawal from Tempe had at its disposal the information necessary for forming a true estimate of the circumstances of the time. It knew that no help was to come from outside the mainland of Greece. It knew that Thessaly was lost, and that Bœotia, East Locris, Phocis, and Doris, and last, though not least, Eubœa, must be lost also, unless some prompt action were taken to save the situation in those parts. And so, says Herodotus, “the Greeks, on coming to the Isthmus, took counsel together, in view of what Alexander had told them, as to where and in what parts they should establish the defence.” The opinion which prevailed was, that they should guard the pass of Thermopylæ, which they thought was narrower than the pass in Thessaly, and nearer to their base. “They determined therefore to guard this pass, and so prevent the passage of the barbarian into Greece, and that the naval force should sail to Artemisium in the land of Histiæotis.”

There is no part of Greece where the strategical situation is so marked as in the line of defence which runs along Mount Œta. Malis is verily the entering in of the gate of Greece. The barrier of Mount Œta, the tremendous nature of which can only be appreciated by those who have seen it and traversed it, formed in a very real way the true boundary of the land, and was recognized as such by the Greek historians of this and after time. The Hellenism of the lands beyond it was a mere shadow of the reality. Thessaly, in that widest sense which included in the name all that lay between Œta, Pindus, and the Cambunian Mountains, was in respect to civilization a debateable land, in which the “barbarism” of the outer world to a great extent held sway. Nature had so ordained it by an immutable decree when she raised Œta to be alike a defence and a barrier to the Hellenism of the lands south of it.

Malis is separated from the plain of Thessaly by the range of Othrys. This line of mountains is not of a uniform character. It branches off from the backbone of Pindus in the West as a comparatively low range, through which numerous paths, practicable at any rate for an army without a large baggage train, lead into the upper valley of the Spercheios,—the upper plain of Malis. As a main line of communication, however, from the north, these paths are for two reasons comparatively unimportant. In the first place, the two great roads through Thessaly,—that from Larisa by way of Krannon to Thaumaki, and that from Larisa to Thebes in Phthiotis,—afford but an extremely circuitous route to their northern entrances; and, again, when these paths do reach the upper plain of Malis, they are not continued southwards by any direct routes across the chain of Œta; and it is necessary to traverse the whole length of the Malian plain to the neighbourhood of Thermopylæ before any practicable way leading south can be found. They could only have been of strategic importance in this campaign had the Greeks attempted to defend the eastern passes of Othrys, in which case the Persians, by using them, could without much difficulty have turned the defence.

The part of Othrys east of the longitude of Lamia is of a loftier and much more difficult character. It is rather a mass of mountains than a single range. Viewed from Thermopylæ it presents the appearance of a series of cones and ridges rising towards a central point, where it attains a height of over six thousand feet. There are only two passes through it which are practicable for an army with baggage; these may be called respectively the pass of Thaumaki, and the pass of Thebes in Phthiotis. MARCH OF THE PERSIANS. The pass of Thaumaki is a direct continuation of the great route by way of Krannon. At Thaumaki itself it is eminently defensible, as the rise from the Thessalian plain is abrupt, and the road traverses a narrow ravine. From that point southward the pass is not a difficult one. It enters the Malian plain at Lamia.

The second of the two passages is more or less of a coast road, skirting first the shores of the Pagasætic Gulf, and later those of the Euripus and Malian Gulf. It debouched on the Malian plain at Phalara, a small town which stood within half a mile of the modern Stylida and about six miles from Lamia, by which latter town also the road must have passed. It is possible that Lamia was not effectively fortified in 480. Still, the occupation of it could only have harassed, not stopped, the invading army, since, owing to the presence of the fleet, the real line of communication was on the sea.

From two incidents mentioned in Herodotus it is evident that the Persians adopted both these lines of advance. H. vii. 196. He says that the numbers of the Persian army were so large, that of the rivers of Achaia even the largest, the Apidanos, barely sufficed for its purposes. This indicates the use of the Krannon-Thaumaki route.

The visit of Xerxes to Halos indicates that he, with part of his army, took the coast route.

