ccho 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 whisp