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Title: Joshua, Complete

Author: Georg Ebers

Release Date: October 16, 2006 [EBook #5472]
Last Updated: August 25, 2016

Language: English

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Produced by David Widger





JOSHUA, Complete

By Georg Ebers

Translated from the German by Mary J. Safford




PREFACE.

Last winter I resolved to complete this book, and while giving it
the form in which it now goes forth into the world, I was constantly
reminded of the dear friend to whom I intended to dedicate it. Now I am
permitted to offer it only to the manes of Gustav Baur; for a few months
ago death snatched him from us.

Every one who was allowed to be on terms of intimacy with this man feels
his departure from earth as an unspeakably heavy loss, not only because
his sunny, cheerful nature and brilliant intellect brightened the
souls of his friends; not only because he poured generously from the
overflowing cornucopia of his rich knowledge precious gifts to those
with whom he stood in intellectual relations, but above all because of
the loving heart which beamed through his clear eyes, and enabled him to
share the joys and sorrows of others, and enter into their thoughts and
feelings.

To my life’s end I shall not forget that during the last few years,
himself physically disabled and overburdened by the duties imposed by
the office of professor and counsellor of the Consistory, he so
often found his way to me, a still greater invalid. The hours he then
permitted me to spend in animated conversation with him are among those
which, according to old Horace, whom he know so thoroughly and loved
so well, must be numbered among the ‘good ones’. I have done so, and
whenever I gratefully recall them, in my ear rings my friend’s question:

“What of the story of the Exodus?”

After I had told him that in the midst of the desert, while following
the traces of the departing Hebrews, the idea had occurred to me of
treating their wanderings in the form of a romance, he expressed his
approval in the eager, enthusiastic manner natural to him. When I
finally entered farther into the details of the sketch outlined on the
back of a camel, he never ceased to encourage me, though he thoroughly
understood my scruples and fully appreciated the difficulties which
attended the fulfilment of my task.

So in a certain degree this book is his, and the inability to offer it
to the living man and hear his acute judgment is one of the griefs which
render it hard to reconcile oneself to the advancing years which in
other respects bring many a joy.

Himself one of the most renowned, acute and learned students and
interpreters of the Bible, he was perfectly familiar with the critical
works the last five years have brought to light in the domain of Old
Testament criticism. He had taken a firm stand against the views of
the younger school, who seek to banish the Exodus of the Jews from
the province of history and represent it as a later production of the
myth-making popular mind; a theory we both believed untenable. One of
his remarks on this subject has lingered in my memory and ran nearly as
follows:

“If the events recorded in the Second Book of Moses--which I believe
are true--really never occurred, then nowhere and at no period has a
historical event of equally momentous result taken place. For thousands
of years the story of the Exodus has lived in the minds of numberless
people as something actual, and it still retains its vitality. Therefore
it belongs to history no less certainty than the French Revolution and
its consequences.”

Notwithstanding such encouragement, for a long series of years I
lacked courage to finish the story of the Exodus until last winter an
unexpected appeal from abroad induced me to resume it. After this I
worked uninterruptedly with fresh zeal and I may say renewed pleasure at
the perilous yet fascinating task until its completion.

The locality of the romance, the scenery as we say of the drama, I have
copied as faithfully as possible from the landscapes I beheld in Goshen
and on the Sinai peninsula. It will agree with the conception of many of
the readers of “Joshua.”

The case will be different with those portions of the story which I
have interwoven upon the ground of ancient Egyptian records. They will
surprise the laymen; for few have probably asked themselves how the
events related in the Bible from the standpoint of the Jews affected the
Egyptians, and what political conditions existed in the realm of Pharaoh
when the Hebrews left it. I have endeavored to represent these relations
with the utmost fidelity to the testimony of the monuments. For the
description of the Hebrews, which is mentioned in the Scriptures, the
Bible itself offers the best authority. The character of the “Pharaoh of
the Exodus” I also copied from the Biblical narrative, and the portraits
of the weak King Menephtah, which have been preserved, harmonize
admirably with it. What we have learned of later times induced me to
weave into the romance the conspiracy of Siptah, the accession to the
throne of Seti II., and the person of the Syrian Aarsu who, according to
the London Papyrus Harris I., after Siptah had become king, seized the
government.

The Naville excavations have fixed the location of Pithom-Succoth beyond
question, and have also brought to light the fortified store-house of
Pithom (Succoth) mentioned in the Bible; and as the scripture says the
Hebrews rested in this place and thence moved farther on, it must be
supposed that they overpowered the garrison of the strong building and
seized the contents of the spacious granaries, which are in existence at
the present day.

In my “Egypt and the Books of Moses” which appeared in 1868, I stated
that the Biblical Etham was the same as the Egyptian Chetam, that is,
the line of fortresses which protected the isthmus of Suez from the
attacks of the nations of the East, and my statement has long since
found universal acceptance. Through it, the turning back of the Hebrews
before Etham is intelligible.

The mount where the laws were given I believe was the majestic Serbal,
not the Sinai of the monks; the reasons for which I explained fully
in my work “Through Goshen to Sinai.” I have also--in the same
volume--attempted to show that the halting-place of the tribes called in
the Bible “Dophkah” was the deserted mines of the modern Wadi Maghara.

By the aid of the mental and external experiences of the characters,
whose acts have in part been freely guided by the author’s imagination,
he has endeavored to bring nearer to the sympathizing reader the human
side of the mighty destiny of the nation which it was incumbent on him
to describe. If he has succeeded in doing so, without belittling the
magnificent Biblical narrative, he has accomplished his desire; if he
has failed, he must content himself with the remembrance of the pleasure
and mental exaltation he experienced during the creation of this work.

Tutzing on the Starnberger See, September 20th, 1889.

                  GEORG EBERS.





JOSHUA.




CHAPTER I.

“Go down, grandfather: I will watch.”

But the old man to whom the entreaty was addressed shook his shaven
head.

“Yet you can get no rest here....

“And the stars? And the tumult below? Who can think of rest in hours
like these? Throw my cloak around me! Rest--on such a night of horror!”

“You are shivering. And how your hand and the instrument are shaking.”

“Then support my arm.”

The youth dutifully obeyed the request; but in a short time he
exclaimed: “Vain, all is vain; star after star is shrouded by the murky
clouds. Alas, hear the wailing from the city. Ah, it rises from our own
house too. I am so anxious, grandfather, feel how my head burns! Come
down, perhaps they need help.”

“Their fate is in the hands of the gods--my place is here.

“But there--there! Look northward across the lake. No, farther to the
west. They are coming from the city of the dead.”

“Oh, grandfather! Father--there!” cried the youth, a grandson of
the astrologer of Amon-Ra, to whom he was lending his aid. They were
standing in the observatory of the temple of this god in Tanis, the
Pharaoh’s capital in the north of the land of Goshen. He moved away,
depriving the old man of the support of his shoulder, as he continued:
“There, there! Is the sea sweeping over the land? Have the clouds
dropped on the earth to heave to and fro? Oh, grandfather, look yonder!
May the Immortals have pity on us! The under-world is yawning, and the
giant serpent Apep has come forth from the realm of the dead. It is
moving past the temple. I see, I hear it. The great Hebrew’s menace is
approaching fulfilment. Our race will be effaced from the earth. The
serpent! Its head is turned toward the southeast. It will devour the sun
when it rises in the morning.”

The old man’s eyes followed the youth’s finger, and he, too, perceived
a huge, dark mass, whose outlines blended with the dusky night, come
surging through the gloom; he, too, heard, with a thrill of terror, the
monster’s loud roar.

Both stood straining their eyes and ears to pierce the darkness; but
instead of gazing upward the star-reader’s eye was bent upon the city,
the distant sea, and the level plain. Deep silence, yet no peace reigned
above them: the high wind now piled the dark clouds into shapeless
masses, anon severed that grey veil and drove the torn fragments far
asunder. The moon was invisible to mortal eyes, but the clouds were
toying with the bright Southern stars, sometimes hiding them, sometimes
affording a free course for their beams. Sky and earth alike showed a
constant interchange of pallid light and intense darkness. Sometimes
the sheen of the heavenly bodies flashed brightly from sea and bay, the
smooth granite surfaces of the obelisks in the precincts of the temple,
and the gilded copper roof of the airy royal palace, anon sea and river,
the sails in the harbor, the sanctuaries, the streets of the city, and
the palm-grown plain which surrounded it vanished in gloom. Eye and ear
failed to retain the impression of the objects they sought to discern;
for sometimes the silence was so profound that all life, far and near,
seemed hushed and dead, then a shrill shriek of anguish pierced the
silence of the night, followed at longer or shorter intervals by the
loud roar the youthful priest had mistaken for the voice of the serpent
of the nether-world, and to which grandfather and grandson listened with
increasing suspense.

The dark shape, whose incessant motion could be clearly perceived
whenever the starlight broke through the clouds, appeared first near the
city of the dead and the strangers’ quarter. Both the youth and the old
man had been seized with terror, but the latter was the first to regain
his self-control, and his keen eye, trained to watch the stars, speedily
discovered that it was not a single giant form emerging from the city of
the dead upon the plain, but a multitude of moving shapes that seemed to
be swaying hither and thither over the meadow lands. The bellowing and
bleating, too, did not proceed from one special place, but came now
nearer and now farther away. Sometimes it seemed to issue from the
bowels of the earth, and at others to float from some airy height.

Fresh horror seized upon the old man. Grasping his grandson’s right
hand in his, he pointed with his left to the necropolis, exclaiming in
tremulous tones: “The dead are too great a multitude. The under-world is
overflowing, as the river does when its bed is not wide enough for the
waters from the south. How they swarm and surge and roll onward! How
they scatter and sway to and fro. They are the souls of the thousands
whom grim death has snatched away, laden with the curse of the Hebrew,
unburied, unshielded from corruption, to descend the rounds of the
ladder leading to the eternal world.”

“Yes, yes, those are their wandering ghosts,” shrieked the youth in
absolute faith, snatching his hand from the grey-beard’s grasp and
striking his burning brow, exclaiming, almost incapable of speech in his
horror: “Ay, those are the souls of the damned. The wind has swept them
into the sea, whose waters cast them forth again upon the land, but the
sacred earth spurns them and flings them into the air. The pure ether
of Shu hurls them back to the ground and now--oh look, listen--they are
seeking the way to the wilderness.”

“To the fire!” cried the old astrologer. “Purify them, ye flames;
cleanse them, water.”

The youth joined his grandfather’s form of exorcism, and while still
chanting together, the trap-door leading to this observatory on the top
of the highest gate of the temple was opened, and a priest of inferior
rank called: “Cease thy toil. Who cares to question the stars when the
light of life is departing from all the denizens of earth!”

The old man listened silently till the priest, in faltering accents,
added that the astrologer’s wife had sent him, then he stammered:

“Hora? Has my son, too, been stricken?”

The messenger bent his head, and the two listeners wept bitterly, for
the astrologer had lost his first-born son and the youth a beloved
father.

But as the lad, shivering with the chill of fever, sank ill and
powerless on the old man’s breast, the latter hastily released himself
from his embrace and hurried to the trap-door. Though the priest had
announced himself to be the herald of death, a father’s heart needs more
than the mere words of another ere resigning all hope of the life of his
child.

Down the stone stairs, through the lofty halls and wide courts of the
temple he hurried, closely followed by the youth, though his trembling
limbs could scarcely support his fevered body. The blow that had fallen
upon his own little circle had made the old man forget the awful vision
which perchance menaced the whole universe with destruction; but
his grandson could not banish the sight and, when he had passed the
fore-court and was approaching the outermost pylons his imagination,
under the tension of anxiety and grief, made the shadows of the obelisks
appear to be dancing, while the two stone statues of King Rameses, on
the corner pillars of the lofty gate, beat time with the crook they held
in their hands.

Then the fever struck the youth to the ground. His face was distorted
by the convulsions which tossed his limbs to and fro, and the old man,
failing on his knees, strove to protect the beautiful head, covered
with clustering curls, from striking the stone flags, moaning under his
breath “Now fate has overtaken him too.”

Then calming himself, he shouted again and again for help, but in vain.
At last, as he lowered his tones to seek comfort in prayer, he heard the
sound of voices in the avenue of sphinxes beyond the pylons, and fresh
hope animated his heart.

Who was coming at so late an hour?

Loud wails of grief blended with the songs of the priests, the clinking
and tinkling of the metal sistrums, shaken by the holy women in the
service of the god, and the measured tread of men praying as they
marched in the procession which was approaching the temple.

Faithful to the habits of a long life, the astrologer raised his eyes
and, after a glance at the double row of granite pillars, the colossal
statues and obelisks in the fore-court, fixed them on the starlit skies.
Even amid his grief a bitter smile hovered around his sunken lips;
to-night the gods themselves were deprived of the honors which were
their due.

For on this, the first night after the new moon in the month of
Pharmuthi, the sanctuary in bygone years was always adorned with
flowers. As soon as the darkness of this moonless night passed away, the
high festival of the spring equinox and the harvest celebration would
begin.

A grand procession in honor of the great goddess Neith, of Rennut, who
bestows the blessings of the fields, and of Horus at whose sign
the seeds begin to germinate, passed, in accordance with the rules
prescribed by the Book of the Divine Birth of the Sun, through the
city to the river and harbor; but to-day the silence of death reigned
throughout the sanctuary, whose courts at this hour were usually
thronged with men, women, and children, bringing offerings to lay on the
very spot where death’s finger had now touched his grandson’s heart.

A flood of light streamed into the vast space, hitherto but dimly
illumined by a few lamps. Could the throng be so frenzied as to imagine
that the joyous festival might be celebrated, spite of the unspeakable
horrors of the night.

Yet, the evening before, the council of priests had resolved that, on
account of the rage of the merciless pestilence, the temple should not
be adorned nor the procession be marshalled. In the afternoon many whose
houses had been visited by the plague had remained absent, and now while
he, the astrologer, had been watching the course of the stars, the pest
had made its way into this sanctuary, else why had it been forsaken
by the watchers and the other astrologers who had entered with him at
sunset, and whose duty it was to watch through the night?

He again turned with tender solicitude to the sufferer, but instantly
started to his feet, for the gates were flung wide open and the light of
torches and lanterns streamed into the court. A swift glance at the sky
told him that it was a little after midnight, yet his fears seemed to
have been true--the priests were crowding into the temples to prepare
for the harvest festival to-morrow.

But he was wrong. When had they ever entered the sanctuary for this
purpose in orderly procession, solemnly chanting hymns? Nor was the
train composed only of servants of the deity. The population had joined
them, for the shrill lamentations of women and wild cries of despair,
such as he had never heard before in all his long life within these
sacred walls, blended in the solemn litany.

Or were his senses playing him false? Was the groaning throng of
restless spirits which his grandson had pointed out to him from the
observatory, pouring into the sanctuary of the gods?

New horror seized upon him; with arms flung upward to bid the specters
avaunt he muttered the exorcism against the wiles of evil spirits. But
he soon let his hands fall again; for among the throng he noted some of
his friends who yesterday, at least, had still walked among living men.
First, the tall form of the second prophet of the god, then the women
consecrated to the service of Amon-Ra, the singers and the holy fathers
and, when he perceived behind the singers, astrologers, and pastophori
his own brother-in-law, whose house had yesterday been spared by the
plague, he summoned fresh courage and spoke to him. But his voice was
smothered by the shouts of the advancing multitude.

The courtyard was now lighted, but each individual was so engrossed
by his own sorrows that no one noticed the old astrologer. Tearing the
cloak from his shivering limbs to make a pillow for the lad’s tossing
head, he heard, while tending him with fatherly affection, fierce
imprecations on the Hebrews who had brought this woe on Pharaoh and his
people, mingling with the chants and shouts of the approaching crowd
and, recurring again and again, the name of Prince Rameses, the heir
to the throne, while the tone in which it was uttered, the formulas of
lamentation associated with it, announced the tidings that the eyes of
the monarch’s first-born son were closed in death.

The astrologer gazed at his grandson’s wan features with increasing
anxiety, and even while the wailing for the prince rose louder and
louder a slight touch of gratification stirred his soul at the thought
of the impartial justice Death metes out alike to the sovereign on his
throne and the beggar by the roadside. He now realized what had brought
the noisy multitude to the temple!

With as much swiftness as his aged limbs would permit, he hastened
forward to meet the mourners; but ere he reached them he saw the
gate-keeper and his wife come out of their house, carrying between them
on a mat the dead body of a boy. The husband held one end, his fragile
little wife the other, and the gigantic warder was forced to stoop low
to keep the rigid form in a horizontal position and not let it slip
toward the woman. Three children, preceded by a little girl carrying a
lantern, closed the mournful procession.

Perhaps no one would have noticed the group, had not the gate-keeper’s
little wife shrieked so wildly and piteously that no one could help
hearing her lamentations. The second prophet of Amon, and then his
companions, turned toward them. The procession halted, and as some of
the priests approached the corpse the gate-keeper shouted loudly: “Away,
away from the plague! It has stricken our first-born son.”

The wife meantime had snatched the lantern from her little girl’s hand
and casting its light full on the dead boy’s rigid face, she screamed:

“The god hath suffered it to happen. Ay, he permitted the horror to
enter beneath his own roof. Not his will, but the curse of the stranger
rules us and our lives. Look, this was our first-born son, and the
plague has also stricken two of the temple-servants. One already lies
dead in our room, and there lies Kamus, grandson of the astrologer
Rameri. We heard the old man call, and saw what was happening; but who
can prop another’s house when his own is falling? Take heed while there
is time; for the gods have opened their own sanctuaries to the horror.
If the whole world crumbles into ruin, I shall neither marvel nor
grieve. My lord priests, I am only a poor lowly woman, but am I not
right when I ask: Do our gods sleep, or has some one paralyzed them, or
what are they doing that they leave us and our children in the power of
the base Hebrew brood?”

“Overthrow them! Down with the foreigners! Death to the sorcerer
Mesu,--[Mesu is the Egyptian name of Moses]--hurl him into the sea.”
 Such were the imprecations that followed the woman’s curse, as an echo
follows a shout, and the aged astrologer’s brother-in-law Hornecht,
captain of the archers, whose hot blood seethed in his veins at the
sight of the dying form of his beloved nephew, waved his short sword,
crying frantically: “Let all men who have hearts follow me. Upon them!
A life for a life! Ten Hebrews for each Egyptian whom the sorcerer has
slain!”

As a flock rushes into a fire when the ram leads the way, the warrior’s
summons fired the throng. Women forced themselves in front of the men,
pressing after him into the gateway, and when the servants of the temple
lingered to await the verdict of the prophet of Amon, the latter drew
his stately figure to its full height, and said calmly: “Let all who
wear priestly garments remain and pray with me. The populace is heaven’s
instrument to mete out vengeance. We will remain here to pray for their
success.”




CHAPTER II.

Bai, the second prophet of Amon, who acted as the representative of the
aged and feeble chief-prophet and high-priest Rui, went into the holy
of holies, the throng of inferior servants of the divinity pursued their
various duties, and the frenzied mob rushed through the streets of the
city towards the distant Hebrew quarter.

As the flood, pouring into the valley, sweeps everything before it, the
people, rushing to seek vengeance, forced every one they met to join
them. No Egyptian from whom death had snatched a loved one failed
to follow the swelling torrent, which increased till hundreds became
thousands. Men, women, and children, freedmen and slaves, winged by
the ardent longing to bring death and destruction on the hated Hebrews,
darted to the remote quarter where they dwelt.

How the workman had grasped a hatchet, the housewife an axe, they
themselves scarcely knew. They were dashing forward to deal death and
ruin and had had no occasion to search for weapons--they had been close
at hand.

The first to feel the weight of their vengeance must be Nun, an aged
Hebrew, rich in herds, loved and esteemed by many an Egyptian whom
he had benefitted--but when hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks
timidly into the background.

His property, like the houses and hovels of his people, was in the
strangers’ quarter, west of Tanis, and lay nearest to the streets
inhabited by the Egyptians themselves.

Usually at this hour herds of cattle and flocks of sheep were being
watered or driven to pasture and the great yard before his house was
filled with cattle, servants of both sexes, carts, and agricultural
implements. The owner usually overlooked the departure of the flocks and
herds, and the mob had marked him and his family for the first victims
of their fury.

The swiftest of the avengers had now reached his extensive
farm-buildings, among them Hornecht, captain of the archers,
brother-in-law of the old astrologer. House and barns were brightly
illumined by the first light of the young day. A stalwart smith kicked
violently on the stout door; but the unbolted sides yielded so easily
that he was forced to cling to the door-post to save himself from
falling. Others, Hornecht among them, pressed past him into the yard.
What did this mean?

Had some new spell been displayed to attest the power of the Hebrew
leader Mesu, who had brought such terrible plagues on the land,--and of
his God.

The yard was absolutely empty. The stalls contained a few dead cattle
and sheep, killed because they had been crippled in some way, while a
lame lamb limped off at sight of the mob. The carts and wagons, too, had
vanished. The lowing, bleating throng which the priests had imagined to
be the souls of the damned was the Hebrew host, departing by night from
their old home with all their flocks under the guidance of Moses.

The captain of the archers dropped his sword, and a spectator might
have believed that the sight was a pleasant surprise to him; but his
neighbor, a clerk from the king’s treasure-house, gazed around the empty
space with the disappointed air of a man who has been defrauded.

The flood of schemes and passions, which had surged so high during the
night, ebbed under the clear light of day. Even the soldier’s quickly
awakened wrath had long since subsided into composure. The populace
might have wreaked their utmost fury on the other Hebrews, but not upon
Nun, whose son, Hosea, had been his comrade in arms, one of the most
distinguished leaders in the army, and an intimate family friend. Had
he thought of him and foreseen that his father’s dwelling would be
first attacked, he would never have headed the mob in their pursuit of
vengeance; nay, he bitterly repented having forgotten the deliberate
judgment which befitted his years.

While many of the throng began to plunder and destroy Nun’s deserted
home, men and women came to report that not a soul was to be found in
any of the neighboring dwellings. Others told of cats cowering on the
deserted hearthstones, of slaughtered cattle and shattered furniture;
but at last the furious avengers dragged out a Hebrew with his family
and a half-witted grey-haired woman found hidden among some straw.
The crone, amid imbecile laughter, said her people had made themselves
hoarse calling her, but Meliela was too wise to walk on and on as they
meant to do; besides her feet were too tender, and she had not even a
pair of shoes.

The man, a frightfully ugly Jew, whom few of his own race would have
pitied, protested, sometimes with a humility akin to fawning, sometimes
with the insolence which was a trait of his character, that he had
nothing to do with the god of lies in whose name the seducer Moses had
led away his people to ruin; he himself, his wife, and his child had
always been on friendly terms with the Egyptians. Indeed, many knew him,
he was a money-lender and when the rest of his nation had set forth
on their pilgrimage, he had concealed himself, hoping to pursue his
dishonest calling and sustain no loss.

Some of his debtors, however, were among the infuriated populace, though
even without their presence he was a doomed man; for he was the first
person on whom the excited mob could show that they were resolved upon
revenge. Rushing upon him with savage yells, the lifeless bodies of the
luckless wretch and his family were soon strewn over the ground. Nobody
knew who had done this first bloody deed; too many had dashed forward at
once.

Not a few others who had remained in the houses and huts also fell
victims to the people’s thirst for vengeance, though many had time to
escape, and while streams of blood were flowing, axes were wielded, and
walls and doors were battered down with beams and posts to efface the
abodes of the detested race from the earth.

The burning embers brought by some frantic women were extinguished
and trampled out; the more prudent warned them of the peril that would
menace their own homes and the whole city of Tanis, if the strangers’
quarter should be fired.

So the Hebrews’ dwellings escaped the flames; but as the sun mounted
higher dense clouds of white dust shrouded the abodes they had forsaken,
and where, only yesterday, thousands of people had possessed happy
homes and numerous herds had quenched their thirst in fresh waters, the
glowing soil was covered with rubbish and stone, shattered beams, and
broken woodwork. Dogs and cats left behind by their owners wandered
among the ruins and were joined by women and children who lived in the
beggars’ hovels on the edge of the necropolis close by, and now, holding
their hands over their mouths, searched amid the stifling dust and
rubbish for any household utensil or food which might have been left by
the fugitives and overlooked by the mob.

During the afternoon Fai, the second prophet of Amon, was carried past
the ruined quarter. He did not come to gloat over the spectacle of
destruction, it was his nearest way from the necropolis to his home.
Yet a satisfied smile hovered around his stern mouth as he noticed how
thoroughly the people had performed their work. His own purpose, it is
true, had not been fulfilled, the leader of the fugitives had escaped
their vengeance, but hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified.
Even the smallest pangs of an enemy are a satisfaction, and the priest
had just come from the grieving Pharaoh. He had not succeeded in
releasing him entirely from the bonds of the Hebrew magician, but he had
loosened them.

The resolute, ambitious man, by no means wont to hold converse with
himself, had repeated over and over again, while sitting alone in the
sanctuary reflecting on what had occurred and what yet remained to be
done, these little words, and the words were: “Bless me too!”

Pharaoh had uttered them, and the entreaty had been addressed neither
to old Rui, the chief priest, nor to himself, the only persons who could
possess the privilege of blessing the monarch, nay--but to the most
atrocious wretch that breathed, to the foreigner the Hebrew, Mesu, whom
he hated more than any other man on earth.

“Bless me too!” The pious entreaty, which wells so trustingly from the
human heart in the hour of anguish, had pierced his soul like a dagger.
It had seemed as if such a petition, uttered by the royal lips to such
a man, had broken the crozier in the hand of the whole body of Egyptian
priests, stripped the panther-skin from their shoulders, and branded
with shame the whole people whom he loved.

He knew full well that Moses was one of the wisest sages who had ever
graduated from the Egyptian schools, knew that Pharaoh was completely
under the thrall of this man who had grown up in the royal household and
been a friend of his father Rameses the Great. He had seen the monarch
pardon deeds committed by Moses which would have cost the life of any
other mortal, though he were the highest noble in the land--and what
must the Hebrew be to Pharaoh, the sun-god incarnate on the throne of
the world, when standing by the death-bed of his own son, he could yield
to the impulse to uplift his hands to him and cry “Bless me too!”

He had told himself all these things, maturely considered them, yet he
would not yield to the might of the strangers. The destruction of this
man and all his race was in his eyes the holiest, most urgent duty--to
accomplish which he would not shrink even from assailing the throne.
Nay, in his eyes Pharaoh Menephtah’s shameful entreaty: “Bless me too!”
 had deprived him of all the rights of sovereignty.

Moses had murdered Pharaoh’s first-born son, but he and the aged
chief-priest of Amon held the weal or woe of the dead prince’s soul in
their hands,--a weapon sharp and strong, for he knew the monarch’s weak
and vacillating heart. If the high-priest of Amon--the only man
whose authority surpassed his own--did not thwart him by some of the
unaccountable whims of age, it would be the merest trifle to force
Pharaoh to yield; but any concession made to-day would be withdrawn
to-morrow, should the Hebrew succeed in coming between the irresolute
monarch and his Egyptian advisers. This very day the unworthy son of the
great Rameses had covered his face and trembled like a timid fawn at the
bare mention of the sorcerer’s name, and to-morrow he might curse him
and pronounce a death sentence upon him. Perhaps he might be induced to
do this, and on the following one he would recall him and again sue for
his blessing.

Down with such monarchs! Let the feeble reed on the throne be hurled
into the dust! Already he had chosen a successor from among the princes
of the blood, and when the time was ripe--when Rui, the high-priest of
Amon, had passed the limits of life decreed by the gods to mortals and
closed his eyes in death, he, Bai, would occupy his place, a new life
for Egypt, and Moses and his race would commence would perish.

While the prophet was absorbed in these reflections a pair of ravens
fluttered around his head and, croaking loudly, alighted on the dusty
ruins of one of the shattered houses. He involuntarily glanced around
him and noted that they had perched on the corpse of a murdered Hebrew,
lying half concealed amid the rubbish. A smile which the priests of
lower rank who surrounded his litter knew not how to interpret, flitted
over his shrewd, defiant countenance.




CHAPTER III.

Hornecht, commander of the archers, was among the prophet’s companions.
Indeed they were on terms of intimacy, for the soldier was a leader amid
the nobles who had conspired to dethrone Pharaoh.

As they approached Nun’s ruined dwelling, the prophet pointed to the
wreck and said: “The former owner of this abode is the only Hebrew
I would gladly spare. He was a man of genuine worth, and his son,
Hosea....”

“Will be one of us,” the captain interrupted. “There are few better men
in Pharaoh’s army, and,” he added, lowering his voice, “I rely on him
when the decisive hour comes.”

“We will discuss that before fewer witnesses,” replied Bai. “But I am
greatly indebted to him. During the Libyan war--you are aware of the
fact--I fell into the hands of the enemy, and Hosea, at the head of his
little troop, rescued me from the savage hordes.” Sinking his tones, he
went on in his most instructive manner, as though apologizing for the
mischief wrought: “Such is the course of earthly affairs! Where a whole
body of men merit punishment, the innocent must suffer with the guilty.
Under such circumstances the gods themselves cannot separate the
individual from the multitude; nay, even the innocent animals share the
penalty. Look at the flocks of doves fluttering around the ruins; they
are seeking their cotes in vain. And the cat with her kittens yonder.
Go and take them, Beki; it is our duty to save the sacred animals from
starving to death.”

And this man, who had just been planning the destruction of so many of
his fellow-mortals, was so warmly interested in kindly caring for the
senseless beasts, that he stopped his litter and watched his servants
catch the cats.

This was less quickly accomplished than he had hoped; for one had taken
refuge in the nearest cellar, whose opening was too narrow for the men
to follow. The youngest, a slender Nubian, undertook the task; but he
had scarcely approached the hole when he started back, calling: “There
is a human being there who seems to be alive. Yes, he is raising his
hand. It is a boy or a youth, and assuredly no slave; his head is
covered with long waving locks, and--a sunbeam is shining into the
cellar--I can see a broad gold circlet on his arm.”

“Perhaps it is one of Nun’s kindred, who has been forgotten,” said
Hornecht, and Bai eagerly added:

“It is an interposition from the gods! Their sacred animals have pointed
out the way by which I can render a service to the man to whom I am so
much indebted. Try to get in, Beki, and bring the youth out.”

Meanwhile the Nubian had removed the stone whose fall had choked the
opening, and soon after he lifted toward his companions a motionless
young form which they brought into the open air and bore to a well whose
cool water speedily restored consciousness.

As he regained his senses, he rubbed his eyes, gazed around him
bewildered, as if uncertain where he was, then his head drooped as
though overwhelmed with grief and horror, revealing that the locks at
the back were matted together with black clots of dried blood.

The prophet had the deep wound, inflicted on the lad by a falling stone,
washed at the well and, after it had been bandaged, summoned him to his
own litter, which was protected from the sun.

The young Hebrew, bringing a message, had arrived at the house of his
grandfather Nun, before sunrise, after a long night walk from Pithom,
called by the Hebrews Succoth, but finding it deserted had lain down in
one of the rooms to rest a while. Roused by the shouts of the infuriated
mob, he had heard the curses on his race which rang through the whole
quarter and fled to the cellar. The roof, which had injured him in its
fall, proved his deliverance; for the clouds of dust which had concealed
everything as it came down hid him from the sight of the rioters.

The prophet looked at him intently and, though the youth was unwashed,
wan, and disfigured by the bloody bandage round his head, he saw that
the lad he had recalled to life was a handsome, well-grown boy just
nearing manhood.

His sympathy was roused, and his stern glance softened as he asked
kindly whence he came and what had brought him to Tanis; for the
rescued youth’s features gave no clue to his race. He might readily
have declared himself an Egyptian, but he frankly admitted that he was a
grandson of Nun. He had just attained his eighteenth year, his name was
Ephraim, like that of his forefather, the son of Joseph, and he had come
to visit his grandfather. The words expressed steadfast self-respect and
pride in his illustrious ancestry.

He delayed a short time ere answering the question whether he brought
a message; but soon collected his thoughts and, looking the prophet
fearlessly in the face, replied:

“Whoever you may be, I have been taught to speak the truth, so I will
tell you that I have another relative in Tanis, Hosea, the son of Nun, a
chief in Pharaoh’s army, for whom I have a message.”

“And I will tell you,” the priest replied, “that it was for the sake of
this very Hosea I tarried here and ordered my servants to bring you out
of the ruined house. I owe him a debt of gratitude, and though most of
your nation have committed deeds worthy of the harshest punishment, for
the sake of his worth you shall remain among us free and unharmed.”

The boy raised his eyes to the priest with a proud, fiery glance, but
ere he could find words, Bai went on with encouraging kindness.

“I believe I can read in your face, my lad, that you have come to seek
admittance to Pharaoh’s army under your uncle Hosea. Your figure is
well-suited to the trade of war, and you surely are not wanting in
courage.”

A smile of flattered vanity rested on Ephraim’s lips, and toying with
the broad gold bracelet on his arm, perhaps unconsciously, he replied
with eagerness:

“Ay, my lord, I have often proved my courage in the hunting field; but
at home we have plenty of sheep and cattle, which even now I call my
own, and it seems to me a more enviable lot to wander freely and rule
the shepherds than to obey the commands of others.”

“Aha!” said the priest. “Perhaps Hosea may instil different and better
views. To rule--a lofty ambition for youth. The misfortune is that we
who have attained it are but servants whose burdens grow heavier with
the increasing number of those who obey us. You understand me, Hornecht,
and you, my lad, will comprehend my meaning later, when you become the
palm-tree the promise of your youth foretells. But we are losing time.
Who sent you to Hosea?”

The youth cast down his eyes irresolutely, but when the prophet broke
the silence with the query: “And what has become of the frankness you
were taught?” he responded promptly and resolutely:

“I came for the sake of a woman whom you know not.”

“A woman?” the prophet repeated, casting an enquiring glance at
Hornecht. “When a bold warrior and a fair woman seek each other, the
Hathors--[The Egyptian goddesses of love, who are frequently represented
with cords in their hands,]--are apt to appear and use the binding
cords; but it does not befit a servant of the divinity to witness such
goings on, so I forbear farther questioning. Take charge of the lad,
captain, and aid him to deliver his message to Hosea. The only doubt is
whether he is in the city.”

“No,” the soldier answered, “but he is expected with thousands of his
men at the armory to-day.”

“Then may the Hathors, who are partial to love messengers, bring these
two together to-morrow at latest,” said the priest.

But the lad indignantly retorted: “I am the bearer of no love message.”

The prophet, pleased with the bold rejoinder, answered pleasantly: “I
had forgotten that I was accosting a young shepherd-prince.” Then he
added in graver tones: “When you have found Hosea, greet him from me and
tell him that Bai, the second prophet of Amon sought to discharge a part
of the debt of gratitude he owed for his release from the hands of the
Libyans by extending his protection to you, his nephew. Perhaps, my
brave boy, you do not know that you have escaped as if by a miracle a
double peril; the savage populace would no more have spared your life
than would the stifling dust of the falling houses. Remember this, and
tell Hosea also from me, Bai, that I am sure when he beholds the woe
wrought by the magic arts of one of your race on the house of Pharaoh,
to which he vowed fealty, and with it on this city and the whole
country, he will tear himself with abhorrence from his kindred. They
have fled like cowards, after dealing the sorest blows, robbing of
their dearest possessions those among whom they dwelt in peace, whose
protection they enjoyed, and who for long years have given them work and
ample food. All this they have done and, if I know him aright, he will
turn his back upon men who have committed such crimes. Tell him also
that this has been voluntarily done by the Hebrew officers and men under
the command of the Syrian Aarsu. This very morning--Hosea will have
heard the news from other sources--they offered sacrifices not only to
Baal and Seth, their own gods, whom so many of you were ready to serve
ere the accursed sorcerer, Mesu, seduced you, but also to Father Amon
and the sacred nine of our eternal deities. If he will do the same, we
will rise hand in hand to the highest place, of that he may be sure--and
well he merits it. The obligation still due him I shall gratefully
discharge in other ways, which must for the present remain secret. But
you may tell your uncle now from me that I shall find means to protect
Nun, his noble father, when the vengeance of the gods and of Pharaoh
falls upon the rest of your race. Already--tell him this also--the sword
is whetted, and a pitiless judgment is impending. Bid him ask himself
what fugitive shepherds can do against the power of the army among whose
ablest leaders he is numbered. Is your father still alive, my son?”

“No, he was borne to his last resting-place long ago,” replied the youth
in a faltering voice.

Was the fever of his wound attacking him? Or did the shame of belonging
to a race capable of acts so base overwhelm the young heart? Or did the
lad cling to his kindred, and was it wrath and resentment at hearing
them so bitterly reviled which made his color vary from red to pale and
roused such a tumult in his soul that he was scarcely capable of speech?
No matter! This lad was certainly no suitable bearer of the message the
prophet desired to send to his uncle, and Bai beckoned to Hornecht to
come with him under the shadow of a broad-limbed sycamore-tree.

The point was to secure Hosea’s services in the army at any cost, so he
laid his hand on his friend’s shoulder, saying:

“You know that it was my wife who won you and others over to our cause.
She serves us better and more eagerly than many a man, and while I
appreciate your daughter’s beauty, she never tires of lauding the
winning charm of her innocence.”

“And Kasana is to take part in the plot?” cried the soldier angrily.

“Not as an active worker, like my wife,--certainly not.”

“She would be ill-suited to such a task,” replied the other in a calmer
tone, “she is scarcely more than a child.”

“Yet through her aid we might bring to our cause a man whose good-will
seems to me priceless.”

“You mean Hosea?” asked the captain, his brow darkening again, but the
prophet added:

“And if I do? Is he still a real Hebrew? Can you deem it unworthy the
daughter of a distinguished warrior to bestow her band on a man who, if
our plans prosper, will be commander-in-chief of all the troops in the
land?”

“No, my lord!” cried Hornecht. “But one of my motives for rebelling
against Pharaoh and upholding Siptah is that the king’s mother was
a foreigner, while our own blood courses through Siptah’s veins. The
mother decides the race to which a man belongs, and Hosea’s mother was
a Hebrew woman. He is my friend, I value his talents; Kasana likes
him....”

“Yet you desire a more distinguished son-in-law?” interrupted his
companion. “How is our arduous enterprise to prosper, if those who are
to peril their lives for its success consider the first sacrifice too
great? You say that your daughter favors Hosea?”

“Yes, she did care for him,” the soldier answered; “yes, he was her
heart’s desire. But I compelled her to obey me, and now that she is a
widow, am I to give her to the man whom--the gods alone know with how
much difficulty--I forced her to resign? When was such an act heard of
in Egypt?”

“Ever since the men and women who dwell by the Nile have submitted, for
the sake of a great cause, to demands opposed to their wishes,” replied
the priest.

“Consider all this, and remember that Hosea’s ancestress--he boasted of
it in your own presence--was an Egyptian, the daughter of a man of my
own class.”

“How many generations have passed to the tomb since?”

“No matter! It brings us into closer relations with him. That must
suffice. Farewell until this evening. Meanwhile, will you extend your
hospitality to Hosea’s nephew and commend him to your fair daughter’s
nursing; he seems in sore need of care.”




CHAPTER IV.

The house of Hornecht, like nearly every other dwelling in the city, was
the scene of the deepest mourning. The men had shaved their hair, and
the women had put dust on their foreheads. The archer’s wife had died
long before, but his daughter and her women received him with waving
veils and loud lamentations; for the astrologer, his brother-in-law,
had lost both his first-born son and his grandson, and the plague had
snatched its victims from the homes of many a friend.

But the senseless youth soon demanded all the care the women could
bestow, and after bathing him and binding a healing ointment on the
dangerous wound in his head, strong wine and food were placed before
him, after which, refreshed and strengthened, he obeyed the summons of
the daughter of his host.

The dust-covered, worn-out fellow was transformed into a handsome youth.
His perfumed hair fell in long curling locks from beneath the fresh
white bandage, and gold-bordered Egyptian robes from the wardrobe
of Kasana’s dead husband covered his pliant bronzed limbs. He seemed
pleased with the finery of his garments, which exhaled a subtle odor of
spikenard new to his senses; for the eyes in his handsome face sparkled
brilliantly.

It was many a day since the captain’s daughter, herself a woman of
unusual beauty and charm, had seen a handsomer youth. Within the year
she had married a man she did not love Kasana had returned a widow
to her father’s house, which lacked a mistress, and the great wealth
bequeathed to her, at her husband’s death, made it possible for her to
bring into the soldier’s unpretending home the luxury and ease which to
her had now become a second nature.

Her father, a stern man prone to sudden fits of passion, now yielded
absolutely to her will. Formerly he had pitilessly enforced his own,
compelling the girl of fifteen to wed a man many years her senior. This
had been done because he perceived that Kasana had given her young heart
to Hosea, the soldier, and he deemed it beneath his dignity to receive
the Hebrew, who at that time held no prominent position in the army,
as his son-in-law. An Egyptian girl had no choice save to accept the
husband chosen by her father and Kasana submitted, though she shed so
many bitter tears that the archer rejoiced when, in obedience to his
will, she had wedded an unloved husband.

But even as a widow Kasana’s heart clung to the Hebrew. When the army
was in the field her anxiety was ceaseless; day and night were spent in
restlessness and watching. When news came from the troops she asked only
about Hosea, and her father with deep annoyance attributed to her love
for the Hebrew her rejection of suitor after suitor. As a widow she had
a right to the bestowal of her own hand, and the tender, gentle-natured
woman astonished Hornecht by the resolute decision displayed, not alone
to him and lovers of her own rank, but to Prince Siptah, whose cause the
captain had espoused as his own.

To-day Kasana expressed her delight at the Hebrew’s return with such
entire frankness and absence of reserve that the quick-tempered man
rushed out of the house lest he might be tempted into some thoughtless
act or word. His young guest was left to the care of his daughter and
her nurse.

How deeply the lad’s sensitive nature was impressed by the airy rooms,
the open verandas supported by many pillars, the brilliant hues of the
painting, the artistic household utensils, the soft cushions, and the
sweet perfume everywhere! All these things were novel and strange to
the son of a herdsman who had always lived within the grey walls of
a spacious, but absolutely plain abode, and spent months together in
canvas tents among shepherds and flocks, nay was more accustomed to be
in the open air than under any shelter! He felt as though some wizard
had borne him into a higher and more beautiful world, where he was
entirely at home in his magnificent garb, with his perfumed curls and
limbs fresh from the bath. True, the whole earth was fair, even out in
the pastures among the flocks or round the fire in front of the tent in
the cool of the evening, when the shepherds sang, the hunters told tales
of daring exploits, and the stars sparkled brightly overhead.

But all these pleasures were preceded by weary, hateful labor; here it
was a delight merely to see and to breathe and, when the curtains parted
and the young widow, giving him a friendly greeting, made him sit down
opposite to her, sometimes questioning him and sometimes listening
with earnest sympathy to his replies, he almost imagined his senses had
failed him as they had done under the ruins of the fallen house, and
he was enjoying the sweetest of dreams. The feeling that threatened to
stifle him and frequently interrupted the flow of words was the rapture
bestowed upon him by great Aschera, the companion of Baal, of whom the
Phoenician traders who supplied the shepherds with many good things had
told him such marvels, and whom the stern Miriam forbade him ever to
name at home.

His family had instilled into his young heart hatred of the Egyptians as
the oppressors of his race, but could they be so wicked, could he detest
a people among whom were creatures like this lovely, gentle woman, who
gazed into his eyes so softly, so tenderly, whose voice fell on his ear
like harmonious music, and whose glance made his blood course so swiftly
that he could scarce endure it and pressed his hand upon his heart to
quiet its wild pulsation.

Kasana sat opposite to him on a seat covered with a panther-skin,
drawing the fine wool from the distaff. He had pleased her and she had
received him kindly because he was related to the man whom she had loved
from childhood. She imagined that she could trace a resemblance between
him and Hosea, though the youth lacked the grave earnestness of the
man to whom she had yielded her young heart, she knew not why nor when,
though he had never sought her love.

A lotus blossom rested among her dark waving curls, and its stem fell in
a graceful curve on her bent neck, round which clustered a mass of soft
locks. When she lifted her eyes to his, he felt as though two springs
had opened to pour floods of bliss into his young breast, and he had
already clasped in greeting the dainty hand which held the yarn.

She now questioned him about Hosea and the woman who had sent the
message, whether she was young and fair and whether any tie of love
bound her to his uncle.

Ephraim laughed merrily. She who had sent him was so grave and earnest
that the bare thought of her being capable of any tender emotion wakened
his mirth. As to her beauty, he had never asked himself the question.

The young widow interpreted the laugh as the reply she most desired and,
much relieved, laid aside the spindle and invited Ephraim to go into the
garden.

How fragrant and full of bloom it was, how well-kept were the beds, the
paths, the arbors, and the pond.

His unpretending home adjoined a dreary yard, wholly unadorned and
filled with pens for sheep and cattle. Yet he knew that at some future
day he would be owner of great possessions, for he was the sole child
and heir of a wealthy father and his mother was the daughter of the rich
Nun. The men servants had told him this more than once, and it angered
him to see that his own home was scarcely better than Hornecht’s
slave-quarters, to which Kasana had called his attention.

During their stroll through the garden Ephraim was asked to help her
cull the flowers and, when the basket he carried was filled, she invited
him to sit with her in a bower and aid her to twine the wreaths. These
were intended for the dear departed. Her uncle and a beloved cousin--who
bore some resemblance to Ephraim--had been snatched away the night
before by the plague which his people had brought upon Tanis.

From the street which adjoined the garden-wall they heard the wails of
women lamenting the dead or bearing a corpse to the tomb. Once, when
the cries of woe rose more loudly and clearly than ever, Kasana gently
reproached him for all that the people of Tanis had suffered through the
Hebrews, and asked if he could deny that the Egyptians had good reason
to hate a race which had brought such anguish upon them.

It was hard for Ephraim to find a fitting answer; he had been told that
the God of his race had punished the Egyptians to rescue his own people
from shame and bondage, and he could neither condemn nor scorn the men
of his own blood. So he kept silence that he might neither speak falsely
nor blaspheme; but Kasana allowed him no peace, and he at last replied
that aught which caused her sorrow was grief to him, but his people had
no power over life and health, and when a Hebrew was ill, he often sent
for an Egyptian physician. What had occurred was doubtless the will of
the great God of his fathers, whose power far surpassed the might of any
other deity. He himself was a Hebrew, yet she would surely believe his
assurance that he was guiltless of the plague and would gladly recall
her uncle and cousin to life, had he the power to do so. For her sake he
would undertake the most difficult enterprise.

She smiled kindly and replied:

“My poor boy! If I see any guilt in you, it is only that you are one of
a race which knows no ruth, no patience. Our beloved, hapless dead! They
must even lose the lamentations of their kindred; for the house where
they rest is plague-stricken and no one is permitted to enter.”

She silently wiped her eyes and went on arranging her garlands, but tear
after tear coursed down her cheeks.

Ephraim knew not what to say, and mutely handed her the leaves and
blossoms. Whenever his hand touched hers a thrill ran through his veins.
His head and the wound began to ache, and he sometimes felt a slight
chill. He knew that the fever was increasing, as it had done once before
when he nearly lost his life in the red disease; but he was ashamed to
own it and battled bravely against his pain.

When the sun was nearing the horizon Hornecht entered the garden. He
had already seen Hosea, and though heartily glad to greet his old friend
once more, it had vexed him that the soldier’s first enquiry was for
his daughter. He did not withhold this from the young widow, but his
flashing eyes betrayed the displeasure with which he delivered the
Hebrew’s message. Then, turning to Ephraim, he told him that Hosea
and his men would encamp outside of the city, pitching their tents, on
account of the pestilence, between Tanis and the sea. They would soon
march by. His uncle sent Ephraim word that he must seek him in his tent.

When he noticed that the youth was aiding his daughter to weave the
garlands, he smiled, and said:

“Only this morning this young fellow declared his intention of remaining
free and a ruler all his life. Now he has taken service with you,
Kasana. You need not blush, young friend. If either your mistress
or your uncle can persuade you to join us and embrace the noblest
trade--that of the soldier--so much the better for you. Look at me!
I’ve wielded the bow more than forty years and still rejoice in my
profession. I must obey, it is true, but it is also my privilege to
command, and the thousands who obey me are not sheep and cattle, but
brave men. Consider the matter again. He would make a splendid leader of
the archers. What say you, Kasana?”

“Certainly,” replied the young widow. And she was about to say more, but
the regular tramp of approaching troops was heard on the other side
of the garden-wall. A slight flush crimsoned Kasana’s cheeks, her eyes
sparkled with a light that startled Ephraim and, regardless of her
father or her guest, she darted past the pond, across paths and
flower-beds, to a grassy bank beside the wall, whence she gazed eagerly
toward the road and the armed host which soon marched by.

Hosea, in full armor, headed his men. As he passed Hornecht’s garden
he turned his grave head, and seeing Kasana lowered his battle-axe in
friendly salutation.

Ephraim had followed the captain of the archers, who pointed out the
youth’s uncle, saying: “Shining armor would become you also, and when
drums are beating, pipes squeaking shrilly, and banners waving, a man
marches as lightly as if he had wings. To-day the martial music is
hushed by the terrible woe brought upon us by that Hebrew villain. True,
Hosea is one of his race yet, though I cannot forget that fact, I must
admit that he is a genuine soldier, a model for the rising generation.
Tell him what I think of him on this score. Now bid farewell to Kasana
quickly and follow the men; the little side-door in the wall is open.”
 He turned towards the house as he spoke, and Ephraim held out his hand
to bid the young widow farewell.

She clasped it, but hurriedly withdrew her own, exclaiming anxiously:
“How burning hot your hand is! You have a fever!”

“No, no,” faltered the youth, but even while speaking he fell upon his
knees and the veil of unconsciousness descended upon the sufferer’s
soul, which had been the prey of so many conflicting emotions.

Kasana was alarmed, but speedily regained her composure and began to
cool his brow and head by bathing them with water from the neighboring
pond. Yes, in his boyhood the man she loved must have resembled this
youth. Her heart throbbed more quickly and, while supporting his head in
her hands, she gently kissed him.

She supposed him to be unconscious, but the refreshing water had already
dispelled the brief swoon, and he felt the caress with a thrill of
rapture. But he kept his eyes closed, and would gladly have lain for a
life-time with his head pillowed on her breast in the hope that her lips
might once more meet his. But instead of kissing him a second time she
called loudly for aid. He raised himself, gave one wild, ardent look
into her face and, ere she could stay him, rushed like a strong man
to the garden gate, flung it open, and followed the troops. He soon
overtook the rear ranks, passed on in advance of the others, and at last
reached their leader’s side and, calling his uncle by name, gave his
own. Hosea, in his joy and astonishment, held out his arms, but ere
Ephraim could fall upon his breast, he again lost consciousness, and
stalwart soldiers bore the senseless lad into the tent the quartermaster
had already pitched on a dune by the sea.




CHAPTER V.

It was midnight. A fire was blazing in front of Hosea’s tent, and he sat
alone before it, gazing mournfully now into the flames and anon over
the distant country. Inside the canvas walls Ephraim was lying on his
uncle’s camp-bed.

The surgeon who attended the soldiers had bandaged the youth’s wounds,
given him an invigorating cordial, and commanded him to keep still; for
the violence with which the fever had attacked the lad alarmed him.

But in spite of the leech’s prescription Ephraim continued restless.
Sometimes Kasana’s image rose before his eyes, increasing the fever of
his over-heated blood, sometimes he recalled the counsel to become a
warrior like his uncle. The advice seemed wise--at least he tried to
persuade himself that it was--because it promised honor and fame, but in
reality he wished to follow it because it would bring her for whom his
soul yearned nearer to him.

Then his pride rose as he remembered the insults which she and her
father had heaped on those to whom by every tie of blood and affection,
he belonged. His hand clenched as he thought of the ruined home of his
grandfather, whom he had ever regarded one of the noblest of men. Nor
was his message forgotten. Miriam had repeated it again and again,
and his clear memory retained every syllable, for he had unweariedly
iterated it to himself during his solitary walk to Tanis. He was
striving to do the same thing now but, ere he could finish, his mind
always reverted to thoughts of Kasana. The leech had told Hosea to
forbid the sufferer to talk and, when the youth attempted to deliver
his message, the uncle ordered him to keep silence. Then the soldier
arranged his pillow with a mother’s tenderness, gave him his medicine,
and kissed him on the forehead. At last he took his seat by the fire
before the tent and only rose to give Ephraim a drink when he saw by the
stars that an hour had passed.

The flames illumined Hosea’s bronzed features, revealing the countenance
of a man who had confronted many a peril and vanquished all by steadfast
perseverance and wise consideration. His black eyes had an imperious
look, and his full, firmly-compressed lips suggested a quick temper and,
still more, the iron will of a resolute man. His broad-shouldered form
leaned against some lances thrust crosswise into the earth, and when
he passed his strong hand through his thick black locks or smoothed his
dark beard, and his eyes sparkled with ire, it was evident that his soul
was stirred by conflicting emotions and that he stood on the threshold
of a great resolve. The lion was resting, but when he starts up, let his
foes beware!

His soldiers had often compared their fearless, resolute leader, with
his luxuriant hair, to the king of beasts, and as he now shook his fist,
while the muscles of his bronzed arm swelled as though they would burst
the gold armlet that encircled them, and his eyes flashed fire, his
awe-inspiring mien did not invite approach.

Westward, the direction toward which his eyes were turned, lay the
necropolis and the ruined strangers’ quarter. But a few hours ago he had
led his troops through the ruins around which the ravens were circling
and past his father’s devastated home.

Silently, as duty required, he marched on. Not until he halted to seek
quarters for the soldiers did he hear from Hornecht, the captain of
the archers, what had happened during the night. He listened silently,
without the quiver of an eye-lash, or a word of questioning, until his
men had pitched their tents. He had but just gone to rest when a Hebrew
maiden, spite of the menaces of the guard, made her way in to implore
him, in the name of Eliab, one of the oldest slaves of his family, to
go with her to the old man, her grandfather. The latter, whose weakness
prevented journeying, had been left behind, and directly after the
departure of the Hebrews he and his wife had been carried on an ass
to the little but near the harbor, which generous Nun, his master, had
bestowed on the faithful slave.

The grand-daughter had been left to care for the feeble pair, and
now the old servant’s heart yearned for one more sight of his lord’s
first-born son whom, when a child, he had carried in his arms. He had
charged the girl to tell Hosea that Nun had promised his people that his
son would abandon the Egyptians and cleave to his own race. The tribe of
Ephraim, nay the whole Hebrew nation had hailed these tidings with the
utmost joy. Eliab would give him fuller details; she herself had been
well nigh dazed with weeping and anxiety. He would earn the richest
blessings if he would only follow her.

The soldier realized at once that he must fulfil this desire, but he was
obliged to defer his visit to the old slave until the nest morning. The
messenger, however, even in her haste, had told him many incidents she
had seen herself or heard from others.

At last she left him. He rekindled the fire and, so long as the flames
burned brightly, his gaze was bent with a gloomy, thoughtful expression
upon the west. Not till they had devoured the fuel and merely flickered
with a faint bluish light around the charred embers did he fix his eyes
on the whirling sparks. And the longer he did so, the deeper, the more
unconquerable became the conflict in his soul, whose every energy, but
yesterday, had been bent upon a single glorious goal.

The war against the Libyan rebels had detained him eighteen months from
his home, and he had seen ten crescent moons grow full since any news
had reached him of his kindred. A few weeks before he had been ordered
to return, and when to-day he approached nearer and nearer to the
obelisks towering above Tanis, the city of Rameses, his heart had pulsed
with as much joy and hopefulness as if the man of thirty were once more
a boy.

Within a few short hours he should again see his beloved, noble father,
who had needed great deliberation and much persuasion from Hosea’s
mother--long since dead--ere he would permit his son to follow the bent
of his inclinations and enter upon a military life in Pharaoh’s army. He
had anticipated that very day surprising him with the news that he had
been promoted above men many years his seniors and of Egyptian lineage.
Instead of the slights Nun had dreaded, Hosea’s gallant bearing, courage
and, as he modestly added, good-fortune had gained him promotion, yet
he had remained a Hebrew. When he felt the necessity of offering to some
god sacrifices and prayer, he had bowed before Seth, to whose temple
Nun had led him when a child, and whom in those days all the people in
Goshen in whose veins flowed Semitic blood had worshipped. But he also
owed allegiance to another god, not the God of his fathers, but the
deity revered by all the Egyptians who had been initiated. He remained
unknown to the masses, who could not have understood him; yet he was
adored not only by the adepts but by the majority of those who had
obtained high positions in civil or military life-whether they were
servants of the divinity or not--and Hosea, the initiated and the
stranger, knew him also. Everybody understood when allusion was made to
“the God,” the “Sum of All,” the “Creator of Himself,” and the “Great
One.” Hymns extolled him, inscriptions on the monuments, which all could
read, spoke of him, the one God, who manifested himself to the world,
pervaded the universe, and existed throughout creation not alone as
the vital spark animates the human organism, but as himself the sum
of creation, the world with its perpetual growth, decay, and renewal,
obeying the laws he had himself ordained. His spirit, existing in every
form of nature, dwelt also in man, and wherever a mortal gazed he could
discern the rule of the “One.” Nothing could be imagined without him,
therefore he was one like the God of Israel. Nothing could be created
nor happen on earth apart from him, therefore, like Jehovah, he was
omnipotent. Hosea had long regarded both as alike in spirit, varying
only in name. Whoever adored one was a servant of the other, so
the warrior could have entered his father’s presence with a clear
conscience, and told him that although in the service of the king he had
remained loyal to the God of his nation.

Another thought had made his heart pulse faster and more joyously as he
saw in the distance the pylons and obelisks of Tanis; for on countless
marches through the silent wilderness and in many a lonely camp he had
beheld in imagination a virgin of his own race, whom he had known as a
singular child, stirred by marvellous thoughts, and whom, just before
leading his troops to the Libyan war, he had again met, now a dignified
maiden of stern and unapproachable beauty. She had journeyed from
Succoth to Tanis to attend his mother’s funeral, and her image had been
deeply imprinted on his heart, as his--he ventured to hope--on hers. She
had since become a prophetess, who heard the voice of her God. While the
other maidens of his people were kept in strict seclusion, she was free
to come and go at will, even among men, and spite of her hate of the
Egyptians and of Hosea’s rank among them, she did not deny that it was
grief to part and that she would never cease thinking of him. His future
wife must be as strong, as earnest, as himself. Miriam was both, and
quite eclipsed a younger and brighter vision which he had once conjured
before his memory with joy.

He loved children, and a lovelier girl than Kasana he had never met,
either in Egypt or in alien lands. The interest with which the fair
daughter of his companion-in-arms watched his deeds and his destiny, the
modest yet ardent devotion afterwards displayed by the much sought-after
young widow, who coldly repelled all other suitors, had been a delight
to him in times of peace. Prior to her marriage he had thought of her as
the future mistress of his home, but her wedding another, and Hornecht’s
oft-repeated declaration that he would never give his child to a
foreigner, had hurt his pride and cooled his passion. Then he met Miriam
and was fired with an ardent desire to make her his wife. Still, on the
homeward march the thought of seeing Kasana again had been a pleasant
one. It was fortunate he no longer wished to wed Hornecht’s daughter; it
could have led to naught save trouble. Both Hebrews and Egyptians held
it to be an abomination to eat at the same board, or use the same seats
or knives. Though he himself was treated by his comrades as one of
themselves, and had often heard Kasana’s father speak kindly of his
kindred, yet “strangers” were hateful in the eyes of the captain of the
archers, and of all free Egyptians.

He had found in Miriam the noblest of women. He hoped that Kasana might
make another happy. To him she would ever be the charming child from
whom we expect nothing save the delight of her presence.

He had come to ask from her, as a tried friend ever ready for leal
service, a joyous glance. From Miriam he would ask herself, with all
her majesty and beauty, for he had borne the solitude of the camp long
enough, and now that on his return no mother’s arms opened to welcome
him, he felt for the first time the desolation of a single life. He
longed to enjoy the time of peace when, after dangers and privations of
every kind, he could lay aside his weapons. It was his duty to lead a
wife home to his father’s hearth and to provide against the extinction
of the noble race of which he was the sole representative. Ephraim was
the son of his sister.

Filled with the happiest thoughts, he had advanced toward Tannis and, on
reaching the goal of all his hopes and wishes, found it lying before him
like a ripening grain-field devastated by hail and swarms of locusts.

As if in derision, fate led him first to the Hebrew quarter. A heap
of dusty ruins marked the site of the house where he had spent his
childhood, and for which his heart had longed; and where his loved
ones had watched his departure, beggars were now greedily searching for
plunder among the debris.

The first man to greet him in Tanis was Kasana’s father. Instead of a
friendly glance from her eyes, he had received from him tidings that
pierced his inmost heart. He had expected to bring home a wife, and the
house where she was to reign as mistress was razed to the ground. The
father, for whose blessing he longed, and who was to have been gladdened
by his advancement, had journeyed far away and must henceforward be the
foe of the sovereign to whom he owed his prosperity.