It was after entering the Malian plain that the real difficulties of the campaign began. Xerxes and his army were face to face with Mount Œta. It may be well to realize in so far as possible the prospect which would meet his eye when, after completing the passage round Othrys, he arrived at Phalara From that point of view nearly the whole length of Œta would be extended before him as he faced southwards. Away to the south-west, at a distance of from twelve to fifteen miles, stands the highest and most imposing mass of the range, a great hummock crowned by four or five peaks. The hummock itself rises some five thousand feet almost sheer from the plain, and the peaks on it rise some fifteen hundred feet more. In full view from Phalara, too, would be that tremendous ravine, a dark, wedge-shaped cut in the side of the mountain, which a comparatively small stream has hollowed out to a depth of four thousand feet. As the eye travels eastward along the range there is a decrease in the actual height of it, the general level of the ridge being perhaps not more than four thousand feet. But the face towards the plain is marked by the broad black band of those famous rocks the Trachinian cliffs. They end suddenly towards the east, where a thin, perpendicular, black streak in the mountain side marks the exit of the great ravine of the Asopos.

It is a magnificent picture; but the background is as magnificent as the picture itself. High as the range is, there rises above it in the distance, behind the four-thousand-foot ridge, the great peak of Giona. Though it is one of the most impressive peaks in Greece, its ancient name is unknown. It is far away among the confused mass of the great ranges of Northern Ætolia; and yet it seems so near when it is lit up by the last rays of the setting sun, while all the foreground of the broad Malian plain, and even of Œta, is involved in the deep blue shadow of the eastern twilight. It rises from the east towards heaven in a long, gradually ascending ridge, becoming steeper in the final effort of its climb. Then, the highest summit once attained, it falls sheer down into a valley of misty gloom.

Immediately east of the Asopos defile the chain of Œta is at its lowest, barely three thousand feet high, and it is over this part of the range that the modern road is carried. The difficulties of passing it do not, however, decrease in proportion to its height, and no military way or path seems to have been practicable at this point.109 Farther east the range rises again into peaks of nearly five thousand feet, faced towards the north by the great cliffs which overhang the pass of Thermopylæ. MT. ŒTA AND THE ASOPOS RAVINE. Here the Malian Gulf and not the plain forms the foreground of the picture, across which, at a distance of eight or nine miles, a white line can be discerned at the base of the cliffs, the great sulphur deposit of the warm springs. This part of the Œta range was known as Kallidromos.

Away beyond Thermopylæ it extends towards the Euripus under the name of Knemis, gradually bending in a more southerly direction down the channel, until it is lost in the distance towards Atalanta. Behind it and above it rises the great grey mass of Parnassus.

This very difficult range is rather turned than pierced by the pass of Thermopylæ, the actual passage through the chain being many miles south of the pass itself.

There is one point with reference to it which is not always recognized. There was and is a second pass110 through it leading direct to the Dorian plain by way of the great ravine of the Asopos, a pass, too, of which the Persian army actually made use after Thermopylæ had been won. It would seem strange at first sight that the Persian generals, when they found Thermopylæ so hard to force, did not nullify the defence of it by marching into Doris this way.

The defile of the Asopos issues abruptly on to the Malian plain some three and a half to four miles west of the Western Gate of Thermopylæ. Its bottom is merely formed of the stony river bed, at first some fifty yards wide, but rapidly contracting, until a little farther up the chasm it is only twelve feet wide between absolutely sheer cliffs from seven to nine hundred feet high. This winding rift in the mountains continues for some three and a half miles from the entrance, and then suddenly broadens out into a wide upland valley, behind the range of Œta, from which there is a long but not difficult passage to the Dorian plain.111 This valley was, no doubt, the land of those Œteans whom Thucydides mentions in his account of the circumstances leading to the foundation of Heraklea Trachinia.

Another important point with regard to this route is, that it was not merely the direct road to Delphi from the north, but the only direct road. As such it must have been in frequent use, and, in the flourishing days of the Delphi-Thermopylæ Amphictyony, of considerable importance. It was, of course, by reason of its very nature, liable to interruption by even a slight rise of the Asopos; and the frequent storms which traverse the Malian plain even in summer render such a possibility perennial. But even so it is a strange thing that in Greek military history it is never used as a means of avoiding direct assault on Thermopylæ.112

The true significance of the step which the council at the Isthmus took in deciding to send a land force to Thermopylæ and the fleet to Artemisium can only be appreciated if the intimate strategical connection between the two places be realised. The dual nature of the Persian advance necessitated a dual form of defence. Had the invading force been merely a land army, the defence of the pass of Thermopylæ alone would have been sufficient; but it is evident that the Greeks fully appreciated the uselessness of attempting the defence of that pass, if the Persian fleet were left free to land a large body of troops in rear of it, and so turn the defence. Successful defence of Thermopylæ was then absolutely dependent upon successful defence of the Euripus.

