All through an early autumn night in the early fifth century before Christ, hundreds of war galleys and triremes maneuvered and kept station around the small Greek island of Salamis, near Athens. When dawn broke an awesome sight presented itself: some 300 Athenian and allied triremes were assembled in the narrow strait between Salamis and the mainland. Steadily and irresistibly approaching them was an even more massive Persian fleet, drawn from all of the empire's dominions in the eastern Mediterranean. The Persians were implacable in their determination to destroy Athens and Greece. More than 1,000 warships, crewed by as many as 250,000 sailors and marines, prepared for battle. It was the greatest armada the world ever had seen; its like would not been seen again for centuries to come. It would be the most important naval battle in all history—for on its outcome depended the future civilization of the Western world.
King Xerxes, the latest in a long line of emperors of Persia and absolute ruler of the most powerful empire on earth, sat on his throne, which had been erected on a hillside overlooking the Bay of Salamis. From his vantage point he sought to witness the destruction of the remnants of the fleet of the Hellenes, his final victory over this outpost of rebellion and sedition that had thwarted his and his father Darius's total autocracy over the civilized world. Xerxes would grant eternal rest to his father's soul by redeeming the late king's vow of vengeance against the Athenians. But Xerxes was opposed by a man who would rally, lead, and save Greece, a man to whom Western civilization owes an incalculable debt: Themistocles.
Themistocles realized that if the Greek fleet were brought to action in the open sea, the outcome would be inevitable: it would be destroyed by the overwhelming numbers of Persian ships. He therefore stationed his ships in the restricted waters of a small bay near Athens, and he forced Xerxes to fight there. The Persians fell for the Greeks' ruse without realizing—until too late—they had made a fatal error.
Soon after midnight on the day of the battle, the Persian fleet was on task and at battle stations. One of the fleet's squadrons, the Egyptian, had positioned itself just outside the narrow western entrance to the bay. It already was out of the approaching battle, though no one knew that at the time.
Themistocles received reports of this large squadron moving to the west, south of the island. He feared Xerxes might try to force the western channel and enter the bay with a force that could attack the Greeks from astern. Accordingly, he sent the Corinthian squadron of 40 triremes to defend this entrance against any possible incursion. This reduced the force he had available to face the main body of the Persian fleet, but he accepted this risk.
Meanwhile, the other Persian squadrons—the Ionian, Phoenician, and Cilician—had taken up their stations at the tip of the island. They were deployed in three columns in line abreast, rams pointed toward the strait. Xerxes's brother, commanding the Ionian squadron, was senior officer afloat and so formed the Ionian squadron on the fleet's right flank, the position of honor. This would place the Ionians closest to the mainland and the farthest from the island of Salamis itself. The three squadrons maintained their position just south of the small islet of Psyttaleia lying across the channel entrance. It was tiring work and the Persian crews had spent all night at battle stations.
Themistocles's crews still were on the beach at Salamis, but they were not getting much rest, either. They prepared their ships for battle, stowing masts, sails, and unneeded equipage on the beach. In addition to their oars and weapons, they carried only enough water, wine, and bread for the day approaching.
Sunrise at that time of year was about 0600. Themistocles assembled his crews on the beach about two hours before the first rays of dawn appeared. It was between 0300 and 0400 and there were 300 crews so assembled—some 60,000 men. The Corinthians already had left for the western channel, but the rest of Themistocles's men anxiously listened to his rallying words:
The white heralds of dawn
Have enkindled the dawn with diamond rays.
Valiant sons of Greece:
Go forth, and deliver they kindred.
They ancestors' tombs
And the sacred temples your fathers did build!
But one more combat to end the ravenous war.
Now, all is at stake.
Sons of Greece: Go!
Shortly before 0500 the Greek triremes were launched. Themistocles would make the Persians come to him inside the bay. He did not want to move eastward of Cynosura Point or into more open waters. He knew that about two hours after sunrise, soon after 0800, a southerly breeze would come up—a breeze that would complicate the navigation of the Persian fleet.