He had been proud of rising, despite his origin, to place and power.
Now he would be able, as leader of a great host, to show the prowess
of which he was capable. His inventive brain had never lacked schemes
which, if executed by his superiors, would have had good results; now
he could fulfil them according to his own will, and instead of the tool
become the guiding power.

These reflections had awakened a keen sense of exultation in his breast
and winged his steps on his homeward march and, now that he had reached
the goal, so long desired, must he turn back to join the shepherds and
builders to whom--it now seemed a sore misfortune--he belonged by the
accident of birth and ancestry, though, denial was futile, he felt
as utterly alien to the Hebrews as he was to the Libyans whom he had
confronted on the battle-field. In almost every pursuit he valued,
he had nothing in common with his people. He had believed he might
truthfully answer yes to his father’s enquiry whether he had returned
a Hebrew, yet he now felt it would be only a reluctant and half-hearted
assent.

He clung with his whole soul to the standards beneath which he had gone
to battle and might now himself lead to victory. Was it possible to
wrench his heart from them, renounce what his own deeds had won? Yet
Eliab’s granddaughter had told him that the Hebrews expected him to
leave the army and join them. A message from his father must soon reach
him--and among the Hebrews a son never opposed a parent’s command.

There was still another to whom implicit obedience was due, Pharaoh, to
whom he had solemnly vowed loyal service, sworn to follow his summons
without hesitation or demur, through fire and water, by day and night.

How often he had branded the soldier who deserted to the foe or rebelled
against the orders of his commander as a base scoundrel and villain,
and by his orders many a renegade from his standard had died a shameful
death on the gallows under his own eyes. Was he now to commit the deed
for which he had despised and killed others? His prompt decision was
known throughout the army, how quickly in the most difficult situations
he could resolve upon the right course and carry it into action; but
during this dark and lonely hour of the night he seemed to himself a
mere swaying reed, and felt as helpless as a forsaken orphan.

Wrath against himself preyed upon him, and when he thrust a spear into
the flames, scattering the embers and sending a shower of bright sparks
upward, it was rage at his own wavering will that guided his hand.

Had recent events imposed upon him the virile duty of vengeance, doubt
and hesitation would have vanished and his father’s summons would have
spurred him on to action; but who had been the heaviest sufferers here?
Surely it was the Egyptians whom Moses’ curse had robbed of thousands
of beloved lives, while the Hebrews had escaped their revenge by flight.
His wrath had been kindled by the destruction of the Hebrews’ houses,
but he saw no sufficient cause for a bloody revenge, when he remembered
the unspeakable anguish inflicted upon Pharaoh and his subjects by the
men of his own race.

Nay; he had nothing to avenge; he seemed to himself like a man who
beholds his father and mother in mortal peril, owns that he cannot save
both, yet knows that while staking his life to rescue one he must leave
the other to perish. If he obeyed the summons of his people, he would
lose his honor, which he had kept as untarnished as his brazen helm, and
with it the highest goal of his life; if he remained loyal to Pharaoh
and his oath, he must betray his own race, have all his future days
darkened by his father’s curse, and resign the brightest dream he
cherished; for Miriam was a true child of her people and he would be
blest indeed if her lofty soul could be as ardent in love as it was
bitter in hate.

Stately and beautiful, but with gloomy eyes and hand upraised in
warning, her image rose before his mental vision as he sat gazing over
the smouldering fire out into the darkness. And now the pride of his
manhood rebelled, and it seemed base cowardice to cast aside, from dread
of a woman’s wrath and censure, all that a warrior held most dear.

“Nay, nay,” he murmured, and the scale containing duty, love, and filial
obedience suddenly kicked the beam. He was what he was--the leader of
ten thousand men in Pharaoh’s army. He had vowed fealty to him--and to
none other. Let his people fly from the Egyptian yoke, if they desired.
He, Hosea, scorned flight. Bondage had sorely oppressed them, but the
highest in the land had received him as an equal and held him worthy
of the loftiest honor. To repay them with treachery and desertion was
foreign to his nature and, drawing a long breath, he sprang to his feet
with the conviction that he had chosen aright. A fair woman and the
weak yearning of a loving heart should not make him a recreant to grave
duties and the loftiest purposes of his life.

“I will stay!” cried a loud voice in his breast. “Father is wise and
kind, and when he learns the reasons for my choice he will approve
them and bless, instead of cursing me. I will write to him, and the boy
Miriam sent me shall be the messenger.”

A call from the tent startled him and when, springing up, he glanced at
the stars, he found that he had forgotten his duty to the suffering lad
and hurried to his couch.

Ephraim was sitting up in his bed, watching for him, and exclaimed: “I
have been waiting a long, long time to see you. So many thoughts crowd
my brain and, above all, Miriam’s message. I can get no rest until I
have delivered it--so listen now.”

Hosea nodded assent and, after drinking the healing potion handed to
him, Ephraim began:

“Miriam the daughter of Amram and Jochebed greets the son of Nun the
Ephraimite. Thy name is Hosea, ‘the Help,’ and the Lord our God hath
chosen thee to be the helper of His people. But henceforward, by
His command, thou shalt be called Joshua,--[Jehoshua, he who helps
Jehova]--the help of Jehovah; for through Miriam’s lips the God of her
fathers, who is the God of thy fathers likewise, bids thee be the sword
and buckler of thy people. In Him dwells all power, and he promises to
steel thine arm that He may smite the foe.”

Ephraim had begun in a low voice, but gradually his tones grew more
resonant and the last words rang loudly and solemnly through the
stillness of the night.

Thus had Miriam uttered them, laying her hands on the lad’s head and
gazing earnestly into his face with eyes deep and dark as night, and
while repeating them he had felt as though some secret power were
constraining him to shout them aloud to Hosea, just as he had heard them
from the lips of the prophetess. Then, with a sigh of relief, he turned
his face toward the canvas wall of the tent, saying quietly:

“Now I will go to sleep.”

But Hosea laid his hand on his shoulder, exclaiming imperiously: “Say it
again.”

The youth obeyed, but this time he repeated the words in a low, careless
tone, then saying beseechingly:

“Let me rest now,” put his hand under his cheek and closed his eyes.

Hosea let him have his way, carefully applied a fresh bandage to
his burning head, extinguished the light, and flung more fuel on the
smouldering fire outside; but the alert, resolute man performed every
act as if in a dream. At last he sat down, and propping his elbows
on his knees and his head in his hands, stared alternately, now into
vacancy, and anon into the flames.

Who was this God who summoned him through Miriam’s lips to be, under His
guidance, the sword and shield of His people?

He was to be known by a new name, and in the minds of the Egyptians
the name was everything “Honor to the name of Pharaoh,” not “Honor to
Tharaoh” was spoken and written. And if henceforward he was to be called
Joshua, the behest involved casting aside his former self, and becoming
a new man.

The will of the God of his fathers announced to him by Miriam meant no
less a thing than the command to transform himself from the Egyptian his
life had made him, into the Hebrew he had been when a lad. He must learn
to act and feel like an Israelite! Miriam’s summons called him back to
his people. The God of his race, through her, commanded him to fulfil
his father’s expectations. Instead of the Egyptian troops whom he must
forsake, he was in future to lead the men of his own blood forth to
battle! This was the meaning of her bidding, and when the noble virgin
and prophetess who addressed him, asserted that God Himself spoke
through her lips, it was no idle boast, she was really obeying the will
of the Most High. And now the image of the woman whom he had ventured
to love, rose in unapproachable majesty before him. Many things which
he had heard in his childhood concerning the God of Abraham, and His
promises returned to his mind, and the scale which hitherto had been the
heavier, rose higher and higher. The resolve just matured, now seemed
uncertain, and he again confronted the terrible conflict he had believed
was overpast.

How loud, how potent was the call he heard! Ringing in his ears, it
disturbed the clearness and serenity of his mind, and instead of calmly
reflecting on the matter, memories of his boyhood, which he had imagined
were buried long ago, raised their voices, and incoherent flashes of
thought darted through his brain.

Sometimes he felt impelled to turn in prayer to the God who summoned
him, but whenever he attempted to calm himself and uplift his heart and
eyes to Him, he remembered the oath he must break, the soldiers he must
abandon to lead, instead of well-disciplined, brave, obedient bands
of brothers-in-arms, a wretched rabble of cowardly slaves, and rude,
obstinate shepherds, accustomed to the heavy yoke of bondage.

The third hour after midnight had come, the guards had been relieved,
and Hosea thought he might now permit himself a few hours repose. He
would think all these things over again by daylight with his usual clear
judgment, which he strove in vain to obtain now. But when he entered the
tent and heard Ephraim’s regular breathing, he fancied that the boy’s
solemn message was again echoing in his ears. Startled, he was in the
act of repeating it himself, when loud voices in violent altercation
among the sentinels disturbed the stillness of the night.

The interruption was welcome, and he hurried to the outposts.




CHAPTER VI.

Hogla, the old slave’s granddaughter, had come to beseech Hosea to go
with her at once to her grandfather, who had suddenly broken down, and
who feeling the approach of death could not perish without having once
more seen and blessed him.

The warrior told her to wait and, after assuring himself that Ephraim
was sleeping quietly, ordered a trusty man to watch beside his bed and
went away with Hogla.

The girl walked before him, carrying a small lantern, and as its light
fell on her face and figure, he saw how unlovely she was, for the hard
toil of slavery had bowed the poor thing’s back before its time. Her
voice had the harsh accents frequently heard in the tones of women whose
strength has been pitilessly tasked; but her words were kind and tender,
and Hosea forgot her appearance when she told him that her lover
had gone with the departing tribes, yet she had remained with her
grandparents because she could not bring herself to leave the old couple
alone. Because she had no beauty no man had sought her for his wife
till Assir came, who did not care for her looks because he toiled
industriously, like herself, and expected her to add to his savings. He
would gladly have stayed with her, but his father had commanded him to
go forth, so there was no choice for them save to obey and part forever.

The words were simple and the accents harsh, yet they pierced the heart
of the man who was preparing to follow his own path in opposition to his
father’s will.

As they approached the harbor and Hosea saw the embankments, and the
vast fortified storehouses built by his own people, he remembered
the ragged laborers whom he had so often beheld crouching before the
Egyptian overseers or fighting savagely among themselves. He had heard,
too, that they shrunk from no lies, no fraud to escape their toil, and
how difficult was the task of compelling them to obey and fulfil their
duty.

The most repulsive forms among these luckless hordes rose distinctly
before his vision, and the thought that it might henceforward be his
destiny to command such a wretched rabble seemed to him ignominy which
the lowest of his brave officers, the leader of but fifty men, would
seek to avoid. True, Pharaoh’s armies contained many a Hebrew mercenary
who had won renown for bravery and endurance; but these men were the
sons of owners of herds or people who had once been shepherds. The
toiling slaves, whose clay huts could be upset by a kick, formed the
majority of those to whom he was required to return.

Resolute in his purpose to remain loyal to the oath which bound him to
the Egyptian standard, yet moved to the very depths of his heart, he
entered the slave’s little hut, and his anger rose when he saw old Eliab
sitting up, mixing some wine and water with his own hands. So he had
been summoned from his nephew’s sick-bed, and robbed of his night’s
rest, on a false pretence, in order that a slave, in his eyes scarcely
entitled to rank as a man, might have his way. Here he himself
experienced a specimen of the selfish craft of which the Egyptians
accused his people, and which certainly did not attract him, Hosea, to
them. But the anger of the just, keen sighted-man quickly subsided
at the sight of the girl’s unfeigned joy in her grandfather’s speedy
recovery. Besides he soon learned from the old man’s aged wife that,
shortly after Hogla’s departure, she remembered the wine they had, and
as soon as he swallowed the first draught her husband, whom she had
believed had one foot in the grave, grew better and better. Now he was
mixing some more of God’s gift to strengthen himself occasionally by a
sip.

Here Eliab interrupted her to say that they owed this and many more
valuable things to the goodness of Nun, Hosea’s father, who had given
them, besides their little hut, wine, meal for bread, a milch cow, and
also an ass, so that he could often ride out into the fresh air. He had
likewise left them their granddaughter and some pieces of silver, so
that they could look forward without fear to the end of their days,
especially as they had behind the house a bit of ground, where Hogla
meant to raise radishes, onions, and leeks for their own table. But the
best gift of all was the written document making them and the girl free
forever. Ay, Nun was a true master and father to his people, and the
blessing of Jehovah had followed his gifts; for soon after the departure
of the Hebrews, he and his wife had been brought hither unmolested by
the aid of Assir, Hogla’s lover.

“We old people shall die here,” Eliab’s wife added. But Assir promised
Hogla that he would come back for her when she had discharged her filial
duties to the end.

Then, turning to her granddaughter, she said encouragingly: “And we
cannot live much longer now.”

Hogla raised her blue gown to wipe the tears from her eyes, exclaiming

“May it be a long, long time yet. I am young and can wait.”

Hosea heard the words, and again it seemed as though the poor, forsaken,
unlovely girl was giving him a lesson.

He had listened patiently to the freed slaves’ talk, but his time was
limited and he now asked whether Eliab had summoned him for any special
purpose.

“Ay,” he replied; “I was obliged to send, not only to still the yearning
of my old heart, but because my lord Nun commanded me to do so.”

“Thou hast attained a grand and noble manhood, and hast now become
the hope of Israel. Thy father promised the slaves and freedmen of his
household that after his death, thou wouldst be heir, lord and master.
His words were full of thy praise, and great rejoicing hailed his
statement that thou wouldst follow the departing Hebrews. And my lord
deigned to command me to tell thee, if thou should’st return ere his
messenger arrived, that Nun, thy father, expected his son. Whithersoever
thy nation may wander, thou art to follow. Toward sunrise, or at latest
by the noon-tide hour, the tribes will tarry to rest at Succoth. He will
conceal in the hollow sycamore that stands in front of Amminadab’s house
a letter which will inform thee whither they will next turn their steps.
His blessing and that of our God will attend thy every step.”

As Eliab uttered the last words, Hosea bowed his head as if inviting
invisible hands to be laid upon it. Then he thanked the old man and
asked, in subdued tones, whether all the Hebrews had willingly obeyed
the summons to leave house and lands.

His aged wife clasped her hands, exclaiming: “Oh no, my lord, certainly
not. What wailing and weeping filled the air before their departure!
Many refused to go, others fled, or sought some hiding-place. But all
resistance was futile. In the house of our neighbor Deuel--you know
him--his young wife had just given birth to their first son. How was she
to fare on the journey? She wept bitterly and her husband uttered fierce
curses, but it was all in vain. She was put in a cart with her babe,
and as the arrangements went on, both submitted like all the rest--even
Phineas who crept into a pigeon-house with his wife and five children,
and crooked grave-haunting Kusaja. Do you remember her? Adonai! She had
seen father, mother, husband, and three noble sons, all that the Lord
had given her to love, borne to the tomb. They lay side by side in
our burying ground, and every morning and evening she went there and,
sitting on a log of wood which she had rolled close to the gravestones,
moved her lips constantly, not in prayer--no, I have listened often when
she did not know I was near--no; she talked to the dead, as though they
could hear her in the sepulchre, and understand her words like those who
walk alive beneath the sun. She is near seventy, and for thrice seven
years she has gone by the name of grave-haunting Kusaja. It was in sooth
a foolish thing to do; yet perhaps that was why she found it all the
harder to give it up, and go she would not, but hid herself among the
bushes. When Ahieser, the overseer, dragged her out, her wailing made
one’s heart sore, yet when the time for departure came, the longing
to go seized upon her also, and she found it as hard to resist as the
others.”

“What had happened to the poor creatures, what possessed them?” asked
Hosea, interrupting the old wife’s speech; for in imagination he again
beheld the people he must lead, if he valued his father’s blessing as
the most priceless boon the world could offer, and beheld them in all
their wretchedness.

The startled dame, fearing that she had offended her master’s first-born
son, the great and powerful chieftain, stammered:

“What possessed them, my lord? Ah, well--I am but a poor lowly
slave-woman; yet, my lord, had you but seen it.... ”

“Well, even then?” interrupted the warrior in harsh, impatient tones,
for this was the first time he had ever found himself compelled to act
against his desires and belief.

Eliab tried to come to the assistance of the terrified woman, saying
timidly,

“Ah, my lord, no tongue can relate, no human mind can picture it.
It came from the Almighty and, if I could describe how great was its
influence on the souls of the people....”

“Try,” Hosea broke in, “but my time is brief. So they were compelled
to depart, and set forth reluctantly on their wanderings. Even the
Egyptians have long known that they obeyed the bidding of Moses and
Aaron as the sheep follow the shepherd. Have those who brought the
terrible pestilence on so many guiltless human beings also wrought the
miracle of blinding the minds of you and of your wife?”

The old man stretched out his hands to the soldier, and answered in a
troubled voice and a tone of the most humble entreaty:

“Oh, my lord, you are my master’s first-born son, the greatest and
loftiest of your race, if it is your pleasure you can trample me into
the dust like a beetle, yet I must lift up my voice and say: ‘You have
heard false tales!’ You were away in foreign lands when mighty things
were done in our midst, and far from Zoan,--[The Hebrew name for
Tanis]--as I hear, when the exodus took place. Any son of our people
who witnessed it would rather his tongue should wither than mock at the
marvels the Lord permitted him to behold. Ah, if you had patience to
suffer me to tell the tale....”

“Speak on!” cried Hosea, astonished at the old man’s solemn fervor.
Eliab thanked him with an ardent glance, exclaiming:

“Oh, would that Aaron, or Eleasar, or my lord your father were here in
my stead, or would that Jehovah would bestow on me the might of their
eloquence! But be it as it is! True, I imagine I can again see and hear
everything as though it were happening once more before my eyes, but how
am I to describe it? How can such things be given in words? Yet, with
God’s assistance, I will try.”

Here he paused and Hosea, noticing that the old man’s hands and lips
were trembling, gave him the cup of wine, and Eliab gratefully quaffed
it to the dregs. Then, half-closing his eyes, he began his story and his
wrinkled features grew sharper as he went on:

“My wife has already told you what occurred after the people learned the
command that had been issued. We, too, were among those who lost courage
and murmured. But last night, all who belonged to the household of
Nun--and also the shepherds, the slaves, and the poor--were summoned to
a feast, and there was abundance of roast lamb, fresh, unleavened bread,
and wine, more than usual at the harvest festival, which began that
night, and which you, my lord, have often attended in your boyhood. We
sat rejoicing, and our lord, your father, comforted us, and told us of
the God of our fathers and the wonders He had wrought for them. It
was now His will that we should go forth from this land where we had
suffered contempt and bondage. This was no sacrifice like that of
Abraham when, at the command of the Most High, he had whetted his knife
to shed the blood of his son Isaac, though it would be hard for many of
us to quit a home that had grown dear to us and forego many a familiar
custom. But it will be a great happiness for us all. For, he said, we
were not to journey forth to an unknown country, but to a beautiful
region which God Himself had set apart for us. He had promised us,
instead of this place of bondage, a new and delightful home where we
should dwell free men, amid fruitful fields and rich pastures, which
would supply food to every man and his family and make all hearts
rejoice. Just as laborers must work hard to earn high wages, we must
endure a brief period of want and suffering to gain for ourselves and
for our children the beautiful new home which the Lord had promised.
God’s own land it must be, for it was a gift of the Most High.

“Having spoken thus, he blessed us all and promised that thou, too,
wouldst shake the dust from off thy feet, and join us to fight for our
cause with a strong arm as a trained soldier and a dutiful son.

“Shouts of joy rang forth and, when we assembled in the market-place and
found that all the bondmen had escaped from the overseers, many gained
fresh courage. Then Aaron stepped into our midst, stood upon the
auctioneer’s bench, and told us with his own lips all that we had
heard from my master Nun at the festival. The words he uttered sounded
sometimes like pealing thunder, and anon like the sweet melody of lutes,
and every one felt that the Lord our God Himself was speaking through
him; for even the most rebellious were so deeply moved that they no
longer complained and murmured. And when he finally announced to the
throng that no erring mortal, but the Lord our God Himself would be our
leader, and described the wonders of the land whose gates He would open
unto us, and where we might live, trammelled by no bondage, as free and
happy men, owing no obedience to any ruler save the God of our fathers
and those whom we ourselves chose for our leaders, every man present
felt as though he were drunk with sweet wine, and, instead of faring
forth across a barren wilderness to an unknown goal, was on the way to a
great festal banquet, prepared by the Most High Himself. Even those who
had not heard Aaron’s words were inspired with wondrous faith; men and
women behaved even more joyously and noisily than usual at the harvest
festival, for every heart was overflowing with genuine gratitude.

“The old people caught the universal spirit! Your grandfather Elishama,
bowed by the weight of his hundred years, who, as you know, has long sat
bent and silent in his corner, straightened his drooping form, and with
sparkling eyes poured forth a flood of eloquent words. The spirit of the
Lord had descended upon him and upon us all. I myself felt as though
the vigor of youth had returned to mind and body, and when I passed the
throngs who were preparing to set forth, I saw the young mother Elisheba
in her litter. Her face was as radiant as on her marriage morn, and she
was pressing her nursling to her breast, and rejoicing over his happy
fate in growing up in freedom in the Promised Land. Her spouse, Deuel,
who had poured forth such bitter imprecations, now waved his staff,
kissed his wife and child with tears of joy, and shouted with delight
like a vintager at the harvest season, when jars and wine skins are
too few to hold the blessing. Old grave-haunting Kusaja, who had been
dragged away from the sepulchre of her kindred, was sitting in a cart
with other infirm folk, waving her veil and joining in the hymn of
praise Elkanah and Abiasaph, the sons of Korah, had begun. So they went
forth; we who were left behind fell into each other’s arms, uncertain
whether the tears we shed streamed from our eyes for grief or for sheer
joy at seeing the throng of our loved ones so full of hope and gladness.

“So it came to pass.

“As soon as the pitch torches borne at the head of the procession,
which seemed to me to shine more brightly than the lamps lighted by the
Egyptians on the gates of the temple of the great goddess Neith, had
vanished in the darkness, we set out, that we might not delay Assir too
long, and while passing through the streets, which resounded with the
wailing of the citizens, we softly sang the hymn of the sons of Korah,
and great joy and peace filled our hearts, for we knew that the Lord our
God would defend and guide His people.”

The old man paused, but his wife and Hogla, who had listened with
sparkling eyes, leaned one on the other and, without any prompting,
began the hymn of praise of the sons of Korah, the old woman’s faint
voice mingling with touching fervor with the tones of the girl, whose
harsh notes thrilled with the loftiest enthusiasm.

Hosea felt that it would be criminal to interrupt the outpouring of
these earnest hearts, but Eliab soon stopped them and gazed with evident
anxiety into the stern face of his lord’s first-born son.

Had Hosea understood him?

Did this warrior, who served under Pharaoh’s banner, realize how
entirely the Lord God Himself had ruled the souls of his people at their
departure.

Had the life among the Egyptians so estranged him from his people and
his God, rendered him so degenerate, that he would bid defiance to the
wishes and commands of his own father?

Was the man on whom the Hebrews’ highest hopes were fixed a renegade,
forever lost to his people?

He received no verbal answer to these mute questions, but when Hosea
grasped his callous right hand in both his own and pressed it as he
would have clasped a friend’s, when he bade him farewell with tearful
eyes, murmuring: “You shall hear from me!” he felt that he knew enough
and, overwhelmed with passionate delight, he pressed kiss after kiss
upon the warrior’s arms and clothing.




CHAPTER VII.

Hosea returned to the camp with drooping head. The conflict in his soul
was at an end. He now knew what duty required. He must obey his father’s
summons.

And the God of his race!

The old man’s tale had given new life to the memories of his childhood,
and he now knew that He was not the same God as the Seth of the Asiatics
in Lower Egypt, nor the “One” and the “Sum of All” of the adepts.

The prayers he had uttered ere he fell asleep, the history of the
creation of the world, which he could never hear sufficiently often,
because it showed so clearly the gradual development of everything on
earth and in heaven until man came to possess and enjoy all, the story
of Abraham and Isaac, of Jacob, Esau, and his own ancestor, Joseph--how
gladly he had listened to these tales as they fell from the lips of the
gentle woman who had given him life, and from those of his nurse, and
his grandfather Elishama. Yet he imagined that they had faded from his
memory long ago.

But in old Eliab’s hovel he could have repeated the stories word for
word, and he now knew that there was indeed one invisible, omnipotent
God, who had preferred his race above all others, and had promised to
make them a mighty people.

The truths concealed by the Egyptians under the greatest mystery were
the common property of his race. Every beggar, every slave might raise
his hands in supplication to the one invisible God who had revealed
Himself unto Abraham.

Shrewd Egyptians, who had divined His existence and shrouded His image
with monstrous shapes, born of their own thoughts and imaginations,
had drawn a thick veil over Him, hidden Him from the masses. Among
the Hebrews alone did He really live and display His power in all its
mighty, heart-stirring grandeur.

He was not nature, with whom the initiated in the temples confounded
Him. No, the God of his fathers was far above all created things and the
whole visible universe, far above man, His last, most perfect work, whom
He had formed in His own image; and every living creature was subject
to His will. The Mightiest of Kings, He ruled the universe with stern
justice, and though He withdrew Himself from the sight and understanding
of man, His image, He was nevertheless a living, thinking, moving Being,
though His span of existence was eternity, His mind omniscience, His
sphere of sovereignty infinitude.

And this God had made Himself the leader of His people! There was no
warrior who could venture to cope with His might. If the spirit of
prophecy had not deceived Miriam, and the Lord had indeed commanded
Hosea to wield His sword, how dared he resist, what higher position
could earth offer? And his people? The rabble of whom he had thought so
scornfully, what a transformation seemed to have been wrought in them by
the power of the Most High, since he had listened to old Eliab’s tale!
Now he longed to be their leader, and midway to the camp he paused on
a sand-hill, whence he could see the limitless expanse of the sea
shimmering under the sheen of the twinkling stars of heaven, and for the
first time in many a long, long year, he raised his arms and eyes to the
God whom he had found once more.

He began with a little prayer his mother had taught him; then he cried
out to the Almighty as to a powerful counselor, imploring him with
fervent zeal to point out the way in which he should walk without being
disobedient to Him or to his father, or breaking the oath he had sworn
to Pharaoh and becoming a dishonored man in the eyes of those to whom he
owed so great a debt of gratitude.

“Thy chosen people praise Thee as the God of Truth, Who dost punish
those who forswear their oaths,” he prayed. “How canst Thou command
me to be faithless and break the vow that I have made. Whatever I am,
whatever I may accomplish, belongs to Thee, Oh Mighty Lord, and I am
ready to devote my blood, my life to my people. But rather than render
me a dishonored and perjured man, take me away from earth and commit the
work which Thou hast chosen Thy servant to perform, to the hands of one
who is bound by no solemn oath.”

So he prayed, and it seemed as if he clasped in his embrace a long-lost
friend. Then he walked on in silence through the vanishing dusk, and
when the first grey light of morning dawned, the flood of feeling ebbed,
and the clear-headed warrior regained his calmness of thought.

He had vowed to do nothing against the will of his father or his God,
but he was no less firmly resolved to be neither perjurer nor renegade.
His duty was clear and plain. He must leave Pharaoh’s service, first
telling his superiors that, as a dutiful son, he must obey his father’s
commands, and share his fate and that of his people.

Yet he did not conceal from himself that his request might be refused,
that he might be detained by force, nay, perchance, if he insisted on
carrying out his purpose with unshaken will, he might be menaced
with death, or if the worst should come, even delivered over to the
executioner. But if this should be his doom, if his purpose cost him his
life, he would still have done what was right, and his comrades, whose
esteem he valued, could still think of him as a brave brother-in-arms.
Nor would his father and Miriam be angry with him, nay, they would mourn
the faithful son, the upright man, who chose death rather than dishonor.

Calm and resolute, he gave the pass-word with haughty bearing to the
sentinel and entered his tent. Ephraim was still lying on his couch,
smiling as if under the thrall of pleasant dreams. Hosea threw himself
on a mat beside him to seek strength for the hard duties of the coming
day. Soon his eyes closed, too, and, after an hour’s sound sleep, he
woke without being roused and called for his holiday attire, his helmet,
and the gilt coat-of-mail he wore at great festivals or in the presence
of Egypt’s king.

Meantime Ephraim, too, awoke, looked with mingled curiosity and delight
at his uncle, who stood before him in all the splendor of his manhood
and glittering panoply of war, and exclaimed:

“It must be a proud feeling to wear such garments and lead thousands to
battle.”

Hosea shrugged his shoulders and replied:

“Obey thy God, give no man, from the loftiest to the lowliest, a right
to regard you save with respect, and you can hold your head as high as
the proudest warrior who ever wore purple robe and golden armor.”

“But you have done great deeds among the Egyptians,” Ephraim continued.
“They hold you in high regard; even captain Homecht and his daughter,
Kasana.”

“Do they?” asked the soldier smiling, and then bid his nephew keep
quiet; for his brow, though less fevered than the night before, was
still burning.

“Don’t go into the open air until the leech has seen you,” Hosea added,
“and wait here till my return.”

“Shall you be absent long?” asked the lad.

Hosea paused for a moment, lost in thought then, with a kindly glance at
him answered, gravely “Whoever serves a master knows not how long he
may be detained.” Then, changing his tone, he continued less earnestly.
“To-day--this morning--perchance I may finish my business speedily and
return in a few hours. If not, if I do not come back to you this evening
or early to-morrow morning, then....” he laid his hand on the lad’s
shoulder as he spoke “then go home at your utmost speed. When you reach
Succoth, if the people have gone before your coming, you will find in
the hollow sycamore before Amminadab’s house a letter which will tell
you whither they have turned their steps. When you overtake them, give
my greetings to my father, to my grandfather Elishama, and to Miriam.
Tell them that Hosea will be mindful of the commands of his God and of
his father. In future he will call himself Joshua--Joshua, do you hear?
Tell this to Miriam first. Finally, tell them that if I remain behind
and am not suffered to follow them, as I would like to, that the Most
High has made a different disposal of His servant and has broken the
sword which He had chosen, ere He used it. Do you understand me, boy?”

Ephraim nodded, and answered:

“You mean that death alone can stay you from obeying the summons of God,
and your father’s command.”

“Ay, that was my meaning,” replied the chief. “If they ask why I did not
slip away from Pharaoh and escape his power, say that Hosea desired to
enter on his new office as a true man, unstained by perjury or, if it is
the will of God, to die one. Now repeat the message.”

Ephraim obeyed; his uncle’s remarks must have sunk deep into his soul;
for he neither forgot nor altered a single word. But scarcely had he
performed the task of repetition when, with impetuous earnestness, he
grasped Hosea’s hand and besought him to tell him whether he had any
cause to fear for his life.

The warrior clasped him affectionately in his arms and answered that he
hoped he had entrusted this message to him only to have it forgotten.
“Perhaps,” he added, “they will strive to keep me by force, but by
God’s help I shall soon be with you again, and we will ride to Succoth
together.”

With these words he hurried out, unheeding the questions his nephew
called after him; for he had heard the rattle of wheels outside. Two
chariots, drawn by mettled steeds, rapidly approached the tent and
stopped directly before the entrance.




CHAPTER VIII.

The men who stepped from the chariots were old acquaintances of Hosea.
They were the head chamberlain and one of the king’s chief scribes, come
to summon him to the Sublime Porte.

   [Palace of the king. The name of Pharaoh means “the Sublime
   Porte.”]

No hesitation nor escape was possible, and Hosea, feeling more surprise
than anxiety, entered the second chariot with the chief scribe. Both
officials wore mourning robes, and instead of the white ostrich plume,
the insignia of office, black ones waved over the temples of both. The
horses and runners of the two-wheeled chariots were also decked with all
the emblems of the deepest woe. And yet the monarch’s messengers seemed
cheerful rather than depressed; for the eagle they were to bear to
Pharaoh was ready to obey his behest, and they had feared that they
would find his eyrie abandoned.

Swift as the wind the long-limbed bays of royal breed bore the light
vehicles over the uneven sandy road and the smooth highway toward the
palace.

Ephraim, with the curiosity of youth, had gone out of the tent to view
a scene so novel to his eyes. The soldiers were pleased by the Pharaoh’s
sending his own carriage for their commander, and the lad’s vanity was
flattered to see his uncle drive away in such state. But he was not
permitted the pleasure of watching him long; dense clouds of dust soon
hid the vehicles.

The scorching desert wind which, during the Spring months, so often
blows through the valley of the Nile, had risen, and though the bright
blue sky which had been visible by night and day was still cloudless, it
was veiled by a whitish mist.

The sun, a motionless ball, glared down on the heads of men like a blind
man’s eye. The burning heat it diffused seemed to have consumed its
rays, which to-day were invisible. The eye protected by the mist could
gaze at it undazzled, yet its scorching power was undiminished. The
light breeze, which usually fanned the brow in the morning, touched it
now like the hot breath of a ravening beast of prey. Loaded with the
fine scorching sand borne from the desert, it transformed the pleasure
of breathing into a painful torture. The air of an Egyptian March
morning, which was wont to be so balmy, now oppressed both man and
beast, choking their lungs and seeming to weigh upon them like a burden
destroying all joy in life.

The higher the pale rayless globe mounted into the sky, the greyer
became the fog, the more densely and swiftly blew the sand-clouds from
the desert.

Ephraim was still standing in front of the tent, gazing at the spot
where Pharaoh’s chariots had disappeared. His knees trembled, but he
attributed it to the wind sent by Seth-Typhon, at whose blowing even the
strongest felt an invisible burden clinging to their feet.

Hosea had gone, but he might come back in a few hours, then he, Ephraim,
would be obliged to go with him to Succoth, and the bright dreams
and hopes which yesterday had bestowed and whose magical charms were
heightened by his fevered brain, would be lost to him forever.

During the night he had firmly resolved to enter Pharaoh’s army, that
he might remain near Tanis and Kasana; but though he had only half
comprehended Hosea’s message, he could plainly discern that he intended
to turn his back upon Egypt and his high position and meant to take
Ephraim with him, should he make his escape. So he must renounce his
longing to see Kasana once more. But this thought was unbearable and an
inward voice whispered that, having neither father nor mother, he was
free to act according to his own will. His guardian, his dead father’s
brother, in whose household he had grown up, had died not long before,
and no new guardian had been named because the lad was now past
childhood. He was destined at some future day to be one of the chiefs of
his proud tribe and until yesterday he had desired no better fate.

He had obeyed the impulse of his heart when, with the pride of a
shepherd prince, he had refused the priest’s suggestion that he should
become one of Pharaoh’s soldiers, but he now told himself that he had
been childish and foolish to reject a thing of which he was ignorant,
nay, which had ever been intentionally represented to him in a false and
hateful light in order to bind him more firmly to his own people.

The Egyptians had always been described as detestable enemies and
oppressors, yet how enchanting everything seemed in the house of the
first Egyptian warrior he had entered.

And Kasana!

What must she think of him, if he left Tanis without a word of greeting,
of farewell. Must it not grieve and wound him to remain in her memory
a clumsy peasant shepherd? Nay, it would be positively dishonest not to
return the costly raiment she had lent him. Gratitude was reckoned among
the Hebrews also as the first duty of noble hearts. He would be worthy
of hate his whole life long, if he did not seek her once more!

But there was need of haste. When Hosea returned, he must find him ready
for departure.

He at once began to bind his sandals on his feet, but he did it slowly,
and could not understand why the task seemed so hard to-day.

He passed through the camp unmolested. The pylons and obelisks before
the temples, which appeared to quiver in the heated air, marked the
direction he was to pursue, and he soon reached the broad road which led
to the market-place--a panting merchant whose ass was bearing skins of
wine to the troops, told him the way.

Dense clouds of dust lay on the road and whirled around him, the sun
beat fiercely down on his bare head, his wound began to ache again, the
fine sand which filled the air entered his eyes and mouth and stung his
face and bare limbs like burning needles. He was tortured by thirst and
was often compelled to stop, his feet grew so heavy. At last he reached
a well dug for travelers by a pious Egyptian, and though it was adorned
with the image of a god and Miriam had taught him that this was an
abomination from which he should turn aside, he drank again and again,
thinking he had never tasted aught so refreshing.

The fear of losing consciousness, as he had done the day before, passed
away and, though his feet were still heavy, he walked rapidly toward
the alluring goal. But soon his strength again deserted him, the sweat
poured from his brow, his wound began to throb and beat, and he felt as
though his skull was compressed by an iron circle. His keen eyes, too,
failed, for the objects he tried to see blended with the dust of the
road, the horizon reeled up and down before his eyes, and he felt as
though the hard pavement had turned to a yielding bog under his feet.

Yet he took little heed of all these things, for never before had such
bright visions filled his mind. His thoughts grew marvellously vivid,
and image after image rose before the wide eyes of his soul, not at
his own behest, but as if summoned by a secret will outside of his
consciousness. Now he fancied that he was lying at Kasana’s feet,
resting his head on her lap while he gazed upward into her lovely
face--anon he saw Hosea standing before him in his glittering armor,
as he had beheld him a short time ago, only his garb was still more
gorgeous and, instead of the dim light in the tent, a ruddy glow like
that of fire surrounded him. Then the finest oxen and rams in his herds
passed before him and sentences from the messages he had learned darted
through his mind; nay he sometimes imagined that they were being shouted
to him aloud. But ere he could grasp their import, some new dazzling
vision or loud rushing noise seemed to fill his mental eye and ear.

He pressed onward, staggering like a drunken man, with drops of sweat
standing on his brow and with parched mouth. Sometimes he unconsciously
raised his hand to wipe the dust from his burning eyes, but he cared
little that he saw very indistinctly what was passing around him, for
there could be nothing more beautiful than what he beheld with his
inward vision.

True, he was often aware that he was suffering intensely, and he
longed to throw himself exhausted on the ground, but a strange sense of
happiness sustained him. At last he was seized with the delusion that
his head was swelling and growing till it attained the size of the head
of the colossus he had seen the day before in front of a temple gate,
then it rose to the height of the palm-trees by the road-side, and
finally it reached the mist shrouding the firmament, then far above it.
Then it suddenly seemed as though this head of his was as large as the
whole world, and he pressed his hands on his temples to clasp his brow;
for his neck and shoulders were too weak to support the weight of so
enormous a head and, mastered by this strange delusion, he shrieked
aloud, his shaking knees gave way, and he fell unconscious in the dust.




CHAPTER IX.

At the same hour a chamberlain was ushering Hosea into the audience
chamber.

Usually subjects summoned to the presence of the king were kept waiting
for hours, but the Hebrew’s patience was not tried long. During this
period of the deepest mourning the spacious rooms of the palace,
commonly tenanted by a gay and noisy multitude, were hushed to the
stillness of death; for not only the slaves and warders, but many men
and women in close attendance on the royal couple had fled from the
pestilence, quitting the palace without leave.

Here and there a solitary priest, official, or courtier leaned against
a pillar or crouched on the floor, hiding his face in his hands, while
awaiting some order. Sentries paced to and fro with lowered weapons,
lost in melancholy thoughts. Now and then a few young priests in
mourning robes glided through the infected rooms, silently swinging
silver censers which diffused a pungent scent of resin and juniper.

A nightmare seemed to weigh upon the palace and its occupants; for in
addition to grief for their beloved prince, which saddened many a heart,
the dread of death and the desert wind paralyzed alike the energy of
mind and body.

Here in the immediate vicinity of the throne where, in former days,
all eyes had sparkled with hope, ambition, gratitude, fear, loyalty, or
hate, Hosea now encountered only drooping heads and downcast looks.

Bai, the second prophet of Amon, alone seemed untouched alike by sorrow,
anxiety, or the enervating atmosphere of the day; he greeted the
warrior in the ante-room as vigorously and cheerily as ever, and assured
him--though in the lowest whisper--that no one thought of holding him
responsible for the misdeeds of his people. But when Hosea volunteered
the acknowledgment that, at the moment of his summons to the king, he
had been in the act of going to the commander-in-chief to beg a release
from military service, the priest interrupted him to remind him of the
debt of gratitude he, Bai, owed to him as the preserver of his life.
Then he added that he would make every effort in his power to keep him
in the army and show that the Egyptians--even against Pharaoh’s will,
or which he would speak farther with him privately--knew how to honor
genuine merit without distinction of person or birth.

The Hebrew had little time to repeat his resolve; the head chamberlain
interrupted them to lead Hosea into the presence of the “good god.”

The sovereign awaited Hosea in the smaller audience-room adjoining the
royal apartments.

It was a stately chamber, and to-day looked more spacious than when, as
of yore, it was filled with obsequious throngs. Only a few courtiers and
priests, with some of the queen’s ladies-in-waiting, all clad in
deep mourning, stood in groups near the throne. Opposite to Pharaoh,
squatting in a circle on the floor, were the king’s councillors and
interpreters, each adorned with an ostrich plume.

All wore tokens of mourning, and the monotonous, piteous plaint of the
wailing women, which ever and anon rose into a loud, shrill, tremulous
shriek, echoed through the silent rooms within to this hall, announcing
that death had claimed a victim even in the royal dwelling.

The king and queen sat on a gold and ivory couch, heavily draped with
black. Instead of their usual splendid attire, both wore dark robes,
and the royal consort and mother, who mourned her first-born son, leaned
motionless, with drooping head, against her kingly husband’s shoulder.

Pharaoh, too, gazed fixedly into space, as though lost in a dream. The
sceptre had slipped from his hand and lay in his lap.

The queen had been torn away from the corpse of her son, which was
now delivered to the embalmers, and it was not until she reached the
entrance of the audience-chamber that she had succeeded in checking her
tears. She had no thought of resistance; the inexorable ceremonial of
court etiquette required the queen to be present at any audience of
importance. To-day she would gladly have shunned the task, but Pharaoh
had commanded her presence, and she knew and approved the course to
be pursued; for she was full of dread of the power of the Hebrew Mesu,
called by his own people Moses, and of his God, who had brought such
terrible woe on the Egyptians. She had other children to lose, and she
had known Mesu from her childhood, and was well aware how highly the
great Rameses, her husband’s father and predecessor, had prized the
wisdom of this stranger who had been reared with his own sons.

Ah, if it were only possible to conciliate this man. But Mesu had
departed with the Israelites, and she knew his iron will and had
learned that the terrible prophet was armed, not alone against Pharaoh’s
threats, but also against her own fervent entreaties.

She was now expecting Hosea. He, the son of Nun, the foremost man of all
the Hebrews in Tanis, would succeed, if any one could, in carrying out
the plan which she and her royal husband deemed best for all parties,--a
plan supported also by Rui, the hoary high-priest and first prophet of
Amon, the head of the whole Egyptian priesthood, who held the offices
of chief judge, chief treasurer, and viceroy of the kingdom, and had
followed the court from Thebes to Tanis.

Ere going to the audience hall, she had been twining wreaths for her
loved dead and the lotus flowers, larkspurs, mallow and willow-leaves,
from which she was to weave them, had been brought there by her desire.
They were lying on a small table and in her lap; but she felt paralyzed,
and the hand she stretched toward them refused to obey her will.

Rui, the first prophet of Amon, an aged man long past his ninetieth
birthday, squatted on a mat at Pharaoh’s left hand. A pair of bright
eyes, shaded by bushy white brows, glittered in his brown face--seamed
and wrinkled like the bark of a gnarled oaklike gay flowers amid
withered leaves, forming a strange contrast to his lean, bowed, and
shrivelled form.

The old man had long since resigned the management of business affairs
to the second prophet, Bai, but he held firmly to his honors, his seat
at Pharaoh’s side, and his place in the council, where, though he
said little, his opinion was more frequently followed than that of the
eloquent, ardent second prophet, who was many years his junior.

The old man had not quitted Pharaoh’s side since the plague entered
the palace, yet to-day he felt more vigorous than usual; the hot desert
wind, which weakened others, refreshed him. He was constantly shivering,
despite the panther-skin which hung over his back and shoulders, and the
heat of the day warmed his chilly old blood.

Moses, the Hebrew, had been his pupil, and never had he instructed
a nobler nature, a youth more richly endowed with all the gifts
of intellect. He had initiated the Israelite into all the highest
mysteries, anticipating the greatest results for Egypt and the
priesthood, and when the Hebrew one day slew an overseer who had
mercilessly beaten one of his race, and then fled into the desert, Rui
had secretly mourned the evil deed as if his own son had committed it
and must suffer the consequences. His intercession had secured Mesu’s
pardon; but when the latter returned to Egypt and the change had
occurred which other priests termed his “apostasy,” the old man had
grieved even more keenly than over his flight. Had he, Rui, been
younger, he would have hated the man who had thus robbed him of his
fairest hopes; but the aged priest, who read men’s hearts like an open
book and could judge the souls of his fellow-mortals with the calm
impartiality of an unclouded mind, confessed that he had been to blame
in failing to foresee his pupil’s change of thought.

Education and precept had made Mesu an Egyptian priest according to his
own heart and that of the divinity; but after having once raised his
hand in the defence of his own people against those to whom he had been
bound only by human craft and human will, he was lost to the Egyptians
and became once more a true son of his race. And where this man of the
strong will and lofty soul led the way, others could not fail to follow.

Rui knew likewise full well what the renegade meant to give to his race;
he had confessed it himself to the priest-faith in the one God. Mesu had
rejected the accusation of perjury, declaring that he would never betray
the mysteries to the Hebrews, his sole desire was to lead them back
to the God whom they had worshipped ere Joseph and his family came to
Egypt. True, the “One” of the initiated resembled the God of the
Hebrews in many things, but this very fact had soothed the old sage; for
experience had taught him that the masses are not content with a single
invisible God, an idea which many, even among the more advanced of his
own pupils found difficult to comprehend. The men and women of the lower
classes needed visible symbols of every important thing whose influence
they perceived in and around them, and the Egyptian religion supplied
these images. What could an invisible creative power guiding the course
of the universe be to a love-sick girl? She sought the friendly Hathor,
whose gentle hands held the cords that bound heart to heart, the
beautiful mighty representative of her sex--to her she could trustingly
pour forth all the sorrows that burdened her bosom. What was the petty
grief of a mother who sought to snatch her darling child from death, to
the mighty and incomprehensible Deity who governed the entire universe?
But the good Isis, who herself had wept her eyes red in bitter anguish,
could understand her woe. And how often in Egypt it was the wife who
determined her husband’s relations to the gods!

Rui had frequently seen Hebrew men and women praying fervently in
Egyptian temples. Even if Mesu should induce them to acknowledge his
God, the experienced sage clearly foresaw that they would speedily
turn from the invisible Spirit, who must ever remain aloof and
incomprehensible, and return by hundreds to the gods they understood.

Now Egypt was threatened with the loss of the laborers and builders she
so greatly needed, but Rui believed that they might be won back.

“When fair words will answer our purpose, put aside sword and bow,” he
had replied to Bai, who demanded that the fugitives should be pursued
and slain. “We have already too many corpses in our country; what we
want is workers. Let us hold fast what we seem on the verge of losing.”

These mild words were in full harmony with the mood of Pharaoh, who
had had sufficient sorrow, and would have thought it wiser to venture
unarmed into a lion’s cage than to again defy the wrath of the terrible
Hebrew.

So he had closed his ears to the exhortations of the second prophet,
whose steadfast, energetic will usually exercised all the greater
influence upon him on account of his own irresolution, and upheld old
Rui’s suggestion that the warrior, Hosea, should be sent after his
people to deal with them in Pharaoh’s name--a plan that soothed his mind
and renewed his hopes.

The second prophet, Bai, had finally assented to the plan; for
it afforded a new chance of undermining the throne he intended to
overthrow. If the Hebrews were once more settled in the land, Prince
Siptah, who regarded no punishment too severe for the race he hated,
might perhaps seize the sceptre of the cowardly king Menephtah.

But the fugitives must first be stopped, and Hosea was the right man
to do this. But in Bai’s eyes no one would be more able to gain the
confidence of an unsuspicious soldier than Pharaoh and his royal
consort. The venerable high-priest Rui, though wholly unaware of the
conspiracy, shared this opinion, and thus the sovereigns had been
persuaded to interrupt the mourning for the dead and speak in person to
the Hebrew.

Hosea had prostrated himself before the throne and, when he rose,
the king’s weary face was bent toward him, sadly, it is true, yet
graciously.

According to custom, the hair and beard of the father who had lost his
first-born son had been shaven. Formerly they had encircled his face in
a frame of glossy black, but twenty years of anxious government had made
them grey, and his figure, too, had lost its erect carriage and seemed
bent and feeble, though he had scarcely passed his fifth decade. His
regular features were still beautiful in their symmetry, and there was a
touch of pathos in their mournful gentleness, so evidently incapable of
any firm resolve, especially when a smile lent his mouth a bewitching
charm.

The languid indolence of his movements scarcely impaired the natural
dignity of his presence, yet his musical voice was wont to have a
feeble, beseeching tone. He was no born ruler; thirteen older brothers
had died ere the throne of Pharaoh had become his heritage, and up to
early manhood he had led a careless, joyous existence--as the handsomest
youth in the whole land, the darling of women, the light-hearted
favorite of fortune. Then he succeeded his father the great Rameses,
but he had scarcely grasped the sceptre ere the Libyans, with numerous
allies, rebelled against Egypt. The trained troops and their leaders,
who had fought in his predecessor’s wars, gained him victory, but during
the twenty years which had now passed since Rameses’ death, the soldiers
had rarely had any rest. Insurrections constantly occurred, sometimes
in the East, anon in the West and, instead of living in Thebes, where
he had spent many years of happiness, and following the bent of his
inclination by enjoying in the splendid palace the blessing of peace
and the society of the famous scholars and poets who then made that city
their home, he was compelled sometimes to lead his armies in the field,
sometimes to live in Tanis, the capital of Lower Egypt, to settle the
disturbances of the border land.

This was the desire of the venerable Rui, and the king willingly
followed his guidance. During the latter years of Rameses’ reign, the
temple at Thebes, and with it the chief priest, had risen to power and
wealth greater than that possessed by royalty itself, and Menephtah’s
indolent nature was better suited to be a tool than a guiding hand, so
long as he received all the external honors due to Pharaoh. These he
guarded with a determination which he never roused himself to display in
matters of graver import.

The condescending graciousness of Pharaoh’s reception awakened feelings
of mingled pleasure and distrust in Hosea’s mind, but he summoned
courage to frankly express his desire to be relieved from his office and
the oath he had sworn to his sovereign.

Pharaoh listened quietly. Not until Hosea confessed that he was
induced to take this step by his father’s command did he beckon to the
high-priest, who began in low, almost inaudible tones:

“The son who resigns great things to remain obedient to his father will
be the most loyal of the ‘good god’s’ servants. Go, obey the summons
of Nun. The son of the sun, the Lord of Upper and Lower Egypt, sets
you free; but through me, the slave of his master, he imposes one
condition.”

“What is that?” asked Hosea.

Pharaoh signed to Rui a second time and, as the monarch sank back upon
his throne, the old man, fixing his keen eyes on Hosea, replied:

“The demand which the lord of both worlds makes upon you by my lips is
easy to fulfil. You must return to be once more his servant and one
of us, as soon as your people and their leader, who have brought such
terrible woe upon this land, shall have clasped the divine hand which
the son of the sun extends to them in reconciliation, and shall have
returned to the beneficent shadow of his throne. He intends to attach
them to his person and his realm by rich tokens of his favor, as soon as
they return from the desert to which they have gone forth to sacrifice
to their God. Understand me fully! All the burdens which have oppressed
the people of your race shall be removed. The ‘great god’ will secure
to them, by a new law, privileges and great freedom, and whatever we
promise shall be written down and witnessed on our part and yours as
a new and valid covenant binding on our children and our children’s
children. When such a compact has been made with an honest purpose on
our part to keep it for all time, and your tribes have consented to
accept it, will you promise that you will then be one of us again?”

“Accept the office of mediator, Hosea,” the queen here interrupted in a
low tone, with her sorrowful eyes fixed imploringly on Hosea’s face.
“I dread the fury of Mesu, and everything in our power shall be done to
regain his old friendship. Mention my name and recall the time when he
taught little Isisnefert the names of the plants she brought to him
and explained to her and her sister their beneficial or their harmful
qualities, during his visits to the queen, his second mother, in the
women’s apartments. The wounds he has dealt our hearts shall be pardoned
and forgotten. Be our envoy. Hosea, do not deny us.”

“Such words from royal lips are a strict mandate,” replied the Hebrew.
“And yet they make the heart rejoice. I will accept the office of
mediator.”

The hoary high-priest nodded approvingly, exclaiming:

“I hope a long period of blessing may arise from this brief hour. But
note this. Where potions can aid, surgery must be shunned. Where a
bridge spans the stream, beware of swimming through the whirlpool.”

“Yes, by all means shun the whirlpool,” Pharaoh repeated, and the queen
uttered the same words, then once more bent her eyes on the flowers in
her lap.

A council now began.

Three private scribes took seats on the floor close by Rui, in order
to catch his low tones, and the scribes and councillors in the circle
before the throne seized their writing-materials and, holding the
papyrus in their left hands, wrote with reed or brush; for nothing which
was debated and determined in Pharaoh’s presence was suffered to be left
unrecorded.

During the continuance of this debate no voice in the audience chamber
was raised above a whisper; the courtiers and guards stood motionless at
their posts, and the royal pair gazed mutely into vacancy as though lost
in reverie.

Neither Pharaoh nor his queen could possibly have heard the muttered
conversation between the men; yet the Egyptians, at the close of every
sentence, glanced upward at the king as if to ensure his approbation.
Hosea, to whom the custom was perfectly familiar, did the same and, like
the rest, lowered his tones. Whenever the voices of Bai or of the
chief of the scribes waxed somewhat louder, Pharaoh raised his head and
repeated the words of Rui: “Where a bridge spans the stream, beware of
swimming through the whirlpool;” for this saying precisely expressed his
own desires and those of the queen. No strife! Let us live at peace with
the Hebrews, and escape from the anger of their awful leader and his
God, without losing the thousands of industrious workers in the departed
tribes.

So the discussion went on, and when the murmuring of the debaters and
the scratching of the scribes’ reeds had continued at least an hour the
queen remained in the same position; but Pharaoh began to move and lift
up his voice, fearing that the second prophet, who had detested the man
whose benedictions he had implored and whose enmity seemed so terrible,
was imposing on the mediator requirements impossible to fulfil.

Yet he said nothing save to repeat the warning about the bridge, but his
questioning look caused the chief of the scribes to soothe him with the
assurance that everything was progressing as well as possible. Hosea had
only requested that, in future, the overseers of the workmen should
not be of Libyan birth, but Hebrews themselves, chosen by the elders of
their tribes with the approval of the Egyptian government.

Pharaoh cast a glance of imploring anxiety at Bai, the second prophet,
and the other councillors; but the former shrugged his shoulders
deprecatingly and, pretending to yield his own opinion to the divine
wisdom of Pharaoh, acceded to Hosea’s request.

The divinity on the throne of the world accepted, with a grateful
bend of the head, this concession from a man whose wishes had so often
opposed his own, and after the “repeater” or herald had read aloud all
the separate conditions of the agreement, Hosea was forced to make a
solemn vow to return in any case to Tanis, and report to the Sublime
Porte how his people had received the king’s proposals.

But the wary chief, versed in the wiles and tricks with which the
government was but too well supplied, uttered the vow with great
reluctance, and only after he had received a written assurance that,
whatever might be the result of the negotiations, his liberty should not
be restricted in any respect, after he had proved that he had used
his utmost efforts to induce the leader of the Hebrews to accept the
compact.

At last Pharaoh extended his hand for the warrior to kiss, and when the
latter had also pressed his lips to the edge of the queen’s garments,
Rui signed to the head-chamberlain, who made obeisance to Pharaoh, and
the sovereign knew that the hour had come when he might retire. He did
so gladly and with a lighter heart; for he believed that he had done his
best to secure his own welfare and that of his people.

A sunny expression flitted across his handsome, worn features, and when
the queen also rose and saw his smile of satisfaction it was reflected
on her face. Pharaoh uttered a sigh of relief as he crossed the
threshold of the audience chamber and, accosting his wife, said:

“If Hosea wins his cause, we shall cross the bridge safely.”

“And need not swim through the whirlpool,” the queen answered in the
same tone.

“And if the chief succeeds in soothing Mesu, and induces the Hebrews to
stay in the land,” Pharaoh added:

“Then you will enrol this Hosea--he looks noble and upright--among the
kindred of the king,” Isisnefert interrupted.

But upon this Pharaoh drew up his languid, drooping figure, exclaiming
eagerly:

“How can I? A Hebrew! Were we to admit him among the ‘friends’ or
‘fan-bearers’ it would be the highest favor we could bestow! It is no
easy matter in such a case to choose between too great or too small a
recompense.”

The farther the royal pair advanced toward the interior of the palace,
the louder rose the wailing voices of the mourning women. Tears once
more filled the eyes of the queen; but Pharaoh continued to ponder over
what office at court he could bestow on Hosea, should his mission prove
successful.




CHAPTER X.

Hosea was forced to hurry in order to overtake the tribes in time; for
the farther they proceeded, the harder it would be to induce Moses and
the leaders of the people to return and accept the treaty.

The events which had befallen him that morning seemed so strange that he
regarded them as a dispensation of the God whom he had found again; he
recollected, too, that the name “Joshua,” “he who helps Jehovah,” had
been received through Miriam’s message. He would gladly bear it; for
though it was no easy matter to resign the name for which he had won
renown, still many of his comrades had done likewise. His new one was
attesting its truth grandly; never had God’s help been more manifest to
him than this morning. He had entered Pharaoh’s palace expecting to be
imprisoned or delivered over to the executioner, as soon as he insisted
upon following his people, and how speedily the bonds that held him
in the Egyptian army had been sundered. And he had been appointed to
discharge a task which seemed in his eyes so grand, so lofty, that he
was on the point of believing that the God of his fathers had summoned
him to perform it.

He loved Egypt. It was a fair country. Where could his people find a
more delightful home? It was only the circumstances under which they had
lived there which had been intolerable. Happier times were now in
store. The tribes were given the choice between returning to Goshen,
or settling on the lake land west of the Nile, with whose fertility and
ample supply of water he was well acquainted. No one would have a right
to reduce them to bondage, and whoever gave his labor to the service of
the state was to have for overseer no stern and cruel foreigner, but a
man of his own blood.

True, he knew that the Hebrews must remain under subjection to Pharaoh.
But had not Joseph, Ephraim, and his sons, Hosea’s ancestors, been
called his subjects and lived content to be numbered among the
Egyptians.

If the covenant was made, the elders of the tribes were to direct the
private concerns of the people. Spite of Bai’s opposition, Moses had
been named regent of the new territory, while he, Hosea, himself was to
command the soldiers who would defend the frontiers, and marshal fresh
troops from the Israelite mercenaries, who had already borne themselves
valiantly in many a fray. Ere he had quitted the palace, Bai had made
various mysterious allusions, which though vague in purport, betrayed
that the priest was cherishing important plans and, as soon as the
guidance of the government passed from old Rui’s hands into his, a high
position, perhaps the command of the whole army, now led by a Syrian
named Aarsu, would be conferred on him, Hosea.

But this prospect caused him more anxiety than pleasure, though great
was his satisfaction at having gained the concession that every third
year the eastern frontiers of the country should be thrown open to his
people, that they might go to the desert and there offer sacrifices
to their God. Moses had seemed to lay the utmost stress upon this
privilege, and according to the existing law, no one was permitted to
cross the narrow fortified frontier on the east without the permission
of the government. Perhaps granting this desire of the mighty leader
might win him to accept a compact so desirable for his nation.

During these negotiations Hosea had again realized his estrangement from
his people, he was not even aware--for what purpose the sacrifice in
the desert was offered. He also frankly acknowledged to Pharaoh’s
councillors that he knew neither the grievances nor the requirements of
the tribes, a course he pursued to secure to the Hebrews the right of
changing or revising in any respect the offers he was to convey.

What better proposals could they or their leader desire?

The future was full of fresh hopes of happiness for his people and
himself. If the compact was made, the time had arrived for him to
establish a home of his own, and Miriam’s image again appeared in all
its loftiness and beauty. The thought of gaining this splendid maiden
was fairly intoxicating, and he wondered whether he was worthy of
her, and if it would not be presumptuous to aspire to the hand of the
divinely-inspired, majestic virgin and prophetess.