But there were other reasons which pointed not merely to the necessity of defending the Euripus, but of establishing the defence of the channel at the point at which it was established—at Artemisium.

It was plainly important that the enemy’s fleet should be excluded from the Malian Gulf. The road eastwards from Thermopylæ runs by the side of the Gulf for a long distance after it has issued from the east gate of the pass; and it would have been fatal to the defenders had troops been landed there, since they would have been within short striking distance of the Greek position, and so have rendered any escape by way of the mountain path which leads by the modern Boudenitza to the Phocian plain at Elatea difficult, if not impossible. But there was a further possibility of which the Greek commanders must have been aware, and against which they would have to provide. If it was possible 200 years after this time for the Athenian galleys to sail close in shore and attack the flank of the army of Brennus when it was assailing the narrow part of the pass, there must have been a very much greater possibility of this being done in the year 480. On this rapidly advancing shore that which was done in 279 B.C. with difficulty, and not without danger, must conceivably have been a comparatively easy matter in 480.

There was a further danger to be feared, supposing the northern bend of the strait had been left open. Landing on the north coast of Eubœa, a Persian force might have made its way to Chalets, and so have turned Thermopylæ. In the wars of later Greece this was a measure recognized as possible and actually put in practice by combatants commanding this part of the strait. The Greeks were undoubtedly right in the choice of Artemisium. As a naval station it possessed two further advantages: the strait was comparatively narrow at that point, and, above all, it was within sight of Thermopylæ.

From the hillside above the road through the pass, only 150 feet above the level of the plain, the view extends right down this northern bend of the Euripus. From a point still higher up, some 1600 feet above the road, the whole channel is extended like a map. Signalling from one position to the other by means of the smoke and fire signals then used must have been quite easy, and it would be even possible from this higher position at Thermopylæ to observe the movements of large bodies of ships in the neighbourhood of Artemisium, though, owing to the distance, a single ship would hardly be discernible to the naked eye. It is quite clear that Herodotus was aware of the intimacy of the relation between the two positions.113

The strategic capacity of those who were responsible for the Greek plans in the war of 480 was never more advantageously displayed than in this design of the dual defence of the pass and the strait. Had it been carried out with equal wisdom, or even with more harmonious vigour, Greece might perhaps have been spared the losses and anxiety of the year that followed.

On the general question of Greek strategy let it be remarked at this, the outset of the story of the great events of the war, that it is unquestionably wrong to judge of it on the mere evidence of the direct statements made by Herodotus. What may be derived from him is rarely more than the mere narrative of events as related to him at the time, long subsequent to the events themselves, when he made the collection of material for his history. It is only too easy to imagine that the strategical motives underlying those events, which cannot, even at the time at which they were operative, have been known to many, must have vanished from the popular story, even if they ever had any place in it. It may also be doubted whether Herodotus would have been qualified to appreciate fully such motives had the record of them survived until his own day. What he has given to the world is the popular story of the Persian war, distorted, it may be, at times by imaginative additions, but, in so far as can be seen, drawn in the main from veracious sources. The historian himself wanted to get at the truth about the war. He brought to bear upon his material a certain amount of critical acumen which the extreme simplicity of his language has a tendency to conceal. HERODOTUS AND STRATEGIC QUESTIONS. In military history he seems to have been under the disadvantage of lack of practical experience; and consequently where he makes statements of cause they are often unconvincing, sometimes demonstrably wrong. But he made an honest endeavour to correct such errors as might arise from his own inexperience by visiting the scenes of the great events which he describes. His descriptions of the regions of Thermopylæ and Platæa are undoubtedly those of an eye-witness; Salamis he must, Mykale he may well have seen. He supplies consequently a vast accumulation of reliable facts which make it possible in many cases to reconstruct the design which lay behind them; and by that means it may be seen that the Greek Council of War, in spite of its divisions, in spite of half-hearted compromise of plans, was composed of men, some of whom, at any rate, were quite able to grasp the large strategical considerations involved in a war far greater than any of which they had had experience.

The general design, then, in accordance with which the Greek forces took up their position at Thermopylæ and Artemisium was in conception admirable. For one of those mysterious reasons which so often recur in Greek history, it was but half executed; and yet, in spite of this, it only just fell short of a great success.114

If any criticism of the Greek plan of holding Thermopylæ is to hold good, it must be based on the existence of the Asopos ravine, which, in spite of the making of the new road, is still used by the natives as a means of communication between the two plains.

