Another Assembly was summoned to meet in a few days, to pass measures for the due equipment of the fleet, and to provide the necessary funds, so that whatever the newly-appointed generals might ask for should be at their disposal. This Assembly was even more crowded than the first, and all were silent when Nikias appeared before them in the Tribune. The people expected the demands about to be made upon them would be large; they were prepared to meet them. To everyone’s astonishment Nikias began his speech, not by encouraging them to put all their hearts into the work they had decided to undertake, and to give those to whose care they had entrusted the Athenian future a liberal support, but by an urgent protest against the expedition altogether. He entreated them, with tears in his eyes and tears in his voice, to reconsider their decision and recall their vote. This was a course unprecedented in the annals of the state, and against an express law, which made it penal to reopen a matter which had been discussed, and upon which a vote had been already given. He admitted this. It was a proof of the respect in which they held his character that they heard him patiently. It was a signal proof of the dignity with which they clothed their debates in the national Assembly that they listened to him without interruption. He used the well-known arguments against the dangers of a war, and especially one so far away from home, and dwelt upon the greater wisdom of strengthening the empire that they had already than of seeking to extend it. ‘I have no selfish motive in objecting to the war. War has ever been my field of honour. By that won I my distinctions. My whole life is a proof that I fear not for myself—I fear only for my country and its worthy citizens. Those I consider to be worthy citizens who know how first to value their own estate and protect it from ruinous expenditure.’ Then turning towards his young fellow-general: ‘If anyone, elated by being but just now made a strategos of an enormously important expedition, before a fitting age has given him due experience and wisdom, would urge you onward to this fatal enterprise, it is because he thinks to shine in all the pomp of war and make a show with his fine equipage and prancing horses, and turn the dignity of general into a fit occasion—ye gods! a fit occasion—to indulge his luxury and grandeur. Oh, men of Athens, let not such a one imperil the safety—nay, the very existence—of us all that he may make himself conspicuous. Remember, there are citizens who could not only dissipate their private fortunes upon fine studs of horses and such-like frivolities, but afterwards make shipwreck of the state. I tremble when I see a band of rash young men before me, sitting close together, near their leader, and I exhort the older men not to be frightened from their opposition to this crazy work by fear of hearing the epithet of cowards applied to them.’