He was experienced in the affairs of life and knew full well how little
reliance could be placed upon the promises of the vacillating man, who
found the sceptre too heavy for his feeble hand. But he had exercised
caution and, if the elders of the people could but be won over, the
agreement would be inscribed on metal tables, sentence by sentence, and
hung in the temple at Thebes, with the signatures of Pharaoh and the
envoys of the Hebrews, like every other binding agreement between Egypt
and a foreign nation. Such documents--he had learned this from the
treaty of peace concluded with the Cheta--assured and lengthened the
brief “eternity” of national covenants. He had certainly neglected no
precaution to secure his people from treachery and perjury. Never had
he felt more vigorous, more confident, more joyous than when he again
entered Pharaoh’s chariot to take leave of his subordinates. Bai’s
mysterious hints and suggestions troubled him very little; he was
accustomed to leave future anxieties to be cared for in the future.
But at the camp he encountered a grief which belonged to the present;
surprised, angry, and troubled, he learned that Ephraim had secretly
left the tent, telling no one whither he was going. A hurried
investigation drew out the information that the youth had been seen
on the road to Tanis, and Hosea hastily bade his trusty shield-bearer
search the city for the youth and, if he found him, to order him to
follow his uncle to Succoth.

After the chief had said farewell to his men, he set off, attended only
by his old groom. He was pleased to have the adone--[Corresponding to
the rank of adjutant.]--and subaltern officers who had been with him,
the stern warriors, with whom he had shared everything in war and
peace, in want and privation, show so plainly the pain of parting. Tears
streamed down the bronzed cheeks of many a man who had grown grey in
warfare, as he clasped his hand for the last time. Many a bearded lip
was pressed to the hem of his robe, to his feet, and to the sleek skin
of the noble Libyan steed which, pressing forward with arching neck only
to be curbed by its rider’s strength, bore him through the ranks. For
the first time since his mother’s death his own eyes grew dim, as
shouts of farewell rang warmly and loudly from the manly breasts of his
soldiers.

Never before had he so deeply realized how firmly he was bound to these
men, and how he loved his noble profession.

Yet the duty he was now fulfilling was also great and glorious, and the
God who had absolved him from his oath and smoothed the way for him
to obey his father’s commands as a true and upright man, would perhaps
bring him back to his comrades in arms, whose cordial farewell he still
fancied he heard long after he was out of reach of their voices.

The greatness of the work assigned to him, the enthusiasm of a man
who devotes himself with devout earnestness to the performance of a
difficult task, the rapturous joy of the lover, who with well-founded
hopes of the fulfilment of the purest and fairest desires of his heart,
hastens to meet the woman of his choice, first dawned upon him when
he had left the city behind and was dashing at a rapid trot toward
the south-east across the flat, well-watered plain with its wealth of
palm-groves.

While forcing his steed to a slower pace as he passed through the
streets of the capital, and the region near the harbor, his mind was
so engrossed by his recent experiences and his anxiety concerning the
runaway youth, that he paid little attention to the throng of vessels
lying at anchor, the motley crowd of ship owners, traders, sailors, and
laborers, representatives of all the nations of Africa and Asia, who
sought a livelihood here, and the officials, soldiers, and petitioners,
who had followed Pharaoh from Thebes to the city of Rameses.

He had even failed to see two men of high rank, though one, Hornecht,
the captain of the archers, had waved his hand to him.

They had retired into the deep gateway formed by the pylons at the
entrance of the temple of Seth, to escape the clouds of dust which the
desert wind was still blowing along the road.

While Hornecht was vainly trying to arrest the horseman’s attention, his
companion, Bai, the second prophet of Amon, whispered: “Let him go! He
will learn where his nephew is soon enough.”

“As you desire,” replied the soldier. Then he eagerly continued the
story he had just begun. “When they brought the lad in, he looked like a
piece of clay in the potter’s workshop.”

“No wonder,” replied the priest; “he had lain long enough in the road
in the dust of Typhon. But what was your steward seeking among the
soldiers?”

“We had heard from my adon, whom I sent to the camp last evening, that
the poor youth was attacked by a severe fever, so Kasana put up some
wine and her nurse’s balsam, and dispatched the old creature with them
to the camp.”

“To the youth or to Hosea?” asked the prophet with a mischievous smile.

“To the sufferer,” replied Hornecht positively, a frown darkening his
brow. But, restraining himself, he added as if apologizing: “Her heart
is as soft as wax, and the Hebrew youth--you saw him yesterday....”

“Is a splendid lad, just fitted to win a woman’s heart!” replied the
priest laughing. “Besides, whoever shows kindness to the nephew does not
harm the uncle.”

“That was not in her mind,” replied Hornecht bluntly. “But the invisible
God of the Hebrews is not less watchful of his children than the
Immortals whom you serve; for he led Hotepu to the youth just as he was
at the point of death. The dreamer would undoubtedly have ridden past
him; for the dust had already....”

“Transformed him into a bit of potter’s clay. But then?”

“Then the old man suddenly saw a glint of gold in the dusty heap.”

“And the stiffest neck will stoop for that.”

“Quite true. My Hotepu did so, and the broad gold circlet the lad wore
flashed in the sunlight and preserved his life a second time.”

“The luckiest thing is that we have the lad in our possession.”

“Yes, I was rejoiced to have him open his eyes once more. Then his
recovery grew more and more rapid; the doctor says he is like a kitten,
and all these mishaps will not cost him his life. But he is in a violent
fever, and in his delirium says all sorts of senseless things,
which even my daughter’s nurse, a native of Ascalon, cannot clearly
comprehend. Only she thought she caught Kasana’s name.”

“So it is once more a woman who is the source of the trouble.”

“Stop these jests, holy father,” replied Hornecht, biting his lips. “A
modest widow, and that boy with the down still on his lips.”

“At his age,” replied the unabashed priest, “fullblown roses have
a stronger attraction for young beetles than do buds; and in this
instance,” he added more gravely, “it is a most fortunate accident. We
have Hosea’s nephew in the snare, and it will be your part not to let
him escape.”

“Do you mean that we are to deprive him of his liberty?” cried the
warrior.

“Even so.”

“Yet you value his uncle?”

“Certainly. But the state has a higher claim.”

“This boy....”

“Is a desirable hostage. Hosea’s sword was an extremely useful tool to
us; but if the hand that guides it is directed by the man whose power
ever greater things we know....”

“You mean the Hebrew, Mesu?”

“Then Hosea will deal us wounds as deep as those he erst inflicted on
our foes.”

“Yet I have heard you say more than once that he was incapable of
perjury.”

“And so I say still, he has given wonderful proof of it to-day. Merely
for the sake of being released from his oath, he thrust his head into
the crocodile’s jaws. But though the son of Nun is a lion, he will find
his master in Mesu. That man is the mortal foe of the Egyptians, the
bare thought of him stirs my gall.”

“The cries of the wailing women behind this door admonish us loudly
enough to hate him.”

“Yet the weakling on the throne has forgotten vengeance, and is now
sending Hosea on an errand of reconciliation.”

“With your sanction, I think?”

“Ay,” replied the priest with a mocking smile. “We send him to build a
bridge! Oh, this bridge! A grey-beard’s withered brain recommends it to
be thrown across the stream, and the idea just suits this pitiful son of
a great father, who would certainly never have shunned swimming through
the wildest whirlpool, especially when revenge was to be sought. Let
Hosea essay the bridge! If it leads him back across the stream to us, I
will offer him a right warm and cordial welcome; but as soon as this one
man stands on our shores, may its supports sink under the leaders of his
people; we, the only brave souls in Egypt, must see to that.”

“So be it. Yet I fear we shall lose the chief, too, if justice overtakes
his people.”

“It might almost seem so.”

“You have greater wisdom than I.”

“Yet here you believe me in error.”

“How could I venture to....”

“As a member of the military council you are entitled to your own
opinion, and I consider myself bound to show you the end of the path
along which you have hitherto followed us with blindfold eyes. So
listen, and judge accordingly when your turn comes to speak in the
council. The chief-priest Rui is old....”

“And you now fill half his offices.”

“Would that he might soon be relieved of the last half of his burden.
Not on my own account. I love strife, but for the welfare of our
native land. It is a deep-seated feeling of our natures to regard the
utterances and mandates of age as wisdom, so there are few among the
councillors who do not follow the old man’s opinions; yet his policy
limps on crutches, like himself. All good projects are swamped under his
weak, fainthearted guidance.”

“That is the very reason my vote is at your disposal,” cried the
warrior. “That is why I am ready to use all my might to hurl this
sleeper from the throne and get rid of his foolish advisers.”

The prophet laid his finger on his lips to warn his companion to be more
cautious, drew nearer to him, pointed to his litter, and said in a low,
hurried tone:

“I am expected at the Sublime Porte, so listen. If Hosea’s mission is
successful his people will return--the guilty with the innocent--and the
latter will suffer. Among the former we can include the whole of Hosea’s
tribe, who call themselves the sons of Ephraim, from old Nun down to the
youth in your dwelling.”

“We may spare them; but Mesu, too, is a Hebrew, and what we do to
him....”

“Will not occur in the public street, and it is child’s play to sow
enmity between two men who desire to rule in the same sphere. I will
make sure that Hosea shall shut his eyes to the other’s death;
but Pharaoh, whether his name is Meneptah or”--he lowered his
voice--“Siptah, must then raise him to so great a height--and he merits
it--that his giddy eyes will never discern aught we desire to conceal.
There is one dish that never palls on any man who has once tasted it.”

“And what is that?”

“Power, Hornecht--mighty power! As ruler of a whole province, commander
of all the mercenaries in Aarsu’s stead, he will take care not to break
with us. I know him. If I can succeed in making him believe Mesu has
wronged him--and the imperious man will afford some pretext for it--and
can bring him to the conviction that the law directs the punishment we
mete out to the sorcerer and the worst of his adherents, he will not
only assent but approve it.”

“And if he fails in his mission?”

“He will return at any rate; for he would not be false to his oath. But
if Mesu, from whom we may expect anything, should detain him by force,
the boy will be of service to us; for Hosea loves him, his people value
his life, and he belongs to one of their noblest tribes. In any case
Pharaoh must threaten the lad; we will guard him, and that will unite
his uncle to us by fresh ties and lead him to join those who are angry
with the king.”

“Excellent!”

“The surest way to attain our object will be by forging still another
chain. In short--now I beg you to be quiet, your temper is far too hot
for your grey hairs--in short, our Hebrew brother-in-arms, the saviour
of my life, the ablest man in the army, who is certain to win the
highest place, must be your son-in-law. Kasana’s heart is his--my wife
has told me so.” Hornecht frowned again, and struggled painfully to
control his anger. He perceived that he must overcome his objection to
giving his daughter to the man whose birth he scorned, much as he liked
and esteemed his character. He could not refrain from uttering an
oath under his breath, but his answer to the prophet was more calm and
sensible than the latter had anticipated. If Kasana was so possessed
by demons that this stranger infatuated her, let her have her will. But
Hosea had not yet sued for her.

“By the red god Seth, and his seventy companions,” he added wrathfully,
“neither you, nor any one shall induce me to offer my daughter, who
has twenty suitors, to a man who terms himself our friend, yet finds no
leisure to greet us in our own house! To keep fast hold of the lad is
another thing, I will see to that.”




CHAPTER XI.

The midnight heavens, decked with countless stars, spanned with their
cloudless azure vault the flat plains of the eastern Delta and the city
of Succoth, called by the Egyptians, from their sanctuary, the place of
the god Tum, or Pithom.

The March night was drawing toward its end, pallid mists floated over
the canal, the work of Hebrew bondmen which, as far as the eye could
reach, intersected the plain, watering the fields and pastures along its
course.

Eastward and southward the sky was shrouded by dense veils of mist that
rose from the large lakes and from the narrow estuaries that ran far up
into the isthmus. The hot and dusty desert wind, which the day before
had swept over the parched grass and the tents and houses of Succoth,
had subsided at nightfall; and the cool atmosphere which in March, even
in Egypt, precedes the approach of dawn, made itself felt.

Whoever had formerly entered, between midnight and morning, the humble
frontier hamlet with its shepherd tents, wretched hovels of Nile mud,
and by no means handsome farms and dwellings, would scarcely
have recognized it now. Even the one noticeable building in the
place--besides the stately temple of the sungod Turn--the large
fortified store-house, presented at this hour an unfamiliar aspect.
Its long white-washed walls, it is true, glimmered through the gloom as
distinctly as ever, but instead of towering--as usual at this time--mute
and lifeless above the slumbering town--the most active bustle was going
on within and around it. It was intended also as a defense against the
predatory hordes of the Shasu,

   [Bedouins, who dwelt as nomads in the desert adjacent to Egypt, now
   regarded as part of Asia.]

who had made a circuit around the fortified works on the isthmus, and
its indestructible walls contained an Egyptian garrison, who could
easily defend it against a force greatly superior in numbers.

To-day it looked as if the sons of the desert had assailed it; but the
men and women who were bustling about below and on the broad parapet of
the gigantic building were Hebrews, not Shasu. With loud outcries and
gesticulations of delight they were seizing the thousands of measures
of wheat, barley, rye, and durra, the stores of pulse, dates, and onions
they found in the well-filled granaries, and even before sunset had
begun to empty the store-rooms and put their contents into sacks, pails,
and skins, trays, jugs, and aprons, which were let down by ropes or
carried to the ground on ladders.

The better classes took no share in this work, but among the busy
throng, spite of the lateness of the hour, were children of all ages,
carrying away in pots, jugs, and dishes-borrowed from their mothers’
cooking utensils--as much as they could.

Above, beside the unroofed openings of the storerooms, into which the
stars were shining, and also at the foot of the ladders, women held
torches or lanterns to light the others at their toil.

Pans of blazing pitch were set in front of the strong locked doors of
the real fortress, and in their light armed shepherds were pacing to
and fro. When heavy stones or kicks belabored the brazen-bound door from
within, and threats were uttered in the Egyptian tongue, the Hebrews
outside did not fail to retort in words of mockery and scorn.

On the day of the harvest festival, during the first evening watch,
runners arrived at Succoth and announced to the Israelites, whose
numbers were twenty-fold greater than those of the Egyptians, that they
had quitted Tanis in the morning and the tribes intended to leave at
night; their kindred in Succoth must be ready to go forth with them.
There was great rejoicing among the Hebrews, who like those of their
blood in the city of Rameses, had assembled in every house at a festive
repast on the night of the new moon after the vernal equinox when the
harvest festival usually began. The heads of the tribes had informed
them that the day of liberation had arrived, and the Lord would lead
them into the Promised Land.

Here, too, as in Tanis, many had been faint-hearted and rebellious, and
others had endeavored to separate their lot from the rest and remain
behind; but here, too, they were carried away by the majority. Eleasar,
the son of Aaron, and the distinguished heads of the tribe of Judah, Hur
and Naashon, had addressed the multitude, as Aaron and Nun had done in
the city of Rameses. But Miriam, the virgin, the sister of Moses, had
gone from house to house, everywhere awakening the fire of enthusiasm in
men’s hearts, and telling the women that the morrow’s sun would usher
in for them and their children a new day of happiness, prosperity, and
freedom.

Few had been deaf to the appeals of the prophetess; there was an air of
majesty, which compelled obedience, in the bearing of this maiden, whose
large black eyes, surmounted by heavy dark eye-brows, which met in the
middle, pierced the hearts of those on whom her gaze was bent and seemed
to threaten the rebellious with their gloomy radiance.

The members of every household went to rest after the festival with
hearts uplifted and full of hope. But what a change had passed over them
during the second day, the night that followed it, and the next morning!
It seemed as though the desert wind had buried all their courage and
confidence in the dust it swept before it. The dread of going forth to
face an unknown future had stolen into every heart, and many a man who
had waved his staff full of trust and joyful enterprise was now held, as
if with clamps and fetters, to his well-tilled garden, the home of
his ancestors, and the harvest in the fields, which had just been half
gathered.

The Egyptian garrison in the fortified store-house had not failed to
notice that the Hebrews were under some special excitement, but they
supposed it due to the harvest festival. The commander of the garrison
had learned that Moses desired to lead his people into the wilderness to
offer sacrifices to their God, and had asked for a reinforcement. But he
knew nothing more; for until the morning when the desert wind blew, no
Hebrew had disclosed the plans of his kindred. But the more sorely the
heat of the day oppressed them, the greater became the dread of the
faint-hearted of the pilgrimage through the hot, dusty, waterless
desert. The terrible day had given them a foretaste of what was
impending and when, toward noon, the dust grew thicker, the air more
and more oppressive, a Hebrew trader, from whom the Egyptian soldiers
purchased goods, stole into the store-house to ask the commander to
prevent his people from rushing to their doom.

Even among the leaders the voices of malcontents had grown loud. Asarja
and Michael, with their sons, who grudged the power of Moses and
Aaron, had even gone from one to another to try to persuade them, ere
departing, to summon the elders again and charge then to enter into
fresh negotiations with the Egyptians. While these malcontents were
successfully gathering adherents, and the traitor had sought the
commander of the Egyptian garrison, two more messengers arrived with
tidings that the fugitives would arrive in Succoth between midnight and
morning.

Breathless, speechless, dripping with perspiration, and with bleeding
lips, the elder messenger sank on the threshold of Amminadab’s house,
now the home of Miriam also. Both the exhausted men were refreshed with
wine and food, ere the least wearied was fully capable of speech. Then,
in a hoarse voice, but from a heart overflowing with gratitude and
ardent enthusiasm, he reported the scenes which had occurred at the
exodus, and how the God of their fathers had filled every heart with His
spirit, and instilled new faith into the souls of the cowards.

Miriam had listened to this story with sparkling eyes; at its close she
flung her veil over her head and bade the servants of the household, who
had assembled around the messengers, to summon the whole Hebrew people
under the sycamore, whose broad summit, the growth of a thousand years,
protected a wide space of earth from the scorching sunbeams.

The desert wind was still blowing, but the glad news seemed to have
destroyed the baneful power it exerted on man, and when many hundreds
of people had flocked together under the sycamore, Miriam had given her
hand to Eleasar, the son of her brother Aaron, sprung upon the bench
which rested against the huge hollow trunk of the tree, raised her
hands and eyes toward heaven in an ecstasy, and began in a loud voice
to address a prayer to the Lord, as if she beheld him with her earthly
vision.

Then she permitted the messenger to speak, and when the latter again
described the events which had occurred in the city of Rameses, and then
announced that the fugitives from Tanis would arrive in a few hours,
loud shouts of joy burst from the throng. Eleasar, the son of Aaron,
proclaimed with glowing enthusiasm what the Lord had done for his people
and had promised to them, their children, and children’s children.

Each word from the lips of the inspired speaker fell upon the hearts
of the Hebrews like the fresh dew of morning on the parched grass. The
trusting hearers pressed around him and Miriam with shouts of joy, and
the drooping courage of the timorous appeared to put forth new wings.
Asarja, Michael, and their followers no longer murmured, nay, most of
them had been infected by the general enthusiasm, and when a Hebrew
mercenary stole out from the garrison of the store-house and disclosed
what had been betrayed to his commander, Eleasar, Naashon, Hur, and
others took counsel together, gathered all the shepherds around them,
and with glowing words urged them to show in this hour that they were
men indeed and did not fear, with their God’s mighty aid, to fight for
their people and their liberty.

There was no lack of axes, clubs, sickles, brazen spears, heavy staves,
slings, the shepherds’ weapons of defence against the wild beasts of the
desert, or bows and arrows, and as soon as a goodly number of strong men
had joined him, Hur fell upon the Egyptian overseers who were watching
the labor of several hundred Hebrew slaves. Shouting: “They are coming!
Down with the oppressors! The Lord our God is our leader!” they rushed
upon the Lybian warders, put them to rout, and released their
fellows who were digging the earth, and laying bricks. As soon as the
illustrious Naashon had pressed one of the oldest of these hapless men
like a brother to his heart, the other liberated bondsmen had flung
themselves into the shepherds’ arms and thus, still shouting: “They are
coming!” and “The Lord, the God of our fathers, is our leader!” they
pressed forward in an increasing multitude. When at last the little band
of shepherds had grown to a body of several thousand men, Hur led them
against the Egyptian soldiers, whom they largely outnumbered.

The Egyptian bowmen had already discharged a shower of arrows, and
stones hurled from the slings of the powerful shepherds had dealt fatal
wounds in the front ranks of the foe, when the blast of a trumpet rang
out, summoning the garrison of the fortress behind the sloping walls and
solid door. The Hebrews seemed to the commander too superior a force to
fight, but duty required him to hold the fort until the arrival of the
reinforcements he had requested.

Hur, however, had not been satisfied with his first victory. Success
had kindled the courage of his followers, as a sharp gust of wind fans
a smouldering fire, and wherever an Egyptian showed himself on the
battlements of the store-house, the round stone from a shepherd’s sling
struck heavily upon him. At Naashon’s bidding ladders had been brought
and, in the twinkling of an eye, hundreds climbed up the building from
every direction and, after a short, bloodless struggle, the granaries
fell into the Hebrews’ hands, though the Egyptians had succeeded in
still retaining the fort. During the passage of these events the desert
wind had subsided. Some of the liberated bondsmen, furious with rage,
had heaped straw, wood, and faggots against the gate of the courtyard
into which the Egyptians had been forced. It would have been a light
task for the assailants to destroy every one of their foes by fire;
but Hur, Naashon, and other prudent leaders had not suffered this to be
done, lest the provisions still in the store-rooms should be burned.

It had been no easy matter, in truth, to deter the younger of the
ill-treated bondsmen from this act of vengeance; but each one was a
member of some family, and when Hur’s admonitions were supported by
those of the fathers and mothers, they not only allowed themselves to
be pacified, but aided the elders to distribute the contents of the
magazines among the heads of families and pack them on the beasts of
burden and into the carts which were to accompany the fugitives.

The work went forward amid the broad glare of torches, and became a new
festival; for neither Hur, Naashon, nor Eleasar could prevent the men
and women from opening the wine-jars and skins. They succeeded, however,
in preserving the lion’s share of the precious booty for a time of need,
and thus averted much drunkenness, though the spirit of the grape-juice
and the pleasure in obtaining so rich a prize doubtless enhanced the
grateful excitement of the throng. When Eleasar finally went among them
for the second time to tell them of the Promised Land, men and women
listened with uplifted hearts, and joined in the hymn Miriam began to
sing.

Devout enthusiasm now took possession of every heart in Succoth, as it
had done in Tanis during the hour that preceded the exodus, and when
seventy Hebrew men and women, who had concealed themselves in the temple
of Turn, heard the jubilant hymn, they came forth into the open air,
joined the others, and packed their possessions with as much glad
hopefulness and warm trust in the God of their fathers, as if they had
never shrunk from the departure.

As the stars sank lower in the heavens, the joyous excitement increased.
Men and women thronged the road to Tanis to meet their approaching
kindred. Many a father led his boy by the hand, and many a mother
carried her child in her arms; the multitude drawing near contained
numerous beloved relatives to be greeted, and the coming dawn could not
fail to bring solemn hours of which one would wish no beloved heart to
be deprived, and which would linger in the souls of the little ones till
they themselves had children and grandchildren.

No bed in tent, hovel, or house was occupied; for everywhere the
final packing was going on. The throng of workers at the granaries had
lessened; most of them were now supplied with as much food as they could
carry.

Men and women equipped for travelling lay around fires hurriedly lighted
in front of many tents and houses, and in the larger farms shepherds
were driving the cattle and slaughtering the oxen and sheep which were
unable to go with the people. The blows of axes and hammers and the
creaking of saws were heard in front of many a house; for litters to
transport the sick and feeble must be made. Carts and wains were still
to be loaded, and the heads of families had a hard task with the women;
for a woman’s heart often clings more closely to things apparently
worthless than to those of the greatest value. When the weaver Rebecca
was more eager to find room in the cart for the rude cradle in which her
darling had died, than for the beautiful ebony chest inlaid with ivory
an Egyptian had pawned to her husband, who could blame her?

Light shone from all the window openings and tent doors, while from the
roofs of the largest houses the blaze of torches or lanterns greeted the
approaching Hebrews.

At the banquet served on the night of the harvest festival, no table had
lacked a roast lamb; during this hour of waiting the housewife offered
her family what she could.

The narrow streets of the humble little town were full of active life,
and never had the setting stars shone upon features so cheerful, eyes
sparkling so brightly with enthusiasm, and faces so transfigured by hope
and devout piety.




CHAPTER XII.

When morning dawned, all who had not gone down to meet the fugitives who
were to make their first long halt here, had assembled on the roof of
one of the largest houses in Succoth.

One after another fleet-footed man or boy, hurrying in advance of the
rest, had reached Succoth. Amminadab’s house was the goal sought by the
majority. It consisted of two buildings, one occupied by Naashon,
the owner’s son, and his family, the other, a larger dwelling, which
sheltered, besides the grey-haired owner and his wife, his son-in-law
Aaron with his wife, children, and grand-children, and Miriam. The aged
leader of his tribe, who had assigned the duties of his position to his
son Naashon, extended his hand to every messenger and listened to his
story with sparkling eyes, often dimmed by tears. He had induced his
old wife to sit in the armchair in which she was to be carried after the
people, that she might become accustomed to it, and for the same reason
he now occupied his own.

When the old dame heard the messengers boast that the fair future
promised to the people was now close at hand, her eyes often sought her
husband, and she exclaimed: “Yes, Moses!” for she held her son-in-law’s
brother in high esteem, and rejoiced to see his prophecy fulfilled. The
old people were proud of Aaron, too; but all their love was lavished
upon Eleasar, their grandson, whom they beheld growing up into a second
Moses. Miriam had been for some time a new and welcome member of the
household. True, the warm-hearted old couple’s liking for the grave
maiden had not increased to parental tenderness, and their daughter
Elisheba, Aaron’s active wife, had no greater inclination to share the
cares of the large family with the prophetess than her son Naashon’s
spouse, who, moreover, dwelt with her immediate family under her own
roof. Yet the old people owed Miriam a debt of gratitude for the care
she bestowed upon their granddaughter Milcah, the daughter of Aaron and
Elisheba, whom a great misfortune had transformed from a merry-hearted
child into a melancholy woman, whose heart seemed dead to every joy.

A few days after her marriage to a beloved husband the latter, carried
away by passion, had raised his hand against an Egyptian tax-gatherer,
who, while Pharaoh was passing through Succoth toward the east, had
attempted to drive off a herd of his finest cattle for “the kitchen of
the lord of both worlds.” For this act of self-defence the hapless man
had been conveyed to the mines as a prisoner of state, and every one
knew that the convicts there perished, soul and body, from torturing
labor far beyond their strength. Through the influence of old Nun,
Hosea’s father, the wife and relatives of the condemned man had been
saved from sharing his punishment, as the law prescribed. But Milcah
languished under the blow, and the only person who could rouse the pale,
silent woman from brooding over her grief was Miriam. The desolate heart
clung to the prophetess, and she accompanied her when she practised in
the huts of the poor the medical skill she had learned and took them
medicines and alms.

The last messengers Amninadab and his wife received on the roof
described the hardships of the journey and the misery they had witnessed
in dark hues; but if one, more tender-hearted than the rest, broke
into lamentations over the sufferings endured by the women and children
during the prevalence of the desert wind, and recalling the worst
horrors impressed upon his memory, uttered mournful predictions for the
future, the old man spoke cheering words, telling him of the omnipotence
of God, and how custom would inure one to hardship. His wrinkled
features expressed firm confidence, while one could read in Miriam’s
beautiful, yet stern countenance, little of the courageous hope, which
youth is wont to possess in a far higher degree than age.

During the arrival and departure of the messengers she did not quit
the old couple’s side, leaving to her sister-in-law Elisheba and her
servants the duty of offering refreshments to the wearied men. She
herself listened intently, with panting breath, but what she heard
seemed to awaken her anxiety; for she knew that no one came to the house
which sheltered Aaron save those who were adherents of her brothers, the
leaders of the people. If such men’s blitheness was already waning, what
must the outlook be to the lukewarm and refractory!

She rarely added a question of her own to those asked by the old man
and, when she did so, the messengers who heard her voice for the first
time looked at her in surprise; though musical, the tones were unusually
deep.

After several messengers, in reply to her inquiries, declared that
Hosea, the son of Nun, had not come with the others, her head drooped
and she asked nothing more, till pallid Milcah, who followed her
everywhere, raised her dark eyes beseechingly and murmured the name of
Reuben, her captive husband. The prophetess kissed the poor desolate
wife’s forehead, glanced at her as if she had neglected her in some
way, and then questioned the messengers with urgent eagerness concerning
their news of Reuben, who had been dragged to the mines. One only had
learned from a released prisoner that Milcah’s husband was living in the
copper mines of the province of Bech, in the neighborhood of Mt. Sinai,
and Miriam seized upon these tidings to assure Milcah, with great
vivacity and warmth, that if the tribes moved eastward they would surely
pass the mines and release the Hebrews imprisoned there.

These were welcome words, and Milcah, who nestled to her comforter’s
breast, would gladly have heard more; but great restlessness had seized
upon the people gazing into the distance from the roof of Amminadab’s
house; a dense cloud of dust was approaching from the north, and soon
after a strange murmur arose, then a loud uproar, and finally shouts and
cries from thousands of voices, lowing, neighing, and bleating, such
as none of the listeners had ever heard,--and then on surged the
many-limbed and many-voiced multitude, the endless stream of human
beings and herds, which the astrologer’s grandson on the observatory of
the temple at Tanis had mistaken for the serpent of the nether-world.

Now, too, in the light of early dawn, it might easily have been imagined
a host of bodiless spirits driven forth from the realms of the dead;
for a whitish-grey column of dust extending to the blue vault of heaven
moved before it, and the vast whole, with its many parts and voices,
veiled by the clouds of sand, had the appearance of a single form.
Often, however, a metal spear-head or a brazen kettle, smitten by a
sunbeam, flashed brightly, and individual voices, shouting loudly, fell
upon the ear.

The foremost billows of the flood had now reached Amminadab’s house,
before which pasture lands extended as far as the eye could reach.

Words of command rang on the air, the procession halted, dispersing as
a mountain lake overflows in spring, sending rivulets and streams hither
and thither; but the various small runlets speedily united, taking
possession of broad patches of the dewy pastures, and wherever such
portions of the torrent of human beings and animals rested, the shroud
of dust which had concealed them disappeared.

The road remained hidden by the cloud a long time, but on the meadows
the morning sunlight shone upon men, women, and children, cattle and
donkeys, sheep and goats, and soon tent after tent was pitched on the
green sward in front of the dwellings of Amminadab and Naashon, herds
were surrounded by pens, stakes and posts were driven into the hard
ground, awnings were stretched, cows were fastened to ropes, cattle and
sheep were led to water, fires were lighted, and long lines of women,
balancing jars on their heads, with their slender, beautifully curved
arms, went to the well behind the old sycamore or to the side of the
neighboring canal.

This morning, as on every other working-day, a pied ox with a large hump
was turning the wheel that raised the water. It watered the land, though
the owner of the cattle intended to leave it on the morrow; but the
slave who drove it had no thought beyond the present and, as no one
forbade him, moistened as he was wont the grass for the foe into whose
hands it was to fall.

Hours elapsed ere the advancing multitude reached the camp, and Miriam
who stood describing to Amminadab, whose eyes were no longer keen enough
to discern distant objects, what was passing below, witnessed many an
incident from which she would fain have averted her gaze.

She dared not frankly tell the old man what she beheld, it would have
clouded his joyous hope.

Relying, with all the might of an inspired soul upon the God of
her fathers and his omnipotence, she had but yesterday fully shared
Amminadab’s confidence; but the Lord had bestowed upon her spirit the
fatal gift of seeing things and hearing words incomprehensible to all
other human beings. Usually she distinguished them in dreams, but they
often came to her also in solitary hours, when she was deeply absorbed
by thoughts of the past or the future.

The words Ephraim had announced to Hosea in her name, as a message from
the Most High, had been uttered by unseen lips while she was thinking
under the sycamore of the exodus and the man whom she had loved from her
childhood--and when that day, between midnight and morning, she again
sat beneath the venerable tree and was overpowered by weariness, she
had believed she heard the same voice. The words had vanished from
her memory when she awoke, but she knew that their purport had been
sorrowful and of ill omen.

Spite of the vagueness of the monition, it disturbed her, and the
outcries rising from the pastures certainly were not evoked by joy
that the people had joined her brothers and the first goal of their
wanderings had been successfully gained, as the old man at her side
supposed; no, they were the furious shouts of wrathful, undisciplined
men, wrangling and fighting with fierce hostility on the meadow for a
good place to pitch their tents or the best spot at the wells or on the
brink of the canals to water their cattle.

Wrath, disappointment, despair echoed in the shouts, and when her gaze
sought the point whence they rose loudest, she saw the corpse of a
woman borne on a piece of tent-cloth by railing bondmen and a pale,
death-stricken infant held on the arm of a half naked, frantic man, its
father, who shook his disengaged hand in menace toward the spot where
she saw her brothers.

The next moment she beheld a grey-haired old man, bowed by heavy toil,
raise his fist against Moses. He would have struck him, had he not been
dragged away by others.

She could not bear to stay longer on the roof. Pale and panting for
breath, she hurried to the camp. Milcah followed, and wherever they
encountered people who lived in Succoth, they received respectful
greetings.

The new comers from Zoan,--as the Hebrews called Tanis,--Pha-kos, and
Bubastis, whom they met on the way, did not know Miriam, yet the tall
figure and stately dignity of the prophetess led them also to make way
respectfully or pause to answer her questions.

The things she learned were evil and heart-rending; for joyously as the
procession had marched forward on the first day, it dragged along sadly
and hopelessly on the second. The desert wind had robbed many of
the strong of their power of resistance and energy; others, like
the bondman’s wife and nursling, had been attacked by fever on the
pilgrimage through the dust and the oppressive heat of the day, and they
pointed out to her the procession which was approaching the burial-place
of the Hebrews of Succoth. Those who were being conveyed to the bourn
whence there is no return were not only women and children, or those
who had been brought from their homes ill, that they might not be left
behind, but also men who were in robust health the day before and had
broken down under burdens too heavy for their strength, or who had
recklessly exposed themselves, while working, to the beams of the
noon-day sun.

In one tent, where a young mother was shaking with the chill of a severe
attack of fever, Miriam asked the pallid Milcah to bring her medicine
chest, and the desolate wife went on her errand with joyous alacrity.
On the way she stopped many and timidly asked about her captive husband,
but could obtain no news of him. Miriam, however, heard from Nun,
Hosea’s father, that Eliab, the freedman whom he had left behind, had
informed him that his son would be ready to join his people. She also
learned that the wounded Ephraim had found shelter in his uncle’s tent.

Was the lad’s illness serious, or what other cause detained Hosea in
Tanis? These questions filled Miriam’s heart with fresh anxiety, yet
with rare energy she nevertheless lavished help and comfort wherever she
went.

Old Nun’s cordial greeting had cheered her, and a more vigorous, kind,
and lovable old man could not be imagined.

The mere sight of his venerable head, with its thick snow-white hair and
beard, his regular features, and eyes sparkling with the fire of youth,
was a pleasure to her, and as, in his vivacious, winning manner, he
expressed his joy at meeting her again, as he drew her to his heart and
kissed her brow, after she had told him that, in the name of the Most
High, she had called Hosea “Joshua” and summoned him back to his people
that he might command their forces, she felt as if she had found in him
some compensation for her dead father’s loss, and devoted herself
with fresh vigor to the arduous duties which everywhere demanded her
attention.

And it was no trivial matter for the high-souled maiden to devote
herself, with sweet self-sacrifice, to those whose roughness and uncouth
manners wounded her. The women, it is true, gladly accepted her aid, but
the men, who had grown up under the rod of the overseer, knew neither
reserve nor consideration. Their natures were as rude as their persons
and when, as soon as they learned her name, they began to assail her
with harsh reproaches, asserting that her brother had lured them from an
endurable situation to plunge them into the most horrible position, when
she heard imprecations and blasphemy, and saw the furious wrath of the
black eyes that flashed in the brown faces framed by masses of tangled
hair and beards, her heart failed her.

But she succeeded in mastering dread and aversion, and though her heart
throbbed violently, and she expected to meet the worst, she reminded
those who were repulsive to her and from whom her woman’s weakness urged
her to flee, of the God of their fathers and His promises.

She now thought she knew what the sorrowful warning voice under the
sycamore had portended, and beside the couch of the young dying mother
she raised her hands and heart to Heaven and took an oath unto the Most
High that she would exert every power of her being to battle against
the faint-hearted lack of faith and rude obstinacy, which threatened
to plunge the people into sore perils. Jehovah had promised them
the fairest future and they must not be robbed of it by the
short-sightedness and defiance of a few deluded individuals; but God
himself could scarcely be wroth with those who, content if their bodily
wants were satisfied, had unresistingly borne insults and blows like
cattle. The multitude even now did not realize that they must pass
through the darkness of misery to be worthy of the bright day that
awaited them.

The medicines administered by Miriam seemed to relieve the sufferer, and
filled with fresh confidence, she left the tent to seek her brothers.

There had been little change in the state of affairs in the camp, and
she again beheld scenes from which she recoiled and which made her
regret that the sensitive Milcah was her companion.

Some rascally bondmen who had seized cattle and utensils belonging to
others had been bound to a palmtree, and the ravens that followed the
procession; and had found ample sustenance on the way, now croaked
greedily around the quickly established place of execution.

No one knew who had been judge or executioner of the sentence; but those
who took part in the swift retribution considered it well justified, and
rejoiced in the deed.

With rapid steps and averted head Miriam drew the trembling Milcah on
and gave her to the care of her uncle Naashon to lead home. The latter
had just parted from the man who with him ruled the sons of Judah as a
prince of the tribe--Hur, who at the head of the shepherds had won the
first victory against the Egyptians, and who now led to the maiden with
joyful pride a man and a boy, his son and grandson. Both had been in the
service of the Egyptians, practising the trade of goldsmith and worker
in metals for Pharaoh at Memphis. The former’s skill had won him the
name of Uri, which in Egyptian means ‘great’, and this artificer’s son
Bezaleel, Hur’s grandson, though scarcely beyond boyhood, was reputed to
surpass his father in the gifts of genius.

Hur gazed with justifiable pride at son and grandson; for though both
had attained much consideration among the Egyptians they had followed
their father’s messenger without demur, leaving behind them many who
were dear to their hearts, and the property gained in Memphis, to join
their wandering nation and share its uncertain destiny.

Miriam greeted the new arrivals with the utmost warmth, and the men who,
representing three generations, stood before her, presented a picture on
which the eyes of any well-disposed person could not fail to rest with
pleasure.

The grandfather was approaching his sixtieth year, and though many
threads of silver mingled with his ebon-black hair, he held himself as
erect as a youth, while his thin, sharply-cut features expressed the
unyielding determination, which explained his son’s and grandson’s
prompt obedience to his will.

Uri, too, was a stately man, and Bezaleel a youth who showed that he
had industriously utilized his nineteen years and already attained an
independent position. His artist eye sparkled with special brilliancy,
and after he and his father had taken leave of Miriam to greet Caleb,
their grandfather and great-grandfather, she heartily congratulated the
man who was one of her brother’s most loyal friends, upon such scions of
his noble race.

Hur seized her hand and, with a warmth of emotion gushing from a
grateful heart that was by no means usual to the stern, imperious nature
of this chief of an unruly shepherd tribe, exclaimed:

“Ay, they have remained good, true, and obedient. God has guarded them
and prepared this day of happiness for me. Now it depends on you to make
it the fairest of all festivals. You must have long perceived that my
eyes have followed you and that you have been dear to my heart. To work
for our people and their welfare is my highest aim as a man, yours as a
woman, and that is a strong bond. But I desired to have a still firmer
one unite us, and since your parents are dead, and I cannot go with the
bridal dower to Amram, to buy you from him, I now bring my suit to you
in person, high-souled maiden. But ere you say yes or no, you should
learn that my son and grandson are ready to pay you the same honor as
head of our household that they render me, and your brothers willingly
permitted me to approach you as a suitor.”

Miriam had listened to this offer in silent surprise. She had a high
esteem and warm regard for the man who so fervently desired her love.
Spite of his age, he stood before her in the full flush of manhood and
stately dignity, and the beseeching expression of eyes whose glance was
wont to be so imperious and steadfast stirred the inmost depths of her
soul.

She, however, was waiting with ardent longing for another, so her sole
answer was a troubled shake of the head.

But this man of mature years, a prince of his tribe, who was accustomed
to carry his plans persistently into execution, undeterred by her mute
refusal, continued even more warmly than before.

“Do not destroy in one short moment the yearning repressed with so much
difficulty for years! Do you object to my age?”

Miriam shook her head a second time, but Hur went on:

“That was the source of my anxiety, though I can still vie with many a
younger man in vigor. But, if you can overlook your lover’s grey hairs,
perhaps you may be induced to weigh the words he now utters. Of the
faith and devotion of my soul I will say nothing. No man of my years
woos a woman, unless his heart’s strong impulse urges him on. But there
is something else which, meseems, is of equal import. I said that
I would lead you to my house. Yonder it stands, a building firm and
spacious enough; but from to-morrow a tent will be our home, the camp
our dwelling-place, and there will be wild work enough within its
bounds. No one is secure, not even of life, least of all a woman,
however strong she may be, who has made common cause with those against
whom thousands murmur. Your parents are dead, your brothers might
protect you, but should the people lay hands on them, the same stones
on which you cross the stream would drag you down into the depths with
them.”

“And were I your wife, you also,” replied Miriam, her thick eye-brows
contracting in a heavy frown.

“I will take the risk,” Hur answered. “The destinies of all are in God’s
hands, my faith is as firm as yours, and behind me stands the tribe of
Judah, who follow me and Naashon as the sheep follow the shepherds.
Old Nun and the Ephraimites are with us, and should matters come to the
worst, it would mean perishing according to God’s will, or in faithful
union, power, and prosperity, awaiting old age in the Promised Land.”

Miriam fearlessly gazed full into his stern eyes, laid her hand on
his arm, and answered: “Those words are worthy of the man whom I have
honored from childhood, and who has reared such sons; but I cannot be
your wife.”

“You cannot?”

“No, my lord, I cannot.”

“A hard sentence, but it must suffice,” replied the other, his head
drooping in sorrow; but Miriam exclaimed:

“Nay, Hur, you have a right to ask the cause of my refusal, and because
I honor you, I owe you the truth. Another man of our race reigns in my
heart. He met me for the first time when I was still a child. Like your
son and grandson, he has lived among the Egyptians, but the summons of
our God and of his father reached him as did the message to your sons,
and like Uri and Bezaleel, he showed himself obedient. If he still
desires to wed me, I shall become his wife, if it is the will of the
God whom I serve, and who shows me the favor of suffering me to hear his
voice. But I shall think of you with gratitude forever.”

Her large eyes had been glittering through tears as she uttered the
words, and there was a tremor in the grey-haired lover’s voice as he
asked in hesitating, embarrassed tones:

“And if the man for whom you are waiting--I do not ask his name--shuts
his ears to the call that has reached him, if he declines to share the
uncertain destiny of his people?”

“That will never happen!” Miriam interrupted, a chill creeping through
her veins, but Hur exclaimed:

“There is no ‘never,’ no ‘surely,’ save with God. If, spite of your firm
faith, the result should be different from your expectations, will you
resign to the Lord the wish which began to stir in your heart, when you
were still a foolish child?”

“He who has guided me until now will show me the right way.”

“Well then,” replied Hur, “put your trust in Him, and if the man of your
choice is worthy of you, and becomes your lord, my soul will rejoice
without envy when the Most High blesses your union. But if God wills
otherwise, and you need a strong arm for your support, I am here. The
tent and the heart of Hur will ever be open to you.”

With these words he turned away; but Miriam gazed thoughtfully after him
as long as the old chief’s stately figure was visible.

At last, still pondering, she moved toward her host’s house, but at
the road leading to Tanis, she paused and gazed northward. The dust had
subsided, and she could see a long distance, but the one person whom it
was to lead back to her and to his people did not appear. Sighing sadly,
she moved onward with drooping head, and started violently when her
brother Moses’ deep voice called to her from the old sycamore.




CHAPTER XIII.

Aaron and Eleasar, with fiery eloquence, had reminded the murmuring,
disheartened people of the power and promises of their God. Whoever had
stretched his limbs undisturbed to comfortable rest, whoever had been
strengthened by food and drink regained the confidence that had been
lost. The liberated bondmen were told of the hard labor and dishonoring
blows which they had escaped and admonished that they must recognize
as God’s dispensation, among other things, that Pharaoh had not pursued
them; but the rich booty still found in the plundered storehouse had no
small share in the revival of their drooping courage, and the bondmen
and lepers--for many of the latter had accompanied them and rested
outside the camp--in short, all for whose support Pharaoh had provided,
saw themselves safe for a long time from care and privation. Yet there
was no lack of malcontents, and here and there, though no one knew who
instigated the question, loud discussion arose whether it would not
be more advisable to return to Pharaoh and rely on his favor. Whoever
raised it, did the work secretly, and was often compelled to submit to
sharp, threatening retorts.

Miriam had talked with her brothers and shared the heavy anxieties
that oppressed them. Why had the desert wind so speedily destroyed the
courage of the people during their brief pilgrimage? How impatient, how
weak in faith, how rebellious they had showed themselves at the first
obstacle they had encountered, how uncontrollable they had been in
following their fierce impulses. When summoned to prayer just before
sunrise during their journey, some had turned toward the day-star rising
in the east, others had taken out a small idol they had brought with
them, and others still had uplifted their eyes to the Nile acacia, which
in some provinces of Egypt was regarded as a sacred tree. What did they
know of the God who had commanded them to cast so much behind them and
take upon themselves such heavy burdens? Even now many were despairing,
though they had confronted no serious dangers; for Moses had intended
to lead the Hebrews in Succoth over the road to Philistia direct to the
Promised Land in Palestine, but the conduct of the people forced him to
resign this plan and form another.

To reach the great highway connecting Asia and Africa it was necessary
to cross the isthmus, which rather divided than united the two
continents; for it was most thoroughly guarded from intruders and,
partly by natural, partly by artificial obstacles, barred the path of
every fugitive; a series of deep lakes rolled their waves upon its
soil, and where these did not stay the march of the travelers strong
fortifications, garrisoned by trained Egyptian troops, rose before them.

This chain of forts was called Chetam--or in the Hebrew tongue--Etham,
and wayfarers leaving Succoth would reach the nearest and strongest of
these forts in a few hours.

When the tribes, full of enthusiasm for their God, and ready for the
most arduous enterprises, shook off their chains and, exulting in their
new liberty, rushed forward to the Promised Land Moses, and with him
the majority of the elders, had believed that, like a mountain torrent,
bursting dams and sluices, they would destroy and overthrow everything
that ventured to oppose their progress. With these enthusiastic masses,
to whom bold advance would secure the highest good, and timid hesitation
could bring nothing save death and ruin, they had expected to rush over
the Etham line as if it were a pile of faggots. But now since a short
chain of difficulties and suffering had stifled the fire of their
souls, now that wherever the eye turned, there were two calm and
five dissatisfied or anxious individuals to one upheld by joyous
anticipation, to storm the Etham line would have cost rivers of blood
and moreover jeopardized all that had been already gained.

The overpowering of the little garrison in the storehouse of Pithom had
occurred under specially favorable circumstances, which could hardly be
expected to happen again, so the original plan must be changed, and an
attempt made to take a circuit around the fortifications. Instead of
moving toward the northeast, the tribes must turn southward.

But, ere carrying this plan into execution, Moses, accompanied by a few
trusty men, desired to examine the new route and ascertain whether it
would be passable for the great wandering people.

These matters were discussed under the great sycamore in front of
Amminadab’s house, and Miriam was present, a mute witness.

Women,--even those like herself,--were forced to keep silence when men
were holding counsel; yet it was hard for her to remain speechless when
it was decided to abstain from attacking the forts, even should the
trained warrior, Hosea, whom God Himself had chosen to be his sword,
return to his people.

“What avails the best leader, if there is no army to obey him?” Naashon,
Amminadab’s son, had exclaimed, and the others shared his opinion.

When the council finally broke up, Moses took leave of his sister with
fraternal affection. She knew that he was in the act of plunging into
fresh dangers and--in the modest manner in which she was always wont to
accost the brother who so far surpassed all others in every gift of mind
and body,--expressed her anxiety. He looked into her eyes with friendly
reproach and raised his right hand toward heaven; but she understood his
meaning, and kissing his hand with grateful warmth, replied:

“You stand under the protection of the Most High, and I fear no longer.”

Pressing his lips upon her brow, he bade her give him a tablet, wrote
a few words on it, flung it into the hollow trunk of the sycamore, and
said:

“For Hosea, no, for Joshua, the son of Nun, if he comes while I am
absent. The Lord has great deeds for him to accomplish, when he learns
to expect loftier things from the Most High than from the mighty ones of
earth.”

With these words he left her; but Aaron who, as the oldest, was the head
of her tribe, lingered and told her that a man of worth sought her hand.
Miriam, with blanching face, replied:

“I know it....”

He looked at her in surprise and with earnest monition, added:

“As you choose; yet it will be wise to consider this. Your heart belongs
to your God and to your people, and the man whom you wed must be ready,
like yourself, to serve both; for two must be one in marriage, and if
the highest aim of one is not also that of the other, they will remain
two till the end. The voice of the senses, which drew them together,
will soon be mute and nothing will be left to them save discord.”

Having said this, he went away, and she, too, was preparing to leave
the others; for on the eve of departure she might be needed in the
house whose hospitality she enjoyed. But a new incident detained her, as
though bound with fetters, under the sycamore.

What cared she for the packing of perishable wares and providing for
bodily needs, when affairs which occupied her whole soul were under
discussion! Elisheba, Naashon’s wife, any housekeeper and faithful slave
could attend to the former wants. Higher things were to be determined
here--the weal or woe of her people.

Several men of distinction in the tribes had joined the elders under the
sycamore; but Hur had already departed with Moses.

Uri, the son of the former, now appeared beneath the ancient tree. The
worker in metals, who had just come from Egypt, had talked in Memphis
with persons who were near to the king and learned that Pharaoh was
ready to remove great burdens from the Hebrews and grant them new
favors, if Moses would render the God whom he served propitious to him
and induce the people to return after they had offered sacrifices in the
wilderness. Therefore it would be advisable to send envoys to Tanis and
enter into negotiations with the Sublime Porte.

These proposals, which Uri had not yet ventured to moot to his father,
he, with good intentions, brought before the assembled elders; he
hoped that their acceptance might spare the people great suffering. But
scarcely had he concluded his clear and convincing speech, when old
Nun, Hosea’s father, who had with difficulty held his feelings in check,
broke in.

The old man’s face, usually so cheerful, glowed with wrath, and its
fiery hue formed a strange contrast to the thick white locks which
framed it. A few hours before he had heard Moses repel similar
propositions with harsh decision and crushing reasons; now he had heard
them again brought forward and noted many a gesture of assent among the
listeners, and saw the whole great enterprise imperilled, the enterprise
for whose success he had himself risked and sacrificed more than any
other man.

This was too much for the active old man who, with flashing eyes and
hand upraised in menace, burst forth “What do you mean? Are we to pick
up the ends of the rope the Lord our God has severed? Do you counsel us
to fasten it anew, with a looser knot, which will hold as long as the
whim of a vacillating weakling who has broken his promises to us and to
Moses a score of times? Do you wish to lead us back to the cage whence
the Almighty released us by a miracle? Are we to treat the Lord our God
like a bad debtor and prefer the spurious gold ring we are offered to
the royal treasures He promises? Oh, messenger from the Egyptians--I
would....”

Here the hot-blooded grey-beard raised his clenched fist in menace but,
ere he had uttered the threat that hovered on his lips, he let his arm
fall; for Gabriel, the oldest member of the tribe of Zebulun, shouted:

“Remember your own son, who is to-day among the foes of his people.”

The words struck home; yet they only dimmed the fiery old man’s glad
self-reliance a moment and, amid the voices uttering disapproval of the
malicious Gabriel and the few who upheld the Zebulunite, he cried:

“And because I am perhaps in danger of losing, not only the ten thousand
acres of land I flung behind me, but a noble son, it is my right to
speak here.”

His broad chest heaved with his labored breathing and his eyes, shadowed
by thick white brows, rested with a milder expression on the son of Hur,
whose face had paled at his vehement words, as he continued:

“Uri is a good and dutiful son to his father and has also been obliged
to make great sacrifices in leaving the place where his work was so much
praised and his own house in Memphis. The blessing of the Most High will
not fail him. But for the very reason that he has hitherto obeyed the
command, he must not now seek to destroy what we have commenced under
the guidance of the Most High. To you, Gabriel, I answer that my son
probably will not tarry among our foes, but obedient to my summons,
will join us, like Uri, the first-born of Hur. What still detains him is
doubtless some important matter of which Hosea will have as little
cause to be ashamed as I, his father. I know and trust him, and whoever
expects aught else will sooner or later, by my son’s course of action,
be proved a liar.”

Here he paused to push his white hair back from his burning brow and,
as no one contradicted him, he turned to the worker in metals, and added
with cordial friendliness:

“What angered me, Uri, was certainly not your purpose. That is a good
one; but you have measured the greatness and majesty of the God of our
fathers by the standard of the false gods of the Egyptians, who die and
rise again and, as Aaron has just said, represent only minor attributes
of Him who is in all and transcends everything. To serve God, until
Moses taught me a better counsel, I deemed meant to sacrifice an ox, a
lamb, or a goose upon the altar like the Egyptians; but your eyes, as
befell me through Moses, will not be opened to Him who rules the world
and has made us His people, until, like me, you, and all of us, and
probably my son also, shall each have kindled in his own breast the
sacrificial fire which never goes out and consumes everything that does
not relate to Him in love and loyalty, faith and reverence.
Through Moses, His servant, God has promised us the greatest
blessings--deliverance from bondage, the privilege of ruling on our
own land as free men in a beautiful country, our own possession and the
heritage of our children. We are going forth to receive His gift, and
whoever seeks to stop us on our way, whoever urges us to turn and creep
back into the net whose brazen meshes we have burst, advises his people
to run once more like sheep into the fire from which they have escaped.
I am not angry with you; your face shows that you perceive how foolishly
you have erred; but all ye who are here must know that I heard only a
few hours ago from Moses’ own lips these words: ‘Whoever counsels return
and the making of covenants with the Egyptians, I will denounce as
a scorner of Jehovah our God, and the destroyer and worst foe of his
people!’”

Uri went to the old man, gave him his hand, and deeply convinced of the
justice of his reproaches, exclaimed: “No treaty, no covenant with the
Egyptians! I am grateful to you, Nun, for opening my eyes. To me, also,
the hour will doubtless come in which you, or some one who stands nearer
to Him than I, will teach me to know your God, who is also mine.”

As he ceased speaking, he went away with Nun, who put his arm around his
shoulders; but Miriam had listened breathlessly to Uri’s last words,
and as he expressed a desire to know the God of his people, her eyes had
sparkled with the light of enthusiasm. She felt that her soul was filled
with the greatness of the Most High and that she had the gift of speech
to make another familiar with the knowledge she herself possessed. But
this time also custom required her to keep silence. Her heart ached, and
as she again moved among the multitude and convinced herself that Hosea
had not yet come, she went home, as twilight was beginning to gather,
and joined the others on the roof.

No one there appeared to have missed her, not even poor melancholy
Milcah, and she felt unutterably lonely in this house.

If Hosea would only come, if she might have a strong breast on which to
lean, if this sense of being a stranger in her own home, this useless
life beneath the roof she was obliged to call hers, though she never
felt thoroughly at home under it, would but cease. Moses and Aaron, too,
had gone away, taking Hur’s grandson with them; but no one had deemed
her, who lived and breathed solely for her people and their welfare,
worthy to learn whither their journey led or what was its purpose.

Why had the God to whom she devoted her whole life and being made her a
woman, yet given her the mind and soul of a man?

She waited, as if to test whether any of the circle of kindly-natured
people to which she belonged really loved her, for some one of the
elders or the children to accost her; but Eleasar’s little ones were
pressing around their grandparents, and she had never understood how to
make herself agreeable to children. Elisheba was directing the slaves
who were putting the finishing touches to the packing; Milcah sat with
her cat in her lap, gazing into vacancy. No one heeded or spoke to her.

Bitter pain overpowered Miriam, and after she had shared the evening
meal with the others, and forced herself not to disturb by her own
sorrowful mood, the joyous excitement of the children, who looked
forward to the pilgrimage as a great pleasure, she longed to go out of
doors.

Closely veiled, she passed alone through the camp and what she beheld
there was certainly ill-suited to dispel the mood that oppressed her.
There was plenty of noise, and though sometimes devout hymns, full of
joy and hope, echoed on the air, she heard far more frequently savage
quarrelling and rebellious words. When her ear caught threats or
reproaches levelled against her noble brother, she quickened her pace,
but she could not escape her anxiety concerning what would happen at
the departure after sunrise on the morrow, should the malcontents obtain
supremacy.

She knew that the people would be forced to press forward; but her dread
of Pharaoh’s military power had never permitted her to be at peace--to
her it was as it were embodied in Hosea’s heroic figure. If the Lord
Himself did not fight in the ranks of the wretched bondmen and shepherds
who were quarrelling and disputing around her, how were they to
withstand the well-trained and equipped hosts of the Egyptians, with
their horses and chariots?

She had heard that guards had been posted in all parts of the camp, with
orders to sound the horn or strike the cymbal at the approach of the
foe, until the men had flocked to the spot whence the warning first
echoed.

She had long listened for such an alarm, yet how much more intently for
the hoof-beats of a single steed, the firm step and deep voice of the
warrior for whom she yearned. On his account she constantly returned to
the northern part of the camp which adjoined the road coming from Tanis
and where now, at Moses’ bidding, the tents of most of the men
capable of bearing arms were pitched. Here she had hoped to find true
confidence; but as she listened to the talk of the armed soldiers
who surrounded the camp-fires in dense circles, she heard that Uri’s
proposal had reached them also. Most of them were husbands and fathers,
had left behind a house, a bit of land, a business, or an office, and
though many spoke of the command of the Most High and the beautiful new
home God had promised, not a few were disposed to return. How gladly she
would have gone among these blinded mortals and exhorted them to obey
with fresh faith and confidence the command of the Lord and of her
brother. But here, too, she was forced to keep silence. She was
permitted to listen only, and she was most strongly attracted to
the very places where she might expect to hear rebellious words and
proposals.

There was a mysterious charm in this cruel excitement and she felt as
if she were deprived of something desirable when many a fire was
extinguished, the soldiers went to sleep, and conversation ceased.

She now turned for the last time toward the road leading from Tanis; but
nothing was stirring there save the sentries pacing to and fro.

She had not yet doubted Hosea’s coming; for the summons she had sent to
him in the name of the Lord had undoubtedly reached him; but now that
the stars showed her it was past midnight, the thought came vividly
before her mind of the many years he had spent among the Egyptians, and
that he might perhaps deem it unworthy of a man to obey the call of a
woman, even if she uplifted her voice in the name of the Most High. She
had experienced humiliations enough that day, why should not this be
decreed also?




CHAPTER XIV

Deeply disturbed and tortured by such thoughts, Miriam walked toward
Amminadab’s house to seek repose; but just as she was in the act of
crossing the threshold, she paused and again listened for sounds coming
from the north.

Hosea must arrive from that direction.

But she heard nothing save the footsteps of a sentinel and the voice of
Hur, who was patrolling the camp with a body of armed men.

He, too, had been unable to stay in the house.

The night was mild and starry, the time seemed just suited for dreams
under the sycamore. Her bench beneath the venerable tree was empty, and
with drooping head she approached the beloved resting-place, which she
must leave forever on the morrow.

But ere she had reached the spot so close at hand, she paused with
her figure drawn up to its full height and her hand pressed upon her
throbbing bosom. This time she was not mistaken, the beat of hoofs
echoed on the air, and it came from the north.

Were Pharaoh’s chariots approaching to attack the camp? Should she shout
to wake the warriors? Or could it be he whom she so longingly expected?
Yes, yes, yes! It was the tramp of a single steed, and must be a new
arrival; for there were loud voices in the tents, the dogs barked, and
shouts, questions, and answers came nearer and nearer with the rider.

It was Hosea, she felt sure. His riding alone through the night,
released from the bonds that united him to Pharaoh and his comrades
in arms, was a sign of his obedience! Love had steeled his will
and quickened the pace of his steed, and the gratitude of answering
affection, the reward she could bestow, should be withheld no longer.
In her arms he should blissfully perceive that he had resigned great
possessions to obtain something still fairer and sweeter! She felt as
though the darkness around had suddenly brightened into broad day,
as her ear told her that the approaching horseman was riding straight
toward the house of her host Amminadab. She now knew that he was obeying
her summons, that he had come to find her. Hosea was seeking her ere he
went to his own father, who had found shelter in the big empty house of
his grandson, Ephraim.

He would gladly have dashed toward her at the swiftest pace of his
steed, but it would not do to ride rapidly through the camp. Ah, how
long the time seemed ere she at last saw the horseman, ere he swung
himself to the ground, and his companion flung the reins of the horse to
a man who followed him.

It was he, it was Hosea!

But his companion--she had recognized him distinctly and shrank a
little--his companion was Hur, the man who a few hours before had sought
her for his wife.