Why did not Xerxes make use of this road?

The reasons for his not using it can only be stated conjecturally.

It is quite possible that he never discovered the existence of any sort of road that way until Ephialtes led his men up it to reach the path of the Anopæa. To one standing at the mouth of the ravine, it has all the appearance of a mere torrent bed leading up among the hills.

It is in any case hardly conceivable that any considerable force could make its way through it with the commissariat train which would be its necessary accompaniment. There is only just room for a loaded mule amid the great boulders which block its bed. The Greeks were probably aware of this.

It is also probable that the supplies for the Persian army had run somewhat low. It had executed a march of many days without the possibility of direct communication with the fleet, and the taking of the coast road may have become a necessity. Xerxes may well have expected to be able to re-open communications with the fleet almost immediately. He evidently supposed that it would have no difficulty in forcing the channel of the Euripus.

In failing, then, to take measures for the defence of this ravine, as well as for the passage of Thermopylæ, it is possible that the Greeks were guilty of an error; but it was an error of a minor kind. The excellence of the general plan of adopting the Thermopylæ and Artemisium line is not affected by it.

From the little that is known of those who were responsible for the general conduct of the war, it would seem highly probable that this great design was the work of Themistocles,—a view which is confirmed by Herodotus’ account of the events which happened at Artemisium. This extraordinary man seems, according to the practically unanimous verdict of his own and after times, to have been endowed with unusual capacity, which, in so far as a judgment can now be formed upon the matter, appears to have consisted largely in a most marked and unusual power of insight into the nature of the ruling factor in a great situation. It was combined with an indomitable persistence in attaining the end in view. In the present instance he had to exercise this latter quality to the full.

The fact which stands out with most prominence in the general history of the war of 480–479, is that the Peloponnesian Greeks were ever hankering after the Isthmus as the line of defence against the huge Persian expedition. Not merely one, but apparently several fortified lines had been already begun there.

On the other hand, there existed a party in the Council, composed, it may well be imagined, almost wholly, if not exclusively, of the representatives of Athens on that body, who insisted on the necessity of adopting some stronger line, and one sufficiently far north to save the Northern States from compulsory medism. The advocates of this Northern policy made up for the smallness of their numbers by their vigour and intelligence; but the decisive factor in the situation was the Athenian fleet. The selfish Corinthian trader and the ignorant Peloponnesian farmer were, from sheer inexperience and want of knowledge, utterly impervious to any argument founded on even the most elementary strategic considerations, and do not even appear to have fully recognized what the withdrawal of Athens and her fleet from the defence would have meant to the patriot Greeks. Nothing within their own meagre military experience could have taught them the full significance of the dual nature of the Persian attack. THE PELOPONNESIAN POLICY. Warfare as they understood it meant putting on as much armour as a careful citizen could carry, and meeting a similarly equipped foe on some piece of level ground, where he was either ravaging or being ravaged. It was fortunate for the Greek cause and for the advocates of the Northern policy that the preponderant state in the Peloponnese consisted of a body of soldiers. Stupid and dull of comprehension as the Spartan was when compared with the quick-witted Athenian, yet even he must, from the very circumstances of his life, since he lived for the profession of arms, have acquired an elementary knowledge of the art of war, sufficient to render him a capable judge of strategic questions, where the issue was sufficiently plain. The Spartans were forced at this time into an unwilling recognition of the fact that without the Athenian fleet the defence must collapse; and the Athenians for their part made it perfectly clear that, unless some effort was put forth on behalf of Greece north of the Isthmus, Athenians and Athenian fleet alike would vanish from Greece.

The outcome of this contention of interests was the determination to defend Thermopylæ and Artemisium.

Drawing his history largely from Athenian sources, Herodotus brings the selfishness of the Peloponnesian policy into special prominence. Selfish, indeed, it must have seemed to the Greeks north of the Isthmus, who probably recognized the strikingly defensible character of the line formed by Œta, notwithstanding that their acquaintance with the region north of the Bœotian plain seems to have been of an imperfect character.115

But is it so strange that the Peloponnesian Greeks should have preferred a defensive line which they did know, and in which they believed, to one of which they had but imperfect knowledge? Some of them had just been involved in what they must have regarded as a fiasco,—that expedition to Thessaly.