The Greek fleet maintained its position in the narrows of the strait, at the point just offshore from the town of Salamis itself. Here the channel width is less than 1,500 yards—perhaps five bowshots wide. It is recorded that the Greeks were back paddling, and some historians ascribe this maneuver to another supposed ruse of Themistocles: he wanted the Persians to think he was retreating up the bay to entice them into his trap. No such enticement was necessary, however, for Xerxes could hardly restrain himself after sunrise. Themistocles, after careful thought and analysis of possible enemy actions, had chosen the spot at which he wanted the initial collision between fleets to take place. To sit and drift, however, was not prudent. Any seaman knows that to maintain steerageway on a ship there has to be some relative movement of the hull through the water. So, when Themistocles's fleet had reached the seaward limit past which they did not want to advance, they reversed and began back paddling for station-keeping purposes. The fleet spent perhaps two hours backing and filling, but the formation's disposition and spacing were maintained.
The Greeks' task was easy compared with the lot of the Persian crews, who had been at their oars all night and could hardly have been fresh at sunrise. As the day broke slowly, a tremendous spectacle unfolded. A seemingly endless array of triremes gradually took material form and substance out of the fading purple of the dawn. It was, and remains to this day, one of the largest concentrations of naval ships in history.
As the sun appeared over Cape Sounion, a light southerly breeze began to stir. Still, the Greeks hesitated—as well they might. No one could look out over a sea covered with so many enemy ships without flinching. Then, legend says, the goddess Athena appeared over the fleet and spoke: "Men of Athens! How much longer are you going to retreat?" The time for back paddling and hesitation had passed.
The Persian fleet passed the small island of Psyttaleia on a northerly heading. Moments later they were abeam of Cynosura Point, the "dog's tail." They then executed a 90-degree turn to port, changing their heading from north to west. They closed up and strengthened their front, but only about 20 triremes could fit abreast in the narrow channel. The distance between extended oar tips on the opposite sides was about 12 yards. To allow even the narrowest room to maneuver each trireme would require at least 15 yards. Across a 900-yard front no more than 60 triremes could be deployed. This front would increase to 70 triremes as the channel widened slightly. The Persians would have some nine ranks to the rear of the first row of triremes, but they were ineffective and out of the main action until each one in turn could face a row of Greek triremes on its own. Then, soon after 0800, when the breeze was freshening, the Greeks attacked. The Greek playwright Aeschylus tells how it must have appeared to the startled Persians:
When the white horses of the day spread brightness
On all the earth, from the Greek side we heard
The ringing voice of music, fervent song!
The echo from the cliffs of Salamis
Threw back a shrill reply.
And fear ran through us all, the host of Asia;
For now we knew we had deceived ourselves.
That solemn song was not the sound of fear,
But heart and courage moving into battle.
A trumpet cry set land and sea afire.
Straightaway their oars struck into the sea together,
Rhythmic, steady, cleaving the salt foam.
Suddenly they were all before our eyes.
Their right wing led, ordered and sure and fast;
Behind it, all their fleet raced to attack,
And we could hear the chorus of their cry:
"Go, sons of Greeks! Set free your fatherland,
Your wives, your children, temples of your gods,
Ancestral tombs! Now—all is at stake!"
On our side a roar of Persian tongue
Replied; this was the moment for the fight.
At once the iron ram struck, ship into ship;
The first to ram was Greek, tearing away
The high stern of a warship from Phoenicia;
A second Greek drove at another victim.
While all this was occurring, soldiers and marines positioned themselves ashore—the Persians on the mainland, along the shoreline of the Eastern Channel and under the watchful eye of their King; the Greeks along the shore of Salamis Island. They were there for two purposes: to launch missile attacks against any enemy ship that might come within range, and to ensure that any enemy sailors or marines who might manage to swim ashore would not leave the beach alive.
