Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1892-09-20

a
IN XXI, full purpose in animat-
/L/I1-T-A>>J--S - desperate valor Thus,
we have the familiar
stories Of the Greeks under aIil;iades singing
grand hymn as they rushed down upon the
Persian hosts on the plains of Marathon;
knights Templar bursting into inspiring song
as they charged the Saracen hordes; Crom-
weiIs lrons'des chanting the fierce war psalms
OF David as they attacked the curled and per-
TUNED gallants of King Charles; Frederick the
Greats grim old Brandenburgers shouting in
unison: Fine feste Berg is: Unscr Gott"
when they threw themselves resistlessly upon
the French, Austrians and Russians who en-
circled their little country; the hastily levied
troops of the French revolution singing in
grand chorus ''Marsoillaise," "Carmacnole"
or Ca Ira" when they dashed furiously at the
hosts of their royal enemies
Our trouble with this idea is that there comes
great disappointment when, one reads in the
piping times of peace such relics OF the war
songs of great periods as have come down to
U.s. Taking the whole list there are astonish-
lngly few which seem worthy Of the occasion.
and not one is at first sight or hearing SEEM
lngly calculated to do much firing of the blood
OF the combatants upon the eve of the battles
crisis
The next trouble with the idea is that while
soldiers of all ages, countries and chimes are
passionately fond Of singing. the ono time of
all others when they don't sing, don't want to
sing, and have no thought or strength to waste
IN singing Is on the eve of or during battle
battle, and especially modern battle. brings
strain upon head, heart, nerve and muscle
OF every man engaged the intensity of which
is not equaled by any other experience in life
Before the combat begins, and during its pro-
gress. every man upon the battlefield in the
nerce front or the more peaceful rear Is
wrought up to the highest pitch of which his
nature is capable. Even if he is dong nothing
more belliserent than supervising the manners
of a six-mule team his brain is entirely too
perturbed to admit the suggestion of lifting
his voice in song. Decidedly he has other fish
to fry
There was, however a time for singing. 1t
was on the march or in camp. Then the man
with musical voice and an ear for tune was
the master of the situation, and received more
attention than colonols, majors, captains and
a that
SINGING IN CAN'T.
Take, for example, one of our regiments dur
ing the war of the rebellion. Let it get into
camp after not too long q march on a pleasant
day and comfortably distant from the enemy.
Wood and water are handy, and in less time
than 1t takes to write this paragraph 500 little
white dog" tents-one for every two men-are
up, making the green fields look asst there had
been scurry of snow piled in ''hummocks :"
Hundreds of fires twinkle around them almost
simultaneously with their rising. and the soft
evening air becomes redolent with the odor of
steaIning coffee and frying meat Mingled with
this are vagrant whifs of cooking potatoes,
cabbage, onions, chickens. &C., telling tales of
skii!ful and successful foraging in spite of the
steady march of the long day, by boys who had
grown SO adept in this soidierly art that it has
been said of them that they could find pig a
milo from the road, catch. kill skin and cut
him up, all without even breaking Sep or let
ting the officers know a breath of what was
going on.
Supper is at last over; the picke.s are sta
toned, the pipes are lit, the moon rises in all
the brIlliancy of an Indian summer night and
the gentle pleasure of the surroundings seeks
voice in song. There is no more question who
will lead the singing than there is who will
icdu tEc ISSiiiltul II lie got an
written and irrevocable commission as regi-
mental singing master the fret night the regi-
ment went into such a camp as this and all the
tunefully minded lifted up their voices in song.
His was the voice that rang ont prominently
over all the Others. It is a 'tenore robusto, or
tenore lyrloso, technically speaking, full and
strong.
sob, say can You see. by the dawn's carly light.
What SO proudly we hailed in the twilight's
last gleaming?'
wells up from his throat like the pipe of
church organ and mellow the strains from
French horn. Possibly he is reminded of
home and the shady gloom of the walk through
the woods to the singing school, for without a
pause, like chime OF silver bells, he trills an
apostrophe to the queen Of night
"Roll on, silver moon,
Guide the traveller on his way,
While the nightingale's song
Is In tune.
For l never, never more
With my true love will stray
By thy sweet silver light,
Bonnie moon"
Then the music and the moonlight make him
melodramatic, love and luna mingle in his
tuneful memory, for, ANONYMOUSLY and half
under his breath, he sings to his sweetheart, :
''Oh, loved little beauty,
Belle Brandon.
And told her meath tho old
hrbor tree"
And then, as if framing in music the thoughts
of the little beauty" in her far-away northern
home, he sings:
dearest love. do you remember,
When we last did meet?
How you told me that you loved me,
kneeling at my feet?
Oh, how proud you stood before me,
In your suit of blue,
When you vowed to me and country,
Ever to be true.
Weeping, sad and lonely,
Hopes and fears how vain,
Praying, when this cruel war is over