There stood her two suitors side by side in the starlight, illumined by
the glare of the pitch torches blazing beside the carts and household
utensils which had been packed for the morrow’s journey.

The tall figure of the elder Hebrew towered over the sinewy form of the
warrior, and the shepherd prince bore himself no whit less erect than
the Egyptian hero. Both voices sounded earnest and manly, yet her
lover’s seemed to Miriam stronger and deeper. They had now advanced so
near that she could understand their conversation.

Hur was telling the newcomer that Moses had gone on a reconnoitring
expedition, and Hosea was expressing his regret, because he had
important matters to discuss with him.

Then he must set out with the tribes the next morning, Hur replied, for
Moses intended to join them on the way.

Then he pointed to Amminadab’s house, from which no ray of light gleamed
through the darkness, and asked Hosea to spend the remainder of the
night beneath his roof, as he probably would not wish to disturb his
aged father at so late an hour.

Miriam saw her friend hesitate and gaze intently up to the women’s
apartments and the roof of her host’s house. Knowing what he sought, she
could no longer resist the impulse of her heart, but stepped forth from
the shadow of the sycamore and gave Hosea a cordial and tender welcome.

He, too, disdained to conceal the joy of his heart, and Hur stood beside
the reunited lovers, as they clasped each other’s hands, and exchanged
greetings, at first mutely, then with warm words.

“I knew you would come!” cried the maiden, and Hosea answered with
joyful emotion.

“You might easily suppose so, oh Prophetess; for your own voice was
among those that summoned me here.”

Then in a calmer tone, he added: “I hoped to find your brother also;
I am the bearer of a message of grave import to him, to us, and to the
people. I see that you, too, are ready to depart and should grieve to
behold the comfort of your aged hosts destroyed by hasty acts that may
yet be needless.”

“What do you mean?” asked Hur, advancing a step nearer to the other.
“I mean,” replied Hosea, “that if Moses persists in leading the tribes
eastward, much blood will flow uselessly to-morrow; for I learned at
Tanis that the garrison of Etham has been ordered to let no man pass,
still less the countless throng, whose magnitude surprised me as I rode
through the camp. I know Apu, who commands the fortifications and the
legions whom he leads. There would be a terrible, fruitless massacre
of our half-armed, untrained people, there would be--in short, I have
urgent business to discuss with Moses, urgent and immediate, to avert
the heaviest misfortune ere it is too late.”

“What you fear has not escaped our notice,” replied Hur, “and it is
in order to guard against this peril that Moses has set forth on a
dangerous quest.”

“Whither?” asked Hosea.

“That is the secret of the leaders of the tribes.”

“Of which my father is one.”

“Certainly; and I have already offered to take you to him. If he assumes
the responsibility of informing you....”

“Should he deem it a breach of duty, he will keep silence. Who is to
command the wandering hosts tomorrow?”

“I.”

“You?” asked Hosea in astonishment, and Hur answered calmly:

“You marvel at the audacity of the shepherd who ventures to lead an
army; but the Lord of all armies, to whom we trust our cause, is our
leader; I rely solely on His guidance.”

“And so do I,” replied Hosea. “No one save the God through whom Miriam
summoned me to this spot, entrusted me--of that I am confident--with the
important message which brings me here. I must find Moses ere it is too
late.”

“You have already heard that he will be beyond the reach of any one,
myself included, until to-morrow, perhaps the day after. Will you speak
to Aaron?”

“Is he in the camp?”

“No; but we expect his return before the departure of the people, that
is in a few hours.”

“Has he the power to decide important matters in Moses’ absence?”

“No, he merely announces to the people in eloquent language what his
illustrious brother commands.”

The warrior bent his eyes with a disappointed expression on the ground,
and after a brief pause for reflection eagerly added, fixing his gaze on
Miriam:

“It is Moses to whom the Lord our God announces his will; but to you,
his august maiden sister, the Most High also reveals himself, to you...”

“Oh, Hosea!” interrupted the prophetess, extending her hands toward him
with a gesture of mingled entreaty and warning; but the chief, instead
of heeding her monition, went on:

“The Lord our God hath commanded you to summon me, His servant, back to
the people; He hath commanded you to give me the name for which I am to
exchange the one my father and mother bestowed upon me, and which I have
borne in honor for thirty years. Obedient to your summons, I have cast
aside all that could make me great among men; but on my way through
Egypt,--bearing in my heart the image of my God and of you,--braving
death, the message I now have to deliver was entrusted to me, and I
believe that it came from the Most High Himself. It is my duty to convey
it to the leaders of the people; but as I am unable to find Moses, I
can confide it to no better one than you who, though only a woman,
stand,--next to your brother--nearest to the Most High, so I implore you
to listen to me. The tidings I bring are not yet ripe for the ears of a
third person.”

Hur drew his figure to a still greater height and, interrupting
Hosea, asked Miriam whether she desired to hear the son of Nun without
witnesses; she answered with a quiet “yes.”

Then Hur turned haughtily and coldly to the warrior:

“I think that Miriam knows the Lord’s will, as well as her brother’s,
and is aware of what beseems the women of Israel. If I am not mistaken,
it was under this tree that your own father, the worthy Nun, gave to my
son Uri the sole answer which Moses must also make to every bearer of a
message akin to yours.”

“Do you know it?” asked Hosea in a tone of curt reproof.

“No,” replied the other, “but I suspect its purport, and look here.”

While speaking he stooped with youthful agility and, raising two large
stones with his powerful arms, propped them against each other, rolled
several smaller ones to their sides, and then, with panting breath,
exclaimed:

“Let this heap be a witness between me and thee, like the stones named
Mizpah which Jacob and Laban erected. And as the latter called upon the
Lord to watch between him and the other, so do I likewise. I point to
this heap that you may remember it, when we are parted one from the
other. I lay my hand upon these stones and bear witness that I, Hur, son
of Caleb and Ephrath, put my trust in no other than the Lord, the God of
our fathers, and am ready to obey His command, which calls us forth from
the kingdom of Pharaoh into a land which He promised to us. But of thee,
Hosea, son of Nun, I ask and the Lord our God hears thee: Dost thou,
too, expect no other help save from the God of Abraham, who has made
thy race His chosen people? And wilt thou also testify whether thou wilt
ever regard the Egyptians who oppressed us, and from whose bondage the
Lord our God delivered us, as the mortal foes of thy God and of thy
race?”

The warrior’s bearded features quivered, and he longed to overthrow
the heap and answer the troublesome questioner with wrathful words, but
Miriam had laid her hand on the top of the pile of stones, and clasping
his right hand, exclaimed:

“He is questioning you in the presence of our God and Lord, who is your
witness.”

Hosea succeeded in controlling his wrath, and pressing the maiden’s hand
more closely, he answered earnestly:

“He questions, but I may not answer; ‘yea’ or ‘nay’ will be of little
service here; but I, too, call God to witness, and before this heap you,
Miriam, but you alone, shall hear what I propose and for what purpose
I have come. Look, Hur! Like you I lay my hand upon this heap and bear
witness that I, Hosea, son of Nun, put my sole trust in the Lord and God
of our fathers. He stands as a witness between me and thee, and shall
decide whether my way is His, or that of an erring mortal. I will obey
His will, which He has made known to Moses and to this noble maiden.
This I swear by an oath whose witness is the Lord our God.”

Hur had listened intently and, impressed by the earnestness of the
words, now exclaimed:

“The Lord our God has heard your vow and against your oath I, in the
presence of this heap, take another: If the hour comes when, mindful of
this heap of stones, you give the testimony you have refused me, there
shall henceforward be no ill-will between us, and if it is in accordance
with the will of the Most High, I will cheerfully resign to you the
office of commander, which you, trained in many wars, would be better
suited to fill than I, who hitherto have ruled only my flocks and
shepherds. But you, Miriam, I charge to remember that this heap of
stones will also be a witness of the colloquy you are to hold with this
man in the presence of God. I remind you of the reproving words you
heard beneath this tree from the lips of his father, and call God to
witness that I would have darkened the life of my son Uri, who is the
joy of my heart, with a father’s curse if he had gone among the people
to induce them to favor the message he brought; for it would have turned
those of little faith from their God. Remember this, maiden, and let me
say again:

“If you seek me you will find me, and the door I opened will remain open
to you, whatever may happen!”

With these words Hur turned his back upon Miriam and the warrior.

Neither knew what had befallen them, but he who during the long ride
beset by many a peril had yearned with ardent anticipations for the hour
which was to once more unite him to the object of his love, gazed on the
ground full of bewilderment and profound anxiety, while Miriam who, at
his approach, had been ready to bestow upon him the highest, sweetest
gifts with which a loving woman rewards fidelity and love, had sunk to
the earth before the ominous pile of stones close beside the tree and
pressed her forehead against its gnarled, hollow trunk.




CHAPTER XV.

For a long time nothing was heard beneath the sycamore save Miriam’s low
moans and the impatient footsteps of the warrior who, while struggling
for composure, did not venture to disturb her.

He could not yet understand what had suddenly towered like a mountain
between him and the object of his love.

He had learned from Hur’s words that his father and Moses rejected all
mediation, yet the promises he was bearing to the people seemed to him
a merciful gift from the Most High. None of his race yet knew it and,
if Moses was the man whom he believed him to be, the Lord must open
his eyes and show him that he had chosen him, Hosea, to lead the people
through his mediation to a fairer future; nor did he doubt that He could
easily win his father over to his side. He would even have declared a
second time, with the firmest faith, that it was the Most High who had
pointed out his path, and after reflecting upon all this he approached
Miriam, who had at last risen, with fresh confidence. His loving heart
prompted him to clasp her in his arms, but she thrust him back and her
voice, usually so pure and clear, sounded harsh and muffled as she asked
why he had lingered so long and what he intended to confide to her.

While cowering under the sycamore, she had not only struggled and prayed
for composure, but also gazed into her own soul. She loved Hosea, but
she suspected that he came with proposals similar to those of Uri, and
the wrathful words of hoary Nun rang in her ears more loudly than ever.
The fear that the man she loved was walking in mistaken paths, and the
startling act of Hur had made the towering waves of her passion subside
and her mind, now capable of calmer reflection, desired first of all to
know what had so long detained him whom she had summoned in the name of
her God, and why he came alone, without Ephraim.

The clear sky was full of stars, and these heavenly bodies, which seem
to have been appointed to look down upon the bliss of united human
lovers, now witnessed the anxious questions of a tortured girl and the
impatient answers of a fiery, bitterly disappointed man.

He began with the assurance of his love and that he had come to make her
his wife; but, though she permitted him to hold her hand in his clasp,
she entreated him to cease pleading his suit and first tell her what she
desired to know.

On his way he had received various reports concerning Ephraim through a
brother-in-arms from Tanis, so he could tell her that the lad had been
disobedient and, probably from foolish curiosity, had gone, ill and
wounded, to the city, where he had found shelter and care in the house
of a friend. But this troubled Miriam, who seemed to regard it as a
reproach to know that the orphaned, inexperienced lad, who had grown up
under her own eyes and whom she herself had sent forth among strangers,
was beneath an Egyptian roof.

But Hosea declared that he would undertake the task of bringing him back
to his people and as, nevertheless she continued to show her anxiety,
asked whether he had forfeited her confidence and love. Instead of
giving him a consoling answer, she began to put more questions, desiring
to know what had delayed his coming, and so, with a sorely troubled and
wounded heart, he was forced to make his report and, in truth, begin at
the end of his story.

While she listened, leaning against the trunk of the sycamore, he paced
to and fro, urged by longing and impatience, sometimes pausing directly
in front of her. Naught in this hour seemed to him worthy of being
clothed in words, save the hope and passion which filled his heart. Had
he been sure that hers was estranged he would have dashed away again,
after having revealed his whole soul to his father, and risked the ride
into unknown regions to seek Moses. To win Miriam and save himself from
perjury were his only desires, and momentous as had been his experiences
and expectations, during the last few days, he answered her questions
hastily, as if they concerned the most trivial things.

He began his narrative in hurried words, and the more frequently she
interrupted him, the more impatiently he bore it, the deeper grew the
lines in his forehead.

Hosea, accompanied by his attendant, had ridden southward several hours
full of gladsome courage and rich in budding hopes, when just before
dusk he saw a vast multitude moving in advance of him. At first he
supposed he had encountered the rear-guard of the migrating Hebrews,
and had urged his horse to greater speed. But, ere he overtook the
wayfarers, some peasants and carters who had abandoned their wains
and beasts of burden rushed past him with loud outcries and shouts of
warning which told him that the people moving in front were lepers. And
the fugitives’ warning had been but too well founded; for the first, who
turned with the heart-rending cry: “Unclean! Unclean!” bore the signs
of those attacked by the fell disease, and from their distorted faces
covered with white dust and scurf, lustreless eyes, destitute of brows,
gazed at him.

Hosea soon recognized individuals, here Egyptian priests with shaven
heads, yonder Hebrew men and women. With the stern composure of a
soldier, he questioned both and learned that they were marching from
the stone quarries opposite Memphis to their place of isolation on the
eastern shore of the Nile. Several of the Hebrews among them had heard
from their relatives that their people had left Egypt and gone to seek
a land which the Lord had promised them. Many had therefore resolved to
put their trust also in the mighty God of their fathers and follow the
wanderers; the Egyptian priests, bound to the Hebrews by the tie of a
common misfortune, had accompanied them, and fixed upon Succoth as the
goal of their journey, knowing that Moses intended to lead his people
there first. But every one who could have directed them on their way had
fled before them, so they had kept too far northward and wandered near
the fortress of Thabne. Hosea had met them a mile from this spot and
advised them to turn back, that they might not bring their misfortune
upon their fugitive brethren.

During this conversation, a body of Egyptian soldiers had marched from
the fortress toward the lepers to drive them from the road; but their
commander, who knew Hosea, used no violence, and both men persuaded
the leaders of the lepers to accept the proposal to be guided to the
peninsula of Sinai, where in the midst of the mountains, not far from
the mines, a colony of lepers had settled. They had agreed to this plan
because Hosea promised them that, if the tribes went eastward, they
would meet them and receive everyone who was healed; but if the Hebrews
remained in Egypt, nevertheless the pure air of the desert would bring
health to many a sufferer, and every one who recovered would be free to
return home.

These negotiations had consumed much time, and the first delay was
followed by many others; for as Hosea had been in such close contact
with the lepers, he was obliged to ride to Thabne, there with the
commander of the garrison, who had stood by his side, to be sprinkled
with bird’s blood, put on new garments, and submit to certain ceremonies
which he himself considered necessary and which could be performed
only in the bright sunlight. His servant had been kept in the fortress
because the kind-hearted man had shaken hands with a relative whom he
met among the hapless wretches.

The cause of the delay had been both sorrowful and repulsive, and not
until after Hosea had left Thabne in the afternoon and proceeded on his
way to Succoth, did hope and joy again revive at the thought of seeing
Miriam once more and bringing to his people a message that promised so
much good.

His heart had never throbbed faster or with more joyous anticipation
than on the nocturnal ride which led him to his father and the woman he
loved, and on reaching his goal, instead of the utmost happiness, he now
found only bitter disappointment.

He had reluctantly described in brief, disconnected sentences his
meeting with the lepers, though he believed he had done his best for the
welfare of these unfortunates. All of his warrior comrades had uttered
a word of praise; but when he paused she whose approval he valued above
aught else, pointed to a portion of the camp and said sadly: “They are
of our blood, and our God is theirs. The lepers in Zoan, Pha-kos and
Phibeseth followed the others at a certain distance, and their tents
are pitched outside the camp. Those in Succoth--there are not many--will
also be permitted to go forth with us; for when the Lord promised the
people the Land for which they long, He meant lofty and lowly, poor
and humble, and surely also the hapless ones who must now remain in the
hands of the foe. Would you not have done better to separate the Hebrews
from the Egyptians, and guide those of our own blood to us?”

The warrior’s manly pride rebelled and his answer sounded grave and
stern: “In war we must resolve to sacrifice hundreds in order to save
thousands. The shepherds separate the scabby sheep to protect the
flock.”

“True,” replied Miriam eagerly; “for the shepherd is a feeble man,
who knows no remedy against contagion; but the Lord, who calls all His
people, will suffer no harm to arise from rigid obedience.”

“That is a woman’s mode of thought,” replied Hosea; “but what pity
dictates to her must not weigh too heavily in the balance in the
councils of men. You willingly obey the voice of the heart, which is
most proper, but you should not forget what befits you and your sex.”

A deep flush crimsoned Miriam’s cheeks; for she felt the sting contained
in this speech with two-fold pain because it was Hosea who dealt the
thrust. How many pangs she had been compelled to endure that day on
account of her sex, and now he, too, made her feel that she was not
his peer because she was a woman. In the presence of the stones Hur
had gathered, and on which her hand now rested, he had appealed to her
verdict, as though she were one of the leaders of the people, and now
he abruptly thrust her, who felt herself inferior to no man in intellect
and talent, back into a woman’s narrow sphere.

But he, too, felt his dignity wounded, and her bearing showed him that
this hour would decide whether he or she would have the mastery in
their future union. He stood proudly before her, his mien stern in its
majesty--never before had he seemed so manly, so worthy of admiration.
Yet the desire to battle for her insulted womanly dignity gained
supremacy over every other feeling, and it was she who at last broke
the brief, painful silence that had followed his last words, and with
a composure won only by the exertion of all her strength of will, she
began:

“We have both forgotten what detains us here so late at night. You
wished to confide to me what brings you to your people and to hear, not
what Miriam, the weak woman, but the confidante of the Lord decides.”

“I hoped also to hear the voice of the maiden on whose love I rely,” he
answered gloomily.

“You shall hear it,” she replied quickly, taking her hand from the
stones. “Yet it may be that I cannot agree with the opinion of the man
whose strength and wisdom are so far superior to mine, yet you have
just shown that you cannot tolerate the opposition of a woman, not even
mine.”

“Miriam,” he interrupted reproachfully, but she continued still more
eagerly: “I have felt it, and because it would be the greatest grief
of my life to lose your heart, you must learn to understand me, ere you
call upon me to express my opinion.”

“First hear my message.”

“No, no!” she answered quickly. “The reply would die upon my lips. Let
me first tell you of the woman who has a loving heart, and yet knows
something else that stands higher than love. Do you smile? You have a
right to do so, you have so long been a stranger to the secret I mean to
confide....”

“Speak then!” he interrupted, in a tone which betrayed how difficult it
was for him to control his impatience.

“I thank you,” she answered warmly. Then leaning against the trunk of
the ancient tree, while he sank down on the bench, gazing alternately at
the ground and into her face, she began:

“Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow. When I
was a little girl, there was not much to distinguish me from others. I
played like them and, though my mother had taught me to pray to the God
of our fathers, I was well pleased to listen to the other children’s
tales of the goddess Isis. Nay, I stole into her temple, bought spices,
plundered our little garden for her, anointed her altar, and brought
flowers for offerings. I was taller and stronger than many of my
companions, and was also the daughter of Amram, so they followed me
and readily did what I suggested. When I was eight years old, we moved
hither from Zoan. Ere I again found a girl-playfellow, you came to
Gamaliel, your sister’s husband, to be cured of the wound dealt by a
Libyan’s lance. Do you remember that time when you, a youth, made the
little girl a companion? I brought you what you needed and prattled
to you of the things I knew, but you told me of bloody battles and
victories, of flashing armor, and the steeds and chariots of the
warrior, You showed me the ring your daring had won, and when the wound
in your breast was cured, we roved over the pastures. Isis, whom you
also loved, had a temple here, and how often I secretly slipped into the
forecourt to pray for you and offer her my holiday-cakes. I had heard so
much from you of Pharaoh and his splendor, of the Egyptians, and their
wisdom, their art, and luxurious life, that my little heart longed to
live among them in the capital; besides, it had reached my ears that my
brother Moses had received great favors in Pharaoh’s palace and risen
to distinction in the priesthood. I no longer cared for our own people;
they seemed to me inferior to the Egyptians in all respects.

“Then came the parting from you and, as my little heart was devout and
expected all good gifts from the divine power, no matter what name
it bore, I prayed for Pharaoh and his army, in whose ranks you were
fighting.

“My mother sometimes spoke of the God of our fathers as a mighty
protector, to whom the people in former days owed much gratitude, and
told me many beautiful tales of Him; but she herself often offered
sacrifices in the temple of Seth, or carried clover blossoms to the
sacred bull of the sun-god. She, too, was kindly disposed toward the
Egyptians, among whom her pride and joy, our Moses, had attained such
high honors.

“So in happy intercourse with the others I reached my fifteenth year.
In the evening, when the shepherds returned home, I sat with the young
people around the fire, and was pleased when the sons of the shepherd
princes preferred me to my companions and sought my love; but I refused
them all, even the Egyptian captain who commanded the garrison of the
storehouse; for I remembered you, the companion of my youth. My best
possession would not have seemed too dear a price to pay for some magic
spell that would have brought you to us when, at the festal games, I
danced and sang to the tambourine while the loudest shouts of applause
greeted me. Whenever many were listening I thought of you--then I poured
forth like the lark the feelings that filled my heart, then my song was
inspired by you and not by the fame of the Most High, to whom it was
consecrated.”

Here passion, with renewed power, seized the man, to whom the woman he
loved was confessing so many blissful memories. Suddenly starting up,
he extended his arms toward her; but she sternly repulsed him, that she
might control the yearning which threatened to overpower her also.

Yet her deep voice had gained a new, strange tone as, at first rapidly
and softly, then in louder and firmer accents, she continued:

“So I attained my eighteenth year and was no longer satisfied to dwell
in Succoth. An indescribable longing, and not for you only, had taken
possession of my soul. What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed
shallow, and the monotony of life here in the remote frontier city amid
shepherds and flocks, appeared dull and pitiful.

“Eleasar, Aaron’s son, had taught me to read and brought me books, full
of tales which could never have happened, yet which stirred the heart.
Many also contained hymns and fervent songs such as one lover sings to
another. These made a deep impression on my soul and, whenever I was
alone in the evening, or at noon-day when the shepherds and flocks were
far away in the fields, I repeated these songs or composed new ones,
most of which were hymns in praise of the deity. Sometimes they extolled
Amon with the ram’s head, sometimes cow-headed Isis, and often, too, the
great and omnipotent God who revealed Himself to Abraham, and of whom
my mother spoke more and more frequently as she advanced in years. To
compose such hymns in quiet hours, wait for visions revealing God’s
grandeur and splendor, or beautiful angels and horrible demons, became
my favorite occupation. The merry child had grown a dreamy maiden, who
let household affairs go as they would. And there was no one who could
have warned me, for my mother had followed my father to the grave; and I
now lived alone with my old aunt Rachel, unhappy myself, and a source
of joy to no one. Aaron, the oldest of our family, had removed to
the dwelling of his father-in-law Amminadab: the house of Amram, his
heritage, had become too small and plain for him and he left it to
me. My companions avoided me; for my mirthfulness had departed and I
patronized them with wretched arrogance because I could compose songs
and beheld more in my visions than all the other maidens.

“Nineteen years passed and, on the evening of my birthday, which no one
remembered save Milcah, Eleasar’s daughter, the Most High for the first
time sent me a messenger. He came in the guise of an angel, and bade me
set the house in order; for a guest, the person dearest to me on earth,
was on the way.

“It was early and under this very tree; but I went home and, with old
Rachel’s help, set the house in order, and provided food, wine, and all
else we offer to an honored guest. Noon came, the afternoon passed away,
evening deepened into night, and morning returned, yet I still waited
for the guest. But when the sum of that day was nearing the western
horizon, the dogs began to bark loudly, and when I went to the door a
powerful man, with tangled grey hair and beard, clad in the tattered
white robes of a priest, hurried toward me. The dogs shrank back
whining; but I recognized my brother.

“Our meeting after so long a separation at first brought me more fear
than pleasure; for Moses was flying from the officers of the law because
he had slain the overseer. You know the story.

“Wrath still glowed in his flashing eyes. He seemed to me like the god
Seth in his fury, and each one of his slow words was graven upon my
soul as by a hammer and chisel. Thrice seven days and nights he remained
under my roof, and as I was alone with him and deaf Rachel, and he was
compelled to remain concealed, no one came between us, and he taught me
to know Him who is the God of our fathers.

“Trembling and despairing, I listened to his powerful words, which
seemed to fall like rocks upon my breast, when he admonished me of God’s
requirements, or described the grandeur and wrath of Him whom no mind
can comprehend, and no name can describe. Ah, when he spoke of Him and
of the Egyptian gods, it seemed as if the God of my people stood before
me like a giant, whose head touched the sky, and the other gods were
creeping in the dust at his feet like whining curs.

“He taught me also that we alone were the people whom the Lord had
chosen, we and no other. Then for the first time I was filled with pride
at being a descendant of Abraham, and every Hebrew seemed a brother,
every daughter of Israel a sister. Now, too, I perceived how cruelly
my people had been enslaved and tortured. I had been blind to their
suffering, but Moses opened my eyes and sowed in my heart hate, intense
hate of their oppressors, and from this hate sprang love for the
victims. I vowed to follow my brother and await the summons of my
God. And lo, he did not tarry and Jehovah’s voice spoke to me as with
tongues.

“Old Rachel died. At Moses’ bidding I gave up my solitary life and
accepted the invitation of Aaron and Amminadab.

“So I became a guest in their household, yet led a separate life among
them all. They did not interfere with me, and the sycamore here on their
land became my special property. Beneath its shadow God commanded me
to summon you and bestow on you the name ‘Help of Jehovah’--and you,
no longer Hosea, but Joshua, will obey the mandate of God and His
prophetess.”

Here the warrior interrupted the maiden’s words, to which he had
listened earnestly, yet with increasing disappointment:

“Ay, I have obeyed you and the Most High. But what it cost me you
disdain to ask. Your story has reached the present time, yet you have
made no mention of the days following my mother’s death, during which
you were our guest in Tanis. Have you forgotten what first your eyes and
then your lips confessed? Have the day of your departure and the evening
on the sea, when you bade me hope for and remember you, quite vanished
from your memory? Did the hatred Moses implanted in your heart kill love
as well as every other feeling?”

“Love?” asked Miriam, raising her large eyes mournfully to his. “Oh no.
How could I forget that time, the happiest of my life! Yet from the
day Moses returned from the wilderness by God’s command to release the
people from bondage--three months after my separation from you--I have
taken no note of years and months, days and nights.”

“Then you have forgotten those also?” Hosea asked harshly.

“Not so,” Miriam answered, gazing beseechingly into his face. “The love
that grew up in the child and did not wither in the maiden’s heart,
cannot be killed; but whoever consecrates one’s life to the Lord....”

Here she suddenly paused, raised her hands and eyes rapturously, as
if borne out of herself, and cried imploringly: “Thou art near me,
Omnipotent One, and seest my heart! Thou knowest why Miriam took no note
of days and years, and asked nothing save to be Thy instrument until
her people, who are, also, this man’s people, received what Thou didst
promise.”

During this appeal, which rose from the inmost depths of the maiden’s
heart, the light wind which precedes the coming of dawn had risen,
and the foliage in the thick crown of the sycamore above Miriam’s head
rustled; but Hosea fairly devoured with his eyes the tall majestic
figure, half illumined, half veiled by the faint glimmering light. What
he heard and saw seemed like a miracle. The lofty future she anticipated
for her people, and which must be realized ere she would permit herself
to yield to the desire of her own heart, he believed that he was hearing
to them as a messenger of the Lord. As if rapt by the noble enthusiasm
of her soul, he rushed toward her, seized her hand, and cried in
glad emotion: “Then the hour has come which will again permit you to
distinguish months from days and listen to the wishes of your own soul.
For to I, Joshua, no longer Hosea, but Joshua, come as the envoy of the
Lord, and my message promises to the people whom I will learn to love as
you do, new prosperity, and thus fulfils the promise of a new and better
home, bestowed by the Most High.”

Miriam’s eyes sparkled brightly and, overwhelmed with grateful joy, she
exclaimed:

“Thou hast come to lead us into the land which Jehovah promised to His
people? Oh Lord, how measureless is thy goodness! He, he comes as Thy
messenger.”

“He comes, he is here!” Joshua enthusiastically replied, and she did not
resist when he clasped her to his breast and, thrilling with joy, she
returned his kiss.




CHAPTER XVI.

Fear of her own weakness soon made Miriam release herself from her
lover’s embrace, but she listened with eager happiness, seeking some new
sign from the Most High in Joshua’s brief account of everything he had
felt and experienced since her summons.

He first described the terrible conflict he endured, then how he
regained entire faith and, obedient to the God of his people and his
father’s summons, went to the palace expecting imprisonment or death, to
obtain release from his oath.

He told her how graciously the sorrowing royal pair had received him,
and how he had at last taken upon himself the office of urging the
leaders of his nation to guide them into the wilderness for a short time
only, and then take them home to Egypt, where a new and beautiful region
on the western bank of the river should be allotted to them. There
no foreign overseer should henceforward oppress the workmen, but the
affairs of the Hebrews should be directed by their own elders, and a man
chosen by themselves appointed their head.

Lastly he said that he, Joshua, would be placed in command of the Hebrew
forces and, as regent, mediate and settle disputes between them and the
Egyptians whenever it seemed necessary.

United to her, a happy husband, he would care in the new land for even
the lowliest of his race. On the ride hither he had felt as men do after
a bloody battle, when the blast of trumpets proclaim victory. He had
indeed a right to regard himself as the envoy of the Most High.

Here, however, he interrupted himself; for Miriam, who at first had
listened with open ears and sparkling eyes, now showed a more and more
anxious and troubled mien. When he at last spoke of making the people
happy as her husband, she withdrew her hand, gazed timidly at his manly
features, glowing with joyful excitement, and then as if striving to
maintain her calmness, fixed her eyes upon the ground.

Without suspecting what was passing in her mind, Hosea drew nearer. He
supposed that her tongue was paralyzed by maidenly shame at the first
token of favor she had bestowed upon a man. But when at his last words,
designating himself as the true messenger of God, she shook her head
disapprovingly, he burst forth again, almost incapable of self-control
in his sore disappointment:

“So you believe that the Lord has protected me by a miracle from the
wrath of the mightiest sovereign, and permitted me to obtain from his
powerful hand favors for my people, such as the stronger never grant to
the weaker, simply to trifle with the joyous confidence of a man whom he
Himself summoned to serve Him.”

Miriam, struggling to force back her tears, answered in a hollow tone:
“The stronger to the weaker! If that is your opinion, you compel me to
ask, in the words of your own father: ‘Who is the more powerful,
the Lord our God or the weakling on the throne, whose first-born son
withered like grass at a sign from the Most High. Oh, Hosea! Hosea!’”

“Joshua!” he interrupted fiercely. “Do you grudge me even the name your
God bestowed? I relied upon His help when I entered the palace of the
mighty king. I sought under God’s guidance rescue and salvation for the
people, and I found them. But you, you....”

“Your father and Moses, nay, all the believing heads of the tribes,
see no salvation for us among the Egyptians,” she answered, panting for
breath. “What they promise the Hebrews will be their ruin. The grass
sowed by us withers where their feet touch it! And you, whose honest
heart they deceive, are the whistler whom the bird-catcher uses to decoy
his feathered victims into the snare. They put the hammer into your hand
to rivet more firmly than before the chains which, with God’s aid, we
have sundered. Before my mind’s eye I perceive....”

“Too much!” replied the warrior, grinding his teeth with rage. “Hate
dims your clear intellect. If the bird-catcher really--what was your
comparison--if the bird-catcher really made me his whistler, deceived
and misled me, he might learn from you, ay, from you! Encouraged by
you, I relied upon your love and faith. From you I hoped all things--and
where is this love? As you spared me nothing that could cause me pain,
I will, pitiless to myself, confess the whole truth to you. It was not
alone because the God of my fathers called me, but because His summons
reached me through you and my father that I came. You yearn for a land
in the far uncertain distance, which the Lord has promised you; but
I opened to the people the door of a new and sure home. Not for their
sakes--what hitherto have they been to me?--but first of all to live
there in happiness with you whom I loved, and my old father. Yet you,
whose cold heart knows naught of love, with my kiss still on your lips,
disdain what I offer, from hatred of the hand to which I owe it. Your
life, your conflicts have made you masculine. What other women would
trample the highest blessings under foot?”

Miriam could bear no more and, sobbing aloud, covered her convulsed face
with her hands.

At the grey light of dawn the sleepers in the camp began to stir,
and men and maid servants came out of the dwellings of Amminadab and
Naashon. All whom the morning had roused were moving toward the wells
and watering places, but she did not see them.

How her heart had expanded and rejoiced when her lover exclaimed that
he had come to lead them to the land which the Lord had promised to his
people. Gladly had she rested on his breast to enjoy one brief moment of
the greatest bliss; but how quickly had bitter disappointment expelled
joy! While the morning breeze had stirred the crown of the sycamore
and Joshua had told her what Pharaoh would grant to the Hebrews, the
rustling among the branches had seemed to her like the voice of God’s
wrath and she fancied she again heard the angry words of hoary-headed
Nun. The latter’s reproaches had dismayed Uri like the flash of
lightning, the roll of thunder, yet how did Joshua’s proposition differ
from Uri’s?

The people--she had heard it also from the lips of Moses--were lost if,
faithless to their God, they yielded to the temptations of Pharaoh. To
wed a man who came to destroy all for which she, her brothers, and his
own father lived and labored, was base treachery. Yet she loved Joshua
and, instead of harshly repulsing him, she would have again nestled ah,
how gladly, to the heart which she knew loved her so ardently.

But the leaves in the top of the tree continued to rustle and it seemed
as if they reminded her of Aaron’s warning, so she forced herself to
remain firm.

The whispering above came from God, who had chosen her for His
prophetess, and when Joshua, in passionate excitement, owned that the
longing for her was his principal motive for toiling for the people,
who were as unknown to him as they were dear to her, her heart suddenly
seemed to stop beating and, in her mortal agony, she could not help
sobbing aloud.

Unheeding Joshua, or the stir in the camp, she again flung herself
down with uplifted arms under the sycamore, gazing upward with dilated,
tearful eyes, as if expecting a new revelation. But the morning breeze
continued to rustle in the summit of the tree, and suddenly everything
seemed as bright as sunshine, not only within but around her, as always
happened when she, the prophetess, was to behold a vision. And in this
light she saw a figure whose face startled her, not Joshua, but another
to whom her heart did not incline. Yet there he stood before the eyes of
her soul in all his stately height, surrounded by radiance, and with a
solemn gesture he laid his hand on the stones he had piled up.

With quickened breath, she gazed upward to the face, yet she would
gladly have closed her eyes and lost her hearing, that she might neither
see it nor catch the voices from the tree. But suddenly the figure
vanished, the voices died away, and she appeared to behold in a bright,
fiery glow, the first man her virgin lips had kissed, as with uplifted
sword, leading the shepherds of her people, he dashed toward an
invisible foe.

Swiftly as the going and coming of a flash of lightning, the vision
appeared and vanished, yet ere it had wholly disappeared she knew its
meaning.

The man whom she called “Joshua” and who seemed fitted in every respect
to be the shield and leader of his people, must not be turned aside by
love from the lofty duty to which the Most High had summoned him. None
of the people must learn the message he brought, lest it should tempt
them to turn aside from the dangerous path they had entered.

Her course was as plain as the vision which had just vanished. And, as
if the Most High desired to show her that she had rightly understood its
meaning, Hur’s voice was heard near the sycamore--ere she had risen to
prepare her lover for the sorrow to which she must condemn herself and
him--commanding the multitude flocking from all directions to prepare
for the departure.

The way to save him from himself lay before her; but Joshua had not yet
ventured to disturb her devotions.

He had been wounded and angered to the inmost depths of his soul by her
denial. But as he gazed down at her and saw her tall figure shaken by
a sudden chill, and her eyes and hands raised heavenward as though,
spell-bound, he had felt that something grand and sacred dwelt within
her breast which it would be sacrilege to disturb; nay, he had been
unable to resist the feeling that it would be presumptuous to seek
to wed a woman united to the Lord by so close a tie. It must be bliss
indeed to call this exalted creature his own, yet it would be hard to
see her place another, even though it were the Almighty Himself, so far
above her lover and husband.

Men and cattle had already passed close by the sycamore and just as he
was in the act of calling Miriam and pointing to the approaching throng,
she rose, turned toward him, and forced from her troubled breast the
words:

“I have communed with the Lord, Joshua, and now know His will. Do you
remember the words by which God called you?”

He bent his head in assent; but she went on:

“Well then, you must also know what the Most High confided to your
father, to Moses, and to me. He desires to lead us out of the land of
Egypt, to a distant country where neither Pharaoh nor his viceroy shall
rule over us, and He alone shall be our king. That is His will, and if
He requires you to serve Him, you must follow us and, in case of war,
command the men of our people.”

Joshua struck his broad breast, exclaiming in violent agitation: “An
oath binds me to return to Tanis to inform Pharaoh how the leaders of
the people received the message with which I was sent forth. Though my
heart should break, I cannot perjure myself.”

“And mine shall break,” gasped Miriam, “ere I will be disloyal to
the Lord our God. We have both chosen, so let what once united us be
sundered before these stones.”

He rushed frantically toward her to seize her hand; but with an
imperious gesture she waved him back, turned away, and went toward the
multitude which, with sheep and cattle, were pressing around the wells.

Old and young respectfully made way for her as, with haughty bearing,
she approached Hur, who was giving orders to the shepherds; but he came
forward to meet her and, after hearing the promise she whispered, he
laid his hand upon her head and said with solemn earnestness:

“Then may the Lord bless our alliance.”

Hand in hand with the grey-haired man to whom she had given herself,
Miriam approached Joshua. Nothing betrayed the deep emotion of her soul,
save the rapid rise and fall of her bosom, for though her cheeks were
pale, her eyes were tearless and her bearing was as erect as ever.

She left to Hur to explain to the lover whom she had forever resigned
what she had granted him, and when Joshua heard it, he started back as
though a gulf yawned at his feet.

His lips were bloodless as he stared at the unequally matched pair. A
jeering laugh seemed the only fitting answer to such a surprise, but
Miriam’s grave face helped him to repress it and conceal the tumult of
his soul by trivial words.

But he felt that he could not long succeed in maintaining a successful
display of indifference, so he took leave of Miriam. He must greet his
father, he said hastily, and induce him to summon the elders.

Ere he finished several shepherds hurried up, disputing wrathfully and
appealed to Hur to decide what place in the procession belonged to each
tribe. He followed them, and as soon as Miriam found herself alone with
Joshua, she said softly, yet earnestly, with beseeching eyes:

“A hasty deed was needful to sever the tie that bound us, but a loftier
hope unites us. As I sacrificed what was dearest to my heart to remain
faithful to my God and people, do you, too, renounce everything to which
your soul clings. Obey the Most High, who called you Joshua! This hour
transformed the sweetest joy to bitter grief; may it be the salvation
of our people! Remain a son of the race which gave you your father and
mother! Be what the Lord called you to become, a leader of your race! If
you insist on fulfilling your oath to Pharaoh, and tell the elders the
promises with which you came, you will win them over, I know. Few will
resist you, but of those few the first will surely be your own father.
I can hear him raise his voice loudly and angrily against his own dear
son; but if you close your ears even to his warning, the people will
follow your summons instead of God’s, and you will rule the Hebrews as a
mighty man. But when the time comes that the Egyptian casts his promises
to the winds, when you see your people in still worse bondage than
before and behold them turn from the God of their fathers to again
worship animal-headed idols, your father’s curse will overtake you, the
wrath of the Most High will strike the blinded man, and despair will be
the lot of him who led to ruin the weak masses for whose shield the Most
High chose him. So I, a feeble woman, yet the servant of the Most High
and the maiden who was dearer to you than life, cry in tones of warning:
Fear your father’s curse and the punishment of the Lord! Beware of
tempting the people.”

Here she was interrupted by a female slave, who summoned her to her
house--and she added in low, hurried accents: “Only this one thing more.
If you do not desire to be weaker than the woman whose opposition
roused your wrath, sacrifice your own wishes for the welfare of yonder
thousands, who are of the same blood! With your hand on these stones you
must swear....”

But here her voice failed. Her hands groped vainly for some support, and
with a loud cry she sank on her knees beside Hur’s token.

Joshua’s strong arms saved her from falling prostrate, and several women
who hurried up at his shout soon recalled the fainting maiden to life.

Her eyes wandered restlessly from one to another, and not until her
glance rested on Joshua’s anxious face did she become conscious where
she was and what she had done. Then she hurriedly drank the water a
shepherd’s wife handed to her, wiped the tears from her eyes, sighed
painfully, and with a faint smile whispered to Joshua: “I am but a weak
woman after all.”

Then she walked toward the house, but after the first few steps turned,
beckoned to the warrior, and said softly:

“You see how they are forming into ranks. They will soon begin to move.
Is your resolution still unshaken? There is still time to call the
elders.”

He shook his head, and as he met her tearful, grateful glance, answered
gently:

“I shall remember these stones and this hour, wife of Hur. Greet my
father for me and tell him that I love him. Repeat to him also the
name by which his son, according to the command of the Most High, will
henceforth be called, that its promise of Jehovah’s aid may give him
confidence when he hears whither I am going to keep the oath I have
sworn.”

With these words he waved his hand to Miriam and turned toward the camp,
where his horse had been fed and watered; but she called after him:
“Only one last word: Moses left a message for you in the hollow trunk of
the tree.”

Joshua turned back to the sycamore and read what the man of God had
written for him. “Be strong and steadfast” were the brief contents,
and raising his head he joyfully exclaimed: “Those words are balm to my
soul. We meet here for the last time, wife of Hur, and, if I go to my
death, be sure that I shall know how to die strong and steadfast; but
show my old father what kindness you can.”

He swung himself upon his horse and while trotting toward Tanis,
faithful to his oath, his soul was free from fear, though he did not
conceal from himself that he was going to meet great perils. His fairest
hopes were destroyed, yet deep grief struggled with glad exaltation. A
new and lofty emotion, which pervaded his whole being, had waked within
him and was but slightly dimmed, though he had experienced a sorrow
bitter enough to darken the light of any other man’s existence. Naught
could surpass the noble objects to which he intended to devote his blood
and life--his God and his people. He perceived with amazement this new
feeling which had power to thrust far into the background every other
emotion of his breast--even love.

True, his head often drooped sorrowfully when he thought of his old
father; but he had done right in repressing the eager yearning to
clasp him to his heart. The old man would scarcely have understood his
motives, and it was better for both to part without seeing each other
rather than in open strife.

Often it seemed as though his experiences had been but a dream, and
while he felt bewildered by the excitements of the last few hours, his
strong frame was little wearied by the fatigues he had undergone.

At a well-known hostelry on the road, where he met many soldiers and
among them several military commanders with whom he was well acquainted,
he at last allowed his horse and himself a little rest and food; and as
he rode on refreshed active life asserted its claims; for as far as the
gate of the city of Rameses he passed bands of soldiers, and learned
that they were ordered to join the cohorts he had himself brought from
Libya.

At last he rode into the capital and as he passed the temple of Amon
he heard loud lamentations, though he had learned on the way that the
plague had ceased. What many a sign told him was confirmed at last by
some passing guards--the first prophet and high-priest of Amon, the
grey-haired Rui, had died in the ninety-eighth year of his life. Bai,
the second prophet, who had so warmly protested his friendship and
gratitude to Hosea, had now become Rui’s successor and was high-priest
and judge, keeper of the seals and treasurer, in short, the most
powerful man in the realm.




CHAPTER XVII.

“Help of Jehovah!” murmured a state-prisoner, laden with heavy
chains, five days later, smiling bitterly as, with forty companions in
misfortune, he was led through the gate of victory in Tanis toward the
east.

The mines in the Sinai peninsula, where more convict labor was needed,
were the goal of these unfortunate men.

The prisoner’s smile lingered a short time, then drawing up his muscular
frame, his bearded lips murmured: “Strong and steadfast!” and as if he
desired to transmit the support he had himself found he whispered to the
youth marching at his side: “Courage, Ephraim, courage! Don’t gaze down
at the dust, but upward, whatever may come.”

“Silence in the ranks!” shouted one of the armed Libyan guards, who
accompanied the convicts, to the older prisoner, raising his whip with
a significant gesture. The man thus threatened was Joshua, and his
companion in suffering Ephraim, who had been sentenced to share his
fate.

What this was every child in Egypt knew, for “May I be sent to the
mines!” was one of the most terrible oaths of the common people, and
no prisoner’s lot was half so hard as that of the convicted
state-criminals.

A series of the most terrible humiliations and tortures awaited them.
The vigor of the robust was broken by unmitigated toil; the exhausted
were forced to execute tasks so far beyond their strength that they soon
found the eternal rest for which their tortured souls longed. To be sent
to the mines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death; yet life is
so dear to men that it was considered a milder punishment to be dragged
to forced labor in the mines than to be delivered up to the executioner.

Joshua’s encouraging words had little effect upon Ephraim; but when,
a few minutes later, a chariot shaded by an umbrella, passed the
prisoners, a chariot in which a slender woman of aristocratic bearing
stood beside a matron behind the driver, he turned with a hasty movement
and gazed after the equipage with sparkling eyes till it vanished in the
dust of the road.

The younger woman had been closely veiled, but Ephraim thought he
recognized her for whose sake he had gone to his ruin, and whose
lightest sign he would still have obeyed.

And he was right; the lady in the chariot was Kasana, the daughter of
Hornecht, captain of the archers, and the matron was her nurse.

At a little temple by the road-side, where, in the midst of a grove of
Nile acacias, a well was maintained for travellers, she bade the matron
wait for her and, springing lightly from the chariot which had left
the prisoners some distance behind, she began to pace up and down with
drooping head in the shadow of the trees, until the whirling clouds of
dust announced the approach of the convicts.

Taking from her robe the gold rings she had ready for this purpose, she
went to the man who was riding at its head on an ass and who led the
mournful procession. While she was talking with him and pointing to
Joshua, the guard cast a sly glance at the rings which had been slipped
into his hand, and seeing a welcome yellow glitter when his modesty had
expected only silver, his features instantly assumed an expression of
obliging good-will.

True, his face darkened at Kasana’s request, but another promise from
the young widow brightened it again, and he now turned eagerly to his
subordinates, exclaiming: “To the well with the moles, men! Let them
drink. They must be fresh and healthy under the ground!”

Then riding up to the prisoners, he shouted to Joshua:

“You once commanded many soldiers, and look more stiff-necked now than
beseems you and me. Watch the others, guards, I have a word or two to
say to this man alone.”

He clapped his hands as if he were driving hens out of a garden,
and while the prisoners took pails and with the guards, enjoyed the
refreshing drink, their leader drew Joshua and Ephraim away from the
road--they could not be separated on account of the chain which bound
their ancles together.

The little temple soon hid them from the eyes of the others, and the
warder sat down on a step some distance off, first showing the two
Hebrews, with a gesture whose meaning was easily understood, the heavy
spear he carried in his hand and the hounds which lay at his feet.

He kept his eyes open, too, during the conversation that followed. They
could say whatever they chose; he knew the duties of his office and
though, for the sake of good money he could wink at a farewell, for
twenty years, though there had been many attempts to escape, not one
of his moles--a name he was fond of giving to the future miners--had
succeeded in eluding his watchfulness.

Yonder fair lady doubtless loved the stately man who, he had been told,
was formerly a chief in the army. But he had already numbered among his
“moles,” personages even more distinguished, and if the veiled woman
managed to slip files or gold into the prisoner’s hands, he would not
object, for that very evening the persons of both would be thoroughly
searched, even the youth’s black locks, which would not have remained
unshorn, had not everything been in confusion prior to the departure of
the convicts, which took place just before the march of Pharaoh’s army.

The watcher could not hear the whispered words exchanged between the
degraded chief and the lady, but her humble manner and bearing led him
to suppose that it was she who had brought the proud warrior to his
ruin. Ah, these women! And the fettered youth! The looks he fixed upon
the slender figure were ardent enough to scorch her veil. But patience!
Mighty Father Amon! His moles were going to a school where people
learned modesty!

Now the lady had removed her veil. She was a beautiful woman! It must be
hard to part from such a sweetheart. And now she was weeping.

The rude warder’s heart grew as soft as his office permitted; but he
would fain have raised his scourge against the older prisoner; for was
it not a shame to have such a sweetheart and stand there like a stone?

At first the wretch did not even hold out his hand to the woman who
evidently loved him, while he, the watcher, would gladly have witnessed
both a kiss and an embrace.

Or was this beauty the prisoner’s wife who had betrayed him? No, no!
How kindly he was now gazing at her. That was the manner of a father
speaking to his child; but his mole was probably too young to have such
a daughter. A mystery! But he felt no anxiety concerning its solution;
during the march he had the power to make the most reserved convict an
open book.

Yet not only the rude gaoler, but anyone would have marvelled what had
brought this beautiful, aristocratic woman, in the grey light of dawn,
out on the highway to meet the hapless man loaded with chains.

In sooth, nothing would have induced Kasana to take this step save the
torturing dread of being scorned and execrated as a base traitress by
the man whom she loved. A terrible destiny awaited him, and her
vivid imagination had shown her Joshua in the mines, languishing,
disheartened, drooping, dying, always with a curse upon her on his lips.

On the evening of, the day Ephraim bad been brought to the house,
shivering with the chill caused by burning fever, and half stifled with
the dust of the road, her father lead told her that in the youthful
Hebrew they possessed a hostage to compel Hosea to return to Tanis and
submit to the wishes of the prophet Bai, with whom she knew her father
was leagued in a secret conspiracy. He also confided to her that not
only great distinction and high offices, but a marriage with herself had
been arranged to bind Hosea to the Egyptians and to a cause from which
the chief of the archers expected the greatest blessings for himself,
his house, and his whole country.

These tidings had filled her heart with joyous hope of a long desired
happiness, and she confessed it to the prisoner with drooping head amid
floods of tears, by the little wayside temple; for he was now forever
lost to her, and though he did not return the love she had lavished on
him from his childhood, he must not hate and condemn her without having
heard her story.

Joshua listened willingly and assured her that nothing would lighten
his heart more than to have her clear herself from the charge of having
consigned him and the youth at his side to their most terrible fate.

Kasana sobbed aloud and was forced to struggle hard for composure ere
she succeeded in telling her tale with some degree of calmness.

Shortly after Hosea’s departure the chief-priest died and, on the same
day Bai, the second prophet, became his successor. Many changes now
took place, and the most powerful man in the kingdom filled Pharaoh with
hatred of the Hebrews and their leader, Mesu, whom he and the queen
had hitherto protected and feared. He had even persuaded the monarch to
pursue the fugitives, and an army had been instantly summoned to compel
their return. Kasana had feared that Hosea could not be induced to fight
against the men of his own blood, and that he must feel incensed at
being sent to make treaties which the Egyptians began to violate even
before they knew whether their offers had been accepted.

When he returned--as he knew only too well--Pharaoh had had him watched
like a prisoner and would not suffer him to leave his presence until
he had sworn to again lead his troops and be a faithful servant to the
king. Bai, the new chief priest, however, had not forgotten that Hosea
had saved his life and showed himself well disposed and grateful to him;
she knew also that he hoped to involve him in a secret enterprise, with
which her father, too, was associated. It was Bai who had prevailed upon
Pharaoh, if Hosea would renew his oath of fealty, to absolve him
from fighting against his own race, put him in command of the foreign
mercenaries and raise him to the rank of a “friend of the king.” All
these events, of course, were familiar to him; for the new chief priest
had himself set before him the tempting dishes which, with such strong,
manly defiance, he had thrust aside.

Her father had also sided with him, and for the first time ceased to
reproach him with his origin.

But, on the third day after Hosea’s return, Hornecht had gone to talk
with him and since then everything had changed for the worse. He must be
best aware what had caused the man of whom she, his daughter, must think
no evil, to be changed from a friend to a mortal foe.

She had looked enquiringly at him as she spoke, and he did not refuse to
answer--Hornecht had told him that he would be a welcome son-in-law.

“And you?” asked Kasana, gazing anxiously into his face.

“I,” replied the prisoner, “was forced to say that though you had been
dear and precious to me from your childhood, many causes forbade me to
unite a woman’s fate to mine.”

Kasana’s eyes flashed, and she exclaimed:

“Because you love another, a woman of your own people, the one who sent
Ephraim to you!”

But Joshua shook his head and answered pleasantly:

“You are wrong, Kasana! She of whom you speak is the wife of another.”

“Then,” cried the young widow with fresh animation, gazing at him
with loving entreaty, “why were you compelled to rebuff my father so
harshly?”

“That was far from my intention, dear child,” he replied warmly, laying
his hand on her head. “I thought of you with all the tenderness of which
my nature is capable. If I could not fulfil his wish, it was because
grave necessity forbids me to yearn for the peaceful happiness by my own
hearth-stone for which others strive. Had they given me my liberty, my
life would have been one of restlessness and conflict.”

“Yet how many bear sword and shield,” replied Kasana, “and still, on
their return, rejoice in the love of their wives and the dear ones
sheltered beneath their roof.”

“True, true,” he answered gravely; “but special duties, unknown to the
Egyptians, summon me. I am a son of my people.”

“And you intend to serve them?” asked Kasana. “Oh, I understand you.
Yet.... why then did you return to Tanis? Why did you put yourself into
Pharaoh’s power?”

“Because a sacred oath compelled me, poor child,” he answered kindly.

“An oath,” she cried, “which places death and imprisonment between you
and those whom you love and still desire to serve. Oh, would that
you had never returned to this abode of injustice, treachery, and
ingratitude! To how many hearts this vow will bring grief and tears! But
what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others? You have
spoiled all the pleasure of life for my hapless self, and among your own
people dwells a noble father whose only son you are. How often I have
seen the dear old man, the stately figure with sparkling eyes and
snow-white hair. So would you look when you, too, had reached a ripe
old age, as I said to myself, when I met him at the harbor, or in the
fore-court of the palace, directing the shepherds who were driving the
cattle and fleecy sheep to the tax-receiver’s table. And now his son’s
obstinacy must embitter every day of his old age.”

“Now,” replied Joshua, “he has a son who is going, laden with chains, to
endure a life of misery, but who can hold his head higher than those who
betrayed him. They, and Pharaoh at their head, have forgotten that he
has shed his heart’s blood for them on many a battlefield, and kept
faith with the king at every peril. Menephtah, his vice-roy and chief,
whose life I saved, and many who formerly called me friend, have
abandoned and hurled me and this guiltless boy into wretchedness, but
those who have done this, woman, who have committed this crime, may they
all....”

“Do not curse them!” interrupted Kasana with glowing cheeks.

But Joshua, unheeding her entreaty, exclaimed “Should I be a man, if I
forgot vengeance?”

The young widow clung anxiously to his arm, gasping in beseeching
accents:

“How could you forgive him? Only you must not curse him; for my father
became your foe through love for me. You know his hot blood, which so
easily carries him to extremes, despite his years. He concealed from
me what he regarded as an insult; for he saw many woo me, and I am his
greatest treasure. Pharaoh can pardon rebels more easily than my
father can forgive the man who disdained his jewel. He behaved like one
possessed when he returned. Every word he uttered was an invective. He
could not endure to stay at home and raged just as furiously elsewhere.
But no doubt he would have calmed himself at last, as he so often did
before, had not some one who desired to pour oil on the flames met him
in the fore-court of the palace. I learned all this from Bai’s wife;
for she, too, repents what she did to injure you; her husband used every
effort to save you. She, who is as brave as any man, was ready to aid
him and open the door of your prison; for she has not forgotten that you
saved her husband’s life in Libya. Ephraim’s chains were to fall with
yours, and everything was ready to aid your flight.”

“I know it,” Hosea interrupted gloomily, “and I will thank the God of
my fathers if those were wrong from whom I heard that you are to blame,
Kasana, for having our dungeon door locked more firmly.”

“Should I be here, if that were so!” cried the beautiful, grieving woman
with impassioned eagerness. “True, resentment did stir within me as
it does in every woman whose lover scorns her; but the misfortune that
befell you speedily transformed resentment into compassion, and fanned
the old flames anew. So surely as I hope for a mild judgment before the
tribunal of the dead, I am innocent and have not ceased to hope for your
liberation. Not until yesterday evening, when all was too late, did I
learn that Bai’s proposal had been futile. The chief priest can do much,
but he will not oppose the man who made himself my father’s ally.”

“You mean Prince Siptah, Pharaoh’s nephew!” cried Joshua in excited
tones. “They intimated to me the scheme they were weaving in his
interest; they wished to put me in the place of the Syrian Aarsu, the
commander of the mercenaries, if I would consent to let them have their
way with my people and desert those of my own blood. But I would rather
die twenty deaths than sully myself with such treachery. Aarsu is better
suited to carry out their dark plans, but he will finally betray them
all. So far as I am concerned, the prince has good reason to hate me.”

Kasana laid her hand upon his lips, pointed anxiously to Ephraim and the
guide, and said gently:

“Spare my father! The prince--what roused his enmity....”

“The profligate seeks to lure you into his snare and has learned that
you favor me,” the warrior broke in. She bent her head with a gesture of
assent, and added blushing:

“That is why Aarsu, whom he has won over to his cause, watches you so
strictly.”

“And the Syrian will keep his eyes sufficiently wide open,” cried
Joshua. “Now let us talk no more of this. I believe you and thank you
warmly for following us hapless mortals. How fondly I used to think,
while serving in the field, of the pretty child, whom I saw blooming
into maidenhood.”

“And you will think of her still with neither wrath nor rancor?”

“Gladly, most gladly.”

The young widow, with passionate emotion, seized the prisoner’s hand to
raise it to her lips, but he withdrew it; and, gazing at him with tears
in her eyes, she said mournfully:

“You deny me the favor a benefactor does not refuse even to a beggar.”
 Then, suddenly drawing herself up to her full height, she exclaimed so
loudly that the warder started and glanced at the sun: “But I tell you
the time will come when you will sue for the favor of kissing this hand
in gratitude. For when the messenger arrives bringing to you and to this
youth the liberty for which you have longed, it will be Kasana to whom
you owe it.”

Rapt by the fervor of the wish that animated her, her beautiful face
glowed with a crimson flush. Joshua seized her right hand, exclaiming:

“Ah, if you could attain what your loyal soul desires! How could I
dissuade you from mitigating the great misfortune which overtook this
youth in your house? Yet, as an honest man, I must tell you that I shall
never return to the service of the Egyptians; for, come what may,
I shall in future cleave, body and soul, to those you persecute and
despise, and to whom belonged the mother who bore me.”

Kasana’s graceful head drooped; but directly after she raised it again,
saying:

“No other man is so noble, so truthful, that I have known from my
childhood. If I can find no one among my own nation whom I can honor, I
will remember you, whose every thought is true and lofty, whose nature
is faultless. Put if poor Kasana succeeds in liberating you, do not
scorn her, if you find her worse than when you left her, for however she
may humiliate herself, whatever shame may come upon her....”

“What do you intend?” Hosea anxiously interrupted; but she had no time
to answer; for the captain of the guard had risen and, clapping his
hands, shouted: “Forward, you moles!” and “Step briskly.”

The warrior’s stout heart was overwhelmed with tender sadness and,
obeying a hasty impulse, he kissed the beautiful unhappy woman on the
brow and hair, whispering:

“Leave me in my misery, if our freedom will cost your humiliation. We
shall probably never meet again; for, whatever may happen, my life will
henceforth be nothing but battle and sacrifice. Darkness will shroud us
in deeper and deeper gloom, but however black the night may be, one star
will still shine for this boy and for me--the remembrance of you, my
faithful, beloved child.”

He pointed to Ephraim as he spoke and the youth, as if out of his
senses, pressed his lips on the hand and arm of the sobbing woman.

“Forward!” shouted the leader again, and with a grateful smile helped
the generous lady into the chariot, marvelling at the happy, radiant
gaze with which her tearful eyes followed the convicts.

The horses started, fresh shouts arose, blows from the whips fell on
bare shoulders, now and then a cry of pain rang on the morning air, and
the train of prisoners again moved eastward. The chain on the ancles of
the companions in suffering stirred the dust, which shrouded the little
band like the grief, hate, and fear darkening the soul of each.




CHAPTER XVIII.

A long hour’s walk beyond the little temple where the prisoners had
rested the road, leading to Succoth and the western arm of the Red Sea,
branched off from the one that ran in a southeasterly direction past the
fortifications on the isthmus to the mines.

Shortly after the departure of the prisoners, the army which had been
gathered to pursue the Hebrews left the city of Rameses, and as the
convicts had rested some time at the well, the troops almost overtook
them. They had not proceeded far when several runners came hurrying up
to clear the road for the advancing army. They ordered the prisoners
to move aside and defer their march until the swifter baggage train,
bearing Pharaoh’s tents and travelling equipments, whose chariot wheels
could already be heard, had passed them.

The prisoners’ guards were glad to stop, they were in no hurry. The day
was hot, and if they reached their destination later, it would be the
fault of the army.