This fact explains why Aeschylus, in the passage above, is quite specific that the Greek right wing led and the first enemy ship to feel a Greek ram was Phoenician.
As the Greek fleet moved into the narrows, they tended to move to their right to allow the ship on the left flank to remain out of effective range of shore-launched missiles. This meant the Greek right flank had to move slightly forward of the initial line abreast formation to create the space for the sideward shift. The Phoenician squadron was on the left flank of the advancing Persian formation and so would have been the first group to make combat contact with the Greeks.
The Greek front rank increased speed to pass through the "beaten zone" controlled by the numerous Persian archers as quickly as possible. Given the obvious motivation for the oarsmen, it is probable that by the time a Greek ram struck home, the trireme delivering it was moving at a speed of at least 10 knots and possibly as high as 11 knots. The target ship's archers would not have had time to deliver more than four volleys of arrows aimed with any degree of skill.
Within minutes, the two fleets were in collision across the entire front of perhaps 1,200 yards. It was "ram, full astern to withdraw the bronze beak, full ahead, ram again—and keep ramming until the enemy ship was broken!" There is much conjecture about the tactic of "oar shearing"—moving down the enemy's side, aloes aboard, with one's own oars retracted to then shear off the enemy's oars. This is interesting, but it is unlikely to have been undertaken as a deliberate battle tactic. It would have required split-second timing. Furthermore, to withdraw all the oars along one side into the ship in a matter of seconds while one ship is moving at speed would have been nearly impossible. There undoubtedly was a lot of oar shearing throughout the battle, but the idea that it was done by a cool, calculated, deliberate tactic does not bear up under close scrutiny.
It was now mid-morning. The southerly breeze had picked up and was coming directly up the channel, catching the high-pooped Phoenicians at a serious disadvantage. As any helmsman knows, the hardest steering conditions obtain with a following sea, when the wind comes from directly behind a vessel. The Persian galleys began to yaw and found it difficult to maintain a steady course. This did not bother the Greeks. They were in the lee of Cynosura Point and, in any case, were meeting the breeze bow-on.
The ranks of ships had closed on both sides and all were packed together tightly. There is evidence to suggest that both front ranks numbered as many as 80 triremes, which, in the restricted space available, was a very close formation. This meant the Greek fleet numbered only three ranks. The Persians had about eight ships following closely behind each lead ship. It was the worst possible tactical situation for a fleet of some 700 triremes. Xerxes, sitting on his throne on the hillside overlooking the bay, attended by his pliant courtiers and slaves, was watching. As midday approached it was doubtful he was aware his fleet was standing into danger.
By the time "Apollo's bright chariot" was directly overhead, any semblance of an orderly formation in the Persian fleet had disappeared. The Persian ships were packed in tightly in what could not have been much more than a square 1,000 yards on a side. The density of the Persian ship concentration must have been staggering. The Greeks were in no such distress. Although they, too, had lost any semblance of an orderly formation, they were not in disorder. Themistocles kept up the attack without mercy or hesitation. The Greeks stopped the Persian front rank dead in its track. The ranks astern, however, particularly those ships in about the fifth of sixth rank astern, were unaware of the stunning blow dealt to the front rank. They pressed on, compacting the formation to its limit and, ultimately, beyond. The inevitable happened as Themistocles knew it would: the Persians helplessly began ramming each other. The chaos and panic among the Persians was indescribable.
Holed triremes rarely sank. They were built of relatively light wood and any heavy ballast or stores would have been left ashore before the battle. Every attempt was made to keep combat-ready triremes as light as possible to increase their speed and maneuverability. Once a ship was well rammed, her 200-man crew would have pitched into the sea. The ship became nothing but flotsam. By mid-afternoon, the drifting, capsized hulks presented serious problems to maneuvering for both sides. The scene of broken hulls, oars, wreckage, and bodies floating on the surface of the Bay of Salamis presented what must have been one of the most appalling scenes in the annals of naval warfare. By nightfall, there were at least 240 wrecks drifting across the bay. Drifting with them were some 50,000 men—both alive and dead.
