Then all began to run, rear-guard and all; and the baggage-cattle and horses were put to their speed. And when all had got to the top, the men embraced each other, and embraced their generals and captains, weeping. And on a sudden impulse they brought stones, and raised a mighty mound, and made on it a trophy decorated with the hacked shields of their enemies, to commemorate their deliverance. And then, to reward their guide for fulfilling his promise, they loaded him with presents from the public stock, while many soldiers pulled the rings off their fingers and gave them to him, and thus sent him away rejoicing.
Such was the famous incident which has so struck the fancy of the world, that the shout of the Greeks on this occasion has become a household word for subsequent ages. Xenophon records the scene in the most simple terms, merely as an outward fact, without adding a single sentiment or reflection of his own. On the one hand, this may be regarded as a stroke of high art, which would dictate simplicity in relating what was in itself so touching; on the other hand, it was a part of that Greek reserve and concentration of style which forms so great a contrast to the Gothic sentimentalism of modern times, and which led Xenophon to narrate the march through so many wild and impressive mountain-passes without a word of allusion to the grandeur of the scenery. But he doubtless felt instinctively, without developing into words, all that was implied to his comrades in their first returning glimpse of the sea. Universally to the Greeks the sea