The interruption was welcome to Joshua, too; for his young companion had
been gazing into vacancy as if bewildered, and either made no answer
to his questions or gave such incoherent ones that the older man grew
anxious; he knew how many of those sentenced to forced labor went mad or
fell into melancholy. Now a portion of the army would pass them, and
the spectacle was new to Ephraim and promised to put an end to his dull
brooding.

A sand-hill overgrown with tamarisk bushes rose beside the road, and
thither the leader guided the party of convicts. He was a stern man, but
not a cruel one, so he permitted his “moles” to lie down on the sand,
for the troops would doubtless be a long time in passing. As soon as the
convicts had thrown themselves on the ground the rattle of wheels,
the neighing of fiery steeds, shouts of command, and sometimes the
disagreeable braying of an ass were heard.

When the first chariots appeared Ephraim asked if Pharaoh was coming;
but Joshua, smiling, informed him that when the king accompanied the
troops to the field, the camp equipage followed directly behind the
vanguard, for Pharaoh and his dignitaries wished to find the tents
pitched and the tables laid, when the day’s march was over and the
soldiers and officers expected a night’s repose.

Joshua had not finished speaking when a number of empty carts and
unladen asses appeared. They were to carry the contributions of bread
and meal, animals and poultry, wine and beer, levied on every village
the sovereign passed on the march, and which had been delivered to the
tax-gatherers the day before.

Soon after a division of chariot warriors followed. Every pair of horses
drew a small, two-wheeled chariot, cased in bronze, and in each stood
a warrior and the driver of the team. Huge quivers were fastened to the
front of the chariots, and the soldiers leaned on their lances or on
gigantic bows. Shirts covered with brazen scales, or padded coats
of mail with gay overmantle, a helmet, and the front of the chariot
protected the warrior from the missiles of the foe. This troop, which
Joshua said was the van, went by at a slow trot and was followed by a
great number of carts and wagons, drawn by horses, mules, or oxen, as
well as whole troops of heavily-laden asses.

The uncle now pointed out to his nephew the long masts, poles, and
heavy rolls of costly stuffs intended for the royal tent, and borne
by numerous beasts of burden, as well as the asses and carts with the
kitchen utensils and field forges. Among the baggage heaped on the
asses, which were followed by nimble drivers, rode the physicians,
tailors, salve-makers, cooks, weavers of garlands, attendants, and
slaves belonging to the camp. Their departure had been so recent that
they were still fresh and inclined to jest, and whoever caught sight of
the convicts, flung them, in the Egyptian fashion, a caustic quip which
many sought to palliate by the gift of alms. Others, who said nothing,
also sent by the ass-drivers fruit and trifling gifts; for those who
were free to-day might share the fate of these hapless men to-morrow.
The captain permitted it, and when a passing slave, whom Joshua had
sold for thieving, shouted the name of Hosea, pointing to him with
a malicious gesture, the rough but kind-hearted officer offered his
insulted prisoner a sip of wine from his own flask.

Ephraim, who had walked from Succoth to Tanis with a staff in his hand,
and a small bundle containing bread, dried lamb, radishes, and dates,
expressed his amazement at the countless people and things a single man
needed for his comfort, and then relapsed into his former melancholy
until his uncle roused him with farther explanations.

As soon as the baggage train had passed, the commander of the band of
prisoners wished to set off, but the “openers of the way,” who preceded
the archers, forbade him, because it was not seemly for convicts to
mingle with soldiers. So they remained on their hillock and continued to
watch the troops.

The archers were followed by heavily-armed troops, bearing shields
covered with strong hide so large that they extended from the feet to
above the middle of the tallest men, and Hosea now told the youth that
in the evening they set them side by side, thus surrounding the royal
tent like a fence. Besides this weapon of defence they carried a lance,
a short dagger-like sword, or a battle-sickle, and as these thousands
were succeeded by a body of men armed with slings Ephraim for the
first time spoke without being questioned and said that the slings
the shepherds had taught him to make were far better than those of the
soldiers and, encouraged by his uncle, he described in language so eager
that the prisoners lying by his side listened, how he had succeeded in
slaying not only jackals, wolves, and panthers, but even vultures, with
stones hurled from a sling. Meanwhile he interrupted himself to ask the
meaning of the standards and the names of the separate divisions.

Many thousands had already passed, when another troop of warriors in
chariots appeared, and the chief warder of the prisoners exclaimed:

“The good god! The lord of two worlds! May life, happiness, and health
be his!” With these words he fell upon his knees in the attitude of
worship, while the convicts prostrated themselves to kiss the earth and
be ready to obey the captain’s bidding and join at the right moment in
the cry: “Life, happiness, and health!”

But they had a long time to wait ere the expected sovereign appeared;
for, after the warriors in the chariots had passed, the body-guard
followed, foot-soldiers of foreign birth with singular ornaments on
their helmets and huge swords, and then numerous images of the gods, a
large band of priests and wearers of plumes. They were followed by more
body-guards, and then Pharaoh appeared with his attendants. At their
head rode the chief priest Bai in a gilded battle-chariot drawn by
magnificent bay stallions. He who had formerly led troops in the field,
had assumed the command of this pursuing expedition ordered by the
gods and, though clad in priestly robes, he also wore the helmet and
battle-axe of a general. At last, directly behind his equipage,
came Pharaoh himself; but he did not go to battle like his warlike
predecessors in a war-chariot, but preferred to be carried on a throne.
A magnificent canopy protected him above, and large, thick, round
ostrich feather fans, carried by his fan-bearers, sheltered him on both
sides from the scorching rays of the sun.

After Menephtah had left the city and the gate of victory behind him,
and the exulting acclamations of the multitude had ceased to amuse him,
he had gone to sleep and the shading fans would have concealed his face
and figure from the prisoners, had not their shouts been loud enough to
rouse him and induce him to turn his head toward them. The gracious wave
of his right hand showed that he had expected to see different people
from convicts and, ere the shouts of the hapless men had died away, his
eyes again closed.

Ephraim’s silent brooding had now yielded to the deepest interest, and
as the empty golden war-chariot of the king, before which pranced the
most superb steeds he had ever seen, rolled by, he burst into loud
exclamations of admiration.

These noble animals, on whose intelligent heads large bunches of
feathers nodded, and whose rich harness glittered with gold and gems,
were indeed a splendid sight. The large gold quivers set with emeralds,
fastened on the sides of the chariot, were filled with arrows.

The feeble man to whose weak hand the guidance of a great nation was
entrusted, the weakling who shrunk from every exertion, regained
his lost energy whenever hunting was in prospect; he considered this
campaign a chase on the grandest scale and as it seemed royal pastime
to discharge his arrows at the human beings he had so lately feared,
instead of at game, he had obeyed the chief priest’s summons and joined
the expedition. It had been undertaken by the mandate of the great god
Amon, so he had little to dread from Mesu’s terrible power.

When he captured him he would make him atone for having caused Pharaoh
and his queen to tremble before him and shed so many tears on his
account.

While Joshua was still telling the youth from which Phoenician city the
golden chariots came, he suddenly felt Ephraim’s right hand clutch his
wrist, and heard him exclaim: “She! She! Look yonder! It is she!” The
youth had flushed crimson, and he was not mistaken; the beautiful Kasana
was passing amid Pharaoh’s train in the same chariot in which she had
pursued the convicts, and with her came a considerable number of ladies
who had joined what the commander of the foot-soldiers, a brave old
warrior, who had served under the great Rameses, termed “a pleasure
party.”

On campaigns through the desert and into Syria, Libya, or Ethiopia
the sovereign was accompanied only by a chosen band of concubines in
curtained chariots, guarded by eunuchs; but this time, though the
queen had remained at home, the wife of the chief priest Bai and other
aristocratic ladies had set the example of joining the troops, and it
was doubtless tempting enough to many to enjoy the excitements of war
without peril.

Kasana had surprised her friend by her appearance an hour before;
only yesterday the young widow could not be persuaded to accompany
the troops. Obeying an inspiration, without consulting her father, so
unprepared that she lacked the necessary traveling equipments, she had
joined the expedition, and it seemed as if a man whom she had hitherto
avoided, though he was no less a personage than Siptah, the king’s
nephew, had become a magnet to her.

When she passed the prisoners, the prince was standing in the chariot
beside the young beauty in her nurse’s place, explaining in jesting
tones the significance of the flowers in a bouquet, which Kasana
declared could not possibly have been intended for her, because an hour
and a quarter before she had not thought of going with the army.

But Siptah protested that the Hathors had revealed at sunrise the
happiness in store for him, and that the choice of each single blossom
proved his assertion.

Several young courtiers who were walking in front of their chariots,
surrounded them and joined in the laughter and merry conversation, in
which the vivacious wife of the chief priest shared, having left her
large travelling-chariot to be carried in a litter.

None of these things escaped Joshua’s notice and, as he saw Kasana, who
a short time before had thought of the prince with aversion, now saucily
tap his hand with her fan, his brow darkened and he asked himself
whether the young widow was not carelessly trifling with his misery.

But the prisoners’ chief warder had now noticed the locks on Siptah’s
temples, which marked him as a prince of the royal household and his
loud “Hail! Hall!” in which the other guards and the captives joined,
was heard by Kasana and her companions. They looked toward the
tamarisk-bushes, whence the cry proceeded, and Joshua saw the young
widow turn pale and then point with a hasty gesture to the convicts. She
must undoubtedly have given Siptah some command, for the latter at first
shrugged his shoulders disapprovingly then, after a somewhat lengthy
discussion, half grave, half jesting, he sprang from the chariot and
beckoned to the chief gaoler.

“Have these men,” he called from the road so loudly that Kasana could
not fail to hear, “seen the face of the good god, the lord of both
worlds?” And when he received a reluctant answer, he went on arrogantly:

“No matter! At least they beheld mine and that of the fairest of women,
and if they hope for favor on that account they are right. You know
who I am. Let the chains that bind them together be removed.” Then,
beckoning to the man, he whispered:

“But keep your eyes open all the wider; I have no liking for the fellow
beside the bush, the ex-chief Hosea. After returning home, report to
me and bring news of this man. The quieter he has become, the deeper my
hand will sink in my purse. Do you understand?”

The warder bowed, thinking: “I’ll take care, my prince, and also see
that no one attempts to take the life of any of my moles. The greater
the rank of these gentlemen, the more bloody and strange are their
requests! How many have come to me with similar ones. He releases the
poor wretches’ feet, and wants me to burden my soul with a shameful
murder. Siptah has tried the wrong man! Here, Heter, bring the bag of
tools and open the moles’ chains.”

While the files were grating on the sand-hill by the road and the
prisoners were being released from the fetters on their ancles,--though
for the sake of security each man’s arms were bound together,--Pharaoh’s
host marched by.

Kasana had commanded Prince Siptah to release from their iron burden
the unfortunates who were being dragged to a life of misery, openly
confessing that she could not bear to see a chief who had so often been
a guest of her house so cruelly humiliated. Bai’s wife had supported her
wish, and the prince was obliged to yield.

Joshua knew to whom he and Ephraim owed this favor, and received it with
grateful joy.

Walking had been made easier for him, but his mind was more and more
sorely oppressed with anxious cares.

The army passing yonder would have been enough to destroy down to the
last man a force ten times greater than the number of his people. His
people, and with them his father and Miriam,--who had caused him such
keen suffering, yet to whom he was indebted for having found the way
which, even in prison, he had recognized as the only right one--seemed
to him marked out for a bloody doom; for, however powerful might be the
God whose greatness the prophetess had praised in such glowing
words, and to whom he himself had learned to look up with devout
admiration,--untrained and unarmed bands of shepherds must surely
and hopelessly succumb to the assault of this army. This certainty,
strengthened by each advancing division, pierced his very soul. Never
before had he felt such burning anguish, which was terribly sharpened
when he beheld the familiar faces of his own troops, which he had so
lately commanded, pass before him under the leadership of another. This
time they were taking the field to hew down men of his own blood. This
was pain indeed, and Ephraim’s conduct gave him cause for fresh anxiety;
since Kasana’s appearance and interference in behalf of him and his
companions in suffering, the youth had again lapsed into silence and
gazed with wandering eyes at the army or into vacancy.

Now he, too, was freed from the chain, and Joshua asked in a whisper if
he did not long to return to his people to help them resist so powerful
a force, but Ephraim merely answered:

“When confronted with those hosts, they can do nothing but yield. What
did we lack before the exodus? You were a Hebrew, and yet became a
mighty chief among the Egyptians ere you obeyed Miriam’s summons. In
your place, I would have pursued a different course.”

“What would you have done?” asked Joshua sternly.

“What?” replied the youth, the fire of his young soul blazing. “What?
Only this, I would have remained where there is honor and fame and
everything beautiful. You might have been the greatest of the great,
the happiest of the happy--this I have learned, but you made a different
choice.”

“Because duty commanded it,” Joshua answered gravely, “because I will no
longer serve any one save the people among whom I was born.”

“The people?” exclaimed Ephraim, contemptuously. “I know them, and you
met them at Succoth. The poor are miserable wretches who cringe under
the lash; the rich value their cattle above all else and, if they are
the heads of the tribes, quarrel with one another. No one knows aught of
what pleases the eye and the heart. They call me one of the richest of
the race and yet I shudder when I think of the house I inherited, one
of the best and largest. One who has seen more beautiful ones ceases to
long for such an abode.”

The vein on Joshua’s brow swelled, and he wrathfully rebuked the youth
for denying his own blood, and being a traitor to his people.

The guard commanded silence, for Joshua had raised his reproving voice
louder, and this order seemed welcome to the defiant youth. When, during
their march, his uncle looked sternly into his face or asked whether he
had thought of his words, he turned angrily away, and remained mute
and sullen until the first star had risen, the night camp had been made
under the open sky, and the scanty prison rations had been served.

Joshua dug with his hands a resting place in the sand, and with care and
skill helped the youth to prepare a similar one.

Ephraim silently accepted this help; but as they lay side by side, and
the uncle began to speak to his nephew of the God of his people on whose
aid they must rely, if they were not to fall victims to despair in the
mines, the youth interrupted him, exclaiming in low tones, but with
fierce resolution:

“They will not take me to the mines alive! I would rather die, while
making my escape, than pine away in such wretchedness.”

Joshua whispered words of warning, and again reminded him of his duties
to his people. But Ephraim begged to be let alone; yet soon after he
touched his uncle and asked softly:

“What are they planning with Prince Siptah?”

“I don’t know; nothing good, that is certain.”

“And where is Aarsu, the Syrian, your foe, who commands the Asiatic
mercenaries, and who was to watch us with such fierce zeal? I did not
see him with the others.”

“He remained in Tanis with his troops.”

“To guard the palace?”

“Undoubtedly.”

“Then he commands many soldiers, and Pharaoh has confidence in him?”

“The utmost, though he ill deserves it.”

“And he is a Syrian, and therefore of our blood.”

“And more closely allied to us than to the Egyptians, at least so far as
language and appearance are concerned.”

“I should have taken him for a man of our race, yet he is, as you were,
one of the leaders in the army.”

“Other Syrians and Libyans command large troops of mercenaries, and
the herald Ben Mazana, one of the highest dignitaries of the court--the
Egyptians call him Rameses in the sanctuary of Ra--has a Hebrew father.”

“And neither he nor the others are scorned on account of their birth?”

“This is not quite so. But why do you ask these questions?”

“I could not sleep.”

“And so such thoughts came to you. But you have some definite idea in
your mind and, if my inference is correct, it would cause me pain. You
wished to enter Pharaoh’s service!”

Both were silent a long time, then Ephraim spoke again and, though he
addressed Joshua, it seemed as if he were talking to himself:

“They will destroy our people; bondage and shame await those who
survive. My house is now left to ruin, not a head of my splendid herds
of cattle remains, and the gold and silver I inherited, of which there
was said to be a goodly store, they are carrying with them, for your
father has charge of my wealth, and it will soon fall as booty into the
hands of the Egyptians. Shall I, if I obtain my liberty, return to my
people and make bricks? Shall I bow my back and suffer blows and abuse?”

Joshua eagerly whispered:

“You must appeal to the God of your fathers, that he may protect and
defend His people. Yet, if the Most High has willed the destruction of
our race, be a man and learn to hate with all the might of your young
soul those who trample your people under their feet. Fly to the Syrians,
offer them your strong young arm, and take no rest till you have avenged
yourself on those who have shed the blood of your people and load you,
though innocent, with chains.”

Again silence reigned for some time, nothing was heard from Ephraim’s
rude couch save a dull, low moan from his oppressed breast; but at last
he answered softly:

“The chains no longer weigh upon us, and how could I hate her who
released us from them?”

“Remain grateful to Kasana,” was the whispered reply, “but hate her
nation.”

Hosea heard the youth toss restlessly, and again sigh heavily and moan.

It was past midnight, the waxing moon rode high in the heavens, and the
sleepless man did not cease to listen for sounds from the youth; but the
latter remained silent, though slumber had evidently fled from him also;
for a noise as if he were grinding his teeth came from his place of
rest. Or had mice wandered to this barren place, where hard brown blades
of grass grew between the crusts of salt and the bare spots, and were
gnawing the prisoners’ hard bread?

Such gnawing and grinding disturb the sleep of one who longs for
slumber; but Joshua desired to keep awake to continue to open the eyes
of the blinded youth, yet he waited in vain for any sign of life from
his nephew.

At last he was about to lay his hand on the lad’s shoulder, but paused
as by the moonlight he saw Ephraim raise one arm though, before he lay
down, both hands were tied more firmly than before.

Joshua now knew that it was the youth’s sharp teeth gnawing the
rope which had caused the noise that had just surprised him, and he
immediately stood up and looked first upward and then around him.

Holding his breath, the older man watched every movement, and his heart
began to throb anxiously. Ephraim meant to fly, and the first step
toward escape had already succeeded! Would that the others might prosper
too! But he feared that the liberated youth might enter the wrong path.
He was the only son of his beloved sister, a fatherless and motherless
lad, so he had never enjoyed the uninterrupted succession of precepts
and lessons which only a mother can give and a defiant young spirit will
accept from her alone. The hands of strangers had bound the sapling to
a stake and it had shot straight upward, but a mother’s love would have
ennobled it with carefully chosen grafts. He had grown up beside another
hearth than his parents’, yet the latter is the only true home for
youth. What marvel if he felt himself a stranger among his people.

Amid such thoughts a great sense of compassion stole over Joshua and,
with it, the consciousness that he was deeply accountable for this youth
who, for his sake, while on the way to bring him a message, had fallen
into such sore misfortune. But much as he longed to warn him once
more against treason and perjury, he refrained, fearing to imperil his
success. Any noise might attract the attention of the guards, and he
took as keen an interest in the attempt at liberation, as if Ephraim had
made it at his suggestion.

So instead of annoying the youth with fruitless warnings, he kept
watch for him; life had taught him that good advice is more frequently
unheeded than followed, and only personal experiences possess resistless
power of instruction.

The chief’s practiced eye soon showed him the way by which Ephraim, if
fortune favored him, could escape.

He called softly, and directly after his nephew whispered:

“I’ll loose your ropes, if you will hold up your hands to me. Mine are
free!”

Joshua’s tense features brightened.

The defiant lad was a noble fellow, after all, and risked his own chance
in behalf of one who, if he escaped with him, threatened to bar the way
in which, in youthful blindness, he hoped to find happiness.




CHAPTER XIX.

Joshua gazed intently around him. The sky was still bright, but if the
north wind continued to blow, the clouds which seemed to be rising from
the sea must soon cover it.

The air had grown sultry, but the guards kept awake and regularly
relieved one another. It was difficult to elude their attention; yet
close by Ephraim’s couch, which his uncle, for greater comfort, had
helped him make on the side of a gently sloping hill, a narrow ravine
ran down to the valley. White veins of gypsum and glittering mica
sparkled in the moonlight along its bare edges. If the agile youth
could reach this cleft unseen, and crawl through as far as the pool of
saltwater, overgrown with tall grass and tangled desert shrubs, at which
it ended, he might, aided by the clouds, succeed.

After arriving at this conviction Joshua considered, as deliberately
as if the matter concerned directing one of his soldiers on his way,
whether he himself, in case he regained the use of his hands, could
succeed in following Ephraim without endangering his project. And he
was forced to answer this question in the negative; for the guard who
sometimes sat, sometimes paced to and fro on a higher part of the crest
of the hill a few paces away, could but too easily perceive, by the
moonlight, the youth’s efforts to loose the firmly-knotted bonds. The
cloud approaching the moon might perhaps darken it, ere the work was
completed. Thus Ephraim might, on his account, incur the peril of losing
the one fortunate moment which promised escape. Would it not be the
basest of crimes, merely for the sake of the uncertain chance of flight,
to bar the path to liberty of the youth whose natural protector he was?
So he whispered to Ephraim:

“I cannot go with you. Creep through the chasm at your right to the
salt-pool. I will watch the guards. As soon as the cloud passes over the
moon and I clear my throat, start off. If you escape, join our people.
Greet my old father, assure him of my love and fidelity, and tell him
where I am being taken. Listen to his advice and Miriam’s; theirs is the
best counsel. The cloud is approaching the moon,--not another word now!”

As Ephraim still continued to urge him in a whisper to hold up his
pinioned arms, he ordered him to keep silence and, as soon as the moon
was obscured and the guard, who was pacing to and fro above their
heads began a conversation with the man who came to relieve him, Joshua
cleared his throat and, holding his breath, listened with a throbbing
heart for some sound in the direction of the chasm.

He first heard a faint scraping and, by the light of the fire which the
guards kept on the hill-top as a protection against wild beasts, he saw
Ephraim’s empty couch.

He uttered a sigh of relief; for the youth must have entered the ravine.
But though he strained his ears to follow the crawling or sliding of the
fugitive he heard nothing save the footsteps and voices of the warders.

Yet he caught only the sound, not the meaning of their words, so
intently did he fix his powers of hearing upon the course taken by the
fugitive. How nimbly and cautiously the agile fellow must move! He was
still in the chasm, yet meanwhile the moon struggled victoriously with
the clouds and suddenly her silver disk pierced the heavy black curtain
that concealed her from the gaze of men, and her light was reflected
like a slender, glittering pillar from the motionless pool of
salt-water, enabling the watching Joshua to see what was passing below;
but he perceived nothing that resembled a human form.

Had the fugitive encountered any obstacle in the chasm? Did some
precipice or abyss hold him in its gloomy depths? Had--and at the
thought he fancied that his heart had stopped beating--Had some gulf
swallowed the lad when he was groping his way through the night?

How he longed for some noise, even the faintest, from the ravine! The
silence was terrible. But now! Oh, would that it had continued! Now
the sound of falling stones and the crash of earth sliding after echoed
loudly through the still night air. Again the moonlight burst through
the cloud-curtain, and Joshua perceived near the pool a living creature
which resembled an animal more than a human being, for it seemed to
be crawling on four feet. Now the water sent up a shower of glittering
spray. The figure below had leaped into the pool. Then the clouds again
swallowed the lamp of night, and darkness covered everything.

With a sigh of relief Joshua told himself that he had seen the flying
Ephraim and that, come what might, the escaping youth had gained a
considerable start of his pursuers.

But the latter neither remained inert nor allowed themselves to be
deceived; for though, to mislead them, he had shouted loudly: “A
jackal!” they uttered a long, shrill whistle, which roused their
sleeping comrades. A few seconds later the chief warder stood before
him with a burning torch, threw its light on his face, and sighed with
relief when he saw him. Not in vain had he bound him with double ropes;
for he would have been called to a severe reckoning at home had this
particular man escaped.

But while he was feeling the ropes on the prisoner’s arms, the glare
of the burning torch, which lighted him, fell on the fugitive’s rude,
deserted couch. There, as if in mockery, lay the gnawed rope. Taking it
up, he flung it at Joshua’s feet, blew his whistle again and again, and
shouted: “Escaped! The Hebrew! Young Curly-head!”

Paying no farther heed to Joshua, he began the pursuit. Hoarse with
fury, he issued order after order, each one sensible and eagerly obeyed.

While some of the guards dragged the prisoners together, counted them,
and tied them with ropes, their commander, with the others and his dogs,
set off on the track of the fugitive.

Joshua saw him make the intelligent animals smell Ephraim’s gnawed bonds
and resting-place, and beheld them instantly rush to the ravine. Gasping
for breath, he also noted that they remained in it quite a long
time, and at last--the moon meanwhile scattered the clouds more and
more--darted out of the ravine, and dashed to the water. He felt that it
was fortunate Ephraim had waded through instead of passing round it;
for at its edge the dogs lost the scent, and minute after minute elapsed
while the commander of the guards walked along the shore with the eager
animals, which fairly thrust their noses into the fugitive’s steps, in
order to again get on the right trail. Their loud, joyous barking at
last announced that they had found it. Yet, even if they persisted in
following the runaway, the captive warrior no longer feared the worst,
for Ephraim had gained a long advance of his pursuers. Still, his heart
beat loudly enough and time seemed to stand still until the chief-warder
returned exhausted and unsuccessful.

The older man, it is true, could never have overtaken the swift-footed
youth, but the youngest and most active guards had been sent after the
fugitive. This statement the captain of the guards himself made with an
angry jeer.

The kindly-natured man seemed completely transformed,--for he felt what
had occurred as a disgrace which could scarcely be overcome, nay, a
positive misfortune.

The prisoner who had tried to deceive him by the shout of ‘jackal!’
was doubtless the fugitive’s accomplice. Prince Siptah, too, who had
interfered with the duties of his office, he loudly cursed. But nothing
of the sort should happen again; and he would make the whole band feel
what had fallen to his lot through Ephraim. Therefore he ordered the
prisoners to be again loaded with chains, the ex-chief fastened to a
coughing old man, and all made to stand in rank and file before the fire
till morning dawned.

Joshua gave no answer to the questions his new companion-in-chains
addressed to him; he was waiting with an anxious heart for the return
of the pursuers. At times he strove to collect his thoughts to pray, and
commended to the God who had promised His aid, his own destiny and
that of the fugitive boy. True, he was often rudely interrupted by the
captain of the guards, who vented his rage upon him.

Yet the man who had once commanded thousands of soldiers quietly
submitted to everything, forcing himself to accept it like the
unavoidable discomfort of hail or rain; nay, it cost him an effort to
conceal his joyful emotion when, toward sunrise, the young warders sent
in pursuit returned with tangled hair, panting for breath, and bringing
nothing save one of the dogs with a broken skull.

The only thing left for the captain of the guards to do was to report
what had occurred at the first fortress on the Etham border, which the
prisoners were obliged in any case to pass, and toward this they were
now driven.

Since Ephraim’s flight a new and more cruel spirit had taken possession
of the warders. While yesterday they had permitted the unfortunate men
to move forward at an easy pace, they now forced them to the utmost
possible speed. Besides, the atmosphere was sultry, and the scorching
sun struggled with the thunderclouds gathering in heavy masses at the
north.

Joshua’s frame, inured to fatigues of every kind, resisted the tortures
of this hurried march; but his weaker companion, who had grown grey in a
scribe’s duties, often gave way and at last lay prostrate beside him.

The captain was obliged to have the hapless man placed on an ass and
chain another prisoner to Joshua. He was his former yoke-mate’s brother,
an inspector of the king’s stables, a stalwart Egyptian, condemned to
the mines solely on account of the unfortunate circumstance of being the
nearest blood relative of a state criminal.

It was easier to walk with this vigorous companion, and Joshua listened
with deep sympathy and tried to comfort him when, in a low voice, he
made him the confidant of his yearning, and lamented the heaviness of
heart with which he had left wife and child in want and suffering. Two
sons had died of the pestilence, and it sorely oppressed his soul that
he had been unable to provide for their burial--now his darlings would
be lost to him in the other world also and forever.

At the second halt the troubled father became franker still. An ardent
thirst for vengeance filled his soul, and he attributed the same feeling
to his stern-eyed companion, whom he saw had plunged into misfortune
from a high station in life. The ex-inspector of the stables had a
sister-in-law, who was one of Pharaoh’s concubines, and through her
and his wife, her sister, he had learned that a conspiracy was brewing
against the king in the House of the Separated.--[Harem]. He even knew
whom the women desired to place in Menephtah’s place.

As Joshua looked at him, half questioning, half doubting, his companion
whispered. “Siptah, the king’s nephew, and his noble mother, are at the
head of the plot. When I am once more free, I will remember you, for
my sister-in-law certainly will not forget me.” Then he asked what was
taking his companion to the mines, and Joshua frankly told his name.
But when the Egyptian learned that he was fettered to a Hebrew, he
tore wildly at his chain and cursed his fate. His rage, however,
soon subsided in the presence of the strange composure with which his
companion in misfortune bore the rudest insults, and Joshua was glad to
have the other beset him less frequently with complaints and questions.

He now walked on for hours undisturbed, free to yield to his longing to
collect his thoughts, analyze the new and lofty emotions which had ruled
his soul during the past few days, and accommodate himself to his novel
and terrible position.

This quiet reflection and self-examination relieved him and, during the
following night, he was invigorated by a deep, refreshing sleep.

When he awoke the setting stars were still in the sky and reminded him
of the sycamore in Succoth, and the momentous morning when his lost love
had won him for his God and his people. The glittering firmament arched
over his head, and he had never so distinctly felt the presence of the
Most High. He believed in His limitless power and, for the first time,
felt a dawning hope that the Mighty Lord who had created heaven and
earth would find ways and means to save His chosen people from the
thousands of the Egyptian hosts.

After fervently imploring God to extend His protecting hand over the
feeble bands who, obedient to His command, had left so much behind them
and marched so confidently through an unknown and distant land, and
commended to His special charge the aged father whom he himself could
not defend, a wonderful sense of peace filled his soul.

The shouts of the guards, the rattling of the chain, his wretched
companions in misfortune, nay, all that surrounded him, could not fail
to recall the fate awaiting him. He was to grow grey in slavish toil
within a close, hot pit, whose atmosphere choked the lungs, deprived of
the bliss of breathing the fresh air and beholding the sunlight; loaded
with chains, beaten and insulted, starving and thirsting, spending days
and nights in a monotony destructive alike to soul and body,--yet not
for one moment did he lose the confident belief that this horrible lot
might befall any one rather than himself, and something must interpose
to save him.

On the march farther eastward, which began with the first grey dawn of
morning, he called this resolute confidence folly, yet strove to retain
it and succeeded.

The road led through the desert, and at the end of a few hours’ rapid
march they reached the first fort, called the Fortress of Seti. Long
before, they had seen it through the clear desert air, apparently within
a bowshot.

Unrelieved by the green foliage of bush or palmtree, it rose from the
bare, stony, sandy soil, with its wooden palisades, its rampart, its
escarped walls, and its lookout, with broad, flat roof, swarming with
armed warriors. The latter had heard from Pithom that the Hebrews were
preparing to break through the chain of fortresses on the isthmus and
had at first mistaken the approaching band of prisoners for the vanguard
of the wandering Israelites.

From the summits of the strong projections, which jutted like galleries
from every direction along the entire height of the escarped walls to
prevent the planting of scaling-ladders, soldiers looked through the
embrasures at the advancing convicts; yet the archers had replaced their
arrows in the quivers, for the watchmen in the towers perceived how few
were the numbers of the approaching troop, and a messenger had already
delivered to the commander of the garrison an order from his superior
authorizing him to permit the passage of the prisoners.

The gate of the palisade was now opened, and the captain of the guards
allowed the prisoners to lie down on the glowing pavement within.

No one could escape hence, even if the guards withdrew; for the high
fence was almost insurmountable, and from the battlements on the top of
the jutting walls darts could easily reach a fugitive.

The ex-chief did not fail to note that everything was ready, as if in
the midst of war, for defence against a foe. Every man was at his post,
and beside the huge brazen disk on the tower stood sentinels, each
holding in his hand a heavy club to deal a blow at the approach of the
expected enemy; for though as far as the eye could reach, neither tree
nor house was visible, the sound of the metal plate would be heard at
the next fortress in the Etham line, and warn or summon its garrison.

To be stationed in the solitude of this wilderness was not a punishment,
but a misfortune; and the commander of the army therefore provided that
the same troops should never remain long in the desert.

Joshua himself, in former days, had been in command of the most
southerly of these fortresses, called the Migdol of the South; for each
one of the fortifications bore the name of Migdol, which in the Semitic
tongue means the tower of a fortress.

His people were evidently expected here; and it was not to be supposed
that Moses had led the tribes back to Egypt. So they must have remained
in Succoth or have turned southward. But in that direction rolled the
waters of the Bitter Lakes and the Red Sea, and how could the Hebrew
hosts pass through the deep waters?

Hosea’s heart throbbed anxiously at this thought, and all his fears were
to find speedy confirmation; for he heard the commander of the fortress
tell the captain of the prisoners’ guards, that the Hebrews had
approached the line of fortifications several days before, but soon
after, without assaulting the garrison, had turned southward. Since then
they seemed to have been wandering in the desert between Pithom and the
Red Sea.

All this had been instantly reported at Tanis, but the king was forced
to delay the departure of the army for several days until the week of
general mourning for the heir to the throne had expired. The fugitives
might have turned this to account, but news had come by a carrier dove
that the blinded multitude had encamped at Pihahiroth, not far from the
Red Sea. So it would be easy for the army to drive them into the
water like a herd of cattle; there was no escape for them in any other
direction.

The captain listened to these tidings with satisfaction; then he
whispered a few words to the commander of the fortress and pointed with
his finger to Joshua, who had long recognized him as a brother-in-arms
who had commanded a hundred men in his own cohorts and to whom he had
done many a kindness. He was reluctant to reveal his identity in this
wretched plight to his former subordinate, who was also his debtor; but
the commander flushed as he saw him, shrugged his shoulders as though he
desired to express to Joshua regret for his fate and the impossibility
of doing anything for him, and then exclaimed so loudly that he could
not fail to hear:

“The regulations forbid any conversation with prisoners of state, but
I knew this man in better days, and will send you some wine which I beg
you to share with him.”

As he walked with the other to the gate, and the latter remarked that
Hosea deserved such favor less than the meanest of the band, because he
had connived at the escape of the fugitive of whom he had just spoken,
the commander ran his hand through his hair, and answered:

“I would gladly have shown him some kindness, though he is much indebted
to me; but if that is the case, we will omit the wine; you have rested
long enough at any rate.”

The captain angrily gave the order for departure, and drove the hapless
band deeper into the desert toward the mines.

This time Joshua walked with drooping head. Every fibre of his being
rebelled against the misfortune of being dragged through the wilderness
at this decisive hour, far from his people and the father whom he knew
to be in such imminent danger. Under his guidance the wanderers might
perchance have found some means of escape. His fist clenched when he
thought of the fettered limbs which forbade him to utilize the plans
his brain devised for the welfare of his people; yet he would not lose
courage, and whenever he said to himself that the Hebrews were lost and
must succumb in this struggle, he heard the new name God Himself had
bestowed upon him ring in his ears and at the same moment the flames of
hate and vengeance on all Egyptians, which had been fanned anew by the
fortress commander’s base conduct, blazed up still more brightly. His
whole nature was in the most violent tumult and as the captain noted
his flushed cheeks and the gloomy light in his eyes he thought that this
strong man, too, had been seized by the fever to which so many convicts
fell victims on the march.

When, at the approach of darkness, the wretched band sought a night’s
rest in the midst of the wilderness, a terrible conflict of emotions
was seething in Joshua’s soul, and the scene around him fitly harmonized
with his mood; for black clouds had again risen in the north from the
sea and, before the thunder and lightning burst forth and the rain
poured in torrents, howling, whistling winds swept masses of scorching
sand upon the recumbent prisoners.

After these dense clouds had been their coverlet, pools and ponds
were their beds. The guards had bound them together hand and foot and,
dripping and shivering, held the ends of the ropes in their hands; for
the night was as black as the embers of their fire which the rain
had extinguished, and who could have pursued a fugitive through such
darkness and tempest.

But Joshua had no thought of secret flight. While the Egyptians were
trembling and moaning, when they fancied they heard the wrathful voice
of Seth, and the blinding sheets of fire flamed from the clouds, he only
felt the approach of the angry God, whose fury he shared, whose hatred
was also his own. He felt himself a witness of His all-destroying
omnipotence, and his breast swelled more proudly as he told himself that
he was summoned to wield the sword in the service of this Mightiest of
the Mighty.




CHAPTER XX.

The storm which had risen as night closed in swept over the isthmus.
The waves in its lakes dashed high, and the Red Sea, which thrust a bay
shaped like the horn of a snail into it from the south, was lashed to
the wildest fury.

Farther northward, where Pharaoh’s army, protected by the Migdol of the
South, the strongest fort of the Etham line, had encamped a short time
before, the sand lashed by the storm whirled through the air and, in
the quarter occupied by the king and his great officials, hammers were
constantly busy driving the tent-pins deeper into the earth; for the
brocades, cloths, and linen materials which formed the portable houses
of Pharaoh and his court, struck by the gale, threatened to break from
the poles by which they were supported.

Black clouds hung in the north, but the moon and stars were often
visible, and flashes of distant lightning frequently brightened the
horizon. Even now the moisture of heaven seemed to avoid this rainless
region and in all directions fires were burning, which the soldiers
surrounded in double rows, like a living shield, to keep the storm from
scattering the fuel.

The sentries had a hard duty; for the atmosphere was sultry, in spite of
the north wind, which still blew violently, driving fresh clouds of sand
into their faces.

Only two sentinels were pacing watchfully to and fro at the most
northern gate of the camp, but they were enough; for, on account of the
storm, no one had appeared for a long time to demand entrance or egress.
At last, three hours after sunset, a slender figure, scarcely beyond
boyhood, approached the guards with a firm step and, showing a
messenger’s pass, asked the way to Prince Siptah’s tent.

He seemed to have had a toilsome journey; for his thick black locks
were tangled and his feet were covered with dust and dried clay. Yet
he excited no suspicion; for his bearing was that of a self-reliant
freeman, his messenger’s pass was perfectly correct, and the letter
he produced was really directed to Prince Siptah; a scribe of the corn
storehouses, who was sitting at the nearest fire with other officials
and subordinate officers, examined it.

As the youth’s appearance pleased most of those present, and he came
from Tanis and perhaps brought news, a seat at the fire and a share in
the meal were offered; but he was in haste.

Declining the invitation with thanks, he answered the questions curtly
and hurriedly and begged the resting soldiers for a guide. One was
placed at his disposal without delay. But he was soon to learn that it
would not be an easy matter to reach a member of the royal family; for
the tents of Pharaoh, his relatives, and dignitaries stood in a
special spot in the heart of the camp, hedged in by the shields of the
heavily-armed troops.

When he entered he was challenged again and again, and his messenger’s
pass and the prince’s letter were frequently inspected. The guide, too,
was sent back, and his place was filled by an aristocratic lord, called
I the ‘eye and ear of the king,’ who busied himself with the seal of the
letter. But the messenger resolutely demanded it, and as soon as it was
again in his hand, and two tents standing side by side rocking in the
tempest had been pointed out to him, one as Prince Siptah’s, the other
as the shelter of Masana, the daughter of Hornecht, for whom he asked,
he turned to the chamberlain who came out of the former one, showed him
the letter, and asked to be taken to the prince; but the former
offered to deliver the letter to his master--whose steward he was--and
Ephraim--for he was the messenger--agreed, if he would obtain him
immediate admission to the young widow.

The steward seemed to lay much stress upon getting possession of the
letter and, after scanning Ephraim from top to toe, he asked if Kasana
knew him, and when the other assented, adding that he brought her a
verbal message, the Egyptian said smiling:

“Well then; but we must protect our carpets from such feet, and you seem
weary and in need of refreshment. Follow me.”

With these words he took him to a small tent, before which an old slave
and one scarcely beyond childhood were sitting by the fire, finishing
their late meal with a bunch of garlic.

They started up as they saw their master; but he ordered the old man to
wash the messenger’s feet, and bade the younger ask the prince’s cook
in his name for meat, bread, and wine. Then he led Ephraim to his
tent, which was lighted by a lantern, and asked how he, who from his
appearance was neither a slave nor a person of mean degree, had come
into such a pitiable plight. The messenger replied that on his way he
had bandaged the wounds of a severely injured man with the upper part
of his apron, and the chamberlain instantly went to his baggage and gave
him a piece of finely plaited linen.

Ephraim’s reply, which was really very near the truth, had cost him so
little thought and sounded so sincere, that it won credence, and the
steward’s kindness seemed to him so worthy of gratitude that he made no
objection when the courtier, without injuring the seal, pressed the roll
of papyrus with a skilful hand, separating the layers and peering into
the openings to decipher the contents. While thus engaged, the corpulent
courtier’s round eyes sparkled brightly and it seemed to the youth as
if the countenance of the man, whose comfortable plumpness and smooth
rotundity at first appeared like a mirror of the utmost kindness of
heart, now had the semblance of a cat’s.

As soon as the steward had completed his task, he begged the youth to
refresh himself in all comfort, and did not return until Ephraim had
bathed, wrapped a fresh linen upper-garment around his hips, perfumed
and anointed his hair, and, glancing into the mirror, was in the act of
slipping a broad gold circlet upon his arm.

He had hesitated some time ere doing this; for he was aware that he
would encounter great perils; but this circlet was his one costly
possession and, during his captivity, it had been very difficult for him
to hide it under his apron. It might be of much service to him but,
if he put it on, it would attract attention and increase the danger of
being recognized.

Yet the reflection he beheld in the mirror, vanity, and the desire
to appear well in Kasana’s eyes, conquered caution and prudent
consideration, and the broad costly ornament soon glittered on his arm.

The steward stood in astonishment before the handsome, aristocratic
youth, so haughty in his bearing, who had taken the place of the
unassuming messenger. The question whether he was a relative of Kasana
sprang to his lips, and receiving an answer in the negative, he asked to
what family he belonged.

Ephraim bent his eyes on the ground for some time in embarrassment, and
then requested the Egyptian to spare him an answer until he had talked
with Hornecht’s daughter.

The other, shaking his head, looked at him again, but pressed him no
farther; for what he had read in the letter was a secret which might
bring death to whoever was privy to it, and the aristocratic young
messenger was doubtless the son of a dignitary who belonged to the
circle of the fellow-conspirators of Prince Siptah, his master.

A chill ran through the courtier’s strong, corpulent body, and he gazed
with mingled sympathy and dread at the blooming human flower associated
thus early in plans fraught with danger.

His master had hitherto only hinted at the secret, and it would still
be possible for him to keep his own fate separate from his. Should he
do so, an old age free from care lay before him; but, if he joined
the prince and his plan succeeded, how high he might rise! Terribly
momentous was the choice confronting him, the father of many children,
and beads of perspiration stood on his brow as, incapable of any
coherent thought, he led Ephraim to Kasana’s tent, and then hastened to
his master.

Silence reigned within the light structure, which was composed of poles
and gay heavy stuffs, tenanted by the beautiful widow.

With a throbbing heart Ephraim approached the entrance, and when he at
last summoned courage and drew aside the curtain fastened firmly to the
earth, which the wind puffed out like a sail, he beheld a dark room,
from which a similar one opened on the right and left. The one on
the left was as dark as the central one; but a flickering light stole
through numerous chinks of the one on the right. The tent was one of
those with a flat roof, divided into three apartments, which he had
often seen, and the woman who irresistibly attracted him was doubtless
in the lighted one.

To avoid exposing himself to fresh suspicion, he must conquer his timid
delay, and he had already stooped and loosed the loop which fastened
the curtain to the hook in the floor, when the door of the lighted room
opened and a woman’s figure entered the dark central chamber.

Was it she?

Should he venture to speak to her? Yes, it must be done.

Panting for breath and clenching his hands, he summoned up his courage
as if he were about to steal unbidden into the most sacred sanctuary of
a temple. Then he pushed the curtain aside, and the woman whom he had
just noticed greeted him with a low cry.

But he speedily regained his composure, for a ray of light had fallen on
her face, revealing that the person who stood before him was not Kasana,
but her nurse, who had accompanied her to the prisoners and then to the
camp. She, too, recognized him and stared at him as though he had risen
from the grave.

They were old acquaintances; for when he was first brought to the
archer’s house she had prepared his bath and moistened his wound with
balsam, and during his second stay beneath the same roof, she had
joined her mistress in nursing him. They had chatted away many an hour
together, and he knew that she was kindly disposed toward him; for when
midway between waking and sleeping, in his burning fever, her hand
had stroked him with maternal tenderness, and afterwards she had never
wearied of questioning him about his people and at last had acknowledged
that she was descended from the Syrians, who were allied to the Hebrews.
Nay, even his language was not wholly strange to her; for she had been
a woman of twenty when dragged to Egypt with other prisoners of Rameses
the Great. Ephraim, she was fond of saying, reminded her of her own son
when he was still younger.

The youth had no ill to fear from her, so grasping her hand, he
whispered that he had escaped from his guards and come to ask counsel
from her mistress and herself.

The word “escaped” was sufficient to satisfy the old woman; for her
idea of ghosts was that they put others to flight, but did not fly
themselves. Relieved, she stroked the youth’s curls and, ere his
whispered explanation was ended, turned her back upon him and hurried
into the lighted room to tell her mistress whom she had found outside.

A few minutes after Ephraim was standing before the woman who had become
the guiding star of his life. With glowing cheeks he gazed into the
beautiful face, still flushed by weeping, and though it gave his heart a
pang when, before vouchsafing him a greeting, she enquired whether Hosea
had accompanied him, he forgot the foolish pain when he saw her gaze
warmly at him. Yet when the nurse asked whether she did not think he
looked well and vigorous, and withal more manly in appearance, it seemed
as though he had really grown taller, and his heart beat faster and
faster.

Kasana desired to learn the minutest details of his uncle’s experiences;
but after he had done her bidding and finally yielded to the wish
to speak of his own fate, she interrupted him to consult the nurse
concerning the means of saving him from unbidden looks and fresh
dangers--and the right expedient was soon found.

First, with Ephraim’s help, the old woman closed the main entrance of
the tent as firmly as possible, and then pointed to the dark room into
which he must speedily and softly retire as soon as she beckoned to him.

Meanwhile Kasana had poured some wine into a goblet, and when he came
back with the nurse she made him sit down on the giraffe skin at her
feet and asked how he had succeeded in evading the guards, and what he
expected from the future. She would tell him in advance that her father
had remained in Tanis, so he need not fear recognition and betrayal.

Her pleasure in this meeting was evident to both eyes and ears; nay,
when Ephraim commenced his story by saying that Prince Siptah’s command
to remove the prisoners’ chains, for which they were indebted solely
to her, had rendered his escape possible, she clapped her hands like a
child. Then her face clouded and, with a deep sigh, she added that ere
his arrival her heart had almost broken with grief and tears; but Hosea
should learn what a woman would sacrifice for the most ardent desire of
her heart.

She repaid with grateful words Ephraim’s assurance that, before his
flight, he had offered to release his uncle from his bonds and, when
she learned that Joshua had refused to accept his nephew’s aid, lest it
might endanger the success of the plan he had cleverly devised for him,
she cried out to her nurse, with tearful eyes, that Hosea alone would
have been capable of such a deed.

To the remainder of the fugitive’s tale she listened intently, often
interrupting him with sympathizing questions.

The torturing days and nights of the past, which had reached such a
happy termination, seemed now like a blissful dream, a bewildering
fairy-tale, and the goblet she constantly replenished was not needed to
lend fire to his narrative.

Never before had he been so eloquent as while describing how, in the
ravine, he had stepped on some loose stones and rolled head foremost
down into the chasm with them. On reaching the bottom he had believed
that all was lost; for soon after extricating himself from the rubbish
that had buried him, in order to hurry to the pool, he had heard the
whistle of the guards.

Yet he had been a good runner from his childhood, had learned in his
native pastures to guide himself by the light of the stars, so without
glancing to the right or to the left, he had hastened southward as fast
as his feet would carry him. Often in the darkness he had fallen over
stones or tripped in the hollows of the desert sand, but only to rise
again quickly and dash onward, onward toward the south, where he knew he
should find her, Kasana, her for whose sake he recklessly flung to the
winds what wiser-heads had counselled, her for whom he was ready to
sacrifice liberty and life.

Whence he derived the courage to confess this, he knew not, and neither
the blow from her fan, nor the warning exclamation of the nurse: “Just
look at the boy!” sobered him. Nay, his sparkling eyes sought hers still
mote frequently as he continued his story.

One of the hounds which attacked him he had flung against a rock, and
the other he pelted with stones till it fled howling into a thicket. He
had seen no other pursuers, either that night, or during the whole
of the next day. At last he again reached a travelled road and found
country people who told him which way Pharaoh’s army had marched. At
noon, overwhelmed by fatigue, he had fallen asleep under the shade of
a sycamore, and when he awoke the sun was near its setting. He was very
hungry, so he took a few turnips from a neighboring field. But their
owner suddenly sprang from a ditch near by, and he barely escaped his
pursuit.

He had wandered along during a part of the night, and then rested
beside a well on the roadside, for he knew that wild beasts shun such
frequented places.

After sunrise he continued his march, following the road taken by the
army. Everywhere he found traces of it, and when, shortly before noon,
exhausted and faint from hunger, he reached a village in the cornlands
watered by the Seti-canal, he debated whether to sell his gold armlet,
obtain more strengthening food, and receive some silver and copper
in change. But he was afraid of being taken for a thief and again
imprisoned, for his apron had been tattered by the thorns, and his
sandals had long since dropped from his feet. He had believed that even
the hardest hearts could not fail to pity his misery so, hard as it was
for him, he had knocked at a peasant’s door and begged. But the man gave
him nothing save the jeering counsel that a strong young fellow like him
ought to use his arms and leave begging to the old and weak. A second
peasant had even threatened to beat him; but as he walked on with
drooping bead, a young woman whom he had noticed in front of the
barbarian’s house followed him, thrust some bread and dates into his
hand, and whispered hastily that heavy taxes had been levied on the
village when Pharaoh marched through, or she would have given him
something better.

This unexpected donation, which he had eaten at the next well, had not
tasted exactly like a festal banquet, but he did not tell Kasana that it
had been embittered by the doubt whether to fulfil Joshua’s commission
and return to his people or yield to the longing that drew him to her.

He moved forward irresolutely, but fate seemed to have undertaken to
point out his way; for after walking a short half hour, the latter
portion of the time through barren land, he had found by the wayside a
youth of about his own age who, moaning with pain, held his foot clasped
between both hands. Pity led him to go to him and, to his astonishment,
he recognized the runner and messenger of Kasana’s father, with whom he
had often talked.

“Apu, our nimble Nubian runner?” cried the young widow, and Ephraim
assented and then added that the messenger had been despatched to convey
a letter to Prince Siptah as quickly as possible, and the swift-footed
lad, who was wont to outstrip his master’s noble steeds, had shot over
the road like an arrow and would have reached his destination in two
hours more, had he not stepped on the sharp edge of a bottle that had
been shattered by a wagon-wheel--and made a deep and terrible wound.

“And you helped him?” asked Kasana.

“How could I do otherwise?” replied Ephraim. “He had already lost a
great deal of blood and was pale as death. So I carried him to the
nearest ditch, washed the gaping wound, and anointed it with his
balsam.”

“I put the little box in his pouch myself a year ago,” said the nurse
who was easily moved, wiping her eyes. Ephraim confirmed the statement,
for Apu had gratefully told him of it. Then he went on.

“I tore my upper garment into strips and bandaged the wound as well as I
could. Meanwhile he constantly urged haste, held out the pass and letter
his master had given him and, knowing nothing of the misfortune which
had befallen me, charged me to deliver the roll to the prince in his
place. Oh, how willingly I undertook the task and, soon after the second
hour had passed, I reached the camp. The letter is in the prince’s
hands, and here am I--and I can see that you are glad! But no one was
ever so happy as I to sit here at your feet, and look up to you, so
grateful as I am that you have listened to me so kindly, and if they
load me with chains again I will bear it calmly, if you will but care
for me. Ah, my misfortune has been so great! I have neither father nor
mother, no one who loves me. You, you alone are dear, and you will not
repulse me, will you?”

He had fairly shouted the last words, as if beside himself, and carried
away by the might of passion and rendered incapable by the terrible
experiences of the past few hours of controlling the emotions that
assailed him, the youth, still scarcely beyond childhood, who saw
himself torn away from and bereft of all that had usually sustained
and supported him, sobbed aloud, and like a frightened birdling seeking
protection under its mother’s wings, hid his head, amid floods of tears,
in Kasana’s lap.

Warm compassion seized upon the tender-hearted young widow, and her own
eyes grew dim. She laid her hands kindly upon his head, and feeling the
tremor that shook the frame of the weeping lad, she raised his head with
both hands, kissed his brow and cheeks, looked smilingly into his eyes
with tears in her own, and exclaimed:

“You poor, foolish fellow! Why should I not care for you, why should I
repel you? Your uncle is the most beloved of men to me, and you are like
his son. For your sakes I have already accepted what I should otherwise
have thrust far, far from me! But now I must go on, and must not care
what others may think or say of me, if only I can accomplish the one
thing for which I am risking person, life, all that I once prized!
Wait, you poor, impulsive fellow!”--and here she again kissed him on
the cheeks--“I shall succeed in smoothing the path for you also. That is
enough now!”

This command sounded graver, and was intended to curb the increasing
impetuosity of the ardent youth. But she suddenly started up, exclaiming
with anxious haste: “Go, go, at once!”

The footsteps of men approaching the tent, and a warning word from
the nurse had brought this stern order to the young widow’s lips, and
Ephraim’s quick ear made him understand her anxiety and urged him to
join the old nurse in the dark room. There he perceived that a few
moments’ delay would have betrayed him; for the curtain of the tent was
drawn aside and a man passed through the central space straight to the
lighted apartment, where Kasana--the youth heard it distinctly--welcomed
the new guest only too cordially, as though his late arrival surprised
her.

Meanwhile the nurse had seized her own cloak, flung it over the
fugitive’s bare shoulders, and whispered:

“Be near the tent just before sunrise, but do not enter it until I call
you, if you value your life. You have neither mother nor father, and my
child Kasana ah, what a dear, loving heart she has!--she is the best
of all good women; but whether she is fit to be the guide of an
inexperienced young blusterer, whose heart is blazing like dry straw
with love for her, is another question. I considered many things, while
listening to your story, and on account of my liking for you I will tell
you this. You have an uncle who--my child is right there--is the best
of men, and I know mankind. Whatever he advised, do; for it will surely
benefit you. Obey him! If his bidding leads you far away from here and
Kasana, so much the better for you. We are walking in dangerous paths,
and had it not been done for Hosea’s sake, I would have tried to hold
her back with all my might. But for him--I am an old woman; but I would
go through fire myself for that man. I am more grieved than I can tell,
both for the pure, sweet child and for yourself, whom my own son was
once so much like, so I repeat: Obey your uncle, boy! Do that, or you
will go to ruin, and that would be a pity!”

With these words, without waiting for an answer, she drew the curtain
of the tent aside, and waited until Ephraim had slipped through. Then,
wiping her eyes, she entered, as if by chance, the lighted chamber;
but Kasana and her late guest had matters to discuss that brooked no
witnesses, and her “dear child” only permitted her to light her little
lamp at the three-armed candelabra, and then sent her to rest.

She promptly obeyed and, in the dark room, where her couch stood beside
that of her mistress, she sank down, hid her face in her hands, and
wept.

She felt as though the world was upside down. She no longer understood
her darling Kasana; for she was sacrificing purity and honor for the
sake of a man whom--she knew it--her soul abhorred.




CHAPTER XXI.

Ephriam cowered in the shadow of the tent, from which he had slipped,
and pressed his ear close to the wall. He had cautiously ripped a
small opening in a seam of the cloth, so he could see and hear what was
passing in the lighted room of the woman he loved. The storm kept every
one within the tents whom duty did not summon into the open air, and
Ephraim had less reason to fear discovery on account of the deep shadow
that rested on the spot where he lay. The nurse’s cloak covered him
and, though shiver after shiver shook his young limbs, it was due to the
bitter anguish that pierced his soul.

The man on whose breast he saw Kasana lay her head was a prince, a
person of high rank and great power, and the capricious beauty did not
always repel the bold man, when his lips sought those for whose kiss
Ephraim so ardently longed.

She owed him nothing, it is true, yet her heart belonged to his uncle,
whom she had preferred to all others. She had declared herself ready to
endure the most terrible things for his liberation; and now his own eyes
told him that she was false and faithless, that she granted to another
what belonged to one alone. She had bestowed caresses on him, too, but
these were only the crumbs that fell from Hosea’s table, a robbery--he
confessed it with a blush--he had perpetrated on his uncle, yet he
felt offended, insulted, deceived, and consumed to his inmost soul with
fierce jealousy on behalf of his uncle, whom he honored, nay, loved,
though he had opposed his wishes.

And Hosea? Why, he too, like himself, this princely suitor, and all
other men, must love her, spite of his strange conduct at the well by
the roadside--it was impossible for him to do otherwise--and now, safe
from the poor prisoner’s resentment, she was basely, treacherously
enjoying another’s tender caresses.

Siptah, he had heard at their last meeting, was his uncle’s foe, and it
was to him that she betrayed the man she loved!

The chink in the tent was ready to show him everything that occurred
within, but he often closed his eyes that he might not behold it. Often,
it is true, the hateful scene held him in thrall by a mysterious spell
and he would fain have torn the walls of the tent asunder, struck the
detested Egyptian to the ground, and shouted into the faithless woman’s
face the name of Hosea, coupled with the harshest reproaches.

The fervent passion which had taken possession of him was suddenly
transformed to hate and scorn. He had believed himself to be the
happiest of mortals, and he had suddenly become the most miserable; no
one, he believed, had ever experienced such a fall from the loftiest
heights to the lowest depths.

The nurse had been right. Naught save misery and despair could come to
him from so faithless a woman.

Once he started up to fly, but he again heard the bewitching tones of
her musical laugh, and mysterious powers detained him, forcing him to
listen.

At first the seething blood had throbbed so violently in his ears that
he felt unable to follow the dialogue in the lighted tent. But,
by degrees, he grasped the purport of whole sentences, and now he
understood all that they said, not a word of their further conversation
escaped him, and it was absorbing enough, though it revealed a gulf from
which he shrank shuddering.

Kasana refused the bold suitor many favors for which he pleaded, but
this only impelled him to beseech her more fervently to give herself to
him, and the prize he offered in return was the highest gift of earth,
the place by his side as queen on the throne of Egypt, to which he
aspired. He said this distinctly, but what followed was harder to
understand; for the passionate suitor was in great haste and often
interrupted his hasty sentences to assure Kasana, to whose hands in this
hour he was committing his life and liberty, of his changeless love,
or to soothe her when the boldness of his advances awakened fear and
aversion. But he soon began to speak of the letter whose bearer Ephraim
had been and, after reading it aloud and explaining it, the youth
realized with a slight shudder that he had become an accomplice in the
most criminal of all plots, and for a moment the longing stole over
him to betray the traitors and deliver them into the hand of the mighty
sovereign whose destruction they were plotting. But he repelled the
thought and merely sunned himself in the pleasurable consciousness--the
first during this cruel hour-of holding Kasana and her royal lover in
his hand as one holds a beetle by a string. This had a favorable effect
on him and restored the confidence and courage he had lost. The
baser the things he continued to hear, the more clearly he learned to
appreciate the value of the goodness and truth which he had lost. His
uncle’s words, too, came back to his memory.

“Give no man, from the loftiest to the lowliest, a right to regard you
save with respect, and you can hold your head as high as the proudest
warrior who ever wore purple robe and golden armor.”

On the couch in Kasana’s house, while shaking with fever, he had
constantly repeated this sentence; but in the misery of captivity, and
on his flight it had again vanished from his memory. In the courtier’s
tent when, after he had bathed and perfumed himself, the old slave
held a mirror before him, he had given it a passing thought; but now
it mastered his whole soul. And strange to say, the worthless traitor
within wore a purple coat and golden mail, and looked like a military
hero, but he could not hold his head erect, for the work he sought to
accomplish could only succeed in the secrecy that shuns the light, and
was like the labor of the hideous mole which undermines the ground in
the darkness.

His tool was the repulsive cloven-footed trio, falsehood, fraud, and
faithlessness, and she whom he had chosen for his help-mate was the
woman--it shamed him to his inmost soul-for whom he had been in the act
of sacrificing all that was honorable, precious, and dear to him.

The worst infamies which he had been taught to shun were the rounds of
the ladder on which this evil man intended to mount.

The roll the youth had brought to the camp contained two letters. The
first was from the conspirators in Tanis, the second from Siptah’s
mother.

The former desired his speedy return and told him that the Syrian Aarsu,
the commander of the foreign mercenaries, who guarded the palace,
as well as the women’s house, was ready to do him homage. If the
high-priest of Amon, who was at once chief-judge, viceroy and keeper
of the seal, proclaimed him king, he was sovereign and could enter the
palace which stood open to him and ascend the throne without resistance.
If Pharaoh returned, the body-guards would take him prisoner and remove
him as Siptah, who liked no halfway measures, had secretly directed,
while the chief-priest insisted upon keeping him in mild imprisonment.

