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Joshua — Complete

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Title: Joshua — Complete

Author: Georg Ebers

Translator: Mary J. Safford


        
Release date: November 15, 2004 [eBook #5472]
                Most recently updated: December 28, 2020

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JOSHUA — COMPLETE ***



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 

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