Herodotus describes the decision to defend Thermopylæ as having been taken immediately after the return from Thessaly. Whether that was the case or not may be doubted. Herodotus himself, in another passage, seems to imply that an interval occurred, at any rate between the decision to defend Thermopylæ and the actual despatch of troops thither. He mentions again the decision, and then describes the despatch of troops from the Isthmus as having been made when the Greeks “heard that the Persian was in Pieria.” Xerxes was at Abydos when the expedition to Thessaly took place.116 It is probable that not a little time was spent in discussing the plan of defence. It is, at any rate, quite plain from Herodotus’ account of Artemisium, that a very large section of the Greeks there present longed to seize upon any excuse for a retreat to the Isthmus. Was it, after all, considering their knowledge at the moment, so selfish a policy to fix the defence at a line in which they had some sort of confidence, rather than at one where the chances of success were impossible of calculation? The game they were playing must have seemed so desperate, that the Peloponnesians may well have conceived it a wiser policy to try, with some hope of success, to save a part of the land, than to attempt to save all, with a prospect of disastrous failure. Selfish consideration of their own special interests would naturally contribute to the formation of their views on the strategical question; but, at the same time, they had what must have seemed to them some very sound general arguments in support of those views.

Herodotus shows quite clearly that there were times throughout the whole period of the war when the contest between the two policies was doubtful; times, too, when it seemed as if the Peloponnesian policy must win the day. That they were all but in equilibrium at the time of Artemisium, is evident. Cf. H. vii. 206, ad init. and Diod. xi. 4. The Northern policy had so far prevailed as to induce the Lacedæmonians to make a plausible effort for the defence of the Northern Greeks, who, if they thought themselves abandoned, would certainly refuse to join in the defence of the Isthmus, and remaining at home, would be forced to medize. UNREALITY OF THE SPARTAN EFFORT. On the other hand, some practical demonstration of the apparent hopelessness of defending Northern Greece, and of the apparent willingness of Sparta to make some sacrifice on their behalf, might conceivably induce them to aid in the defence of the Isthmus.

The tale of Thermopylæ is one of the strangest in the history of the world, as well as one of the most famous. It is not merely that some of the details of that most dramatic story are difficult to understand: the motive of the main plot of the tragedy is obscure. Why was not the defence of the pass a real effort on the part of those Greek states which contributed to it? Of the unreality there can be no doubt. Herodotus’ narrative makes it quite clear; and this is all the more remarkable, as the historian himself is apparently wholly unaware that what he relates will give this particular impression.

Thucydides had no illusions on the subject. In his account of the first congress of the Peloponnesian allies preceding the Peloponnesian war, he puts words into the mouth of the Corinthians which significantly show what view Greece in after-times took of the Spartan action at this period of the war:⁠—

“The Mede, we ourselves know, had time to come from the ends of the earth to Peloponnese, without any force of yours worthy of the name advancing to meet him.”

The troops which were sent to the pass were:⁠—

Peloponnesians: 300 Spartans; 1000 Tegeans and Mantineans; 126 Orchomenians from Arcadia; 1000 from the rest of Arcadia; 400 Corinthians; 200 from Phlius; 30 Mykenæans.

Northern Greeks: 700 Thespians; 400 Thebans; 1000 Phocians; and the whole force of the Opuntian Locrians.

Leaving out of the calculation the indeterminate number of the Opuntian Locrians,—not a very serious deduction either as regards quantity or quality, if the general military history of this people be any criterion,—and adding the light-armed which would be present with the Spartan force, a total of 7300 is arrived at as the sum of the defenders of this all-important passage. Herodotus, whose narrative of Thermopylæ is conspicuously drawn from Lacedæmonian sources, is at considerable pains to emphasize the intention of the Peloponnesians to send reinforcements. H. vii. 203. The Opuntian Locrians are told that the force sent is merely an advance guard, and that “the rest of the allies might be expected any day;” and are further comforted, so Herodotus says, with a piece of philosophy after the historian’s own heart: “The invader of Greece is not divine but human; and there neither is nor will be the man who is not liable to misfortune from the day of his birth; moreover, the greater the man, the greater the misfortune.” This affords an unparalleled example of the effectiveness of proverbial philosophy in war.

