On
the twelfth of September of the year 490, Miltiades, the Athenian
commander, threw this little army against the hordes of the
Persians. The Greeks broke through the Persian barrage of
arrows and their spears caused terrible havoc among the disorganised
Asiatic troops who had never been called upon to resist
such an enemy.
That night the people of Athens watched the sky grow
red with the flames of burning ships. Anxiously they waited
for news. At last a little cloud of dust appeared upon the
road that led to the North. It was Pheidippides, the runner.
He stumbled and gasped for his end was near. Only a few
days before had he returned from his errand to Sparta. He
had hastened to join Miltiades. That morning he had taken
part in the attack and later he had volunteered to carry the
news of victory to his beloved city. The people saw him fall
and they rushed forward to support him. ``We have won,''
he whispered and then he died, a glorious death which made him
envied of all men.
As for the Persians, they tried, after this defeat, to land
near Athens but they found the coast guarded and disappeared,
and once more the land of Hellas was at peace.
Eight years they waited and during this time the Greeks
were not idle. They knew that a final attack was to be expected
but they did not agree upon the best way to avert the danger.
Some people wanted to increase the army.
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