Nothing was to be feared save the premature return from Thebes of Seti,
the second son of Menephtah; for the former, after his older brother’s
death, had become heir to the throne, and carrier doves had brought news
yesterday that he was now on his way. Therefore Siptah and the powerful
priest who was to proclaim him king were urged to the utmost haste.

The necessary measures had been adopted in case of possible resistance
from the army; for as soon as the Hebrews had been destroyed, the
larger portion of the troops, without any suspicion of the impending
dethronement of their commander-in-chief, would be sent to their former
stations. The body-guards were devoted to Siptah, and the others
who entered the capital, should worst come to worst, could be easily
overpowered by Aarsu and his mercenaries.

“There is nothing farther for me to do,” said the prince, “stretching
himself comfortably, like a man who has successfully accomplished a
toilsome task,” except to rush back to Tanis in a few hours with Bai,
have myself crowned and proclaimed king in the temple of Amon, and
finally received in the palace as Pharaoh. The rest will take care
of itself. Seti, whom they call the heir to the throne, is just such
another weakling as his father, and must submit to a fixed fact, or if
necessary, be forced to do so. The captain of the body-guards will see
that Menephtah does not again enter the palace in the city of Rameses.

The second letter which was addressed to the Pharaoh, had been
written by the mother of the prince in order to recall her son and the
chief-priest Bai to the capital as quickly as possible, without exposing
the former to the reproach of cowardice for having quitted the army
so shortly before the battle. Though she had never been better, she
protested with hypocritical complaints and entreaties, that the hours
of her life were numbered, and besought the king to send her son and the
chief-priest Bai to her without delay, that she might be permitted to
bless her only child before her death.

She was conscious of many a sin, and no one, save the high-priest,
possessed the power of winning the favor of the gods for her, a dying
woman. Without his intercession she would perish in despair.

This letter, too, the base robber of a crown read aloud, called it a
clever bit of feminine strategy, and rubbed his hands gleefully.

Treason, murder, hypocrisy, fraud, shameful abuse of the most sacred
feelings, nay all that was evil must serve Siptah to steal the throne,
and though Kasana had wrung her hands and shed tears when she heard
that he meant to remove Pharaoh from his path, she grew calmer after
the prince had represented that her own father had approved of his
arrangements for the deliverance of Egypt from the hand of the king, her
destroyer.

The letter from the prince’s mother to Pharaoh, the mother who urged her
own son to the most atrocious crimes, was the last thing Ephraim heard;
for it roused in the young Hebrew, who was wont to consider nothing
purer and more sacred than the bonds which united parents and children,
such fierce indignation, that he raised his fist threateningly and,
springing up, opened his lips in muttered invective.

He did not hear that Kasana made the prince swear that, if he attained
the sovereign power, he would grant her first request. It should cost
him neither money nor lands, and only give her the right to exercise
mercy where her heart demanded it; for things were in store which must
challenge the wrath of the gods and he must leave her to soothe it.

Ephraim could not endure to see or hear more of these abominable things.

For the first time he felt how great a danger he ran of being dragged
into this marsh and becoming a lost, evil man; but never, he thought,
would he have been so corrupt, so worthless, as this prince. His uncle’s
words again returned to his mind, and he now raised his head proudly
and arched his chest as if to assure himself of his own unbroken vigor,
saying meanwhile, with a long breath, that he was of too much worth to
ruin himself for the sake of a wicked woman, even though, like Kasana,
she was the fairest and most bewitching under the sun.

Away, away from the neighborhood of this net, which threatened to
entangle him in murder and every deed of infamy.

Resolved to seek his people, he turned toward the gate of the camp, but
after a few hasty steps paused, and a glance at the sky showed him
that it was the second hour past midnight. Every surrounding object
was buried in silence save that from the neighboring Dens of the royal
steeds, came the sound of the rattle of a chain, or of the stamp of a
stallion’s hoof.

If he risked escaping from the camp now, he could not fail to be seen
and stopped. Prudence commanded him to curb his impatience and, as he
glanced around, his eyes rested on the chamberlain’s tent from which the
old slave had just emerged to look for his master, who was still waiting
in the prince’s tent for his lord’s return.

The old man had treated Ephraim kindly, and now asked him with
good-natured urgency to come in and rest; for the youth needed sleep.

And Ephraim accepted the well-meant invitation. He felt for the first
time how weary his feet were, and he had scarcely stretched himself upon
the mat which the old slave--it was his own--spread on the floor of
the tent for him, ere the feeling came over him that his limbs were
relaxing; and yet he had expected to find here time and rest for calm
deliberation.

He began, too, to think of the future and his uncle’s commission.

That he must join his people without delay was decided. If they escaped
Pharaoh’s army, the others could do what they pleased, his duty was to
summon his shepherds, servants, and the youths of his own age, and with
them hurry to the mines to break Joshua’s chains and bring him back to
his old father and the people who needed him. He already saw himself
with a sling in his girdle and a battle-axe in his hand, rushing on in
advance of the others, when sleep overpowered him and bound the sorely
wearied youth so firmly and sweetly that even dreams remained aloof from
his couch and when morning came the old slave was obliged to shake him
to rouse him.

The camp was already pervaded with bustling life. Tents were struck,
asses and ox-carts laden, steeds curried and newly-shod, chariots
washed, weapons and harnesses cleaned, breakfast was distributed and
eaten.

At intervals the blare of trumpets was heard in one direction, loudly
shouted commands in another, and from the eastern portion of the camp
echoed the chanting of the priests, who devoutly greeted the new-born
sun-god.

A gilded chariot, followed by a similar one, drove up to the costly
purple tent beside Kasana’s, which active servants were beginning to
take down.

Prince Siptah and the chief-priest Bai had received Pharaoh’s permission
to set off for Tanis, to fulfil the wish of a “dying woman.”

Soon after Ephraim took leave of the old slave and bade him give
Kasana’s nurse the cloak and tell her that the messenger had followed
her advice and his uncle’s.

Then he set off on his walk.

He escaped unchallenged from the Egyptian camp and, as he entered the
wilderness, he heard the shout with which he called his shepherds in
the pastures. The cry, resounding far over the plain, startled a
sparrow-hawk which was gazing into the distance from a rock and, as the
bird soared upward, the youth fancied that if he stretched out his arms,
wings must unfold strong enough to bear him also through the air. Never
had he felt so light and active, so strong and free, nay had the priest
at this hour asked him the question whether he would accept the office
of a captain of thousands in the Egyptian army, he would undoubtedly
have answered, as he did before the ruined house of Nun, that his sole
desire was to remain a shepherd and rule his flocks and servants.

He was an orphan, but he had a nation, and where his people were was his
home.

Like a wanderer, who, after a long journey, sees his home in the
distance, he quickened his pace.

He had reached Tanis on the night of the new moon and the round silver
shield which was paling in the morning light was the same which had then
risen before his eyes. Yet it seemed as though years lay between his
farewell of Miriam and the present hour, and the experiences of a life
had been compressed into these few days.

He had left his tribe a boy; he returned a man; yet, thanks to this one
terrible night, he had remained unchanged, he could look those whom he
loved and reverenced fearlessly in the face.

Nay, more!

He would show the man whom he most esteemed that he, too, Ephraim, could
hold his head high. He would repay Joshua for what he had done, when he
remained in chains and captivity that he, his nephew, might go forth as
free as a bird.

After hurrying onward an hour, he reached a ruined watch-tower,
climbed to its summit, and saw, at a short distance beyond the mount
of Baal-zephon, which had long towered majestically on the horizon, the
glittering northern point of the Red Sea.

The storm, it is true, had subsided, but he perceived by the surging of
its emerald surface that the sea was by no means calm, and single black
clouds in the sky, elsewhere perfectly clear, seemed to indicate an
approaching tempest.

He gazed around him asking himself what the leader of the people
probably intended, if--as the prince had told Kasana--they had encamped
between Pihahiroth--whose huts and tents rose before him on the narrow
gulf the northwestern arm of the Red Sea thrust into the land--and the
mount of Baal-zephon.

Had Siptah lied in this too?

No. This time the malicious traitor had departed from his usual custom;
for between the sea and the village, where the wind was blowing slender
columns of smoke asunder, his falcon-eye discovered many light spots
resembling a distant flock of sheep, and among and beside them a
singular movement to and fro upon the sands.

It was the camp of his people.

How short seemed the distance that separated him from them!

Yet the nearer it was, the greater became his anxiety lest the great
multitude, with the women and children, herds and tents, could not
escape the vast army which must overtake them in a few hours.

His heart shrank as he gazed around him; for neither to the east, where
a deeper estuary was surging, nor southward, where the Red Sea tossed
its angry waves, nor even toward the north, whence Pharaoh’s army was
marching, was escape possible. To the west lay the wilderness of
Aean, and if the wanderers escaped in that direction, and were pressed
farther, they would again enter Egyptian soil and the exodus would be
utterly defeated.

So there was nothing left save to risk a battle, and at the thought
a chill ran through the youth’s veins; for he knew how badly armed,
untrained, savage, unmanageable, and cowardly were the men of his race,
and had witnessed the march of the powerful, well-equipped Egyptian
army, with its numerous foot-soldiers and superb war-chariots.

To him now, as to his uncle a short time before, his people seemed
doomed to certain destruction, unless succored by the God of his
fathers. In former years, and just before his departure, Miriam, with
sparkling eyes and enthusiastic words, had praised the power and majesty
of this omnipotent Lord, who preferred his people above all other
nations; but the lofty words of the prophetess had filled his childish
heart with a slight fear of the unapproachable greatness and terrible
wrath of this God.

It had been easier for him to uplift his soul to the sun-god, when his
teacher, a kind and merry-hearted Egyptian priest, led him to the temple
of Pithom. In later years he had felt no necessity of appealing to any
god; for he lacked nothing, and while other boys obeyed their parents’
commands, the shepherds, who well knew that the flocks they tended
belonged to him, called him their young master, and first in jest,
then in earnest, paid him all the honor due a ruler, which prematurely
increased his self-importance and made him an obstinate fellow.

He whom stalwart, strong men obeyed, was sufficient unto himself, and
felt that others needed him and, as nothing was more difficult for him
than to ask a favor, great or small, from any one, he rebelled against
praying to a God so far off and high above him.

But now, when his heart was oppressed by the terrible destiny that
threatened his people, he was overwhelmed by the feeling that only
the Greatest and Mightiest could deliver them from this terrible,
unspeakable peril, as if no one could withstand this powerful army, save
He whose might could destroy heaven and earth.

What were they that the Most High, whom Miriam and Hosea described as so
pre-eminently great, should care for them? Yet his people numbered many
thousands, and God had not disdained to make them His, and promise
great things for them in the future. Now they were on the verge of
destruction, and he, Ephraim, who came from the camp of the enemy, was
perhaps the sole person who saw the full extent of the danger.

Suddenly he was filled with the conviction that it was incumbent upon
him, above all others, to tell the God of his fathers,--who perhaps in
caring for earth and heaven, sun and stars, had forgotten the fate of
His people--of the terrible danger impending, and beseech Him to save
them. He was still standing on the top of the ruined tower, and raised
his arms and face toward heaven.

In the north he saw the black clouds which he had noticed in the blue
sky swiftly massing and rolling hither and thither. The wind, which
had subsided after sunrise, was increasing in strength and power, and
rapidly becoming a storm. It swept across the isthmus in gusts, which
followed one another more and more swiftly, driving before them dense
clouds of yellow sand.

He must lift up his voice loudly, that the God to whom he prayed might
hear him in His lofty heaven, so, with all the strength of his young
lungs, he shouted into the storm:

“Adonai, Adonai! Thou, whom they call Jehovah, mighty God of my
fathers, hear me, Ephraim, a young inexperienced lad, of whom, in his
insignificance, Thou hast probably never thought. I ask nothing for
myself. But the people, whom Thou dost call Thine, are in sore peril.
They have left durable houses and good pastures because Thou didst
promise them a better and more beautiful land, and they trusted in Thee
and Thy promises. But now the army of Pharaoh is approaching, so great a
host that our people will never be able to resist it. Thou must believe
this, Eli, my Lord. I have seen it and been in its midst. So surely as I
stand here, I know that it is too mighty for Thy people. Pharaoh’s power
will crush them as the hoofs of the cattle trample the grain on the
threshing-floor. And my people, who are also Thine, are encamped in a
spot where Pharaoh’s warriors can cut them down from all directions, so
that there is no way for them to fly, not one. I saw it distinctly from
this very spot. Hear me now, Adonai. But canst Thou hear my words,
oh Lord, in such a tempest? Surely Thou canst; for they call Thee
omnipotent and, if Thou dost hear me and dost understand the meaning of
my words, Thou wilt see with Thy mighty eyes, if such is Thy will, that
I speak the truth. Then Thou wilt surely remember the vow Thou didst
make to the people through Thy servant Moses.

“Among the Egyptians, I have witnessed treachery and murder and
shameful wiles; their deeds have filled me, who am myself but a sinful,
inexperienced youth, with horror and indignation. How couldst Thou, from
whom all good is said to proceed, and whom Miriam calls truth itself,
act like those abominable men and break faith with those who trusted
in Thee? I know, Thou great and mighty One, that this is far from
Thee, nay, perhaps it is a sin even to cherish such a thought. Hear me,
Adonai! Look northward at the troops of the Egyptians, who will surely
soon leave their camp and march forward, and southward to the peril of
Thy people, for whom escape is no longer possible, and Thou wilt rescue
them by Thy omnipotence and great wisdom; for Thou hast promised them a
new country, and if they are destroyed, how can they reach it?”

With these words he finished his prayer, which, though boyish and
incoherent, gushed from the inmost depths of his heart. Then he sprang
with long leaps from the ruined tower to the barren plain at his feet,
and ran southward as fleetly as if he were escaping from captivity a
second time. He felt how the wind rushing from the north-east urged
him forward, and told himself that it would also hasten the march of
Pharaoh’s soldiers. Perhaps the leaders of his people did not yet know
how vast was the military power that threatened them, and undervalued
the danger in which their position placed them. But he saw it, and could
give them every information. Haste was necessary, and he felt as though
he had gained wings in this race with the storm.

The village of Pihahiroth was soon gained, and while dashing by it
without pausing, he noticed that its huts and tents were deserted by men
and cattle. Perhaps its inhabitants had fled with their property to a
place of safety before the advancing Egyptian troops or the hosts of his
own people.

The farther he went, the more cloudy became the sky,--which here so
rarely failed to show a sunny vault of blue at noonday,--the more
fiercely howled the tempest. His thick locks fluttered wildly around his
burning head, he panted for breath, yet flew on, on, while his sandals
seemed to him to scarcely touch the ground.

The nearer he came to the sea, the louder grew the howling and whistling
of the storm, the more furious the roar of the waves dashing against the
rocks of Baal-zephon. Now--a short hour after he had left the tower--he
reached the first tents of the camp, and the familiar cry: “Unclean!” as
well as the mourning-robes of those whose scaly, disfigured faces
looked forth from the ruins of the tents which the storm had overthrown,
informed him that he had reached the lepers, whom Moses had commanded to
remain outside the camp.

Yet so great was his haste that, instead of making a circuit around
their quarter, he dashed straight through it at his utmost speed. Nor
did he pause even when a lofty palm, uprooted by the tempest, fell to
the ground so close beside him that the fan-shaped leaves in its crown
brushed his face.

At last he gained the tents and pinfolds of his people, not a few of
which had also been overthrown, and asked the first acquaintances he met
for Nun, the father of his dead mother and of Joshua.

He had gone down to the shore with Moses and other elders of the people.
Ephraim followed him there, and the damp, salt sea-air refreshed him and
cooled his brow.

Yet he could not instantly get speech with him, so he collected his
thoughts, and recovered his breath, while watching the men whom he
sought talking eagerly with some gaily-clad Phoenician sailors. A youth
like Ephraim might not venture to interrupt the grey-haired heads of the
people in the discussion, which evidently referred to the sea; for the
Hebrews constantly pointed to the end of the bay, and the Phoenicians
sometimes thither, sometimes to the mountain and the sky, sometimes to
the north, the center of the still increasing tempest.

A projecting wall sheltered the old men from the hurricane, yet they
found it difficult to stand erect, even while supported by their staves
and clinging to the stones of the masonry.

At last the conversation ended and while the youth saw the gigantic
figure of Moses go with slow, yet firm steps among the leaders of the
Hebrews down to the shore of the sea, Nun, supported by one of his
shepherds, was working his way with difficulty, but as rapidly as
possible toward the camp. He wore a mourning-robe, and while the others
looked joyous and hopeful when they parted, his handsome face, framed by
its snow-white beard and hair, had the expression of one whose mind and
body were burdened by grief.

Not until Ephraim called him did he raise his drooping leonine head, and
when he saw him he started back in surprise and terror, and clung more
firmly to the strong arm of the shepherd who supported him.

Tidings of the cruel fate of his son and grandson had reached him
through the freed slaves he had left in Tanis; and the old man had torn
his garments, strewed ashes on his head, donned mourning robes,
and grieved bitterly for his beloved, noble, only son and promising
grandson.

Now Ephraim was standing before him; and after Nun had laid his hand on
his shoulders, and kissed him again and again, he asked if his son was
still alive and remembered him and his people.

As soon as the youth had joyfully assured him that such was the case,
Nun threw his arms around the boy’s shoulders, that henceforth his own
blood, instead of a stranger, should protect him from the violence of
the storm.

He had grave and urgent duties to fulfil, from which nothing might
withhold him. Yet as the fiery youth shouted into his ear, through the
roar of the hurricane, on their way through the camp, that he would
summon his shepherds and the companions of his own age to release Hosea,
who now called himself Joshua, old Nun’s impetuous spirit awoke and,
clasping Ephraim closer to his heart, he cried out that though an
old man he was not yet too aged to swing an axe and go with Ephraim’s
youthful band to liberate his son. His eyes sparkled through his tears,
and waving his free arm aloft, he cried:

“The God of my fathers, on whom I learned to rely, watches over His
faithful people. Do you see the sand, sea-weed, and shells yonder at the
end of the estuary? An hour ago the place was covered with water, and
roaring waves were dashing their white spray upward. That is the
way, boy, which promises escape; if the wind holds, the water--so the
experienced Phoenicians assure us--will recede still farther toward
the sea. Their god of the north wind, they say, is favorable to us,
and their boys are already lighting a fire to him on the summit of
Baal-zephon yonder, but we know that it is Another, Who is opening to us
a path to the desert. We were in evil case, my boy!”

“Yes, grandfather!” cried the youth. “You were trapped like lions in
the snare, and the Egyptian host--it passed me from the first man to the
last--is mighty and unconquerable. I hurried as fast as my feet could
carry me to tell you how many heavily-armed troops, bowmen, steeds, and
chariots....”

“We know, we know,” the old man interrupted, “but here we are.”

He pointed to an overturned tent which his servants were trying to prop,
and beside which an aged Hebrew, his father Elishama, wrapped in cloth,
sat in the chair in which he was carried by bearers.

Nun hastily shouted a few words and led Ephraim toward him. But while
the youth was embracing his great-grandfather, who hugged and caressed
him, Nun, with youthful vivacity, was issuing orders to the shepherds
and servants:

“Let the tent fall, men! The storm has begun the work for you! Wrap
the covering round the poles, load the carts and beasts of burden. Move
briskly, You, Gaddi, Shamma, and Jacob, join the others! The hour for
departure has come! Everybody must hasten to harness the animals, put
them in the wagons, and prepare all things as fast as possible. The
Almighty shows us the way, and every one must hasten, in His name and
by the command of Moses. Keep strictly to the old order. We head the
procession, then come the other tribes, lastly the strangers and leprous
men and women. Rejoice, oh, ye people; for our God is working a great
miracle and making the sea dry land for us, His chosen people. Let
everyone thank Him while working, and pray from the depths of the heart
that He will continue to protect us. Let all who do not desire to be
slain by the sword and crushed by the weight of Pharaoh’s chariots put
forth their best strength and forget rest! That will await us as soon as
we have escaped the present peril. Down with the tent-cover yonder;
I’ll roll it up myself. Lay hold, boy! Look across at the children of
Manasseh, they are already packing and loading. That’s right, Ephraim,
you know how to use your hands!

“What more have we to do! My head, my forgetful old head! So much has
come upon me at once! You have nimble feet, Raphu;--I undertook to warn
the strangers to prepare for a speedy departure. Run quickly and hurry
them, that they may not linger too far behind the people. Time is
precious! Lord, Lord, my God, extend Thy protecting hand over Thy
people, and roll the waves still farther back with the tempest,
Thy mighty breath! Let every one pray silently while working, the
Omnipresent One, Who sees the heart, will hear it. That load is too
heavy for you, Ephraim, you are lifting beyond your strength. No. The
youth has mastered it. Follow his example, men, and ye of Succoth,
rejoice in your master’s strength.”

The last words were addressed to Ephraim’s shepherds, men and maid
servants, most of whom shouted a greeting to him in the midst of their
work, kissed his arm or hand, and rejoiced at his return. They
were engaged in packing and wrapping their goods, and in gathering,
harnessing, and loading the animals, which could only be kept together
by blows and shouts.

The people from Succoth wished to vie with their young master, those
from Tanis with their lord’s grandson, and the other owners of flocks
and lesser men of the tribe of Ephraim, whose tents surrounded that of
their chief Nun, did the same, in order not to be surpassed by others;
yet several hours elapsed ere all the tents, household utensils, and
provisions for man and beast were again in their places on the animals
and in the carts, and the aged, feeble and sick had been laid on litters
or in wagons.

Sometimes the gale bore from the distance to the spot where the
Ephraimites were busily working the sound of Moses’ deep voice or the
higher tones of Aaron. But neither they nor the men of the tribe of
Judah heeded the monition; for the latter were ruled by Hur and Naashon,
and beside the former stood his newly-wedded wife Miriam. It was
different with the other tribes and the strangers, to the obstinacy and
cowardice of whose chiefs was due the present critical position of the
people.




CHAPTER XXII.

To break through the center of the Etham line of fortifications and
march toward the north-east along the nearest road leading to Palestine
had proved impossible; but Moses’ second plan of leading the people
around the Migdol of the South had also been baffled; for spies had
reported that the garrison of the latter had been greatly strengthened.
Then the multitude had pressed around the man of God, declaring
that they would rather return home with their families and appeal to
Pharaoh’s mercy than to let themselves, their wives, and their families
be slaughtered.

Several days had been spent in detaining them; but when other messengers
brought tidings that Pharaoh was approaching with a powerful army the
time seemed to have come when the wanderers, in the utmost peril, might
be forced to break through the forts, and Moses exerted the full might
of his commanding personality, Aaron the whole power of his seductive
eloquence, while old Nun and Hur essayed to kindle the others with their
own bold spirit.

But the terrible news had robbed the majority of the last vestige of
self reliance and trust in God, and they had already resolved to assure
Pharaoh of their repentance when the messengers whom, without their
leader’s knowledge, they had sent forth, returned, announcing that the
approaching army had been commanded to spare no Hebrew, and to show
by the sharp edge of the sword, even to those who sued for mercy, how
Pharaoh punished the men by whose shameful sorcery misery and woe had
come upon so many Egyptians.

Then, too late, they became aware that to return would ensure more
speedy destruction than to boldly press forward. But when the men
capable of bearing arms followed Hur and Nun to the Migdol of the South,
they turned to fly at the defiant blare of the Egyptian war trumpets.
When they came back to the camp with weary limbs, depressed and
disheartened, new and exaggerated reports of Pharaoh’s military force
had reached the people, and now terror and despair had taken possession
of the bolder men. Every admonition was vain, every threat derided, and
the rebellious people had forced their leaders to go with them till,
after a short march, they reached the Red Sea, whose deep green waves
had forced them to pause in their southward flight.

So they had encamped between Pihahiroth and Baal-zephon, and here the
leaders again succeeded in turning the attention of the despairing
people to the God of their fathers.

In the presence of sure destruction, from which no human power could
save them, they had again learned to raise their eyes to Heaven; but
Moses’ soul had once more been thrilled with anxiety and compassion for
the poor, sorely afflicted bands who had followed his summons.
During the night preceding, he had climbed one of the lower peaks of
Baal-zephon and, amid the raging of the tempest and the roar of the
hissing surges, sought the Lord his God, and felt his presence near him.
He, too, had not wearied of pleading the need of his people and adjuring
him to save them.

At the same hour Miriam, the wife of Hur, had gone to the sea-shore
where, under a solitary palmtree, she addressed the same petition to her
God, whose trusted servant she still felt herself. Here she besought Him
to remember the women and children who, trusting in Him, had wandered
forth into distant lands. She had also knelt to pray for the friend of
her youth, languishing in terrible captivity; but had only cried in low,
timid accents: “Oh, Lord, do not forget the hapless Hosea, whom at Thy
bidding I called Joshua, though he showed himself less obedient to Thy
will than Moses, my brother, and Hur, my husband. Remember also the
youthful Ephraim, the grandson of Nun, Thy faithful servant.”

Then she returned to the tent of the chief, her husband, while many a
lowly man and poor anxious woman, before their rude tents or on their
thin, tear-drenched mats, uplifted their terrified souls to the God of
their fathers and besought His care for those who were dearest to their
hearts.

So, in this night of utmost need, the camp had become a temple in which
high and low, the heads of families and the housewives, masters and
slaves, nay, even the afflicted lepers sought and found their God.

At last the morning came on which Ephraim had shouted his childish
prayer amid the roaring of the storm, and the waters of the sea had
begun to recede.

When the Hebrews beheld with their own eyes the miracle that the
Most High was working for His chosen people, even the discouraged and
despairing became believing and hopeful.

Not only the Ephraimites, but the other tribes, the foreigners, and
lepers felt the influence of the newly-awakened joyous confidence, which
urged each individual to put forth all his powers to prepare for the
journey and, for the first time, the multitude gathered and formed into
ranks without strife, bickering, deeds of violence, curses, and tears.

After sunset Moses, holding his staff uplifted, and Aaron, singing and
praying, entered at the head of the procession the end of the bay.

The storm, which continued to rage with the same violence, had swept the
water out of it and blew the flame and smoke of the torches carried by
the tribes toward the south-west.

The chief leaders, on whom all eyes rested with trusting eagerness, were
followed by old Nun and the Ephraimites. The bottom of the sea on which
they trod was firm, moist sand, on which even the herds could walk as if
it were a smooth road, sloping gently toward the sea.

Ephraim, in whom the elders now saw the future chief, had been
entrusted, at his grandfather’s suggestion, with the duty of seeing
that the procession did not stop and, for this purpose, had been given
a leader’s staff; for the fishermen whose huts stood at the foot of
Baal-zephon, like the Phoenicians, believed that when the moon reached
her zenith the sea would return to its old bed, and therefore all delay
was to be avoided.

The youth enjoyed the storm, and when his locks fluttered and he battled
victoriously against the gale in rushing hither and thither, as his
office required, it seemed to him a foretaste of the venture he had in
view.

So the procession moved on through the darkness which had speedily
followed the dusk of evening. The acrid odor of the sea-weed and fishes
which had been left stranded pleased the boy,--who felt that he had
matured into manhood,--better than the sweet fragrance of spikenard in
Kasana’s tent. Once the memory of it flashed through his brain, but with
that exception there was not a moment during these hours which gave him
time to think of her.

He had his hands full of work; sometimes a heap of sea-weed flung on the
path by a wave must be removed; sometimes a ram, the leader of a flock,
refused to step on the wet sand and must be dragged forward by the
horns, or cattle and beasts of burden must be driven through a pool of
water from which they shrank.

Often, too, he was obliged to brace his shoulder against a heavily-laden
cart, whose wheels had sunk too deeply into the soft sand; and when,
even during this strange, momentous march, two bands of shepherds began
to dispute about precedence close to the Egyptian shore, he quickly
settled the dispute by making them draw lots to decide which party
should go first.

Two little girls who, crying bitterly, refused to wade through a pool
of water, while their mother was busy with the infant in her arms, he
carried with prompt decision through the shallow puddle, and the cart
with a broken wheel he had moved aside by the light of the torches and
commanded some stalwart bondmen, who were carrying only small bundles,
to load themselves with the sacks and bales, nay, even the fragments of
the vehicle. He uttered a word of cheer to weeping women and children
and, when the light of a torch fell upon the face of a companion of
his own age, whose aid he hoped to obtain for the release of Joshua, he
briefly told him that there was a bold adventure in prospect which he
meant to dare in concert with him.

The torch-bearers who usually headed the procession this time were
obliged to close its ranks, for the storm raging from the northeast
would have blown the smoke into the people’s faces. They stood on the
Egyptian shore, and already the whole train had passed them except
the lepers who, following the strangers, were the last of the whole
multitude.

These “strangers” were a motley crew, comprising Asiatics of Semitic
blood, who had escaped from the bondage or severe punishments which the
Egyptian law imposed, traders who expected to find among the wanderers
purchasers of their wares, or Shasu shepherds, whose return was
prohibited by the officials on the frontier. Ephraim had much trouble
with them, for they refused to leave the firm land until the lepers had
been forced to keep farther away from them; yet the youth, with the aid
of the elders of the tribe of Benjamin, who preceded them, brought
them also to obedience by threatening them with the prediction of the
Phoenicians and the fishermen that the moon, when it had passed its
zenith, would draw the sea back to its old bed.

Finally he persuaded the leader of the lepers, who had once been an
Egyptian priest, to keep at least half the distance demanded.

Meanwhile the tempest had continued to blow with increased violence, and
its howling and whistling, blended with the roar of the dashing waves
and the menacing thunder of the surf, drowned the elders’ shouts of
command, the terrified shrieks of the children, the lowing and bleating
of the trembling herds, and the whining of the dogs. Ephraim’s voice
could be heard only by those nearest and, moreover, many of the torches
were extinguished, while others were kept burning with the utmost
difficulty. Seeking to recover his wind and get a little rest, he walked
slowly for a time over the damp sand behind the last lepers, when he
heard some one call his name and, turning, he saw one of his former
playmates, who was returning from a reconnoitring expedition and who,
with the sweat pouring from his brow and panting breath, shouted into
the ear of the youth, in whose hand he saw the staff of a leader, that
Pharaoh’s chariots were approaching at the head of his army. He had left
them at Pihahiroth and, if they did not stop there to give the other
troops time to join them, they might overtake the fugitives at any
moment. With these words he darted past the lepers to join the leaders;
but Ephraim stopped in the middle of the road, pressing his hand upon
his brow, while a new burden of care weighed heavily upon his soul.

He knew that the approaching army would crush the men, women, and
children whose touching fear and helplessness he had just beheld, as
a man’s foot tramples on an ant-bill, and again every instinct of his
being urged him to pray, while from his oppressed heart the imploring
cry rose through the darkness:

“Eli, Eli, great God most high! Thou knowest--for I have told Thee, and
Thine all-seeing eye must perceive it, spite of the darkness of this
night--the strait of Thy people, whom Thou hast promised to lead into a
new country. Remember Thy vow, Jehovah! Be merciful unto us, Thou great
and mighty one! Our foe is approaching with resistless power! Stay him!
Save us! Protect the poor women and children! Save us, be merciful to
us!”

During this prayer he had raised his eyes heavenward and saw on the
summit of Baal-zephon the red blaze of a fire. It had been lighted by
the Phoenicians to make the Baal of the north-wind favorable to the men
of kindred race and hostile to the hated Egyptians. This was a kindly
deed; but he put his trust in another God and, as his eye glanced over
the vault of heaven and noted the grey and black storm-clouds scurrying,
gathering, parting, and then rushing in new directions, he perceived
between two dispersing masses of clouds the silvery light of the full
moon, which had now attained her zenith.

Fresh anxiety assailed him; for he remembered the prediction of men
skilled in the changes of winds and waves. If the sea should now return
to its ancient bed, his people would be lost; for there was no escape,
even toward the north, where deep pools of water were standing amid the
mire and cliffs. Should the waves flow back within the next hour, the
seed of Abraham would be effaced from the earth, as writing inscribed on
wax disappears from the tablet under the pressure of a warm hand.

Yet was not this people thus marked for destruction, the nation which
the Lord had chosen for His own? Could He deliver it into the hand of
those who were also His own foes?

No, no, a thousand times no!

And the moon, which was to cause this destruction, had but a short time
before been the ally of his flight and favored him. Only let him keep up
his hope and faith and not lose confidence.

Nothing, nothing was lost as yet.

Come what might, the whole nation need not perish, and his own tribe,
which marched at the head of the procession, certainly would not; for
many must have reached the opposite shore, nay, perhaps more than he
supposed; for the bay was not wide, and even the lepers, the last of the
train, had already advanced some distance across the wet sand.

Ephraim now remained alone behind them all to listen to the approach of
the hostile chariots. He laid his ear to the ground on the shore of the
bay, and he could trust to the sharpness of his hearing; how often, in
this attitude, he had caught the distant tramp of stray cattle or, while
hunting, the approach of a herd of antelopes or gazelles.

As the last, he was in the greatest danger; but what cared he for that?

How gladly he would have sacrificed his young life to save the others.

Since he had held in his hand the leader’s staff, it seemed to him as if
he had assumed the duty of watching over his people, so he listened and
listened till he could hear a slight trembling of the ground and finally
a low rumble. That was the foe, that must be Pharaoh’s chariots, and how
swiftly the proud steeds whirled them forward.

Springing up as if a lash had struck him, he dashed on to urge the
others to hasten.

How oppressively sultry the air had grown, spite of the raging storm
which extinguished so many torches! The moon was concealed by clouds,
but the flickering fire on the summit of the lofty height of Baal-zephon
blazed brighter and brighter. The sparks that rose from the midst of the
flames glittered as they swept westward; for the wind now came more from
the east.

Scarcely had he noticed this, when he hurried back to the boys bearing
pans of pitch who closed the procession, to command them in the utmost
haste to fill the copper vessels afresh and see that the smoke rose in
dense, heavy clouds; for, he said to himself, the storm will drive the
smoke into the faces of the stallions who draw the chariots and frighten
or stop them.

No means seemed to him too insignificant, every moment that could be
gained was precious; and as soon as he had convinced himself that
the smoke-clouds were pouring densely from the vessels and making it
difficult to breathe the air of the path over which the people had
passed, he hurried forward, shouting to the elders whom he overtook that
Pharaoh’s chariots were close at hand and the march must be hastened.
At once pedestrians, bearers, drivers, and shepherds exerted all their
strength to advance faster; and though the wind, which blew more and
more from the east, impeded their progress, all struggled stoutly
against it, and dread of their approaching pursuers doubled their
strength.

The youth seemed to the heads of the tribes, who nodded approval
wherever he appeared, like a shepherd dog guarding and urging the flock;
and when he had slipped through the moving bands and battled his way
forward against the storm, the east wind bore to his ears as if in
reward a strange shout; for the nearer he came to its source, the louder
it rang, and the more surely he perceived that it was a cry of joy and
exultation, the first that had burst from a Hebrew’s breast for many a
long day.

It refreshed Ephraim like a cool drink after long thirsting, and he
could not refrain from shouting aloud and crying joyously to the others:
“Saved, saved!” Two tribes had already reached the eastern shore of the
bay and were raising the glad shouts which, with the fires blazing in
huge pans on the shore, kindled the courage of the approaching fugitives
and braced their failing strength. Ephraim saw by their light the
majestic figure of Moses on a hill by the sea, extending his staff
over the waters, and the spectacle impressed him, like all the other
fugitives, from the highest to the lowest, more deeply than aught else
and strongly increased the courage of his heart. This man was indeed
the trusted servant of the Most High, and so long as he held his staff
uplifted, the waves seemed spell-bound, and through him God forbade
their return.

He, Ephraim, need no longer appeal to the Omnipotent One--that was the
appointed task of this great and exalted personage; but he must continue
to fulfil his little duty of watching the progress of individuals.

Back against the stream of fugitives to the lepers and torch-bearers he
hastened, shouting to each division, “Saved! Saved! They have gained the
goal. Moses’ staff is staying the waves. Many have already reached
the shore. Thank the Lord! Forward, that you, too, may join in the
rejoicing! Fix your eyes on the two red beacons! The rescued ones
lighted them! The servant of the Lord is standing between them with
uplifted staff.”

Then, kneeling on the wet sand, he again pressed his ear to the ground,
and now heard distinctly, close at hand, the rattle of wheels and the
swift beat of horses’ hoofs.

But while still listening, the noise gradually ceased, and he heard
nothing save the howling of the furious storm and the threatening dash
of the surging waves, or a single cry borne by the east wind.

The chariots had reached the dry portion of the bay and lingered
some time ere they continued their way along this dangerous path; but
suddenly the Egyptian war-cry rang out, and the rattle of wheels was
again heard. They advanced more slowly than before but faster than the
people could walk.

For the Egyptians also the road remained dry; but if his people only
kept a short distance in advance he need feel no anxiety; during the
night the rescued tribes could disperse among the mountains and hide in
places where no chariots nor horses could follow. Moses knew this region
where he had lived so long as a fugitive; it was only necessary to
inform him of the close vicinity of the foe. So he trusted one of his
play-fellows of the tribe of Benjamin with the message, and the latter
had not far to go to reach the shore. He himself remained behind to
watch the approaching army; for already, without stooping or listening,
spite of the storm raging around him, he heard the rattle of wheels and
the neighing of the horses. But the lepers, whose ears also caught the
sound, wailed and lamented, feeling themselves in imagination flung to
the ground, crushed by the chariots, or crowded into a watery grave,
for the pathway had grown narrower and the sea seemed to be trying in
earnest to regain the land it had lost.

The men and cattle could no longer advance in ranks as wide as before,
and while the files of the hurrying bodies narrowed they lengthened, and
precious time was lost. Those on the right were already wading through
the rising water in haste and terror; for already the commands of the
Egyptian leaders were heard in the distance.

But the enemy was evidently delayed, and Ephraim easily perceived the
cause of their diminished speed; for the road constantly grew softer and
the narrow wheels of the chariots cut deeply into it and perhaps sank to
the axles.

Protected by the darkness, he glided forward toward the pursuers, as far
as he could, and heard here a curse, yonder a fierce command to ply the
lash more vigorously; at last he distinctly heard one leader exclaim to
the man next him:

“Accursed folly! If they had only let us start before noon, and not
waited until the omen had been consulted and Anna had been installed
with all due solemnity in Bai’s place, it would have been easy work, and
we should have caught them like a flock of quail! The chief-priest
was wont to bear himself stoutly in the field, and now he gives up the
command because a dying woman touches his heart.”

“Siptah’s mother!” said another soothingly. “Yet, after all, twenty
princesses ought not to have turned him from his duty to us. Had he
remained, there would have been no need of scourging our steeds to
death, and that at an hour when every sensible leader lets his men
gather round the camp-fires to eat their suppers and play draughts. Look
to the horses, Heter! We are fast in the sand again!”

A loud out-cry rose behind the first chariot, and Ephraim heard another
voice shout:

“Forward, if it costs the horses their lives!”

“If return were possible,” said the commander of the chariot-soldiers,
a relative of the king, “I would go back now. But as matters are, one
would tumble over the other. So forward, whatever it may cost. We are
close on their heels. Halt! Halt! That accursed stinging smoke! Wait,
you dogs! As soon as the pathway widens, we’ll run you down with scant
ceremony, and may the gods deprive me of a day of life for each one I
spare! Another torch out! One can’t see one’s hand before one’s face!
At a time like this a beggar’s crutch would be better than a leader’s
staff.”

“And an executioner’s noose round the neck rather than a gold chain!”
 said another with a fierce oath.

“If the moon would only appear again! Because the astrologers predicted
that it would shine in full splendor from evening till morning, I myself
advised the late departure, turning night into day. If it were only
lighter!...”

But this sentence remained unfinished, for a gust of wind, bursting like
a wild beast from the south-eastern ravine of Mount Baal-zephon, rushed
upon the fugitives, and a high wave drenched Ephraim from head to foot.

Gasping for breath, he flung back his hair and wiped his eyes; but loud
cries of terror rang from the lips of the Egyptians behind him; for the
same wave that struck the youth had hurled the foremost chariots into
the sea.

Ephraim began to fear for his people and, while running forward to join
them again, a brilliant flash of lightning illumined the bay, Mount
Baal-zephon, and every surrounding object. The thunder was somewhat long
in following, but the storm soon came nearer, and at last the lightning
no longer flashed through the darkness in zigzag lines, but in shapeless
sheets of flame, and ere they faded the deafening crash of the thunder
pealed forth, reverberating in wild uproar amid the hard, rocky
precipices of the rugged mountain, and dying away in deep, muttering
echoes along the end of the bay and the shore.

Whenever the clouds, menacing destruction, discharged their lightnings,
sea and land, human beings and animals, far and near, were illumined by
the brilliant glare, while the waters and the sky above were tinged
with a sulphurous yellow hue through which the vivid lightning shone and
flamed as through a wall of yellow glass.

Ephraim now thought he perceived that the blackest thunder-clouds came
from the south and not from the north, but the glare of the lightning
showed behind him a span of frightened horses rushing into the sea, one
chariot shattered against another, and farther on several jammed firmly
together to the destruction of their occupants, while they barred the
progress of others.

Yet the foe still advanced, and the space which separated pursued and
pursuers did not increase. But the confusion among the latter had become
so great that the warriors’ cries of terror and their leaders’ shouts
of encouragement and menace were distinctly heard whenever the fierce
crashing of the thunder died away.

Yet, black as were the clouds on the southern horizon, fiercely as
the tempest raged, the gloomy sky still withheld its floods and the
fugitives were wet, not with the water from the clouds but by the waves
of the sea, whose surges constantly dashed higher and more and more
frequently washed the dry bed of the bay.

Narrower and narrower grew the pathway, and with it the end of the
procession.

Meanwhile the flames blazing in the pitch pans continued to show the
terrified fugitives the goal of escape and remind them of Moses and the
staff God had given him. Every step brought them nearer to it. Now a
loud shout of joy announced that the tribe of Benjamin had also reached
the shore; but they had at last been obliged to wade, and were drenched
by the foaming surf. It had cost unspeakable effort to save the oxen
from the surging waves, get the loaded carts forward, and keep the
cattle together; but now man and beast stood safe on shore. Only the
strangers and the lepers were still to be rescued. The latter possessed
no herds of their own, but the former had many and both sheep and cattle
were so terrified by the storm that they struggled against passing
through the water, now a foot deep over the road. Ephraim hurried to the
shore, called on the shepherds to follow him and, under his direction,
they helped drive the herds forward.

The attempt was successful and, amid the thunder and lightning, greeted
with loud cheers, the last man and the last head of cattle reached the
land.

The lepers were obliged to wade through water rising to their knees and
at last to their waists and, ere they had gained the shore, the sluices
of heaven opened and the rain poured in torrents. Yet they, too, arrived
at the goal and though many a mother who had carried her child a long
time in her arms or on her shoulder, fell upon her knees exhausted on
the land, and many a hapless sufferer who, aided by a stronger companion
in misery, had dragged the carts through the yielding sand or wading in
the water carried a litter, felt his disfigured head burn with fever,
they, too, escaped destruction.

They were to wait beyond the palm-trees, whose green foliage appeared on
the hilly ground at the edge of some springs near the shore; the others
were to be led farther into the country to begin, at a given signal,
the journey toward the southeast into the mountains, through whose
inhospitable stony fastnesses a regular army and the war-chariots could
advance only with the utmost difficulty.

Hur had assembled his shepherds and they stood armed with lances,
slings, and short swords, ready to attack the enemy who ventured to step
on shore. Horses and men were to be cut down and a high wall was to be
made of the fragments of the chariots to bar the way of the pursuing
Egyptians.

The pans of burning pitch on the shore were shielded and fed so
industriously that neither the pouring rain nor the wind extinguished
them. They were to light the shepherds who had undertaken to attack the
chariot-soldiers, and were commanded by old Nun, Hur, and Ephraim.

But they waited in vain for the pursuers, and when the youth, first of
all, perceived by the light of the torches that the way by which the
rescued fugitives had come was now a wide sea, and the smoke was blown
toward the north instead of toward the southwest--it was at the time of
the first morning watch--his heart, surcharged with joy and gratitude,
sent forth the jubilant shout: “Look at the pans. The wind has shifted!
It is driving the sea northward. Pharaoh’s army has been swallowed by
the waves!”

The group of rescued Hebrews remained silent for a short time; but
suddenly Nun’s loud voice exclaimed:

“He has seen aright, children! What are we mortals! Lord, Lord! Stern
and terrible art Thou in judgment upon Thy foes!”

Here loud cries interrupted him; for at the springs where Moses leaned
exhausted against a palm-tree, and Aaron was resting with many others,
the people had also perceived what Ephraim had noticed--and from lip
to lip ran the glad, terrible, incredible, yet true tidings, which each
passing moment more surely confirmed.

Many an eye was raised toward the sky, across which the black clouds
were rushing farther and farther northward.

The rain was ceasing; instead of the lightning and thunder only a few
pale flashes were seen over the isthmus and the distant sea at the
north, while in the south the sky was brightening.

At last the setting moon emerged from the grey clouds, and her peaceful
light silvered the heights of Baal-zephon and the shore of the bay,
whose bottom was once more covered with tossing waves.

The raging, howling storm had passed into the low sighing of the morning
breeze, and the sea, which had dashed against the rocks like a roaring
wild-beast, now lay quivering with broken strength at the stone base of
the mountain.

For a short time the sea still spread a dark pall over the many Egyptian
corpses, but the paling moon, ere her setting, splendidly embellished
the briny resting-place of a king and his nobles; for her rays illumined
and bordered their coverlet, the sea, with a rich array of sparkling
diamonds in a silver setting.

While the east was brightening and the sky had clothed itself in
the glowing hues of dawn, the camp had been pitched; but little time
remained for a hasty meal for, shortly after sunrise, the gong had
summoned the people and, as soon as they gathered near the springs,
Miriam swung her timbrel, shaking the bells and striking the calf-skin
till it resounded again. As she moved lightly forward, the women and
maidens followed her in the rhythmic step of the dance; but she sang:

“I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse
and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.

“The Lord is my strength and song, and he is become my salvation: he
is my God, and I will prepare him an habitation; my father’s God, and I
will exalt him.

“The Lord is a man of war: the Lord is his name. Pharaoh’s chariots and
his host hath he cast into the sea: his chosen captains also are drowned
in the Red Sea.

“The depths have covered them: they sank into the bottom as a stone.

“Thy right hand, O Lord, is become glorious in power: thy right hand, O
Lord, hath dashed in pieces the enemy.

“And in the greatness of thine excellency thou hast overthrown them that
rose up against thee: thou sentest forth thy wrath, which consumed them
as stubble.

“And with the blast of thy nostrils the waters were gathered together,
the floods stood upright as an heap, and the depths were congealed in
the heart of the sea.

“The enemy said, I will pursue, I will overtake, I will divide the
spoil; my lust shall be satisfied upon them; I will draw my sword, my
hand shall destroy them.

“Thou didst blow with thy wind, the sea covered them: they sank as lead
in the mighty waters.

“Who is like unto thee, O Lord, among the gods? Who is like thee,
glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders?

“Thou stretchedst out thy right hand, the earth swallowed them.

“Thou, in thy mercy hast led forth the people which thou hast redeemed:
thou hast guided them in thy strength unto thy holy habitation.”

Men and women joined in the song, when she repeated the words:

“I will sing unto the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously: the horse
and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.”

This song and this hour of rejoicing were never forgotten by the
Hebrews, and each heart was filled with the glory of God and the glad
and grateful anticipation of better, happier days.




CHAPTER XXIII.

The hymn of praise had died away, but though the storm had long since
raged itself into calmness, the morning sky, which had been beautiful
in the rosy flush of dawn, was again veiled by grey mists, and a strong
wind still blew from the southwest, lashing the sea and shaking and
swaying the tops of the palm-trees beside the springs.

The rescued people had paid due honor to the Most High, even the most
indifferent and rebellious had joined in Miriam’s song of praise;
yet, when the ranks of the dancers approached the sea, many left the
procession to hurry to the shore, which presented many attractions.

Hundreds had now gathered on the strand, where the waves, like generous
robbers, washed ashore the booty they had seized during the night.

Even the women did not allow the wind to keep them back; for the two
strongest impulses of the human heart, avarice and the longing for
vengeance, drew them to the beach.

Some new object of desire appeared every moment; here lay the corpse of
a warrior, yonder his shattered chariot. If the latter had belonged to a
man of rank, its gold or silver ornaments were torn off, while the short
sword or battle-axe was drawn from the girdle of the lifeless owner,
and men and women of low degree, male and female slaves belonging to the
Hebrews and foreigners, robbed the corpses of the clasps and circlets of
the precious metal, or twisted the rings from the swollen fingers of the
drowned.

The ravens which had followed the wandering tribes and vanished during
the storm, again appeared and, croaking, struggled against the wind to
maintain their places above the prey whose scent had attracted them.

But the dregs of the fugitive hordes were still more greedy than they,
and wherever the sea washed a costly ornament ashore, there were fierce
outcries and angry quarrelling. The leaders kept aloof; the people, they
thought, had a right to this booty, and whenever one of them undertook
to control their rude greed, he received no obedience.

The pass to which the Egyptians had brought them within the last few
hours had been so terrible, that even the better natures among the
Hebrews did not think of curbing the thirst for vengeance. Even
grey-bearded men of dignified bearing, and wives and mothers whose looks
augured gentle hearts thrust back the few hapless foes who had succeeded
in reaching the land on the ruins of the war-chariots or baggage-wagons.
With shepherds’ crooks and travelling staves, knives and axes, stones
and insults they forced their hands from the floating wood, and the few
who nevertheless reached the land were flung by the furious mob into the
sea which had taken pity on them in vain.

Their wrath was so great, and vengeance so sacred a duty, that no
one thought of the respect, the pity, the consideration, which are
misfortune’s due, and not a word was uttered to appeal to generosity
or compassion or even to remind the people of the profit which might be
derived from holding the rescued soldiers as prisoners of war.

“Death to our mortal foes! Destruction to them! Down with them! Feed the
fishes with them! You drove us into the sea with our children, now try
the salt waves yourselves!”

Such were the shouts that rose everywhere, and which no one opposed, not
even Miriam and Ephraim, who had also gone down to the shore to witness
the scene it presented.

The maiden had become the wife of Hur, but her new condition had made
little change in her nature and conduct. The fate of her people and
the intercourse with God, whose prophetess she felt herself to be, were
still her highest aims. Now that all for which she had hoped and prayed
was fulfilled; now that at the first great triumph of her efforts she
had expressed the feelings of the faithful in her song, she felt as
if she were the leader of the grateful multitude at whose head she had
marched singing and as if she had attained the goal of her life.

Ephraim had reminded her of Hosea and, while talking with him about the
prisoner, she moved on as proudly as a queen, answering the greetings
of the throng with majestic dignity. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and her
features wore an expression of compassion only at brief intervals, when
the youth spoke of the greatest sufferings which he had borne with his
uncle. She doubtless still remembered the man she had loved, but he was
no longer necessary to the lofty goal of her aspirations.

Ephraim had just spoken of the beautiful Egyptian, who had loved Hosea
and at whose intercession the prisoner’s chains had been removed, when
loud outcries were heard at a part of the strand where many of the
people had gathered. Shouts of joy mingled with yells of fury; and
awakened the conjecture that the sea had washed some specially valuable
prize ashore.

Curiosity drew both to the spot, and as Miriam’s stately bearing made
the throng move respectfully aside, they soon saw the mournful contents
of a large travelling-chariot, which had lost its wheels. The linen
canopy which had protected it was torn away, and on the floor lay two
elderly Egyptian women; a third, who was much younger, leaned against
the back of the vehicle thus strangely transformed into a boat. Her
companions lay dead in the water which had covered its floor, and
several Hebrew women were in the act of tearing the costly gold
ornaments from the neck and arms of one of the corpses. Some chance
had preserved this young woman’s life, and she was now giving her rich
jewels to the Israelites. Her pale lips and slender, half-frozen hands
trembled as she did so, and in low, musical tones she promised the
robbers to yield them all she possessed and pay a large ransom, if
they would spare her. She was so young, and she had shown kindness to a
Hebrew surely they might listen to her.

It was a touching entreaty, but so often interrupted by threats and
curses that only a few could hear it. Just as Ephraim and Miriam reached
the shore she shrieked aloud--a rude hand had torn the gold serpent from
her ear.

The cry pierced the youth’s heart like a dagger-thrust and his cheeks
paled, for he recognized Kasana. The bodies beside her were those of her
nurse and the wife of the chief priest Bai.

Scarcely able to control himself, Ephraim thrust aside the men who
separated him from the object of the moment’s assault, sprang on the
sand-hill at whose foot the chariot had rested, and shouted with glowing
cheeks in wild excitement:

“Back! Woe to any one who touches her!”

But a Hebrew woman, the wife of a brickmaker whose child had died in
terrible convulsions during the passage through the sea, had already
snatched the dagger from her girdle, and with the jeering cry “This for
my little Ruth, you jade!” dealt her a blow in the back. Then she raised
the tiny blood-stained weapon for a second stroke; but ere she could
give her enemy another thrust, Ephraim flung himself between her and
her victim and wrenched the dagger from her grasp. Then planting himself
before the wounded girl, he swung the blade aloft exclaiming in loud,
threatening tones:

“Whoever touches her, you robbers and murderers, shall mingle his blood
with this woman’s.” Then he flung himself beside Kasana’s bleeding form,
and finding that she had lost consciousness, raised her in his arms and
carried her to Miriam.

The astonished plunderers speechlessly made way for a few minutes, but
ere he reached the prophetess shouts of: “Vengeance! Vengeance!” were
heard in all directions. “We found the woman: the booty belongs to
us alone!--How dares the insolent Ephraimite call us robbers and
murderers?--Wherever Egyptian blood can be spilled, it must flow!--At
him!--Snatch the girl from him!”

The youth paid no heed to these outbursts of wrath until he had laid
Kasana’s head in the lap of Miriam, who had seated herself on the
nearest sand-hill, and as the angry throng, the women in front of the
men, pressed upon him, he again waved his dagger, crying: “Back--I
command you. Let all of the blood of Ephraim and Judah rally around me
and Miriam, the wife of their chief! That’s right, brothers, and woe
betide any hand that touches her. Do you shriek for vengeance? Has it
not been yours through yonder monster who murdered the poor defenceless
one? Do you want your victim’s jewels? Well, well; they belong to you,
and I will give you mine to boot, if you will leave the wife of Hur to
care for this dying girl!”

With these words he bent over Kasana, took off the clasps and rings
she still wore, and gave them to the greedy hands outstretched to
seize them. Lastly he stripped the broad gold circlet from his arm, and
holding it aloft exclaimed:

“Here is the promised payment. If you will depart quietly and leave this
woman to Miriam, I will give you the gold, and you can divide it among
you. If you thirst for more blood, come on; but I will keep the armlet.”

These words did not fail to produce their effect. The furious women
looked at the heavy broad gold armlet, then at the handsome youth, and
the men of Judah and Ephraim who had gathered around him, and finally
glanced enquiringly into one another’s faces. At last the wife of a
foreign trader cried:

“Let him give us the gold, and we’ll leave the handsome young chief his
bleeding sweetheart.”

To this decision the others agreed, and though the brickmaker’s
infuriated wife, who thought as the avenger of her child she had done
an act pleasing in the sight of God, and was upbraided for it as a
murderess, reviled the youth with frantic gestures, she was dragged away
by the crowd to the shore where they hoped to find more booty.

During this threatening transaction, Miriam had fearlessly examined
Kasana’s wound and bound it up with skilful hands, The dagger which
Prince Siptah had jestingly given the beautiful lady of his love, that
she might not go to war defenceless, had inflicted a deep wound under
the shoulder, and the blood had flowed so abundantly that the feeble
spark of life threatened to die out at any moment.

But she still lived, and in this condition was borne to the tent of Nun,
which was the nearest within reach.

The old chief had just been supplying weapons to the shepherds and
youths whom Ephraim had summoned to go to the relief of the imprisoned
Hosea, and had promised to join them, when the mournful procession
approached.

As Kasana loved the handsome old man, the latter had for many years kept
a place in his heart for Captain Homecht’s pretty daughter.

She had never met him without gladdening him by a greeting which he
always returned with kind words, such as: “The Lord bless you, child!”
 or: “It is a delightful hour when an old man meets so fair a creature.”
 Many years before--she had then worn the curls of childhood--he had even
sent her a lamb, whose snowy fleece was specially silky, after having
bartered the corn from her father’s lands for cattle of his most famous
breed--and what his son had told him of Kasana had been well fitted to
increase his regard for her.

He beheld in the archer’s daughter the most charming young girl in Tanis
and, had she been the child of Hebrew parents, he would have rejoiced to
wed her to his son.

To find his darling in such a state caused the old man grief so profound
that bright tears ran down upon his snowy beard and his voice trembled
as, while greeting her, he saw the blood-stained bandage on her
shoulder.

After she had been laid on his couch, and Nun had placed his own chest
of medicines at the disposal of the skilful prophetess, Miriam asked the
men to leave her alone with the suffering Egyptian, and when she
again called them into the tent she had revived the strength of
the severely-wounded girl with cordials, and bandaged the hurt more
carefully than had been possible before.

Kasana, cleansed from the blood-stains and with her hair neatly
arranged, lay beneath the fresh linen coverings like a sleeping child
just on the verge of maidenhood.

She was still breathing, but the color had not returned to cheeks or
lips, and she did not open her eyes until she had drunk the cordial
Miriam mixed for her a second time.

The old man and his grandson stood at the foot of her couch, and each
would fain have asked the other why he could not restrain his tears
whenever he looked at this stranger’s face.

The certainty that Kasana was wicked and faithless, which had so
unexpectedly forced itself upon Ephraim, had suddenly turned his
heart from her and startled him back into the right path which he had
abandoned. Yet what he had heard in her tent had remained a profound
secret, and as he told his grandfather and Miriam that she had
compassionately interceded for the prisoners, and both had desired to
hear more of her, he had felt like a father who had witnessed the crime
of a beloved son, and no word of the abominable things he had heard had
escaped his lips.

Now he rejoiced that he had kept silence; for whatever he might have
seen and heard, this fair creature certainly was capable of no base
deed.

To the old man she had never ceased to be the lovely child whom he had
known, the apple of his eye and the joy of his heart. So he gazed with
tender anxiety at the features convulsed by pain and, when she at last
opened her eyes, smiled at her with paternal affection. Her glance
showed that she instantly recognized both him and Ephraim, but weakness
baffled her attempt to nod to them. Yet her expressive face revealed
surprise and joy, and when Miriam had given her the cordial a third time
and bathed her brow with a powerful essence, her large eyes wandered
from face to face and, noticing the troubled looks of the men, she
managed to whisper:

“The wound aches--and death--must I die?” One looked enquiringly at
another, and the men would gladly have concealed the terrible truth; but
she went on:

“Oh, let me know. Ah, I pray you, tell me the truth!”

Miriam, who was kneeling beside her, found courage to answer:

“Yes, you poor young creature, the wound is deep, but whatever my skill
can accomplish shall be done to preserve your life as long as possible.”

The words sounded kind and full of compassion, yet the deep voice of the
prophetess seemed to hurt Kasana; for her lips quivered painfully while
Miriam was speaking, and when she ceased, her eyes closed and one large
tear after another ran down her cheeks. Deep, anxious silence reigned
around her until she again raised her lashes and, fixing her eyes
wearily on Miriam, asked softly, as if perplexed by some strange
spectacle:

“You are a woman, and yet practise the art of the leech.”

“My God has commanded me to care for the suffering ones of our people,”
 replied the other.

The dying girl’s eyes began to glitter with a restless light, and she
gasped in louder tones, nay with a firmness that surprised the others:

“You are Miriam, the woman who sent for Hosea.” And when the other
answered promptly and proudly: “It is as you say!” Kasana continued:

“And you possess striking, imperious beauty, and much influence. He
obeyed your summons, and you--you consented to wed another?”

Again the prophetess answered, this time with gloomy earnestness: “It is
as you say.”

The dying girl closed her eyes once more, and a strange proud smile
hovered around her lips. But it soon vanished and a great and painful
restlessness seized upon her. The fingers of her little hands, her lips,
nay, even her eyelids moved perpetually, and her smooth, narrow forehead
contracted as if some great thought occupied her mind.

At last the ideas that troubled her found utterance and, as if roused
from her repose, she exclaimed in terrified accents:

“You are Ephraim, who seemed like his son, and the old man is Nun, his
dear father. There you stand and will live on.... But I--I... Oh, it is
so hard to leave the light.... Anubis will lead me before the judgment
seat of Osiris. My heart will be weighed, and then....”

Here she shuddered and opened and closed her trembling hands; but she
soon regained her composure and began to speak again. Miriam, however,
sternly forbade this, because it would hasten her death.