The historian accounts for the delay of the other allies by saying that they were celebrating the Olympian games; and, on the whole question, further adds that the Peloponnesians generally never supposed that the struggle at Thermopylæ would be so quickly brought to a decision. He proceeds:⁠—

It can only be to these messengers, or to some despatched at a later date, H. vii. 230. that Herodotus refers further on in his narrative, where he gives an alternative version of the tale of Eurytos and Aristodemos. With reference to Aristodemos he says:⁠—

It is possible to assume that the messengers which Leonidas is reported to have sent were the first which he despatched for assistance; and, if so, Aristodemos and Eurytos were either those messengers, or were despatched at a later time. The noticeable point about the tale is that they had time to return for the actual battle. If that be so, reinforcements might have been despatched; and though they might not have found it possible to arrive in time, yet, had they been despatched, that fact would hardly have been omitted from a tale of Spartan origin.117

The general circumstances of the time and the details of the Lacedæmonian story are such as to leave little doubt concerning the real history of the Spartan policy at this particular stage of the war. Sparta was acting under two impulses. She wished, on the one hand, to concentrate the defence at the Isthmus. Her Peloponnesian allies wished the same; and the difficulty of persuading them to any other design must have been very great. On the other hand, there were most important considerations which rendered the complete adoption of this design impossible. The works for the defence of the Isthmus were certainly not complete; and unless the Persian’s course was stayed, could hardly be forward enough to resist his attack. Athens also would not hear of such a policy; and Athens could not be ignored. The Northern States, too, would medize.

And so, distracted by conflicting considerations, among which the incompleteness of the works at the Isthmus cannot have been least, Sparta played a double game. She sent a small contingent of her own troops and of those of her allies to Thermopylæ, representing them to be merely the advance guard of a larger force. She hoped, no doubt, that the Phocians, Locrians, and Bœotians would accept this instalment as surety for the discharge of the whole obligation, and would contribute their share in full without delay. This hope was destined to disappointment. The gangrene of Medism had no doubt spread rapidly after the desertion of Thessaly; and it was not to be checked by half remedies. Even the Opuntian Locrians suspected the genuineness of the effort—a suspicion which, no doubt, the Bœotian and Phocian shared to a still greater degree. The smallness of the contingents which they despatched shows that they were distrustful of the Peloponnesian good faith.

Except the small contingent with Leonidas, not a single member of the Lacedæmonian land army seems to have set foot north of the Isthmus at this time.

It cannot, however, be supposed that Leonidas was deliberately sacrificed. There would be every reason to believe that if the worst did come to the worst, he would be able to withdraw his small force in safety. The Lacedæmonian authorities might reckon that even if the Persian fleet forced the straits and landed men behind the pass, there was a possibility of retreat by the mountain track which led by the site of the modern Boudenitza to the ancient Elatæa. The path of the Anopæa was a factor in the situation of whose existence they were quite unaware when they sent Leonidas to the pass. But, even had it been taken into the original calculation, Herodotus’ version of the events at Thermopylæ subsequent to its capture by the Persians emphasizes the fact that even then escape was possible; and this detail of that part of his story is peculiarly supported by the geography of the region.

The Carnean and Olympian festivals served the Spartans and Peloponnesians with an excuse for doing what they had all along intended to do, viz.—to stay inside the Isthmus. This design accounts for the ever restless desire of their Peloponnesian compatriots at Artemisium to retreat from the Euripus. If they had regarded the effort at Thermopylæ as serious, if they had supposed that their main army might be expected there, would they have continually suggested the desertion of a position whose retention was of vital importance to the defence of Thermopylæ?

In all this drama Leonidas plays an unrehearsed part.

Note.—Thermopylæ Past and Present.

Whatever view may be taken by any one who has visited Thermopylæ regarding the details of the battle as described by Herodotus, there is no reasonable doubt that the author’s exceedingly accurate description of the topography of the district could only proceed from the pen of one who had seen the place, and had examined it with some care. The region which formed the scene of the events connected with the battle is the ground at the foot of the northern slope of Mount Œta, extending from the eastern end of the Trachinian cliffs, that is, from the mouth of the Asopos ravine, for a distance of eight or nine miles, to a point about half a mile beyond what was the east gate of Thermopylæ. There were three “gates” or narrows in the pass, the West, the Middle, and the East, all of which are mentioned by Herodotus. The middle one was that to which the name Thermopylæ was especially applied, as the hot springs are there situated.