Meanwhile, a minor but bloody episode occurred. The Greek commander Aristeides had, by plan, remained ashore on Salamis Island in command of the shore-based marine contingent. He observed that a number of Persian survivors, by clinging to wreckage, were coming ashore on the rocky islet of Psyttaleia, southeast of Cynosura Point. He quickly assembled a marine contingent of company strength and ferried them across the 200-yard slip of water. They quickly dispatched the few exhausted wretches lying there and, for the remainder of the battle, remained on the islet systematically slaughtering every Persian survivor they found. There is no recorded instance of Persian shore-based troops slaughtering Greek survivors, but there were far fewer Greeks in the water as well, as there were safer places of refuge for the Greek survivors to reach. The Greeks also were better swimmers and their fleet had kept to the island side of the channel instead of the mainland side.
Toward the end of the afternoon, several Phoenician triremes beached themselves on the mainland beach near Xerxes's hillside throne. They presented themselves to the Great King, asking for his permission to leave because the battle was lost. Xerxes looked out over the bay and saw that the lonians still were fighting. He ordered the pusillanimous Phoenician captains beheaded on the spot.
The Persian rout was complete. What a mere 12 hours before had been the mightiest armada the world ever had seen had been turned into a pathetic flotilla where it was every trireme captain for himself. All semblances of command and control had been lost. Xerxes could only sit and stare in anger and frustration. He had sacked and burned an empty Athens, but victory still eluded him. What remained of the Persian fleet had been forced by the irresistible, slashing Greek rams back down the channel until they were once again abeam of Psyttaleia. When forced south of the islet, the Persians had no choice but to reverse course and turn their rams to seaward, thereby leaving their vulnerable sterns completely undefended against the now furiously pursuing Greeks. The carnage increased. It was no longer a battle; it was a free-for-all.
Only the fall of night slowed the slaughter; the killing of survivors continued throughout the following day. The Persians had lost one-third of the three squadrons that had intended to cork Themistocles's bottle—more than 200 triremes.
The Persians still outnumbered their adversaries, but the Persians had lost more than just warships: they had lost complete control of their fleet. They had lost the initiative as well as their nerve and confidence. All that could be seen was a disorganized and panic-stricken swarm of vessels looking for the fastest way back to their respective home ports. They fled back the few miles to Phalaeron Bay, where they beached themselves near the still very active Persian army. Themistocles would not dare bring his fleet within bowshot of thousands of archers who, having done nothing all day, still were fresh and spirited. The Greeks had 40 triremes out of action. Most of the Greek crews had made it ashore at Salamis Island, each man using his oar for buoyancy. In addition, the Greek ships were not sunk but still bobbing around just offshore. The lost Persian ships and crews, however, were lost forever. The following day they, any trireme—Greek or Persian—that looked salvable was beached on the island's shore. If a hull was beyond repair, the bronze ram was saved for the next ship on the building ways.
Toward nightfall, the Egyptian squadron, which had seen no action while guarding the western channel against the anticipated "escape" of the Greeks toward Corinth, reappeared off the southwest point of the island. By then, the Egyptians knew the outcome of the day and had no intention of attempting to enter Themistocles's "bottle." After all, Xerxes's forces recently had invaded Egypt in a ruthless suppression of an uprising against the empire's harsh rule. Xerxes could pull his own chestnuts out of the Greek fire; Egypt would not burn its fingers doing it for him.
Night fell. The battle was over, but the slaughter was not. It went on through the night and the next day as well. There were no Persian survivors from Salamis other than those on board the fleeing ships. The bodies continued to be washed ashore for days thereafter. "The shores of Salamis, and all the neighboring coasts," Aeschylus's Xerxes cries, "Are strewn with bodies miserably done to death. What name more hateful to our ears than Salamis? Athens!—a name of anguish in our memory."