Then the sufferer, summoning all her strength, exclaimed hastily, as
loudly as her voice would permit, after measuring the prophetess’
tall figure with a long glance: “You wish to prevent me from doing my
duty--you?”

There had been a slight touch of mockery in the question; but Kasana
doubtless felt that it was necessary to spare her strength; for she
continued far more quietly, as though talking to herself:

“I cannot die so, I cannot! How it happened; why I sacrificed all,
all.... I must atone for it; I will not complain, if he only learns how
it came to pass. Oh, Nun, dear old Nun, who gave me the lamb when I was
a little thing--I loved it so dearly--and you, Ephraim, my dear boy, I
will tell you everything.”

Here a painful fit of coughing interrupted her; but as soon as she
recovered her breath, she turned to Miriam, and called in a tone which
so plainly expressed bitter dislike, that it would have surprised any
one who knew her kindly nature:

“But you, yonder,--you tall woman with the deep voice who are a
physician, you lured him from Tanis, from his soldiers and from me. He,
he obeyed your summons. And you... you became another’s wife; probably
after his arrival... yes! For when Ephraim summoned him, he called you
a maiden... I don’t know whether this caused him, Hosea, pain....
But there is one thing I do know, and that is that I want to confess
something and must do so, ere it is too late.... And no one must hear it
save those who love him, and I--do you hear--I love him, love him better
than aught else on earth! But you? You have a husband, and a God whose
commands you eagerly obey--you say so yourself. What can Hosea be to
you? So I beseech you to leave us. I have met few who repelled me, but
you--your voice, your eyes--they pierce me to the heart--and if you were
near I could not speak as I must.... and oh, talking hurts me so! But
before you go--you are a leech--let me know this one thing--I have many
messages to leave for him ere I die.... Will it kill me to talk?”

Again the prophetess found no other words in answer except the brief:
“It is as you say,” and this time they sounded harsh and ominous.

While wavering between the duty which, as a physician, she owed the
sufferer and the impulse not to refuse the request of a dying woman,
she read in old Nun’s eyes an entreaty to obey Kasana’s wish, and with
drooping head left the tent. But the bitter words of the hapless girl
pursued her and spoiled the day which had begun so gloriously and also
many a later hour; nay, to her life’s end she could not understand why,
in the presence of this poor, dying woman, she had been overpowered by
the feeling that she was her inferior and must take a secondary place.

As soon as Kasana was left alone with Nun and Ephraim, and the latter
had flung himself on his knees beside her couch, while the old man
kissed her brow, and bowed his white head to listen to her low words,
she began:

“I feel better now. That tall woman... those gloomy brows that meet in
the middle... those nightblack eyes... they glow with so fierce a fire,
yet are so cold.... That woman... did Hosea love her, father? Tell me; I
am not asking from idle curiosity!”

“He honored her,” replied the old man in a troubled tone, “as did our
whole nation; for she has a lofty spirit, and our God suffers her
to hear His voice; but you, my darling, have been dear to him from
childhood, I know.”

A slight tremor shook the dying girl. She closed her eyes for a short
time and a sunny smile hovered around her lips.

She lay in this attitude so long that Nun feared death had claimed her
and, holding the medicine in his hand, listened to hear her breathing.

Kasana did not seem to notice it; but when she finally opened her eyes,
she held out her hand for the cordial, drank it, and then began again:

“It seemed just as if I had seen him, Hosea. He wore the panoply of war
just as he did the first time he took me into his arms. I was a little
thing and felt afraid of him, he looked so grave, and my nurse had told
me that he had slain a great many of our foes. Yet I was glad when he
came and grieved when he went away. So the years passed, and love grew
with my growth. My young heart was so full of him, so full.... Even when
they forced me to wed another, and after I had become a widow.”

The last words had been scarcely audible, and she rested some time ere
she continued:

“Hosea knows all this, except how anxious I was when he was in the
field, and how I longed for him ere he returned. At last, at last he
came home, and how I rejoiced! But he, Hosea...? That woman--Ephraim
told me so--that tall, arrogant woman summoned him to Pithom. But he
returned, and then.... Oh, Nun, your son... that was the hardest thing!
... He refused my hand, which my father offered.... And how that hurt
me!... I can say no more!... Give me the drink!”

Her cheeks had flushed crimson during these painful confessions, and
when the experienced old man perceived how rapidly the excitement under
which she was laboring hastened the approach of death, he begged her to
keep silence; but she insisted upon profiting by the time still allowed
her, and though the sharp pain with which a short cough tortured her
forced her to press her hand upon her breast, she continued:

“Then hate came; but it did not last long--and never did I love him more
ardently than when I drove after the poor convict--you remember, my boy.
Then began the horrible, wicked, evil time... of which I must tell him
that he may not despise me, if he hears about it. I never had a
mother, and there was no one to warn me.... Where shall I begin? Prince
Siptah--you know him, father--that wicked man will soon rule over my
country. My father is in a conspiracy with him... merciful gods, I can
say no more!”

Terror and despair convulsed her features as she uttered these words;
but Ephraim interrupted her and, with tearful eyes and faltering voice,
confessed that he knew all. Then he repeated what he had heard while
listening outside of her tent, and her glance confirmed the tale.

When he finally spoke of the wife of the viceroy and chief-priest Bai,
whose body had been borne to the shore with her, Kasana interrupted him
with the low exclamation:

“She planned it all. Her husband was to be the greatest man in the
country and rule even Pharaoh; for Siptah is not the son of a king.”

“And,” the old man interrupted, to quiet her and help her tell what she
desired to say, “as Bai raised, he can overthrow him. He will become,
even more certainly than the dethroned monarch, the tool of the man who
made him king. But I know Aarsu the Syrian, and if I see aright, the
time will come when he will himself strive, in distracted Egypt, rent by
internal disturbances, for the power which, through his mercenaries, he
aided others to grasp. But child, what induced you to follow the army
and this shameful profligate?”

The dying girl’s eyes sparkled, for the question brought her directly to
what she desired to tell, and she answered as loudly and quickly as her
weakness permitted:

“I did it for your son’s sake, for love of him, to liberate Hosea. The
evening before I had steadily and firmly refused the wife of Bai. But
when I saw your son at the well and he, Hosea.... Oh, at last he was
so affectionate and kissed me so kindly... and then--then.... My poor
heart! I saw him, the best of men, perishing amid contumely and disease.

“And when he passed with chains one thought darted through my mind....”

“You determined, you dear, foolish, misguided child,” cried the old man,
“to win the heart of the future king in order, through him, to release
my son, your friend?”

The dying girl again smiled assent and softly exclaimed:

“Yes, yes, I did it for that, for that alone. And the prince was so
abhorrent to me. And the shame, the disgrace--oh, how terrible it was!”

“And you incurred it for my son’s sake,” the old man interrupted,
raising her hand, wet with his tears, to his lips; but she fixed her
eyes on Ephraim, sobbing softly:

“I thought of him too. He is so young, and it is so horrible in the
mines.”

She shuddered again as she spoke; but the youth covered her burning
hand with kisses, while she gazed affectionately at him and the old man,
adding in faltering accents:

“Oh, all is well now, and if the gods grant him freedom....”

Here Ephraim interrupted her to exclaim in fiery tones:

“We are going to the mines this very day. I and my comrades, and my
grandfather with us, will put his guards to flight.”

“And he shall hear from my lips,” Nun added, “how faithfully Kasana
loved him, and that his life will be too short to thank her for such a
sacrifice.”

His voice failed him--but every trace of suffering had vanished from the
countenance of the dying girl, and for a long time she gazed heavenward
silently with a happy look. By degrees, however, her smooth brow
contracted in an anxious frown, and she gasped in low tones:

“Well, all is well... only one thing... my body... unembalmed ...
without the sacred amulets....”

But the old man answered:

“As soon as you have closed your eyes, I will give it, carefully
wrapped, to the Phoenician captain now tarrying here, that he may
deliver it to your father.”

Kasana tried to turn her head toward him to thank him with a loving
glance, but she suddenly pressed both hands on her breast, crimson
blood welled from her lips, her cheeks varied from livid white to fiery
scarlet and, after a brief, painful convulsion, she sank back.
Death laid his hand on the loving heart, and her features gained the
expression of a child whose mother has forgiven its fault and clasped it
to her heart ere it fell asleep.

The old man, weeping, closed the dead girl’s eyes. Ephraim, deeply
moved, kissed the closed lids, and after a short silence Nun said:

“I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave, which Moses
himself does not know; but whoever has lived so that his or her memory
is tenderly cherished in the souls of loved ones, has, I think, done the
utmost possible to secure a future existence. We will remember this
dead girl in our most sacred hours. Let us do for her corpse what we
promised, and then set forth to show the man for whom Kasana sacrificed
what she most valued that we do not love him less than this Egyptian
woman.”




CHAPTER XXIV.

The prisoners of state who were being transported to the mines made slow
progress. Even the experienced captain of the guards had never had
a more toilsome trip or one more full of annoyances, obstacles, and
mishaps.

One of his moles, Ephraim, had escaped; he had lost his faithful hounds,
and after his troop had been terrified and drenched by a storm such as
scarcely occurred in these desert regions once in five years, a second
had burst the next evening--the one which brought destruction on
Pharaoh’s army--and this had been still more violent and lasting.

The storm had delayed the march and, after the last cloud-burst, several
convicts and guards had been attacked by fever owing to their wet
night-quarters in the open air. The Egyptian asses, too, who were unused
to rain, had suffered and some of the best had been left on the road.

Finally they had been obliged to bury two dead prisoners, and place
three who were dangerously ill on the remaining asses; and the other
prisoners were laden with the stores hitherto carried by the beasts of
burden. This was the first time such a thing had happened during the
leader’s service of five and twenty years, and he expected severe
reproofs.

All these things exerted a baneful influence on the disposition of
the man, who was usually reputed one of the kindest-hearted of his
companions in office; and Joshua, the accomplice of the bold lad whose
flight was associated with the other vexations, suffered most sorely
from his ill-humor.

Perhaps the irritated man would have dealt more gently with him, had he
complained like the man behind him, or burst into fierce oaths like
his yoke-mate, who made threatening allusions to the future when his
sister-in-law would be in high favor with Pharaoh and know how to repay
those who ill-treated her dear relative.

But Hosea had resolved to bear whatever the rude fellow and his mates
chose to inflict with the same equanimity that he endured the scorching
sun which, ever since he had served in the army, had tortured him during
many a march through the desert, and his steadfast, manly character
helped him keep this determination.

If the captain of the gang loaded him with extra heavy burdens, he
summoned all the strength of his muscles and tottered forward without a
word of complaint until his knees trembled under him; then the captain
would rush to him, throw several packages from his shoulders, and
exclaim that he understood his spite; he was only trying to be left on
the road, to get him into fresh difficulties; but he would not allow
himself to be robbed of the lives of the men who were needed in the
mines.

Once the captain inflicted a wound that bled severely; but he instantly
made every effort to cure it, gave him wine to restore his strength, and
delayed the march half a day to permit him to rest.

He had not forgotten Prince Siptah’s promise of a rich reward to any one
who brought him tidings of Hosea’s death, but this was the very
reason that induced the honest-hearted man to watch carefully over his
prisoner’s life; for the consciousness of having violated his duty for
the sake of reaping any advantage would have robbed him of all pleasure
in food and drink, as well as of the sound sleep which were his greatest
blessings.

So though the Hebrew prisoner was tortured, it was never beyond the
limits of the endurable, and he had the pleasure of rendering, by his
own great strength, many a service to his weaker companions.

He had commended his fate to the God who had summoned him to His
service; but he was well aware that he must not rest content with mere
pious confidence, and therefore thought by day and night of escape. But
the chain that bound him to his companions in suffering was too firmly
forged, and was so carefully examined and hammered every morning and
evening, that the attempt to escape would only have plunged him into
greater misery.

The prisoners had at first marched through a hilly region, then climbed
upward, with a long mountain chain in view, and finally reached a desert
country from which truncated sandstone cones rose singly from the rocky
ground.

On the fifth evening they encamped near a large mountain which Nature
seemed to have piled up from flat layers of stone and, as the sun of the
sixth day rose, they turned into a side valley leading to the mines in
the province of Bech.

During the first few days they had been overtaken by a messenger from
the king’s silver-house; but on the other hand they had met several
little bands bearing to Egypt malachite, turquoise, and copper, as well
as the green glass made at the mines.

Among those whom they met at the entrance of the cross-valley into
which they turned on the last morning was a married couple on their way
homeward, after having received a pardon from the king. The captain of
the guards pointed them out to encourage his exhausted moles, but the
spectacle produced the opposite effect; for the tangled locks of the
man, who had scarcely passed his thirtieth year, were grey, his tall
figure was bowed and emaciated, and his naked back was covered with
scars and bleeding wales; the wife, who had shared his misery, was
blind. She sat cowering on an ass, in the dull torpor of insanity, and
though the passing of the convicts made a startling interruption to the
silence of the wilderness, and her hearing had remained keen, she paid
no heed, but continued to stare indifferently into vacancy.

The sight of the hapless pair placed Hosea’s own terrible future before
him as if in a mirror, and for the first time he groaned aloud and
covered his face with his hands.

The captain of the guards perceived this and, touched by the horror of
the man whose resolution had hitherto seemed peerless, called to him:

“They don’t all come home like that, no indeed!”

“Because they are even worse off,” he thought. “But the poor wights
needn’t know it beforehand. The next time I come this way I’ll ask for
Hosea; I shall want to know what has become of this bull of a man. The
strongest and the most resolute succumb the most quickly.”

Then, like a driver urging an unharnessed team forward, he swung the
lash over the prisoners, but without touching them, and pointing to a
column of smoke which rose behind a cliff at the right of the road, he
exclaimed:

“There are the smelting furnaces! We shall reach our destination at
noon. There will be no lack of fire to cook lentils, and doubtless you
may have a bit of mutton, too; for we celebrate to-day the birth of the
good god, the son of the sun; may life, health, and prosperity be his!”

For the next half-hour their road led between lofty cliffs through the
dry bed of a river, down which, after the last rains, a deep mountain
torrent had poured to the valley; but now only a few pools still
remained.

After the melancholy procession had passed around a steep mountain whose
summit was crowned with a small Egyptian temple of Hathor and a number
of monuments, it approached a bend in the valley which led to the ravine
where the mines were located.

Flags, hoisted in honor of Pharaoh’s birth-day, were waving from tall
masts before the gates of the little temple on the mountain; and when
loud shouts, uproar, and clashing greeted the travellers in the valley
of the mines, which was wont to be so silent, the captain of the guards
thought that the prisoners’ greatest festival was being celebrated in an
unusually noisy way and communicated this conjecture to the other guards
who had paused to listen.

Then the party pressed forward without delay, but no one raised his
head; the noon-day sun blazed so fiercely, and the dazzling walls of the
ravine sent forth a reflected glow as fierce as if they were striving to
surpass the heat of the neighboring smelting furnaces.

Spite of the nearness of the goal the prisoners tottered forward as if
asleep, only one held his breath in the intensity of suspense.

As the battle-charger in the plough arches his neck, and expands his
nostrils, while his eyes flash fire, so Joshua’s bowed figure, spite
of the sack that burdened his shoulders, straightened itself, and his
sparkling eyes were turned toward the spot whence came the sounds the
captain of the guards had mistaken for the loud tumult of festal mirth.

He, Joshua, knew better. Never could he mistake the roar echoing there;
it was the war-cry of Egyptian soldiers, the blast of the trumpet
summoning the warriors, the clank of weapons, and the battle-shouts of
hostile hordes.

Ready for prompt action, he bent toward his yokemate, and whispered
imperiously:

“The hour of deliverance is at hand. Take heed, and obey me blindly.”

Strong excitement overpowered his companion also, and Hosea had scarcely
glanced into the side-valley ere he bade him hold himself in readiness.

The first look into the ravine had showed him, on the summit of a cliff,
a venerable face framed in snowy locks--his father’s. He would have
recognized him among thousands and at a far greater distance! But from
the beloved grey head he turned a swift glance at the guide, who had
stopped in speechless horror, and supposing that a mutiny had broken out
among the prisoners, with swift presence of mind shouted hoarsely to the
other guards:

“Keep behind the convicts and cut down every one who attempts to
escape!”

But scarcely had his subordinates hurried to the end of the train, ere
Joshua whispered to his companion:

“At him!”

As he spoke the Hebrew, who, with his yoke-mate, headed the procession,
attacked the astonished leader, and ere he was aware of it, Joshua
seized his right arm, the other his left.

The strong man, whose powers were doubled by his rage, struggled
furiously to escape, but Joshua and his companion held him in an iron
grasp.

A single rapid glance had showed the chief the path he must take to join
his people True, it led past a small band of Egyptian bow-men, who were
discharging their arrows at the Hebrews on the opposite cliff, but
the enemy would not venture to fire at him and his companion; for the
powerful figure of the captain of the guards, clearly recognizable by
his dress and weapons, shielded them both.

“Lift the chain with your right hand,” whispered Joshua, “I will hold
our living buckler. We must ascend the cliff crab-fashion.”

His companion obeyed, and as they advanced within bow-shot of the
enemy--moving sometimes backward, sometimes sideways--they held the
Egyptian before them and with the ringing shout: “The son of Nun is
returning to his father and to his people!” Joshua step by step drew
nearer to the Hebrew combatants.

Not one of the Egyptians who knew the captain of the prisoners’ guard
had ventured to send an arrow at the escaping prisoners. While the
fettered pair were ascending the cliff backward, Joshua heard his name
shouted in joyous accents, and directly after Ephraim, with a band of
youthful warriors, came rushing down the height toward him.

To his astonishment Joshua saw the huge shield, sword, or battle-axe of
an Egyptian heavily-armed soldier in the hands of each of these sons of
his people, but the shepherd’s sling and the bag of round stones also
hung from many girdles.

Ephraim led his companions and, before greeting his uncle, formed
them into two ranks like a double wall between Joshua and the hostile
bow-men.

Then he gave himself up to the delight of meeting, and a second glad
greeting soon followed; for old Nun, protected by the tall Egyptian
shields which the sea had washed ashore, had been guided to the
projecting rock in whose shelter strong hands were filing the fetters
from Joshua and his companion, while Ephraim, with several others, bound
the captain.

The unfortunate man had given up all attempt at resistance and submitted
to everything as if utterly crushed. He only asked permission to wipe
his eyes ere his arms were bound behind his back; for tear after
tear was falling on the grey beard of the warder who, outwitted and
overpowered, no longer felt capable of discharging the duties of his
office.

Nun clasped to his heart with passionate fervor the rescued son whom he
had already mourned as lost. Then, releasing him, he stepped back and
never wearied of feasting his eyes on him and hearing him repeat that,
faithful to his God, he had consecrated himself to the service of his
people.

But it was for a brief period only that they gave themselves up to the
bliss of this happy meeting; the battle asserted its rights, and its
direction fell, as a matter of course, to Joshua.

He had learned with grateful joy, yet not wholly untinged with
melancholy, of the fate which had overtaken the brave army among whose
leaders he had long proudly numbered himself, and also heard that
another body of armed shepherds, under the command of Hur, Miriam’s
husband, had attacked the turquoise mines of Dophkah, which situated
a little farther toward the south, could be reached in a few hours. If
they conquered, they were to join the young followers of Ephraim before
sunset.

The latter was burning with eagerness to rush upon the Egyptians, but
the more prudent Joshua, who had scanned the foe, though he did not
doubt that they must succumb to the fiery shepherds, who were far
superior to them in numbers, was anxious to shed as little blood as
possible in this conflict, which was waged on his account, so he bade
Ephraim cut a palm from the nearest tree, ordered a shield to be handed
to him and then, waving the branch as an omen of peace, yet cautiously
protecting himself, advanced alone to meet the foe.

The main body were drawn up in front of the mines and, familiar with
the signal which requested negotiations, asked their commander for an
interview.

The latter was ready to grant it, but first desired to know the contents
of a letter which had just been handed to him and must contain evil
tidings. This was evident from the messenger’s looks and the few words
which, though broken, were pregnant with meaning, that he had whispered
to his countryman.

While some of Pharaoh’s warriors offered refreshments to the exhausted,
dust-covered runner, and listened with every token of horror to the
tidings he hoarsely gasped, the commander of the troops read the letter.

His features darkened and, when he had finished, he clenched the papyrus
fiercely; for it had announced tidings no less momentous than the
destruction of the army, the death of Pharaoh Menephtah, and the
coronation of his oldest surviving son as Seti II., after the attempt
of Prince Siptah to seize the throne had been frustrated. The latter
had fled to the marshy region of the Delta, and Aarsu, the Syrian, after
abandoning him and supporting the new king, had been raised to the chief
command of all the mercenaries. Bai, the high-priest and chief-judge,
had been deprived of his rank and banished by Seti II. Siptah’s
confederates had been taken to the Ethiopian gold mines instead of to
the copper mines. It was also stated that many women belonging to the
House of the Separated had been strangled; and Siptah’s mother had
undoubtedly met the same fate. Every soldier who could be spared from
the mines was to set off at once for Tanis, where veterans were needed
for the new legions.

This news exerted a powerful influence; for after Joshua had told the
commander that he was aware of the destruction of the Egyptian army and
expected reinforcements which had been sent to capture Dophkah to
arrive within a few hours, the Egyptian changed his imperious tone and
endeavored merely to obtain favorable conditions for retreat. He was but
too well aware of the weakness of the garrison of the turquoise mines
and knew that he could expect no aid from home. Besides, the mediator
inspired him with confidence; therefore, after many evasions and
threats, he expressed himself satisfied with the assurance that the
garrison, accompanied by the beasts of burden and necessary provisions,
should be allowed to depart unharmed. This, however, was not to be done
until after they had laid down their arms and showed the Hebrews all the
galleries where the prisoners were at work.

The young Hebrews, who twice outnumbered the Egyptians, at once set
about disarming them; and many an old warrior’s eyes grew dim, many a
man broke his lance or snapped his arrows amid execrations and curses,
while some grey-beards who had formerly served under Joshua and
recognized him, raised their clenched fists and upbraided him as a
traitor.

The dregs of the army were sent for this duty in the wilderness and most
of the men bore in their faces the impress of corruption and brutality.
Those in authority on the Nile knew how to choose soldiers whose duty it
was to exercise pitiless severity against the defenceless.

At last the mines were opened and Joshua himself seized a lamp and
pressed forward into the hot galleries where the naked prisoners of
state, loaded with fetters, were hewing the copper ore from the walls.

Already he could hear in the distance the picks, whose heads were shaped
like a swallow’s tail, bite the hard rock. Then he distinguished
the piteous wails of tortured men and women; for cruel overseers had
followed them into the mine and were urging the slow to greater haste.

To-day, Pharaoh’s birthday, they had been driven to the temple of Hathor
on the summit of the neighboring height, to pray for the king who had
plunged them into the deepest misery, and they would have been released
from labor until the next morning, had not the unexpected attack induced
the commander to force them back into the mines. Therefore to-day the
women, who were usually obliged merely to crush and sift the ores needed
to make glass and dyes, were compelled to labor in the galleries.

When the convicts heard Joshua’s shouts and footsteps, which echoed
from the bare cliffs, they were afraid that some fresh misfortune was
impending, and wailing and lamentations arose in all directions. But the
deliverer soon reached the first convicts, and the glad tidings that he
had come to save them from their misery speedily extended to the inmost
depths of the mines.

Wild exultation filled the galleries which were wont to witness only
sorrowful moans and burning tears; yet loud cries for help, piteous
wailings, groans, and the death-rattle reached Joshua’s ear; for a
hot-blooded man had rushed upon the overseer most hated and felled him
with his pick-axe. His example quickly inflamed the others’ thirst for
vengeance and, ere it could be prevented, the same fate overtook the
other officials. But they had defended themselves and the corpse of many
a prisoner strewed the ground beside their tormentors.

Obeying Joshua’s call, the liberated multitude at last emerged into
the light of day. Savage and fierce were the outcries which blended
in sinister discord with the rattling of the chains they dragged after
them. Even the most fearless among the Hebrews shrank in horror as
they beheld the throng of hapless sufferers in the full radiance of
the sunlight; for the dazzled, reddened eyes of the unfortunate
sufferers,--many of whom had formerly enjoyed in their own homes or at
the king’s court every earthly blessing; who had been tender mothers
and fathers, rejoiced in doing good, and shared all the blessings of
the civilization of a richly gifted people,--these dazzled eyes which
at first glittered through tears caused by the swift transition from the
darkness of the mines to the glare of the noon-day sun, soon sparkled as
fiercely and greedily as those of starving owls.

At first, overwhelmed by the singular change in their destiny, they
struggled for composure and did not resist the Hebrews, who, at Joshua’s
signal, began to file the fetters from their ankles; but when they
perceived the disarmed soldiers and overseers who, guarded by Ephraim
and his companions, were ranged at the base of a cliff, a strange
excitement overpowered them. Amid shrieks and yells which no name can
designate, no words describe, they broke from those who were trying to
remove their fetters and, though no glance or word had been exchanged
between them, obeyed the same terrible impulse, and unheeding the chains
that burdened them, rushed upon the defenceless Egyptians. Before
the Hebrews could prevent it, each threw himself upon the one who
had inflicted the worst suffering upon him; and here might be seen an
emaciated man clutching the throat of his stronger foe, yonder a band
of nude women horribly disfigured by want and neglect, rush upon the man
who had most rudely insulted, beaten, and abused them, and with teeth
and nails wreak upon him their long repressed fury.

It seemed as though the flood-tide of hate had burst its dam and,
unfettered, was demanding its victims.

There was a horrible scene of attack and defence, a ferocious, bloody
conflict on foot and amid the red sand of the desert, shrieks, yells,
and howls pierced the ear; nay, it was difficult to distinguish
individuals in this motley confusion of men and women, animated on the
one side by the wildest passion, a yearning for vengeance amounting
to blood-thirstiness, and on the other by the dread of death and the
necessity for self-defence.

Only a few of the prisoners had succeeded in controlling themselves;
but they, too, shouted irritating words to their fellows, reviled the
Egyptians in violent excitement, and shook their clenched fists at the
disarmed foe.

The fury with which the liberated serfs rushed upon their tormentors was
as unprecedented as the cruelties they had suffered.

But Joshua had deprived the Egyptians of their weapons, and they were
therefore under his protection.

So he commanded his men to separate the combatants, if possible without
bloodshed; but the task was no easy one, and many new and horrible deeds
were committed. At last, however, it was accomplished, and they now
perceived how terribly rage had increased the strength of the exhausted
and feeble sufferers; for though no weapons had been used in the
conflict a number of corpses strewed the spot, and most of the guards
were bleeding from terrible wounds.

After quiet had been restored, Joshua asked the wounded commander for
the list of prisoners, but he pointed to the clerk of the mines, whom
none of the convicts had assailed. He had been their physician and
treated them kindly-an elderly man, he had himself undergone sore trials
and, knowing the pain of suffering, was ready to alleviate the pangs of
others.

He willingly read aloud the names of the prisoners, among which were
several Hebrew ones, and after each individual had responded, many
declared themselves ready to join the wandering tribes.

When the disarmed soldiers and guards at last set out on their way home,
the captain of the band that had escorted Joshua and his companions
left the other Egyptians, and with drooping head and embarrassed mien
approached old Nun and his son, and begged permission to go with them;
for he could expect no favor at home and there was no God in Egypt so
mighty as theirs. It had not escaped his notice that Hosea, who had once
been a chief in the Egyptian service, had raised his hands in the sorest
straits to this God, and never had he witnessed the same degree of
resolution that he possessed. Now he also knew that this same mighty God
had buried Pharaoh’s powerful army in the sea to save His people. Such
a God was acceptable to his heart, and he desired nothing better than to
remain henceforward with those who served Him.

Joshua willingly allowed him to join the Hebrews. Then it appeared that
there were fifteen of the latter among the liberated prisoners and,
to Ephraim’s special delight, Reuben, the husband of poor melancholy
Milcah, who clung so closely to Miriam. His reserved, laconic
disposition had stood him in good stead, and the arduous forced labor
seemed to have inflicted little injury on his robust frame.

The exultation of victory, the joy of success, had taken full possession
of Ephraim and his youthful band; but when the sun set and there was
still no sign of Hur and his band, Nun and his followers were seized
with anxiety.

Ephraim had already proposed to go with some of his companions in quest
of tidings, when a messenger announced that Hur’s men had lost courage
at the sight of the well-fortified Egyptian citadel. Their leader, it
is true, had urged them to the assault, but his band had shrunk from the
peril and, unless Nun and his men brought aid, they would return with
their mission unfulfilled.

It was therefore resolved to go to the assistance of the timorous. With
joyous confidence they marched forward and, during the journey through
the cool night, Ephraim and Nun described to Joshua how they had found
Kasana and how she had died. What she had desired to communicate to the
man she loved was now made known to him, and the warrior listened with
deep emotion and remained silent and thoughtful until they reached
Dophkah, the valley of the turquoise mines, from whose center rose the
fortress which contained the prisoners.

Hur and his men had remained concealed in a side-valley, and after
Joshua had divided the Hebrew force into several bodies and assigned to
each a certain task, he gave at dawn the signal for the assault.

After a brief struggle the little garrison was overpowered and the
fortress taken. The disarmed Egyptians, like their companions at the
copper mines, were sent home. The prisoners were released and the
lepers, whose quarters were in a side-valley beyond the mines--among
them were those who at Joshua’s bidding had been brought here--were
allowed to follow the conquerors at a certain distance.

What Hur, Miriam’s husband, could not accomplish, Joshua had done, and
ere the young soldiers departed with Ephraim, old Nun assembled them to
offer thanks to the Lord. The men under Hur’s command also joined in
the prayer and wherever Joshua appeared Ephraim’s companions greeted him
with cheers.

“Hail to our chief!” often rang on the air, as they marched forward:
“Hail to him whom the Most High Himself has chosen for His sword! We
will gladly follow him; for through him God leads us to victory.”

Hur’s men also joined in these shouts, and he did not forbid them; nay,
after the storming of the fortress, he had thanked Joshua and expressed
his pleasure in his liberation.

At the departure, the younger man had stepped back to let the older one
precede him; but Hur had entreated grey-haired Nun, who was greatly his
senior, to take the head of the procession, though after the deliverance
of the people on the shore of the Red Sea he had himself been appointed
by Moses and the elders to the chief command of the Hebrew soldiers.

The road led first through a level mountain valley, then it crossed
the pass known as the “Sword-point “, which was the only means of
communication between the mines and the Red Sea.

The rocky landscape was wild and desolate, and the path to be climbed
steep. Joshua’s old father, who had grown up on the flat plains of
Goshen and was unaccustomed to climbing mountains, was borne amid the
joyous acclamations of the others, in the arms of his son and grandson,
to the summit of the pass; but Miriam’s husband who, at the head of his
men, followed the division of Ephraim’s companions, heard the shouts of
the youths yet moved with drooping head and eyes bent on the ground.

At the summit they were to rest and wait for the people who were to be
led through the wilderness of Sin to Dophkah.

The victors gazed from the top of the pass in search of the travellers;
but as yet no sign of them appeared. But when they looked back along
the mountain path whence they had come a different spectacle presented
itself, a scene so grand, so marvellous, that it attracted every eye
as though by a magic spell; for at their feet lay a circular valley,
surrounded by lofty cliffs, mountain ridges, peaks, and summits, which
here white as chalk, yonder raven-black, here grey and brown, yonder red
and green, appeared to grow upward from the sand toward the azure sky of
the wilderness, steeped in dazzling light, and unshadowed by the tiniest
cloudlet.

All that the eye beheld was naked and bare, silent and lifeless. On the
slopes of the many-colored rocks, which surrounded the sandy valley,
grew no blade of grass nor smallest plant. Neither bird, worm, nor
beetle stirred in these silent tracts, hostile to all life. Here the eye
discerned no cultivation,--nothing that recalled human existence. God
seemed to have created for Himself alone these vast tracts which were of
service to no living creature. Whoever penetrated into this wilderness
entered a spot which the Most High had perchance chosen for a place of
rest and retreat, like the silent, inaccessible Holy of Holies of the
temple.

The young men had gazed mutely at the wonderful scene at their feet. Now
they prepared to encamp and showed themselves diligent in serving old
Nun, whom they sincerely loved. Resting among them under a hastily
erected canopy he related, with sparkling eyes, the deeds his son had
performed.

Meanwhile Joshua and Hur were still standing at the top of the pass,
the former gazing silently down into the dreary, rocky valley, which
overarched by the blue dome of the sky, surrounded by the mountain
pillars and columns from God’s own workshop, opened before him as the
mightiest of temples.

The old man had long gazed gloomily at the ground, but he suddenly
interrupted the silence and said:

“In Succoth I erected a heap of stones and called upon the Lord to be a
witness between us. But in this spot, amid this silence, it seems to me
that without memorial or sign we are sure of His presence.” Here he drew
his figure to a greater height and continued: “And I now raise mine eyes
to Thee, Adonai, and address my humble words to Thee, Jehovah, Thou
God of Abraham and of our fathers, that Thou mayst a second time be a
witness between me and this man whom Thou Thyself didst summon to Thy
service, that he might be Thy sword.”

He had uttered these words with eyes and hands uplifted, then turning to
the other, he said with solemn earnestness:

“So I ask thee Hosea, son of Nun, dost thou remember the vow which thou
and I made before the stones in Succoth?”

“I do,” was the reply. “And in sore disaster and great peril I perceived
what the Most High desired of me, and am resolved to devote to Him
all the strength of body and soul with which He has endowed me, to Him
alone, and to His people, who are also mine. Henceforward I will be
called Joshua... nor will I seek service with the Egyptians or any
foreign king; for the Lord our God through the lips of thy wife bestowed
this name upon me.”

Then Hur, with solemn earnestness, broke in: “That is what I expected to
hear and as, in this place also, the Most High is a witness between me
and thee and hears this conversation, let the vow I made in His presence
be here fulfilled. The heads of the tribes and Moses, the servant of the
Lord, appointed me to the command of the fighting-men of our people. But
now thou dost call thyself Joshua, and hast vowed to serve no other
than the Lord our God. I am well aware thou canst accomplish far greater
things as commander of an army than I, who have grown grey in driving
herds, or than any other Hebrew, by whatever name he is known, so I will
fulfil the vow sworn at Succoth. I will ask Moses, the servant of the
Lord, and the elders to confide to thee the office of commander. In
their hands will I place the decision and, because I feel that the Most
High beholds my heart, let me confess that I have thought of thee with
secret rancor. Yet, for the welfare of the people, I will forget what
lies between us and offer thee my hand.”

With these words he held out his hand to Joshua and the latter, grasping
it, replied with generous candor:

“Thy words are manly and mine shall be also. For the sake of the people
and the cause we both serve, I will accept thy offer. Yet since thou
hast summoned the Most High as a witness and He hears me, I, too, will
not withhold one iota of the truth. The Lord Himself has summoned me to
the office of commander of the fighting-men which thou dost desire to
commit to me. It was done through Miriam, thy wife, and is my due. Yet
I recognize thy willingness to yield thy dignity to me as a praiseworthy
deed, since I know how hard it is for a man to resign power, especially
in favor of a younger one whom he does not love. Thou hast done this,
and I am grateful. I, too, have thought of thee with secret rancor; for
through thee I lost another possession harder for a man to renounce than
office: the love of woman.”

The hot blood mounted into Hur’s cheeks, as he exclaimed:

“Miriam! I did not force her into marriage; nay I did not even purchase
her, according to the custom of our fathers, with the bridal dowry--she
became my wife of her own free will.”

“I know it,” replied Joshua quietly, “yet there was one man who had
yearned to make her his longer and more ardently than thou, and the fire
of jealousy burned fiercely in his heart. But have no anxiety; for wert
thou now to give her a letter of divorce and lead her to me that I might
open my arms and tent to receive her, I would exclaim:

“Why hast thou done this thing to thyself and to me? For a short time
ago I learned what woman’s love is, and that I was mistaken when I
believed Miriam shared the ardor of my heart. Besides, during the march
with fetters on my feet, in the heaviest misfortune, I vowed to devote
all the strength and energy of soul and body to the welfare of our
people. Nor shall the love of woman turn me from the great duty I have
taken upon myself. As for thy wife, I shall treat her as a stranger
unless, as a prophetess, she summons me to announce a new message from
the Lord.”

With these words he held out his hand to his companion and, as Hur
grasped it, loud voices were heard from the fighting-men, for messengers
were climbing the mountain, who, shouting and beckoning, pointed to the
vast cloud of dust that preceded the march of the tribes.




CHAPTER XXV.

The Hebrews came nearer and nearer, and many of the young combatants
hastened to meet them. These were not the joyous bands, who had joined
triumphantly in Miriam’s song of praise, no, they tottered toward the
mountain slowly, with drooping heads. They were obliged to scale the
pass from the steeper side, and how the bearers sighed; how piteously
the women and children wailed, how fiercely the drivers swore as they
urged the beasts of burden up the narrow, rugged path; how hoarsely
sounded the voices of the half fainting men as they braced their
shoulders against the carts to aid the beasts of burden.

These thousands who, but a few short days before, had so gratefully felt
the saving mercy of the Lord, seemed to Joshua, who stood watching their
approach, like a defeated army.

But the path they had followed from their last encampment, the harbor by
the Red Sea, was rugged, arid, and to them, who had grown up among the
fruitful plains of Lower Egypt, toilsome and full of terror.

It had led through the midst of the bare rocky landscape, and their
eyes, accustomed to distant horizons and luxuriant green foliage, met
narrow boundaries and a barren wilderness.

Since passing through the Gate of Baba, they had beheld on their way
through the valley of the same name and their subsequent pilgrimage
through the wilderness of Sin, nothing save valleys with steep
precipices on either side. A lofty mountain of the hue of death had
towered, black and terrible, above the reddish-brown slopes, which
seemed to the wanderers like the work of human hands, for the strata of
stones rose at regular intervals. One might have supposed that the giant
builders whose hands had toiled here in the service of the Sculptor of
the world had been summoned away ere they had completed the task, which
in this wilderness had no searching eye to fear and seemed destined for
the service of no living creature. Grey and brown granite cliffs and
ridges rose on both sides of the path, and in the sand which covered
it lay heaps of small bits of red porphyry and coal-black stones that
seemed as if they had been broken by the blows of a hammer and resembled
the dross from which metal had been melted. Greenish masses of rock,
most peculiar in form, surrounded the narrow, cliff circled mountain
valleys, which opened into one another. The ascending path pierced them;
and often the Hebrews, as they entered, feared that the lofty cliffs in
the distance would compel them to return. Then murmurs and lamentations
arose, but the mode of egress soon appeared and led to another
rock-valley.

On departing from the harbor at the Red Sea they had often found thorny
gum acacias and an aromatic desert plant, which the animals relished;
but the farther they entered the rocky wilderness, the more scorching
and arid the sand became, and at last the eye sought in vain for herbs
and trees.

At Elim fresh springs and shade-giving palms were found, and at the
Red Sea there were well-filled cisterns; but here at the camp in the
wilderness of Sin nothing had been discovered to quench the thirst,
and at noon it seemed as though an army of spiteful demons had banished
every inch of shade cast by the cliffs; for every part of the valleys
and ravines blazed and glowed, and nowhere was there the slightest
protection from the scorching sun.

The last water brought with them had been distributed among the human
beings and animals, and when the procession started in the morning not a
drop could be found to quench their increasing thirst.

Then the old doubting rancor and rebelliousness took possession of the
multitude. Curses directed against Moses and the elders, who had led
them from the comfort of well-watered Egypt to this misery, never
ceased; but when they climbed the pass of the “Swordpoint” their parched
throats had become too dry for oaths and invectives.

Messengers from old Nun, Ephraim, and Hur had already informed the
approaching throngs that the young men had gained a victory and
liberated Joshua and the other captives; but their discouragement had
become so great that even this good news made little change, and only a
flitting smile on the bearded lips of the men, or a sudden flash of the
old light in the dark eyes of the women appeared.

Miriam, accompanied by melancholy Milcah, had remained with her
companions instead of, as usual, calling upon the women to thank the
Most High.

Reuben, the husband of her sorrowful ward whom fear of disappointment
still deterred from yielding to his newly-awakened hopes, was a quiet,
reticent man, so the first messenger did not know whether he was among
the liberated prisoners. But great excitement overpowered Milcah and,
when Miriam bade her be patient, she hurried from one playmate to
another assailing them with urgent questions. When even the last could
give her no information concerning the husband she had loved and lost,
she burst into loud sobs and fled back to the prophetess. But she
received little consolation, for the woman who was expecting to greet
her own husband as a conqueror and see the rescued friend of her
childhood, was absent-minded and troubled, as if some heavy burden
oppressed her soul.

Moses had left the tribes as soon as he learned that the attack upon
the mines had succeeded and Joshua was rescued; for it had been reported
that the warlike Amalekites, who dwelt in the oasis at the foot of
Mt. Sinai, were preparing to resist the Hebrews’ passage through
their well-watered tract in the wilderness with its wealth of palms.
Accompanied by a few picked men he set off across the mountains in quest
of tidings, expecting to join his people between Alush and Rephidim in
the valley before the oasis.

Abidan, the head of the tribe of Benjamin, with Hur and Nun, the
princes of Judah and Ephraim after their return from the mines--were to
represent him and his companions.

As the people approached the steep pass Hur, with more of the rescued
prisoners, came to meet them, and hurrying in advance of all the rest
was young Reuben, Milcah’s lost husband. She had recognized him in the
distance as he rushed down the mountain and, spite of Miriam’s protest,
darted into the midst of the tribe of Simeon which marched in front of
hers.

The sight of their meeting cheered many a troubled spirit and when at
last, clinging closely to each other, they hurried to Miriam and the
latter beheld the face of her charge, it seemed as though a miracle had
been wrought; for the pale lily had become in the hue of her cheeks
a blooming rose. Her lips, too, which she had but rarely and timidly
opened for a question or an answer, were in constant motion; for how
much she desired to know, how many questions she had to ask the silent
husband who had endured such terrible suffering.

They were a handsome, happy pair, and it seemed to them as if, instead
of passing naked rocks over barren desert paths, they were journeying
through a vernal landscape where springs were gushing and birds
carolling their songs.

Miriam, who had done everything in her power to sustain the grieving
wife, was also cheered by the sight of her happiness. But every trace
of joyous sympathy soon vanished from her features; for while Reuben and
Milcah, as if borne on wings, seemed scarcely to touch the soil of
the wilderness, she moved forward with drooping head, oppressed by the
thought that it was her own fault that no like happiness could bloom for
her in this hour.

She told herself that she had made a sore sacrifice, worthy of the
highest reward and pleasing in the sight of God, when she refused to
obey the voice of her heart, yet she could not banish from her memory
the dying Egyptian who had denied her right to be numbered among those
who loved Hosea, the woman who for his sake had met so early a death.

She, Miriam, lived, yet she had killed the most fervent desire of her
soul; duty forbade her thinking with ardent longing of him who lingered
up yonder, devoted to the cause of his people and the God of his
fathers, a free, noble man, perhaps the future leader of the warriors of
her race, and if Moses so appointed, next to him the first and greatest
of all the Hebrews, but lost, forever lost to her.

Had she on that fateful night obeyed the yearning of her woman’s heart
and not the demands of the vocation which placed her far above all other
women, he would long since have clasped her in his arms, as quiet Reuben
embraced his poor, feeble Milcah, now so joyous as she walked stoutly at
his side.

What thoughts were these?

She must drive them back to the inmost recesses of her heart, seek
to crush them; for it was a sin for her to long so ardently to meet
another. She wished for her husband’s presence, as a saviour from
herself and the forbidden desires of this terrible hour.

Hur, the prince of the tribe of Judah, was her husband, not the
former Egyptian, the liberated captive. What had she to ask from the
Ephraimite, whom she had forever refused?

Why should it hurt her that the liberated prisoner did not seek her; why
did she secretly cherish the foolish hope that momentous duties detained
him?

She scarcely saw or heard what was passing around her, and Milcah’s
grateful greeting to her husband first informed her that Hur was
approaching.

He had waved his hand to her while still afar, but he came alone,
without Hosea or Joshua, she cared not what the rescued man called
himself; and it angered her to feel that this hurt her, nay, pierced
her to the heart. Yet she esteemed her elderly husband and it was not
difficult for her to give him a cordial welcome.

He answered her greeting joyously and tenderly; but when she pointed to
the re-united pair and extolled him as victor and deliverer of Reuben
and so many hapless men, he frankly owned that he had no right to this
praise, it was the due of “Joshua,” whom she herself had summoned in the
name of the Most High to command the warriors of the people.

Miriam turned pale and, in spite of the steepness of the road, pressed
her husband with questions. When she heard that Joshua was resting on
the heights with his father and the young men and refreshing themselves
with wine, and that Hur had promised to resign voluntarily, if Moses
desired to entrust the command to him, her heavy eye-brows contracted in
a gloomy frown beneath her broad forehead and, with curt severity, she
exclaimed:

“You are my lord, and it is not seemly for me to oppose you, not even if
you forget your own wife so far that you give place to the man who once
ventured to raise his eyes to her.”

“He no longer cares for you,” Hur eagerly interrupted; “nay, were I to
give you a letter of divorce, he would no longer desire to possess you.”

“Would he not?” asked Miriam with a forced smile. “Do you owe this
information to him?”

“He has devoted himself, body and soul, to the welfare of the people and
renounces the love of woman,” replied Hur. But his wife exclaimed:

“Renunciation is easy, where desire would bring nothing save fresh
rejection and shame. Not to him who, in the hour of the utmost peril,
sought aid from the Egyptians is the honor of the chief command of the
warriors due, but rather to you, who led the tribes to the first victory
at the store-house in Succoth and to whom the Lord Himself, through
Moses His servant, confided the command.”

Hur looked anxiously at the woman for whom a late, fervent love had
fired his heart, and seeing her glowing cheeks and hurried breathing,
knew not whether to attribute these symptoms to the steep ascent or to
the passionate ambition of her aspiring soul, which she now transferred
to him, her husband.

That she held him in so much higher esteem than the younger hero, whose
return he had dreaded, pleased him, but he had grown grey in the strict
fulfilment of duty, and would not deviate from what he considered right.
His mere hints had been commands to the wife of his youth whom he had
borne to the grave a few years before, and as yet he had encountered
no opposition from Miriam. That Joshua was best fitted to command the
fighting-men of the people was unquestionable, so he answered, with
panting breath, for the ascent taxed his strength also:

“Your good opinion is an honor and a pleasure to me; but even should
Moses and the elders confer the chief command upon me, remember the heap
of stones at Succoth and my vow. I have ever been mindful of and shall
keep it.”

Miriam looked angrily aside, and said nothing more till they had reached
the summit of the pass.

The victorious youths were greeting their approaching kindred with loud
shouts.

The joy of meeting, the provisions captured, and the drink which, though
sparingly distributed, was divided among the greatest sufferers, raised
the drooping courage of the exhausted wayfarers; and the thirsting
Hebrews shortened the rest at the summit of the pass in order to reach
Dophkah more quickly. They had heard from Joshua that they would find
there not only ruined cisterns, but also a hidden spring whose existence
had been revealed to him by the ex-captain of the prisoners’ guards.

The way led down the mountain. “Haste” was the watchword of the fainting
Hebrews on their way to a well; and thus, soon after sunset, they
reached the valley of the turquoise mines, where they encamped around
the hill crowned by the ruined fortress and burned store-houses of
Dophkah.

The spring in an acacia grove dedicated to the goddess Hathor was
speedily found, and fire after fire was quickly lighted. The wavering
hearts which, in the desert of Sin, had been on the verge of despair
were again filled with the anticipation of life, hope, and grateful
faith. The beautiful acacias, it is true, had been felled to afford
easier access to the spring whose refreshing waters had effected this
wonderful change.

At the summit of the pass Joshua and Miriam had met again, but found
time only for a hasty greeting. In the camp they were brought into
closer relations.

Joshua had appeared among the people with his father. The heir of
the princely old man who was held in such high esteem received joyous
greetings from all sides, and his counsel to form a vanguard of the
youthful warriors, a rear-guard of the older ones, and send out chosen
bands of the former on reconnoitering expeditions was readily adopted.

He had a right to say that he was familiar with everything pertaining to
the guidance and defence of a large army. God Himself had entrusted him
with the chief command, and Moses, by sending him the monition to
be strong and steadfast, had confirmed the office. Hur, too, who now
possessed it, was willing to transfer it to him, and this man’s promise
was inviolable, though he had omitted to repeat it in the presence of
the elders. Joshua was treated as if he held the chief command, and he
himself felt his own authority supreme.

After the assembly dispersed, Hur had invited him, spite of the late
hour, to go to his tent and the warrior accompanied him, for he desired
to talk with Miriam. He would show her, in her husband’s presence, that
he had found the path which she had so zealously pointed out to him.

In the presence of another’s wife the tender emotions of a Hebrew were
silent. Hur’s consort must be made aware that he, Joshua, no longer
cherished any love for her. Even in his solitary hours, he had wholly
ceased to think of her.

He confessed that she was a noble, a majestic woman, but the very memory
of this grandeur now sent a chill through his veins.

Her actions, too, appeared in a new light. Nay, when at the summit of
the pass she had greeted him with a cold smile, he felt convinced that
they were utterly estranged from one another, and this feeling grew
stronger and stronger beside the blazing fire in the stately tent of the
chief, where they met a second time.

The rescued Reuben and his wife Milcah had deserted Miriam long before
and, during her lonely waiting, many thoughts had passed through her
mind which she meant to impress upon the man to whom she had granted so
much that its memory now weighed on her heart like a crime.

We are most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust,
and this woman regarded the gift of her love as something so great, so
precious, that it behooved even the man whom she had rejected never to
cease to remember it with gratitude. But Joshua had boasted that he no
longer desired, even were she offered to him, the woman whom he had once
so fervently loved and clasped in his embrace. Nay, he had confirmed
this assertion by leisurely waiting, without seeking her.

At last he came, and in company with her husband, who was ready to cede
his place to him.

But she was present, ready to watch with open eyes for the welfare of
the too generous Hur.

The elderly man, to whose fate she had linked her own, and whose
faithful devotion touched her, should be defrauded by no rival of the
position which was his due, and which he must retain, if only because
she rebelled against being the wife of a man who could no longer claim
next to her brothers the highest rank in the tribes.

Never before had the much-courted woman, who had full faith in her gift
of prophesy, felt so bitter, sore, and irritated. She did not admit it
even to herself, yet it seemed as if the hatred of the Egyptians with
which Moses had inspired her, and which was now futile, had found a new
purpose and was directed against the only man whom she had ever loved.

But a true woman can always show kindness to everyone whom she does not
scorn, so though she blushed deeply at the sight of the man whose kiss
she had returned, she received him cordially, and with sympathetic
questions.

Meanwhile, however, she addressed him by his former name Hosea, and when
he perceived it was intentional, he asked if she had forgotten that it
was she herself who, as the confidante of the Most High, had commanded
him henceforward to call himself “Joshua.”

Her features grew sharper with anxiety as she replied that her memory
was good but he reminded her of a time which she would prefer to forget.
He had himself forfeited the name the Lord had given him by preferring
the favor of the Egyptians to the help which God had promised. Faithful
to the old custom, she would continue to call him “Hosea.”

The honest-hearted soldier had not expected such hostility, but he
maintained a tolerable degree of composure and answered quietly that
he would rarely afford her an opportunity to address him by this or any
other name. Those who were his friends readily adopted that of Joshua.

Miriam replied that she, too, would be ready to do so if her husband
approved and he himself insisted upon it; for the name was only a
garment. Of course offices and honors were another matter.

When Joshua then declared that he still believed God Himself had
summoned him, through the lips of His prophetess, to command the Hebrew
soldiers and that he would admit the right of no one save Moses to
deprive him of his claim to this office, Hur assented and held out his
hand to him.

Then Miriam dropped the restraint she had hitherto imposed on herself
and, with defiant eagerness, continued:

“There I am of a different opinion. You did not obey the summons of the
Most High. Can you deny this? And when the Omnipresent One found you at
the feet of Pharaoh, instead of at the head of His people, He deprived
you of the office with which He had entrusted you. He, the mightiest of
generals, summoned the tempest and the waves, and they swallowed up the
foe. So perished those who were your friends till their heavy fetters
made you realize their true disposition toward you and your race. But
I, meanwhile, was extolling the mercy of the Most High, and the people
joined in my hymn of praise. On that very day the Lord summoned another
to command the fighting-men in your stead, and that other, as you know,
is my husband. If Hur has never learned the art of war, God will surely
guide his arm, and it is He and none other who bestows victory.

“My husband--hear it again--is the sole commander of the hosts and if,
in the abundance of his generosity, he has forgotten it, he will retain
his office when he remembers whose hand chose him, and when I, his wife,
raise my voice and recall it to his memory.”

Joshua turned to go, in order to end the painful discussion, but Hur
detained him, protesting that he was deeply incensed by his wife’s
unseemly interference in the affairs of men, and that he insisted on his
promise. “A woman’s disapproving words were blown away by the wind.
It would be Moses’ duty to declare whom Jehovah had chosen to be
commander.”

While making this reply Hur had gazed at his wife with stern dignity,
as if admonishing discretion, and the look seemed to have effected its
purpose; for Miriam had alternately flushed and paled as she listened;
nay, she even detained the guest by beckoning him with a trembling hand
to approach, as though she desired to soothe him.

“Let me say one thing more,” she began, drawing a long breath, “that you
may not misunderstand my meaning. I call everyone our friend who devotes
himself to the cause of the people, and how self-sacrificingly you
intend to do this, Hur has informed me. It was your confidence in
Pharaoh’s favor that parted us--therefore I know how to prize your firm
and decisive breach with the Egyptians, but I did not correctly estimate
the full grandeur of this deed until I learned that not only long
custom, but other bonds, united you to the foe.”

“What is the meaning of these words?” replied Joshua, convinced that she
had just fitted to the bowstring another shaft intended to wound him.
But Miriam, unheeding the question, calmly continued with a defiant
keenness of glance that contradicted her measured speech:

“After the Lord’s guidance had delivered us from the enemy, the Red Sea
washed ashore the most beautiful woman we have seen for a long time. I
bandaged the wound a Hebrew woman dealt her and she acknowledged that
her heart was filled with love for you, and that on her dying bed she
regarded you as the idol of her soul.”

Joshua, thoroughly incensed, exclaimed: “If this is the whole truth,
wife of Hur, my father has given me a false report; for according to
what I heard from him, the hapless woman made her last confession only
in the presence of those who love me; not in yours. And she was right to
shun you--you would never have understood her.”

Here he saw a smile of superiority hover around Miriam’s lips; but he
repelled it, as he went on:

“Ah, your intellect is tenfold keener than poor Kasana’s ever was. But
your heart, which was open to the Most High, had no room for love. It
will grow old and cease to beat without having learned the feeling. And,
spite of your flashing eyes, I will tell you you are more than a woman,
you are a prophetess. I cannot boast of gifts so lofty. I am merely
a plain man, who understands the art of fighting better than that of
foretelling the future. Yet I can see what is to come. You will foster
the hatred of me that glows in your breast, and will also implant it in
your husband’s heart and zealously strive to fan it there. And I know
why. The fiery ambition which consumes you will not suffer you to be the
wife of a man who is second to any other. You refuse to call me by the
name I owe to you. But if hatred and arrogance do not stifle in your
breast the one feeling that still unites us--love for our people, the
day will come when you will voluntarily approach and, unasked, by the
free impulse of your heart, call me ‘Joshua.’”

With these words he took leave of Miriam and her husband by a short wave
of the hand, and vanished in the darkness of the night.

Hur gazed gloomily after him in silence until the footsteps of the
belated guest had died away in the sleeping camp; then the ill-repressed
wrath of the grave man, who had hitherto regarded his young wife with
tender admiration, knew no bounds.

With two long strides he stood directly before her as she gazed with a
troubled look into the fire, her face even paler than his own. His
voice had lost its metallic harmony, and sounded shrill and sharp as he
exclaimed:

“I had the courage to woo a maiden who supposed herself to be nearer to
God than other women, and now that she has become my wife she makes me
atone for such presumption.”

“Atone?” escaped Miriam’s livid lips, and a defiant glance blazed at him
from her black eyes. But, undismayed, he continued, grasping her hand
with so firm a pressure that it hurt her:

“Aye, you make me atone for it!--Shame on me, if I permit this
disgraceful hour to be followed by similar ones.”

Miriam strove to wrest her hand from his clasp, but he would not release
it, and went on:

“I sought you, that you might be the pride of my house. I expected to
sow honor, and I reap disgrace; for what could be more humiliating to
a man than to have a wife who rules him, who presumes to wound with
hostile words the heart of the friend who is protected by the laws of
hospitality? A woman of different mould, a simple-hearted, upright
wife, who looked at her husband’s past life, instead of planning how to
increase his greatness, that she might share it with him, need not have
had me shout into her ears that Hur has garnered honors and dignities
enough, during his long existence, to be able to spare a portion of
them without any loss of esteem. It is not the man who holds the chief
command, but the one who shows the most self-sacrificing love for the
people that is greatest in the eyes of Jehovah. You desire a high place,
you seek to be honored by the multitude as one who is summoned by the
Lord. I shall not forbid it, so long as you do not forget what the duty
of a wife commands. You owe me love also; for you vowed to give it
on your marriage day; but the human heart can bestow only what it
possesses, and Hosea is right when he says that love, which is warm
itself and warms others, is a feeling alien to your cold nature.”

With these words he turned his back upon her and went to the dark
portion of the tent, while Miriam remained standing by the fire, whose
flickering light illumined her beautiful, pallid face.

With clenched teeth and hands pressed on her heaving bosom, she stood
gazing at the spot where he had disappeared.

Her grey-haired husband had confronted her in the full consciousness of
his dignity, a noble man worthy of reverence, a true, princely chief of
his tribe, and infinitely her superior. His every word had pierced her
bosom like the thrust of a lance. The power of truth had given each its
full emphasis and held up to Miriam a mirror that showed her an image
from which she shrank.

Now she longed to rush after him and beg him to restore the love with
which he had hitherto surrounded her--and which the lonely woman had
gratefully felt.

She knew that she could reciprocate his costly gift; for how ardently
she longed to have one kind, forgiving word from his lips.

Her soul seemed withered, parched, torpid, like a corn-field on which a
poisonous mildew has fallen; yet it had once been green and blooming.

She thought of the tilled fields in Goshen which, after having borne an
abundant harvest, remained arid and bare till the moisture of the river
came to soften the soil and quicken the seed which it had received. So
it had been with her soul, only she had flung the ripening grain
into the fire and, with blasphemous hand, erected a dam between the
fructifying moisture and the dry earth.

But there was still time!

She knew that he erred in one respect; she knew she was like all other
women, capable of yearning with ardent passion for the man she loved. It
depended solely on herself to make him feel this in her arms.

Now, it is true, he was justified in thinking her harsh and unfeeling,
for where love had once blossomed in her soul, a spring of bitterness
now gushed forth poisoning all it touched.

Was this the vengeance of the heart whose ardent wishes she had
heroically slain?

God had disdained her sorest sacrifice; this it was impossible to doubt;
for His majesty was no longer revealed to her in visions that exalted
the heart, and she was scarcely entitled to call herself His prophetess.
This sacrifice had led her, the truth-loving woman, into falsehood and
plunged her who, in the consciousness of seeking the right path lived
at peace with herself, into torturing unrest. Since that great and
difficult deed she, who had once been full of hope, had obtained nothing
for which she longed. She, who recognized no woman as her superior, had
been obliged to yield in shame her place to a poor dying Egyptian. She
had been kindly disposed toward all who were of her blood, and
were devoted to the sacred cause of her people, and now her hostile
bitterness had wounded one of the best and noblest. The poorest
bondman’s wife rejoiced to bind more and more closely the husband who
had once loved her--she had wickedly estranged hers.

Seeking protection she had approached his hearthstone shivering, but she
had found it warmer than she had hoped, and his generosity and love fell
upon her wounded soul like balm. True, he could not restore what she had
lost, but he could give a welcome compensation.

Ah, he no longer believed her capable of a tender emotion, yet she
needed love in order to live, and no sacrifice seemed to her too hard
to regain his. But pride was also a condition of her very existence, and
whenever she prepared to humbly open her heart to her husband, the
fear of humiliating herself overpowered her, and she stood as though
spell-bound till the blazing wood at her feet fell into smoking embers
and darkness surrounded her.

Then a strange anxiety stole over her.

Two bats, which had come from the mines and circled round the fire
darted past her like ghosts. Everything urged her back to the tent, to
her husband, and with hasty resolution she entered the spacious room
lighted by a lamp. But it was empty, and the female slave who received
her said that Hur would spend the time until the departure of the people
with his son and grandson.

A keen pang pierced her heart, and she lay down to rest with a sense of
helplessness and shame which she had not felt since her childhood.

