The Man Without a Country and Other Tales by Edward E. Hale


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Page 18

"Or to keep us from thinking of to-morrow," said a third.

"Can nobody sing here, or play, or tell an old-time story?"

There was nobody. The only two soldiers of the post, who affected
musical skill, were the two who had gone up to the Carmelites' bivouac;
and the little company of Joppa--catching louder notes and louder, as
the bard's inspiration carried him farther and farther away--crept as
far up the stream as the limits of their station would permit; and lay,
without noise, to catch, as they best could, the rich tones of the music
as it swept down the valley.

Soothed by the sound, and by the moonlight, and by the summer breeze,
they were just in mood to welcome the first interruption which broke the
quiet of the night. It was the approach of one of their company, who had
been detached to Accho a day or two before; and who came hurrying in to
announce the speedy arrival of companions, for whom he bespoke a
welcome. Just as they were to leave Accho, he said, that day, on their
return to camp, an Ionian trading-vessel had entered port. He and his
fellow-soldiers had waited to help her moor, and had been chatting with
her seamen. They had told them of the chance of battle to which they
were returning; and two or three of the younger Ionians, enchanted at
the relief from the sea's imprisonment, had begged them to let them
volunteer in company with them. These men had come up into the country
with the soldiers, therefore; and he who had broken the silence of the
listeners to the distant serenade had hurried on to tell his comrades
that such visitors were on their way.

They soon appeared on foot, but hardly burdened by the light packs they
bore.

A soldier's welcome soon made the Ionian sailors as much at home with
the men of the bivouac, as they had been through the day with the
detachment from the sea-board. A few minutes were enough to draw out
sheep-skins for them to lie upon, a skin of wine for their thirst, a
bunch of raisins and some oat-cakes for their hunger; a few minutes more
had told the news which each party asked from the other; and then these
sons of the sea and these war-bronzed Philistines were as much at ease
with each other as if they had served under the same sky for years.

"We were listening to music," said the old chief, "when you came up.
Some of our young men have gone up, indeed, to the picket yonder, to
hear the harper sing, whose voice you catch sometimes, when we are not
speaking."

"You find the Muses in the midst of arms, then," said one of the young
Ionians.

"Muses?" said the old Philistine, laughing. "That sounds like you
Greeks. Ah! sir, in our rocks here we have few enough Muses, but those
who carry these lances, or teach us how to trade with the islands for
tin."

"That's not quite fair," cried another. "The youngsters who are gone
sing well; and one of them has a harp I should be glad you should see.
He made it himself from a gnarled olive-root." And he turned to look for
it.

"You'll not find it in the tent: the boy took it with him. They hoped
the Ziklag minstrel might ask them to sing, I suppose."

"A harp of olive-wood," said the Ionian, "seems Muse-born and
Pallas-blessed."

And, as he spoke, one of the new-comers of the Philistines leaned over,
and whispered to the chief: "He is a bard himself, and we made him
promise to sing to us. I brought his harp with me that he might cheer up
our bivouac. Pray, do you ask him."

The old chief needed no persuasion; and the eyes of the whole force
brightened as they found they had a minstrel "of their own" now, when
the old man pressed the young Ionian courteously to let them hear him:
"I told you, sir, that we had no Muses of our own; but we welcome all
the more those who come to us from over seas."

Homer smiled; for it was Homer whom he spoke to,--Homer still in the
freshness of his unblinded youth. He took the harp which the young
Philistine handed to him, thrummed upon its chords, and as he tuned them
said: "I have no harp of olive-wood; we cut this out, it was years ago,
from an old oleander in the marshes behind Colophon. What will you hear,
gentlemen?"

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Fri 7th Nov 2025, 20:53