If we may judge from the order of Herodotus’ description, it would seen as if his examination of the district was made in the course of a journey from North Greece southwards; for his enumeration of the natural features takes them for the most part in order from west to east. This hypothesis is supported, curiously enough, by the one mistake which he makes as to the topography of the region. He wrote evidently under the impression that the road through the pass ran from north to south, for he describes various features on either side as lying east or west of it (vii. 176). Coming from Lamia across the plain, the road would be due north and south. In those days also it is probable that the bend towards the west gate of the pass was more gradual than at the present day; and the change of direction would not be so noticeable.

Speaking of the region generally, he makes reference to (vii. 198) the ebb and flow of the sea in the Malian gulf. This is connected with the peculiar local tide-phenomenon in the Euripus. At Chalkis, where the channel is contracted to a width that may be measured by feet, the current induced by it is so strong that the Greek steamers have at times to wait several hours before they can get through the narrow passage. At the head of the Malian gulf, where the shore is very low and flat, the phenomenon is peculiarly remarkable, and in making the survey of Thermopylæ it was rather a puzzling feature in the situation, rendering it difficult to fix the exact position of prominent points along the coast.

Herodotus speaks of the Malian plain (vii. 198) as being divided into two parts by the projection of the mountain at either side. The greatest and highest mass of Œta, west of the Trachinian cliffs, extends northwards towards Othrys, and marks off the upper plain of Hypati, the ancient Hypata, from the lower plain of Lamia. The breadth of the plain where it is broadest, [which he states to be at the city of Trachis,] he gives at a figure which has been corrupted in the text. The actual breadth from the exit of the Asopos defile to Lamia is about eight miles, or about four hundred plethra.

His account of the natural features of the district begins outside the limits of the region which formed the scene of operations. The rivers Dyras and Melas may be identified with sufficient certainty under the modern names of Gourgo-potamo and Mavra-neria.

Herodotus now enters upon the description of those features which did have an influence upon the events of 480 B.C. “South of Trachis,” he says (vii. 199), “there is a cleft in the mountain range which shuts in the territory of Trachinia; and the river Asopos, issuing from the cleft, flows for a while along the foot of the hills.”

The Asopos, at the present day, after issuing from the ravine, turns eastwards through an angle of at least 45 degrees, and proceeds for a distance of about two and a half miles in the direction of the north foot of the hills which form the west gate of Thermopylæ. There is a sort of bay in the range between the ravine and the west gate of the pass. Herodotus’ description of it as flowing along the foot of the hills would be applicable to its course at the present day. Its bed, a broad stony channel, thickly sown with bushes of oleander and plane, is one which is liable to alteration; but I could not find any trace or evidence whatever of its having largely diverged from its present course within recent times; and the modern maps of this district which represent the river as running far out into the plain before turning towards Thermopylæ are certainly wrong. No really reliable map of the region as a whole at present exists. The best I have seen is one in Hauvette’s Herodotus; and that contains several palpable errors.

Before reaching the hills at the west gate, the river takes a bend slightly northwards of its former course, and passes the end of this promontory of the range at a distance of about one-third of a mile. After passing underneath the Lamia-Thermopylæ-Atalanta road, it falls into the Spercheios a few hundred yards below the Alamana bridge. Any consideration as to the exact position of its mouth in former times is so much dependent on considerations connected with the Spercheios, that they had better be left until the conjectural former course of that river is described. This may, however, be said:⁠—that the present course of the Asopos seems to resemble to a great extent its course in the time of Herodotus, though it must, in the interval, have passed through many modifications.

Of the Spercheios Herodotus tells us, unfortunately, very little. I venture, however, to think that it entered the gulf in those days at a point farther west than is represented in the modern maps which have conjecturally depicted the state of this region 500 years before Christ.

The description of Herodotus in Chapters 198 and 199 seems to be almost certainly of the nature of a verbal map. He is describing what he saw when travelling along a route from the north; and he begins his description, as it is his intention to describe Thermopylæ, at the Spercheios river. Whether the route he had traversed was that by Thaumaki or that by Thebes in Phthiotis, he must have passed by way of Lamia; for we know from Livy that that town blocked both those roads; in fact, the physical characteristics of the region were such as to render it practically certain that both must have passed that way. His knowledge of Macedonian history and also of the Vale of Tempe and of the sanctuary at Halos render it possible that he saw Thermopylæ in the course of a journey from Macedonia to Greece; he expressly says in Chapter 198 that he is describing the road from the point of view “of a traveller from Achaia.”

His route map of the region seems to have been somewhat as follows:⁠—