A few hours after the camp was astir and when her husband, in the grey
dawn of morning, entered the tent with a curt greeting, pride again
raised its head and her reply sounded cold and formal.

He did not come alone; his son Uri was with him.

But he looked graver than was his wont; for the men of Judah had
assembled early and adjured him not to give up the chief command to any
man who belonged to another tribe.

This had been unexpected. He had referred them to Moses’ decision, and
his desire that it might be adverse to him was intensified, as his young
wife’s self-reliant glance stirred fresh wrath in his soul.




CHAPTER XXVI.

Early the following morning the people resumed their march with fresh
vigor and renewed courage; but the little spring which, by digging, had
at last been forced to flow was completely exhausted.

However, its refusal to bestow a supply of water to take with them was
of no consequence; they expected to find another well at Alush.

The sun had risen in radiant majesty in a cloudless sky. The light
showed its awakening power on the hearts of men, and the rocks and the
yellow sand of the road sparkled like the blue vault above. The pure,
light, spicy air of the desert, cooled by the freshness of the night,
expanded the breasts of the wayfarers, and walking became a pleasure.

The men showed greater confidence, and the eyes of the women sparkled
more brightly than they had done for a long time; for the Lord had again
showed the people that He remembered them in their need; and fathers and
mothers gazed proudly at the sons who had conquered the foe. Most of the
tribes had greeted in the band of prisoners some one who had long been
given up as lost, and it was a welcome duty to make amends for the
injuries the terrible forced labor had inflicted. There was special
rejoicing, not only among the Ephraimites, but everywhere, over the
return of Joshua, as all, save the men of the tribe of Judah, now called
him, remembering the cheering promise the name conveyed.

The youths who under his command had put the Egyptians to rout, told
their relatives what manner of man the son of Nun was, how he thought
of everything and assigned to each one the place for which he was best
suited. His eye kindled the battle spirit in every one on whom it fell,
and the foe retreated at his mere war-cry.

Those who spoke of old Nun and his grandson also did so with sparkling
eyes. The tribe of Ephraim, whose lofty pretensions had been a source of
much vexation, was willingly allowed precedence on this march, and only
the men of Judah were heard to grumble. Doubtless there was reason for
dissatisfaction; for Hur, the prince of their tribe, and his young wife
walked as if oppressed by a heavy burden; whoever asked them anything
would have been wiser to have chosen another hour.

So long as the sun’s rays were oblique, there was still a little shade
at the edge of the sandstone rocks which bordered the road on both sides
or towered aloft in the center; and as the sons of Korah began a song of
praise, young and old joined in, and most gladly and gratefully of all
Milcah, now no longer pale, and Reuben, her happy, liberated husband.

The children picked up golden-yellow bitter apples, which having fallen
from the withered vines, lay by the wayside as if they had dropped from
the sky, and brought them to their parents. But they were bitter as
gall and a morose old man of the tribe of Zebulun, who nevertheless kept
their firm shells to hold ointment, said:

“These are a symbol of to-day. It looks pleasant now; but when the sun
mounts higher and we find no water, we shall taste the bitterness.”

His prediction was verified only too soon; for as the road which, after
leaving the sandstone region, began to lead upward through a rocky
landscape which resembled walls of red brick and grey stone, grew
steeper, the sun rose higher and higher and the heat of the day hourly
increased.

Never had the sun sent sharper arrows upon the travellers, and pitiless
was their fall upon bare heads and shoulders.

Here an old man, yonder a younger one, sank prostrate under its
scorching blaze or, supported by his friends, staggered on raving with
his hand pressed to his brow like a drunken man. The blistered skin
peeled from the hands and faces of men and women, and there was not one
whose palate and tongue were not parched by the heat, or whose vigorous
strength and newly-awakened courage it did not impair.

The cattle moved forward with drooping heads and dragging feet or rolled
on the ground till the shepherds’ lash compelled them to summon their
failing powers.

At noon the people were permitted to rest, but there was not a hand’s
breadth of shade where they sought repose. Whoever lay down in the
noonday heat found fresh tortures instead of relief. The sufferers
themselves urged a fresh start for the spring at Alush.

Hitherto each day, after the sun had begun its course toward the west
through the cloudless sky of the desert, the heat had diminished, and
ere the approach of twilight a fresher breeze had fanned the brow; but
to-day the rocks retained the glow of noonday for many hours, until
a light cool breeze blew from sea at the west. At the same time the
vanguard which, by Joshua’s orders, preceded the travellers, halted, and
the whole train stopped.

Men, women, and children fixed their eyes and waved hands, staves,
and crutches toward the same spot, where the gaze was spell-bound by a
wondrous spectacle never beheld before.

A cry of astonishment and admiration echoed from the parched weary lips,
which had long since ceased to utter question or answer; and it soon
rang from rank to rank, from tribe to tribe, to the very lepers at the
end of the procession and the rear-guard which followed it. One touched
another, and whispered a name familiar to every one, that of the sacred
mountain where the Lord had promised Moses to “bring them unto a good
land and a large, unto a land flowing with milk and honey.”

No one had told the weary travellers, yet all knew that for the first
time they beheld Horeb and the peak of Sinai, the most sacred summit of
this granite range.

Though a mountain, it was also the throne of the omnipotent God of their
fathers.

The holy mountain itself seemed at this hour to be on fire like the bush
whence He had spoken to His chosen servant. Its summit, divided into
seven peaks, towered majestically aloft in the distance, dominating the
heights and valleys far and near, glowing before the people like a giant
ruby, irradiated by the light of a conflagration which was consuming the
world.

No eye had ever beheld a similar spectacle. Then the sun sank lower
and lower, till it set in the sea concealed behind the mountains. The
glowing ruby was transformed into a dark amethyst, and at last assumed
the deep hue of a violet; but the eyes of the people continued to dwell
on the sacred scenes as though spell-bound. Nay, when the day-star had
completely disappeared, and its reflection gilded a long cloud with
shining edges, their eyes dilated still more, for a man of the tribe of
Benjamin, overwhelmed by the grandeur of the spectacle, beheld in it the
floating gold-bordered mantle of Jehovah, and the neighbors to whom he
showed it, believed him, and shared his pious excitement.

This inspiring sight had made the Hebrews for a short time forget thirst
and weariness. But the highest exaltation was soon to be transformed
into the deepest discouragement; for when night closed in and Alush
was reached after a short march it appeared that the desert tribe which
dwelt there, ere striking their tents the day before, had filled the
brackish spring with pebbles and rubbish.

Everything fit to drink which had been brought with them had been
consumed at Dophkah, and the exhausted spring at the mines had afforded
no water to fill the skins. Thirst not only parched their palates but
began to fever their bowels. Their dry throats refused to receive the
solid food of which there was no lack. Scenes that could not fail to
rouse both ruth and anger were seen and heard on all sides.

Here men and women raved and swore, wailed and moaned, yonder they gave
themselves up to dull despair. Others, whose crying children shrieked
for water, had gone to the choked spring and were quarrelling around a
little spot on the ground, whence they hoped to collect a few drops
of the precious fluid in a shallow dish. The cattle, too, lowed so
mournfully and beseechingly that it pierced the shepherds’ hearts like a
reproach.

Few took the trouble to pitch a tent. The night was so warm, and the
sooner they pressed forward the better, for Moses had promised to join
them a few leagues hence. He alone could aid, it was his duty to protect
man and beast from perishing.

If the God who had promised them such splendid gifts left them to die
in the wilderness with their cattle, the man to whose guidance they had
committed themselves was a cheat; and the God whose might and mercy he
never ceased extolling was more false and powerless than the idols with
heads of human beings and animals, to whom they had prayed in Egypt.

Threats, too, were loudly uttered amid curses and blasphemies. Wherever
Aaron, who had returned to the people, appeared and addressed them,
clenched fists were stretched toward him.

Miriam, too, by her husband’s bidding, was compelled to desist from
comforting the women with soothing words, after a mother whose infant
was expiring at her dry breast, picked up a stone and others followed
her example.

Old Nun and his son found more attentive hearers. Both agreed that
Joshua must fight, no matter in what position Moses placed him; but Hur
himself led him to the warriors, who joyously greeted him.

Both the old man and the younger one understood how to infuse
confidence. They told them of the well-watered oasis of the Amalekites,
which was not far distant, and pointed to the weapons in their hands,
with which the Lord Himself had furnished them. Joshua assured them that
they greatly outnumbered the warriors of the desert tribe. If the young
men bore themselves as bravely as they had done at the copper mines and
at Dophkah, with God’s aid the victory would be theirs.

After midnight Joshua, having taken counsel with the elders, ordered the
trumpets which summoned the fighting-men to be sounded. Under the bright
starry sky he reviewed them, divided them into bands, gave to each a
fitting leader, and impressed upon them the importance of the orders
they were to obey.

They had assembled torpidly, half dead with thirst, but the new
occupation to which their sturdy commander urged them, the hope of
victory, and the great value of the prize: a piece of land at the foot
of the sacred mountain, rich in springs and palm-trees, wonderfully
strengthened their lost energy.

Ephraim was among them animating others by his tireless vigor. But when
the ex-chief of the Egyptians--whom the Lord had already convinced that
He considered him worthy of the aid his name promised--adjured them to
rely on God’s omnipotence, his words produced a very different effect
from those uttered by Aaron whose monitions they had heard daily since
their departure.

When Joshua had spoken, many youthful lips, though parched with thirst,
shouted enthusiastically:

“Hail to the chief! You are our captain; we will obey no other.”

But he now explained gravely and resolutely that the obedience he
exacted from them he intended to practise rigidly himself. He would
willingly take the last place in the ranks, if such was the command of
Moses.

The stars were still shining brightly in a cloudless sky when the sound
of the horns warned the people to set out on their march. Meanwhile the
vanguard had been sent forward to inform Moses of the condition of the
tribes, and after the review was over, Ephraim followed them.

During the march Joshua kept the warriors together as closely as though
an attack might be expected; profiting meanwhile by every moment to
give the men and their captains instructions for the coming battle, to
inspect them, and range their ranks in closer order. Thus he kept them
and their attention on the alert till the stars paled.

Opposition or complaint was rare among the warriors, but the murmurs,
curses, and threats grew all the louder among those who bore no weapons.
Even before the grey dawn of morning the thirsting men, whose knees
trembled with weakness, and who beheld close before their eyes the
suffering of their wives and children, shouted more and more frequently:

“On to Moses! We’ll stone him when we find him!”

Many, with loud imprecations and flashing eyes, picked up bits of rock
along the road, and the fury of the multitude at last expressed
itself so fiercely and passionately that Hur took counsel with the
well-disposed among the elders, and then hurried forward with the
fighting-men of Judah to protect Moses, in case of extremity, from the
rebels by force of arms.

Joshua was commissioned to detain the bands of rioters who, amid threats
and curses, were striving to force their way past the warriors.

When the sun at last rose with dazzling splendor, the march had become a
pitiful creeping and tottering onward. Even the soldiers moved as though
they were paralysed. Only when the rebels tried to press onward, they
did their duty and forced them back with swords and lances.

On both sides of the valley through which the Hebrews were passing
towered lofty cliffs of grey granite, which glittered and flashed
marvellously when the slanting sunbeams struck the bits of quartz
thickly imbedded in the primeval rock.

At noon the heat could not fail to be scorching again between the bare
precipices which in many places jutted very near one another; but the
coolness of the morning still lingered. The cattle at least found some
refreshment; for many a bush of the juicy, fragrant betharan--[Cantolina
fragrantissima]--afforded them food, and the shepherd-lads lifted their
short frocks, filled the aprons thus made with them and, spite of their
own exhaustion, held them up to the hungry mouths of the animals.

They had passed an hour in this way, when a loud shout of joy suddenly
rang out, passing from the vanguard through rank after rank till it
reached the last roan in the rear.

No one had heard in words to what event it was due, yet every one knew
that it meant nothing else than the discovery of fresh water.

Ephraim now returned to confirm the glad tidings, and what an effect it
produced upon the discouraged hearts!

They straightened their bent figures and struggled onward with redoubled
speed, as if they had already drained the water jar in long draughts.
The bands of fighting-men put no farther obstacles in their way, and
joyously greeted those who crowded past them.

But the swiftly flowing throng was soon dammed; for the spot which
afforded refreshment detained the front ranks, which blocked the whole
procession as thoroughly as a wall or moat.

The multitude became a mighty mob that filled the valley. At last men
and women, with joyous faces, appeared bearing full jars and pails
in their hands and on their heads, beckoning gaily to their friends,
shouting words of cheer, and trying to force their way through the crowd
to their relatives; but many had the precious liquid torn from them by
force ere they reached their destination.

Joshua and his band had forced their way to the vicinity of the spring,
to maintain order among the greedy drawers of water. But they were
obliged to have patience for a time, for the strong men of the tribe of
Judah, with whom Hur had led the way in advance of all the rest, were
still swinging their axes and straining at the levers hastily prepared
from the trunks of the thorny acacias to move huge blocks out of the way
and widen the passage to the flow of water that was gushing from several
clefts in the rock.

At first the spring had lost itself in a heap of moss-covered granite
blocks and afterwards in the earth; but now the overflow and trickling
away of the precious fluid had been stopped and a reservoir formed
whence the cattle also could drink.

Whoever had already succeeded in filling a jar had obtained the water
from the overflow which had escaped through the quickly-made dam. Now
the men appointed to guard the camp were keeping every one back to give
the water in the large new reservoir into which it flowed in surprising
abundance, time to grow clear.

In the presence of the gift of God for which they had so passionately
shouted, it was easy to be patient. They had discovered the treasure
and only needed to preserve it. No word of discontent, murmuring, or
reviling was heard; nay, many looked with shame and humiliation at the
new gift of the Most High.

Loud, gladsome shouts and words echoed from the distance; but the man of
God, who knew better than any one else, the valleys and rocks, pastures
and springs of the Horeb region and had again obtained so great a
blessing for the people, had retired into a neighboring ravine; he was
seeking refuge from the thanks and greetings which rose with increasing
enthusiasm from ever widening circles, and above all peace and calmness
for his own deeply agitated soul.

Soon fervent hymns of praise to the Lord sounded from the midst of the
refreshed, reinvigorated bands overflowing with ardent gratitude, who
had never encamped richer in hope and joyous confidence.

Songs, merry laughter, jests, and glad shouts accompanied the pitching
of every tent, and the camp sprung up as quickly as if it had been
conjured from the earth by some magic spell.

The eyes of the young men sparkled with eagerness for the fray, and
many a head of cattle was slaughtered to make the meal a festal banquet.
Mothers who had done their duty in the camp, leading their children by
the hand went to the spring and showed them the spot where Moses’ staff
had pointed out to his people the water gushing from the clefts in the
granite. Many men also stood with hands and eyes uplifted around the
place where Jehovah had shown Himself so merciful to His people; among
them many a rebel who had stooped for the bit of rock with which he
meant to stone the trusted servant of God. No one doubted that a new and
great miracle had been performed.

Old people enjoined the young never to forget this day and this drink,
and a grandmother sprinkled her grandchildren’s brows at the edge of the
spring with water to secure for them divine protection throughout their
future lives.

Hope, gratitude, and warm confidence reigned wherever the gaze was
turned, even fear of the warlike sons of Amalek had vanished; for what
evil could befall those who trusted to the favor of such an Omnipotent
Defender.

One tent alone, the stateliest of all, that of the prince of the tribe
of Judah, did not share the joy of the others.

Miriam sat alone among her women, after having silently served the
meal to the men who were overflowing with grateful enthusiasm; she had
learned from Reuben, Milcah’s husband, that Moses had given to Joshua in
the presence of all the elders, the office of commander-in-chief. Hur,
her husband, she had heard farther, had joyfully yielded the guidance of
the warriors to the son of Nun.

This time the prophetess had held aloof from the people’s hymns of
praise. When Milcah and her women had urged her to accompany them to the
spring, she had commanded the petitioners to go alone. She was expecting
her husband and wished to greet him alone; she must show him that she
desired his forgiveness. But he did not return home; for after the
council of the elders had separated, he helped the new commander to
marshal the soldiers and did so as an assistant, subordinate to Hosea,
who owed to her his summons and the name of Joshua.

Her servants, who had returned, were now drawing threads from the
distaff: but this humble toil was distasteful to her, and while she let
her hands rest and gazed idly into vacancy, the hours dragged slowly
along, while she felt her resolution of meekly approaching her husband
become weaker and weaker. She longed to pray for strength to bow
before the man who was her lord and master; but the prophetess, who was
accustomed to fervent pleading, could not find inspiration. Whenever she
succeeded in collecting her thoughts and uplifting her heart, she was
disturbed. Each fresh report that reached her from the camp increased
her displeasure. When evening at last closed in, a messenger arrived and
told her not to prepare the supper which, however, had long stood
ready. Hur, his son, and grandson had accepted the invitation of Nun and
Joshua.

It was a hard task for her to restrain her tears. But had she permitted
them to flow uncontrolled, they would have been those of wrath and
insulted womanly dignity, not of grief and longing.

During the hours of the evening watch soldiers marched past, and from
troop after troop cheers for Joshua reached her.

Even when the words “strong and steadfast!” were heard, they recalled
the man who had once been dear to her, and whom now--she freely admitted
it--she hated. The men of his own tribe only had honored her husband
with a cheer. Was this fitting gratitude for the generosity with which
he had divested himself, for the sake of the younger man, of a dignity
that belonged to him alone? To see her husband thus slighted pierced
her to the heart and caused her more pain than Hur’s leaving her, his
newly-wedded wife, to solitude.

The supper before the tent of the Ephraimites lasted a long time. Miriam
sent her women to rest before midnight, and lay down to await Hur’s
return and to confess to him all that had wounded and angered her,
everything for which she longed.

She thought it would be an easy matter to keep awake while suffering
such mental anguish. But the great fatigues and excitements of the
last few days asserted their rights, and in the midst of a prayer for
humility and her husband’s love sleep overpowered her. At last, at the
time of the first morning watch, just as day was dawning, the sound of
trumpets announcing peril close at hand, startled her from sleep.

She rose hurriedly and glancing at her husband’s couch found it empty.
But it had been used, and on the sandy soil--for mats had been spread
only in the living room of the tent--she saw close beside her own bed
the prints of Hur’s footsteps.

So he had stood close by it and perhaps, while she was sleeping, gazed
yearningly into her face.

Ay, this had really happened; her old female slave told her so unasked.
After she had roused Hur, she had seen him hold the light cautiously so
that it illumined Miriam’s face and then stoop over her a long time as
if to kiss her.

This was good news, and so rejoiced the solitary woman that she forgot
the formality which was peculiar to her and pressed her lips to the
wrinkled brow of the crooked little crone who had served her parents.
Then she had her hair arranged, donned the light-blue festal robe Hur
had given her, and hurried out to bid him farewell.

Meanwhile the troops had formed in battle array.

The tents were being struck and for a long time Miriam vainly sought
her husband. At last she found him; but he was engaged in earnest
conversation with Joshua, and when she saw the latter a chill ran
through the prophetess’ blood, and she could not bring herself to
approach the men.




CHAPTER XXVII.

A severe struggle was impending; for as the spies reported, the
Amalekites had been joined by other desert tribes. Nevertheless the
Hebrew troops were twice their number. But how greatly inferior in
warlike skill were Joshua’s bands to the foes habituated to battle and
attack.

The enemy was advancing from the south, from the oasis at the foot of
the sacred mountain, which was the ancient home of their race, their
supporter, the fair object of their love, their all, well worthy that
they should shed their last drop of blood in her defence.

Joshua, now recognized by Moses and the whole Hebrew people as the
commander of the fighting-men, led his new-formed troops to the widest
portion of the valley, which permitted him to derive more advantage from
the superior number of his force.

He ordered the camp to be broken up and again pitched in a narrower spot
on the plain of Rephidim at the northern end of the battle-field, where
it would be easier to defend the tents. The command of this camp and the
soldiers left for its protection he confided to his cautious father.

He had wished to leave Moses and the older princes of the tribes within
the precincts of the well-guarded camp, but the great leader of the
people had anticipated him and, with Hur and Aaron, had climbed a
granite cliff from whose lofty summit the battle could be witnessed. So
the combatants saw Moses and his two companions on the peak dominating
the valley, and knew that the trusted servant of the Most High would
not cease to commend their cause to Him and pray for their success and
deliverance.

But every private soldier in the army, every woman and old man in the
camp knew how to find the God of their fathers in this hour of peril,
and the war-cry Joshua had chosen: “Jehovah our standard!” bound the
hearts of the warriors to the Ruler of Battles, and reminded the most
despairing and untrained Hebrew that he could take no step and deal no
blow which the Lord did not guide.

The trumpets and horns of the Hebrews sounded louder and louder; for the
Amalekites were pressing into the plain which was to be the scene of the
battle.

It was a strange place of conflict, which the experienced soldier would
never have selected voluntarily; for it was enclosed on both sides by
lofty, steep, grey granite cliffs. If the enemy conquered, the camp
would be lost, and the aids the art of war afforded must be used within
the smallest conceivable space.

To make a circuit round the foe or attack him unexpectedly in the flank
seemed impossible; but the rocks themselves were made to serve Joshua;
for he had commanded his skilful slingers and trained archers to climb
the precipices to a moderate height and wait for the signal when they
were to mingle in the battle.

At the first glance Joshua perceived that he had not overestimated the
foe; for those who began the fray were bearded men with bronzed, keen,
manly features, whose black eyes blazed with the zest of battle and
fierce hatred of the enemy.

Like their grey-haired, scarred leader, all were slenderly formed
and lithe of limb. They swung, like trained warriors, the brazen
sickle-shaped sword, the curved shield of heavy wood, or the lance
decked below its point with a bunch of camel’s hair. The war-cry rang
loud, fierce, and defiant, from the steadfast breasts of these sons of
the desert, who must either conquer or lose their dearest possession.

The first assault was met by Joshua at the head of men, whom he had
armed with the heavy shields and lances of the Egyptians; incited by
their brave leader they resisted a long time--while the narrow entrance
to the battle field prevented the savage foe from using his full
strength.

But when the foe on foot retreated, and a band of warriors mounted on
swift dromedaries dashed upon the Hebrews many were terrified by the
strange aspect of the huge unwieldy beasts, known to them only by
report.

With loud outcries they flung down their shields and fled. Wherever a
gap appeared in the ranks the rider of a dromedary urged it in, striking
downward with his long keen weapon at the foe. The shepherds, unused
to such assaults, thought only of securing their own safety, and many
turned to fly; for sudden terror seized them as they beheld the flaming
eyes or heard the shrill, fierce shriek of one of the infuriated
Amalekite women, who had entered the battle to fire the courage of their
husbands and terrify the foe. Clinging with the left hand to leather
thongs that hung from the saddles, they allowed themselves to be dragged
along by the hump-backed beasts wherever they were guided. Hatred seemed
to have steeled the weak women’s hearts against the fear of death, pity,
and feminine dread; and the furious yells of these Megaerae destroyed
the courage of many of the braver Hebrews.

But scarcely did Joshua see his men yield than, profiting by the
disaster, he commanded them to retreat still farther and give the foe
admittance to the valley; for he told himself that he could turn the
superior number of his forces to better account as soon as it was
possible to press the enemy in front and on both sides at the same time,
and allow the slingers and bowmen to take part in the fray.

Ephraim and his bravest comrades, who surrounded him as messengers, were
now despatched to the northern end of the valley to inform the captains
of the troops stationed there of Joshua’s intention and command them to
advance.

The swift-footed shepherd lads darted off as nimbly as gazelles, and it
was soon evident that the commander had adopted the right course for,
as soon as the Amalekites reached the center of the valley, they were
attacked on all sides, and many who boldly rushed forward fell on the
sand while still waving sword or lance, struck by the round stones or
keen arrows discharged by the slingers and archers stationed on the
cliffs.

Meanwhile Moses, with Aaron and Hur, remained on the cliff overlooking
the battle-field.

Thence the former watched the conflict in which, grown grey in the arts
of peace, he shared only with his heart and soul.

No movement, no uplifted or lowered sword of friend or foe escaped his
watchful gaze; but when the attack began and the commander, with wise
purpose, left the way to the heart of his army open to the enemy, Hur
exclaimed to the grey-haired man of God:

“The lofty intellect of my wife and your sister perceived the right
course. The son of Nun is unworthy of the summons of the Most High. What
strategy! Our force is superior, yet the foe is pressing unimpeded into
the midst of the army. Our troops are dividing as the waters of the Red
Sea parted at God’s command, and apparently by their leader’s order.”

“To swallow up the Amalekites as the waves of the sea engulfed the
Egyptians,” was Moses’ answer. Then, stretching his arms toward heaven,
he cried: “Look down, Jehovah, upon Thy people who are in fresh need.
Steel the arm and sharpen the eyes of him whom Thou didst choose for Thy
sword! Lend him the help Thou didst promise, when Thou didst name him
Joshua! And if it is no longer Thy will that he who shows himself strong
and steadfast, as beseems Thy captain, should lead our forces to the
battle, place Thyself, with the hosts of Heaven, at the head of Thy
people, that they may crush their foes.”

Thus the man of God prayed with arms uplifted, never ceasing to beseech
and appeal to God, whose lofty will guided his own, and soon Aaron
whispered that their foes were sore beset and the Hebrews’ courage was
showing itself in magnificent guise.

Joshua was now here, now there, and the ranks of the enemy were already
thinning, while the numbers of the Hebrews seemed increasing.

Hur confirmed these words, adding that the tireless zeal and heroic
scorn of death displayed by the son of Nun could not be denied. He had
just felled one of the fiercest Amalekites with his battle-axe.

Then Moses uttered a sigh of relief, let his arms fall, and eagerly
watched the farther progress of the battle, which was surging, raging
and roaring beneath him.

Meanwhile the sun had reached its zenith and shone with scorching
fire upon the combatants. The grey granite walls of the valley exhaled
fiercer and fiercer heat and drops of perspiration had long been pouring
from the burning brows of the three men on the cliff. How the noon-tide
heat must burden those who were fighting and struggling below; how the
bleeding wounds of those who had fallen in the dust must burn!

Moses felt all this as if he were himself compelled to endure it; for
his immovably steadfast soul was rich in compassion, and he had taken
into his heart, as a father does his child, the people of his own blood
for whom he lived and labored, prayed and planned.

The wounds of the Hebrews pained him, yet his heart throbbed with
joyous pride, when he beheld how those whose cowardly submission had so
powerfully stirred his wrath a short time before, had learned to act
on the defensive and offensive; and saw one youthful band after another
shouting: “Jehovah our standard!” rush upon the enemy.

In Joshua’s proud, heroic figure he beheld the descendants of his people
as he had imagined and desired them, and now he no longer doubted that
the Lord Himself had summoned the son of Nun to the chief command. His
eye had rarely beamed as brightly as in this hour.

But what was that?

A cry of alarm escaped the lips of Aaron, and Hur rose and gazed
northward in anxious suspense for thence, where the tents of the people
stood, fresh war-cries rose, blended with loud, piteous shrieks which
seemed to be uttered, not only by men, but by women and children.

The camp had been attacked.

Long before the commencement of the battle a band of Amalekites had
separated from the others and made their way to it through a path in the
mountains with which they were familiar.

Hur thought of his young wife, while before Aaron’s mind rose Elisheba,
his faithful spouse, his children and grandchildren; and both, with
imploring eyes, mutely entreated Moses to dismiss them to hasten to aid
their dear ones; but the stern leader refused and detained them.

Then, drawing his figure to its full height, Moses again raised his
hands and eyes to Heaven, appealing to the Most High with fervent
warmth, and never ceasing in his prayers, which became more and more
ardent as time passed on, for the vantage gained by the soldiers seemed
lost. Each new glance at the battle-field, everything his companions
told him, while his soul, dwelling with the Lord, had rendered him blind
to the scene at his feet, increased the burden of his anxieties.

Joshua, at the head of a strong detachment, had retreated from the
battle, accompanied by Bezaleel, Hur’s grandson, Aholiab, his most
beloved comrade, the youthful Ephraim, and Reuben, Milcah’s husband.

Hur’s eyes had followed them, while his heart was full of blessings; for
they had evidently quitted the battle to save the camp. With straining
ears he listened to the sounds from the north, as if suspecting how
nearly he was affected by the broken cries and moans borne by the wind
from the tents.

Old Nun had defended himself against the Amalekite troop that assailed
the camp, and fought valiantly; but when he perceived that the men whom
Joshua had placed under his command could no longer hold out against the
attack of the enemy, he sent to ask for aid; Joshua instantly entrusted
the farther guidance of the battle to the second head of the tribe of
Judah, Naashon, and Uri the son of Hur, who had distinguished himself
by courage and discretion and hastened, with other picked men, to his
father’s relief.

He had not lost a moment, yet the conflict was decided when he appeared
on the scene of action; for when he approached the camp the Amalekites
had already broken through his father’s troops, cut it off from them,
and rushed in.

Joshua first saved the brave old man from the foe; then the next thing
was to drive the sons of the desert from the tents and, in so doing,
there was a fierce hand to hand struggle of man against man, and as he
himself could be in only one place he was forced to leave the young men
to shift for themselves.

Here, too, he raised the war-cry: “Jehovah our standard!” and rushed
upon the tent of Hur,--which the enemy had seized first and where the
battle raged most fiercely.

Many, corpses already strewed the ground at its entrance, and furious
Amalekites were still struggling with a band of Hebrews; but wild
shrieks of terror rang from within its walls.

Joshua dashed across the threshold as if his feet were winged and beheld
a scene which filled even the fearless man with horror; for at the left
of the spacious floor Hebrews and Amalekites rolled fighting on the
blood-stained mats, while at the right he saw Miriam and several of her
women whose hands had been bound by the foe.

The men had desired to bear them away as a costly prize; but an
Amalekite woman, frantic with rage and jealousy and thirsting for
revenge, wished to devote the foreign women to a fiery death; fanning
the embers upon the hearth she had brought them, with the help of the
veil torn from Miriam’s head, to a bright blaze.

A terrible uproar filled the spacious enclosure, when Joshua sprang into
the tent.

Here furious men were fighting, yonder the female servants of the
prophetess were shrieking loudly or, as they saw the approaching
warrior, screaming for help and rescue.

Their mistress, deadly pale, knelt before the hostile chief whose wife
had threatened her with death by fire. She gazed at her preserver as
if she beheld a ghost that had just risen from the earth and what now
happened remained imprinted on Miriam’s memory as a series of bloody,
horrible, disconnected, yet superb visions.

In the first place the Amalekite chieftain who had bound her was a
strangely heroic figure.

The bronzed warrior, with his bold hooked nose, black beard, and fiery
eyes, looked like an eagle of his own mountains. But another was soon to
cope with him, and that other the man who had been dear to her heart.

She had often compared him to a lion, but never had he seemed more akin
to the king of the wilderness.

Both were mighty and terrible men. No one could have predicted which
would be the victor and which the vanquished; but she was permitted to
watch their conflict, and already the hot-blooded son of the desert had
raised his war-cry and rushed upon the more prudent Hebrew.

Every child knows that life cannot continue if the heart ceases to throb
for a minute; yet Miriam felt that her own stood still as if benumbed
and turned to stone, when the lion was in danger of succumbing to the
eagle, and when the latter’s glittering knife flashed, and she saw the
blood gushing from the other’s shoulder.

But the frozen heart had now begun to beat again, nay it pulsed faster
than ever; for suddenly the leonine warrior, toward whom she had just
felt such bitter hatred, had again become, as if by a miracle, the
friend of her youth. With blast of trumpets and clash of cymbals love
had again set forth to enter, with triumphant joy, the soul which had of
late been so desolate, so impoverished. All that separated her from him
was suddenly forgotten and buried, and never was a more fervent appeal
addressed to the Most High than during the brief prayer for him which
rose from her heart at that moment. And the swiftness with which the
petition was granted equalled its ardor; for the eagle had fallen and
lowered its pinions beneath the superior might of the lion.

Then darkness veiled Miriam’s eyes and she felt as if in a dream Ephraim
sever the ropes around her wrists.

Soon after she regained her full consciousness, and now beheld at her
feet the bleeding form of the conquered chieftain; while on the other
side of the tent the floor was strewed with dead and wounded men,
Hebrews and Amalekites, among them many of her husband’s slaves. But
beside the fallen men stood erect, and exulting in victory, the stalwart
warriors of her people, among them the venerable form of Nun, and
Joshua, whose father was binding up his wounds.

To do this she felt was her duty and hers only, and a deep sense of
shame, a burning grief took possession of her as she remembered how she
had sinned against this man.

She knew not how she who had caused him such deep suffering could atone
for it, how she could repay what she owed him.

Her whole heart was overflowing with longing for one kind word from
his mouth, and she approached him on her knees across the blood-stained
floor; but the lips of the prophetess, usually so eloquent, seemed
paralyzed and could not find the right language till at last from her
burdened breast the cry escaped in loud imploring accents:

“Joshua, oh, Joshua! I have sinned heavily against you and will atone
for it all my life; but do not disdain my gratitude! Do not cast it from
you and, if you can, forgive me.”

She had been unable to say more; then--never would she forget
it--burning tears had gushed from her eyes and he had raised her from
the floor with irresistible strength, yet as gently as a mother
touches her fallen child, and from his lips mild, gentle words, full of
forgiveness, echoed in her ears. The very touch of his right hand had
assured her that he was no longer angry.

She still felt the pressure of his hand, and heard his assurance that
from no lips would he more gladly hear the name of Joshua than from
hers.

With the war-cry “Jehovah our standard!” he at last turned his back upon
her; for a long time its clear tones and the enthusiastic shouts of his
soldiers echoed in her ears.

Finally everything around her had lapsed into silence and she only knew
that never had she shed such bitter, burning tears as in this hour. And
she made two solemn vows in the presence of the God who had summoned her
to be His prophetess. Meanwhile both the men whom they concerned were
surrounded by the tumult of battle.

One had again led his troops from the rescued camp against the foe; the
other was watching with the leader of the people the surging to and fro
of the ever-increasing fury of the conflict.

Joshua found his people in sore stress. Here they were yielding, yonder
they were still feebly resisting the onslaught of the sons of the
desert; but Hur gazed with increasing and redoubled anxiety at the
progress of the battle; for in the camp he beheld wife and grandson, and
below his son, in mortal peril.

His paternal heart ached as he saw Uri retreat, then as he pressed
forward again and repelled the foe by a well-directed assault, it
throbbed joyously, and he would gladly have shouted words of praise.

But whose ear would have been sharp enough to distinguish the voice of
a single man amid the clash of arms and war-cries, the shrieks of women,
the wails of the wounded, the discordant grunting of the camels, the
blasts of horns and trumpets mingling below?

Now the foremost band of the Amalekites had forced itself like a wedge
into the rear ranks of the Hebrews.

If the former succeeded in opening a way for those behind and joined
the division which was attacking the camp, the battle was lost, and the
destruction of the people sealed; for a body of Amalekites who had not
mingled in the fray were still stationed at the southern entrance of the
valley, apparently for the purpose of defending the oasis against the
foe in case of need.

A fresh surprise followed.

The sons of the desert had fought their way forward so far that the
missiles of the slingers and bowmen could scarcely reach them. If these
men were not to be idle, it was needful that they should be summoned to
the battle-field.

Hur had long since shouted to Uri to remember them and use their aid
again; but now the figure of a youth suddenly appeared approaching from
the direction of the camp as nimbly as a mountain goat, by climbing and
leaping from one rock to another.

As soon as he reached the first ones he spoke to them, and made signs to
the next, who passed the message on, and at last they all climbed down
into the valley, scaled the western cliff to the height of several men,
and suddenly vanished as though the rock had swallowed them.

The youth whom the slingers and archers had followed was Ephraim.

A black shadow on the cliff where he had disappeared with the others
must be the opening of a ravine, through which they were doubtless to be
guided to the men who had followed Joshua to the succor of the camp.

Such was the belief, not only of Hur but of Aaron, and the former again
began to doubt Joshua’s fitness for the Lord’s call; for what benefited
those in the tents weakened the army whose command devolved upon his son
Uri and his associate in office Naashon. The battle around the camp had
already lasted for hours and Moses had not ceased to pray with hands
uplifted toward heaven, when the Amalekites succeeded in gaining a
considerable vantage.

Then the leader of the Hebrews summoned his strength for a new and more
earnest appeal to the Most High; but the exhausted man’s knees tottered
and his wearied arms fell. But his soul had retained its energy, his
heart the desire not to cease pleading to the Ruler of Battles.

Moses was unwilling to remain inactive during this conflict and his
weapon was prayer.

Like a child who will not cease urging its mother until she grants
what it unselfishly beseeches for its brothers and sisters, he clung
imploring to the Omnipotent One, who had hitherto proved Himself a
father to him and to his people and wonderfully preserved them from the
greatest perils.

But his physical strength was exhausted, so he summoned his companions
who pushed forward a rock on which he seated himself, in order to assail
the heart of the Most High with fresh prayers.

There he sat and though his wearied limbs refused their service,
his soul was obedient and rose with all its fire to the Ruler of the
destinies of men.

But his arms grew more and more paralysed, and at last fell as if
weighted with lead; for years it had become a necessity to him to
stretch them heavenward when he appealed with all his fervor to God on
high.

This his companions knew, and they fancied they perceived that whenever
the great leader’s hands fell the sons of Amalek gained a fresh
advantage.

Therefore they eagerly supported his arms, one at the right side, the
other at the left, and though the mighty man could no longer lift his
voice in intelligible words, though his giant frame reeled to and
fro, and though more than once it seemed to him as if the stone which
supported him, the valley and the whole earth rocked, still his hands
and eyes remained uplifted. Not a moment did he cease to call upon the
Most High till suddenly loud shouts of victory, which echoed clearly
from the rocky sides of the valley, rose from the direction of the camp.

Joshua had again appeared on the battle-field and, at the head of his
warriors, rushed with resistless energy upon the foe.

The battle now assumed a new aspect.

The result was still uncertain, and Moses could not cease uplifting his
heart and arms to heaven, but at last, at last this long final struggle
came to an end. The ranks of the Amalekites wavered and finally,
scattered and disheartened, dashed toward the southern entrance of the
valley whence they had come.

There also cries were heard and from a thousand lips rang the glad
shout: “Jehovah our standard! Victory!” and again “Victory!”

Then the man of God removed his arms from the supporting shoulders of
his companions, swung them aloft freely and with renewed and wonderfully
invigorated strength shouted:

“I thank Thee, my God and my Lord! Jehovah our standard! The people are
saved!”

Then darkness veiled the eyes of the exhausted man. But a little later
he again opened them and saw Ephraim, with the slingers and bowmen,
attack the body of Amalekites at the southern entrance of the valley,
while Joshua drove the main army of the sons of the desert toward their
retreating comrades.

Joshua had heard through some captives of a ravine which enabled
good climbers to reach a defile which led to the southern end of the
battle-field; and Ephraim, obedient to his command, had gone with the
slingers and bowmen along this difficult path to assail in the rear the
last band of foemen who were still capable of offering resistance.

Pressed, harassed from two sides, and disheartened, the sons of Amalek
gave up the conflict and now the Hebrews beheld how these sons of the
desert, who had grown up in this mountain region, understood how to use
their feet; for at a sign from their leader they spurred the dromedaries
and flew away like leaves blown by the wind. Rough mountain heights
which seemed inaccessible to human beings they scaled on their hands and
feet like nimble lizards; many others escaped through the ravine which
the captured slaves had betrayed to Joshua.




CHAPTER XXVIII.

The larger portion of the Amalekites had perished or lay wounded on the
battle-field. Joshua knew that the other desert tribes, according to
their custom, would abandon their defeated companions and return to
their own homes.

Yet it seemed probable that despair would give the routed warriors
courage not to let their oasis fall into the hands of the Hebrews
without striking a blow.

But Joshua’s warriors were too much exhausted for it to be possible to
lead them onward at once.

He himself was bleeding from several slight wounds, and the exertions
of the last few days were making themselves felt even on his hardened
frame.

Besides the sun, which when the battle began had just risen, was already
sinking to rest and should it prove necessary to force an entrance into
the oasis it was not advisable to fight in darkness.

What he and still more his brave warriors needed was rest until the grey
dawn of early morning.

He saw around him only glad faces, radiant with proud self-reliance, and
as he commanded the troops to disband, in order to celebrate the victory
in the camp with their relatives, each body that filed slowly and
wearily past him burst into cheers as fresh and resonant as though they
had forgotten the exhaustion which so short a time before had bowed
every head and burdened every foot.

“Hail to Joshua! Hail to the victor!” still echoed from the cliffs after
the last band had disappeared from his gaze. But far more distinctly the
words with which Moses had thanked him rang in his soul. They were:

“Thou bast proved thyself a true sword of the Most High, strong and
steadfast. So long as the Lord is thy help and Jehovah is our standard,
we need fear no foes.”

He fancied he still felt on his brow and hair the kiss of the mighty
man of God who had clasped him to his breast in the presence of all the
people, and it was no small thing to master the excitement which the
close of this momentous day awakened in him.

A strong desire to regain perfect self-possession ere he again mingled
in the jubilant throng and met his father, who shared every lofty
emotion that stirred his own soul, detained him on the battle-field.

It was a scene where dread and horror reigned; for all save himself who
lingered there were held by death or severe wounds.

The ravens which had followed the wanderers hovered above the corpses
and already ventured to swoop nearer to the richly-spread banquet. The
scent of blood had lured the beasts of prey from the mountains and dens
in the rocks and their roaring and greedy growling were heard in all
directions.

As darkness followed dusk lights began to flit over the blood-soaked
ground. These were to aid the slaves and those who missed a relative to
distinguish friend from foe, the wounded from the dead; and many a groan
from the breast of some sorely-wounded man mingled with the croaking of
the sable birds, and the howls of the hungry jackals and hyenas, foxes
and panthers.

But Joshua was familiar with the horrors of the battle-field and did not
heed them.

Leaning against a rock, he saw the same stars rise which had shone upon
him before the tent in the camp at Tanis, when in the sorest conflict
with himself he confronted the most difficult decision of his life.

A month had passed since then, yet that brief span of time had witnessed
an unprecedented transformation of his whole inner and outward life.

What had seemed to him grand, lofty, and worthy of the exertion of all
his strength on that night when he sat before the tent where lay the
delirious Ephraim, to-day lay far behind him as idle and worthless.

He no longer cared for the honors, dignities and riches which the will
of the whimsical, weak king of a foreign people could bestow upon him.
What to him was the well-ordered and disciplined army, among whose
leaders be had numbered himself with such joyous pride?

He could scarcely realize that there had been a time when he aspired
to nothing higher than to command more and still more thousands of
Egyptians, when his heart had swelled at the bestowal of a new title
or glittering badge of honor by those whom he held most unworthy of his
esteem.

From the Egyptians he had expected everything, from his own people
nothing.

That very night before his tent the great mass of the men of his
own blood had been repulsive to him as pitiful slaves languishing in
dishonorable, servile toil. Even the better classes he had arrogantly
patronized; for they were but shepherds and as such contemptible to the
Egyptians, whose opinions he shared.

His own father was also the owner of herds and, though he held him in
high esteem, it was in spite of his position and only because his whole
character commanded reverence; because the superb old man’s fiery vigor
won love from every one, and above all from him, his grateful son.

He had never ceased to gladly acknowledge his kinship to him, but
in other respects he had striven to so bear himself among his
brothers-in-arms that they should forget his origin and regard him in
everything as one of themselves. His ancestress Asenath, the wife of
Joseph, had been an Egyptian and he had boasted of the fact.

And now,--to-day?

He would have made any one feel the weight of his wrath who reproached
him with being an Egyptian; and what at the last new moon he would
only too willingly have cast aside and concealed, as though it were a
disgrace, made him on the night of the next new moon whose stars were
just beginning to shine, raise his head with joyous pride.

What a lofty emotion it was to feel himself with just complacency the
man he really was!

His life and deeds as an Egyptian chief now seemed like a perpetual lie,
a constant desertion of his ideal.

His truthful nature exulted in the consciousness that the base denial
and concealment of his birth was at an end.

With joyous gratitude he felt that he was one of the people whom the
Most High preferred to all others, that he belonged to a community,
whose humblest members, nay even the children, could raise their
hands in prayer to the God whom the loftiest minds among the Egyptians
surrounded with the barriers of secrecy, because they considered their
people too feeble and dull of intellect to stand before His mighty
grandeur and comprehend it.

And this one sole God, before whom all the whole motley world of
Egyptian divinities sank into insignificance, had chosen him, the son
of Nun, from among the thousands of his race to be the champion and
defender of His chosen people and bestowed on him a name that assured
him of His aid.

No man, he thought, had ever had a loftier aim than, obedient to his God
and under His protection, to devote his blood and life to the service of
his own people. His black eyes sparkled more brightly and joyously as he
thought of it. His heart seemed too small to contain all the love with
which he wished to make amends to his brothers for his sins against them
in former years.

True, he had lost to another a grand and noble woman whom he had
hoped to make his own; but this did not in the least sadden the joyous
enthusiasm of his soul; for he had long ceased to desire her as his
wife, high as her image still stood in his mind. He now thought of her
with quiet gratitude only; for he willingly admitted that his new life
had begun on the decisive night when Miriam set him the example of
sacrificing everything, even the dearest object of love, to God and the
people.

Miriam’s sins against him were effaced from his memory; for he was wont
to forget what he had forgiven. Now he felt only the grandeur of what he
owed her. Like a magnificent tree, towering skyward on the frontier of
two hostile countries, she stood between his past and his present life.
Though love was buried, he and Miriam could never cease to walk hand in
hand over the same road toward the same destination.

As he again surveyed the events of the past, he could truly say that
under his leadership pitiful bondmen had speedily become brave warriors
In the field they had been willing and obedient and, after the victory,
behaved with manliness. And they could not fail to improve with each
fresh success. To-day it seemed to him not only desirable, but quite
possible, to win in battle at their head a land which they could love
and where, in freedom and prosperity, they could become the able men he
desired to make them.

Amid the horrors of the battle-field in the moonless night joy as bright
as day entered his heart and with the low exclamation: “God and my
people!” and a grateful glance upward to the starry firmament he left
the corpse-strewn valley of death like a conqueror walking over palms
and flowers scattered by a grateful people on the path of victory.




CONCLUSION.

There was an active stir in the camp.

Fires surrounded by groups of happy human beings were burning in front
of the tents, and many a beast was slain, here as a thank-offering,
yonder for the festal supper.

Wherever Joshua appeared glad cheers greeted him; but he did not find
his father, for the latter had accepted an invitation from Hur, so it
was before the prince of Judah’s tent that the son embraced the old man,
who was radiant with grateful joy.

Ere Joshua sat down Hur beckoned him aside, ordered a slave who had just
killed a calf to divide it into two pieces and pointing to it, said:

“You have accomplished great deeds for the people and for me, son of
Nun, and my life is too short for the gratitude which is your due from
my wife and myself. If you can forget the bitter words which clouded our
peace at Dophkah--and you say you have done so--let us in future keep
together like brothers and stand by each other in joy and grief, in need
and peril. The chief command henceforth belongs to you alone, Joshua,
and to no other, and this is a source of joy to the whole people, above
all to my wife and to me. So if you share my wish to form a brotherhood,
walk with me, according to the custom of our fathers, between the halves
of this slaughtered animal.”

Joshua willingly accepted this invitation, and Miriam was the first to
join in the loud acclamations of approval commenced by the grey-haired
Nun. She did so with eager zeal; for it was she who had inspired her
husband, before whom she had humbled herself, and whose love she now
once more possessed, with the idea of inviting Joshua to the alliance
both had now concluded.

This had not been difficult for her; for the two vows she had made after
the son of Nun, whom she now gladly called “Joshua,” had saved her from
the hand of the foe were already approaching fulfilment, and she felt
that she had resolved upon them in a happy hour.

The new and pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman,
lent her whole nature a gentleness hitherto foreign to it, and this
retained the love of the husband whose full value she had learned to
know during the sad time in which he had shut his heart against her.

In the self-same hour which made Hur and Joshua brothers, a pair of
faithful lovers who had been sundered by sacred duties were once more
united; for while the friends were still feasting before the tent of
Hur, three of the people asked permission to speak to Nun, their
master. These were the old freedwoman, who had remained in Tanis, her
granddaughter Hogla and Assir, the latter’s betrothed husband, from whom
the girl had parted to nurse her grandparents.

Hoary Eliab had soon died, and the grandmother and Hogla--the former
on the old man’s ass--had followed the Hebrews amid unspeakable
difficulties.

Nun welcomed the faithful couple with joy and gave Hogla to Assir for
his wife.

So this blood-stained day had brought blessings to many, yet it was to
end with a shrill discord.

While the fires in the camp were burning, loud voices were heard, and
during the whole journey not an evening had passed without strife and
sanguinary quarrels.

Wounds and fatal blows had often been given when an offended man
revenged himself on his enemy, or a dishonest one seized the property of
others or denied the obligations he had sworn to fulfil.

In such cases it had been difficult to restore peace and call the
criminals to account; for the refractory refused to recognize any one
as judge. Whoever felt himself injured banded with others, and strove to
obtain justice by force.

On that festal evening Hur and his guests at first failed to notice the
uproar to which every one was accustomed. But when close at hand, amid
the fiercest yells, a bright glare of light arose, the chiefs began
to fear for the safety of the camp, and rising to put an end to the
disturbance, they became witnesses of a scene which filled some with
wrath and horror, and the others with grief.

The rapture of victory had intoxicated the multitude.

They longed to express their gratitude to the deity, and in vivid
remembrance of the cruel worship of their home, a band of Phoenicians
among the strangers had kindled a huge fire to their Moloch and were
in the act of hurling into the flames several Amalekite captives as the
most welcome sacrifice to their god.

Close beside it the Israelites had erected on a tall wooden pillar a
clay image of the Egyptian god Seth, which one of his Hebrew worshippers
had brought with him to protect himself and his family.

Directly after their return to the camp Aaron had assembled the people
to sing hymns of praise and offer prayers of thanksgiving; but to many
the necessity of beholding, in the old-fashioned way, an image of the
god to whom they were to uplift their souls, had been so strong that the
mere sight of the clay idol had sufficed to bring them to their knees,
and turn them from the true God.

At the sight of the servants of Moloch, who were already binding the
human victims to hurl them into the flames, Joshua was seized with
wrath and, when the deluded men resisted, he ordered the trumpets to
be sounded and with his young men who blindly obeyed him and were by no
means friendly to the strangers, drove them back, without bloodshed, to
their quarters in the camp.

The impressive warnings of old Nun, Hur, and Naashon diverted the
Hebrews from the crime which ingratitude made doubly culpable. Yet many
of the latter found it hard to control themselves when the fiery old man
shattered the idol which was dear to them, and had it not been for the
love cherished for him, his son, and his grandson, and the respect
due his snow-white hair, many a hand would doubtless have been raised
against him.

Moses had retired to a solitary place, as was his wont after every great
danger from which the mercy of the Most High brought deliverance, and
tears filled Miriam’s eyes as she thought of the grief which the tidings
of such apostasy and ingratitude would cause her noble brother.

A gloomy shadow had also darkened Joshua’s joyous confidence. He lay
sleepless on the mat in his father’s tent, reviewing the past.

His warrior-soul was elevated by the thought that a single, omnipotent,
never-erring Power guided the universe and the lives of men and exacted
implicit obedience from the whole creation. Every glance at nature and
life showed him that everything depended upon One infinitely great and
powerful Being, at whose sign all creatures rose, moved, or sank to
rest.

To him, the chief of a little army, his God was the highest and most
far-sighted of rulers, the only One, who was always certain of victory.

What a crime it was to offend such a Lord and repay His benefits with
apostasy!

Yet the people had committed before his eyes this heinous sin and, as
he recalled to mind the events which had compelled him to interpose, the
question arose how they were to be protected from the wrath of the
Most High, how the eyes of the dull multitude could be opened to His
wonderful grandeur, which expanded the heart and the soul.

But he found no answer, saw no expedient, when he reflected upon the
lawlessness and rebellion in the camp, which threatened to be fatal to
his people.

He had succeeded in making his soldiers obedient. As soon as the
trumpets summoned them, and he himself in full armor appeared at the
head of his men, they yielded their own obstinate wills to his. Was
there then nothing that could keep them, during peaceful daily life,
within the bounds which in Egypt secured the existence of the meanest
and weakest human beings and protected them from the attacks of those
who were bolder and stronger?

Amid such reflections he remained awake until early morning; when the
stars set, he started up, ordered the trumpets to be sounded, and as on
the preceding days, the new-made troops assembled without opposition and
in full force.

He was soon marching at their head through the narrow, rocky valley, and
after moving silently an hour through the gloom the warriors enjoyed the
refreshing coolness which precedes the young day.

Then the grey light of early dawn glimmered in the east, the sky began
to brighten, and in the glowing splendor of the blushing morning rose
solemnly in giant majesty the form of the sacred mountain.

Close at hand and distinctly visible it towered before the Hebrews with
its brown masses of rock, cliffs, and chasms, while above the seven
peaks of its summit hovered a pair of eagles on whose broad pinions the
young day cast a shimmering golden glow.

A thrill of pious awe made the whole band halt as they had before Alush,
and every man, from the first rank to the last, in mute devotion raised
his hands to pray.

Then they moved on with hearts uplifted, and one shouted joyously to
another as some pretty dark birds flew twittering toward them, a sign of
the neighborhood of fresh water.

They had scarcely marched half an hour longer when they beheld the
bluish-green foliage of tamarisk bushes and the towering palm-trees;
at last, the most welcome of all sounds in the wilderness fell on their
listening ears--the ripple of flowing water.

This cheered their hearts, and the majestic spectacle of Mount Sinai,
whose heaven-touching summit was now concealed by a veil of blue mist,
filled with devout amazement the souls of the men who had grown up on
the flat plains of Goshen.

   [The mountain known at the present day as Serbal, not the Sinai of
   the monks which in our opinion was first declared in the reign of
   Justinian to be the mount whence the laws were given. The detailed
   reasons for our opinion that Serbal is the Sinai of the Scriptures,
   which Lepsius expressed before its and others share with us may be
   found in our works: “Durch Gosen zum Sinai, aus dem Wanderbuch and
   der Bibliothek.” 2 Aufl. Leipzig. 1882. Wilh. Engelmann.]

They pressed cautiously forward; for the remainder of the defeated
Amalekites might be lying in ambush. But no foe was seen or heard, and
the Hebrews found some tokens of the thirst for vengeance of the sons of
the wilderness in their ruined houses, the superb palm-trees felled, and
little gardens destroyed. It was necessary now to remove from the road
the slender trunks with their huge leafy crowns, that they might not
impede the progress of the people; and, when this work was done, Joshua
ascended through a ravine which led to the brook in the valley, up to
the first terrace of the mountain, that he might gaze around him far and
near for a view of the enemy.

The steep pathway led past masses of red granite, intersected by veins
of greenish diorite, until he reached a level plateau high above the
oasis, where, beside a clear spring, green bushes and delicate mountain
flowers adorned the barren wilderness.

Here he intended to rest and, as he gazed around him, he perceived in
the shadow of an overhanging cliff a man’s tall figure.

It was Moses.

The flight of his thoughts had rapt him so far away from the present and
his surroundings, that he did not perceive Joshua’s approach, and the
latter was restrained by respectful awe from approaching the man of God.

He waited patiently till the latter raised his bearded face and greeted
him with friendly dignity.

Then they gazed together at the oasis and the desolate stony valleys of
the mountain region at their feet. The emerald waters of a small portion
of the Red Sea, which washed the western slope of the mountain, also
glittered beneath them.

Meanwhile they talked of the people and the greatness and omnipotence
of the God who had so wonderfully guided them, and as they looked
northward, they beheld the endlessly long stream of Hebrews, which,
following the curves of the rocky valley, was surging slowly toward the
oasis.

Then Joshua opened his heart to the man of God and told him the
questions he had asked himself during the past sleepless night, and to
which he had found no answer. The latter listened quietly, and in deep,
faltering tones answered in broken sentences:

“The lawlessness in the camp--ay, it is ruining the people! But the Lord
placed the power to destroy it in our hands. Woe betide him who resists.
They must feel this power, which is as sublime as yonder mountain, as
immovable as its solid rock.”

Then Moses’ wrathful words ceased.

After both had gazed silently into vacancy a long time, Joshua broke the
silence by asking:

“And what is the name of this power?”

Loudly and firmly from the bearded lips of the man of God rang the
words; “THE LAW!”

He pointed with his staff to the summit of the mountain.

Then, waving his hand to his companion, he left him. Joshua completed
his search for the foe and saw on the yellow sands of the valley dark
figures moving to and fro.

They were the remnants of the defeated Amalekite bands seeking new
abodes.

He watched them a short time and, after convincing himself that they
were quitting the oasis, he thoughtfully returned to the valley.

“The law!” he repeated again and again.

Ay, that was what the wandering tribes lacked. It was doubtless reserved
for its severity to transform the hordes which had escaped bondage into
a people worthy of the God who preferred them above the other nations of
the earth.

Here the chief’s reflections were interrupted; for human voices, the
lowing and bleating of herds, the barking of dogs, and the heavy blows
of hammers rose to his ears from the oasis.

They were pitching the tents, a work of peace, for which no one needed
him.

Lying down in the shadow of a thick tamarisk bush, above which a tall
palm towered proudly, he stretched his limbs comfortably to rest in
the assurance that the people were now provided for, in war by his good
sword, in peace by the Law. This was much, it renewed his hopes; yet,
no, no--it was not all, could not be the final goal. The longer he
reflected, the more profoundly he felt that this was not enough to
satisfy him concerning those below, whom he cherished in his heart as if
they were brothers and sisters. His broad brow again clouded, and roused
from his repose by fresh doubts, he gently shook his head.

No, again no! The Law could not afford to those who were so dear to him
everything that he desired for them. Something else was needed to make
their future as dignified and beautiful as he had beheld it before his
mind’s eye on his journey to the mines.

But what was it, what name did this other need bear?

He began to rack his brain to discover it, and while, with closed lids,
he permitted his thoughts to rove to the other nations whom he had known
in war and peace, in order to seek among them the one thing his own
people lacked, sleep overpowered him and a dream showed him Miriam and
a lovely girl, who looked like Kasana as she had so often rushed to meet
him when a sweet, innocent child, followed by the white lamb which Nun
had given to his favorite many years before.

Both figures offered him a gift and asked him to choose one or the
other. Miriam’s hand held a heavy gold tablet, at whose top was
written in flaming letters: “The Law!” and which she offered with stern
severity. The child extended one of the beautifully-curved palm-leaves
which he had often waved as a messenger of peace.

The sight of the tablet filled him with pious awe, the palm-branch waved
a friendly greeting and he quickly grasped it. But scarcely was it in
his hand ere the figure of the prophetess melted into the air like mist,
which the morning breeze blows away. In painful astonishment he now
gazed at the spot where she had stood, and surprised and troubled by his
strange choice, though he felt that he had made the right one, he asked
the child what her gift imported to him and to the people.

She waved her hand to him, pointed into the distance, and uttered three
words whose gentle musical sound sank deep into his heart. Yet hard as
he strove to catch their purport, he did not succeed, and when he asked
the child to explain them the sound of his own voice roused him and he
returned to the camp, disappointed and thoughtful.

Afterwards he often tried to remember these words, but always in vain.
All his great powers, both mental and physical, he continued to devote
to the people; but his nephew Ephraim, as a powerful prince of his
tribe, who well deserved the high honors he enjoyed in after years,
founded a home of his own, where old Nun watched the growth of
great-grand-children, who promised a long perpetuation of his noble
race.

Everyone is familiar with Joshua’s later life, so rich in action, and
how he won in battle a new home for his people.

There in the Promised Land many centuries later was born, in Bethlehem,
another Jehoshua who bestowed on all mankind what the son of Nun had
vainly sought for the Hebrew nation.

The three words uttered by the child’s lips which the chief had been
unable to comprehend were:

“Love, Mercy, Redemption!”


     ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS:

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     Brief “eternity” of national covenants
     But what do you men care for the suffering you inflict on others
     Childhood already lies behind me, and youth will soon follow
     Choose between too great or too small a recompense
     Good advice is more frequently unheeded than followed
     Hate, though never sated, can yet be gratified
     I do not like to enquire about our fate beyond the grave
     Most ready to be angry with those to whom we have been unjust
     Omnipotent God, who had preferred his race above all others
     Pleasant sensation of being a woman, like any other woman
     Precepts and lessons which only a mother can give
     Regard the utterances and mandates of age as wisdom
     Should I be a man, if I forgot vengeance?
     Then hate came; but it did not last long
     There is no ‘never,’ no surely
     To the mines meant to be doomed to a slow, torturing death
     Voice of the senses, which drew them together, will soon be mute
     What had formerly afforded me pleasure now seemed shallow
     When hate and revenge speak, gratitude shrinks timidly
     Who can prop another’s house when his own is falling
     Woman’s disapproving words were blown away by the wind






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